Everybody's Got Their Something

Spencer, cover your eyes.

Or whatever.

I had a lovely time with Swetus last night. It is an odd feeling, since I'm not used to:
1) actually dating
2) said "dates" not involving getting fucked up as part of the courtship process

I was happy to discover I can carry on conversation without mass consumption of substances. It's fun and light and he's very handsome and charming. I let him pay because he wanted to, we then walk around a bit. We decide to take this ski-lift type thing that goes from the 59th Street Bridge to Roosevelt Island. What's Roosevelt Island, you ask?

That's it. Sort of like Manhattan's vestigal tail. Or skinnier sister. Anyway, it's weird and there's this little lift that takes you there. The night was clear as we got carried across the East River and it was really quite lovely. We walked hand in hand down Roosevelt Island and paused near the edge of the water.

He leans in to kiss me.

"You realize that this is the part of Law and Order that the couple finds the dead body, right?"

"Totally."

He kisses me.

I start singing the Law and Order music. He laughs. He gets it.

He shows me the lab that he works in. As we look at these little slides of DNA and larvae and all such, I grab a lab coat and put it on. It's all very lab-like. I turn down the offer for goggles. Don't want to squish my hair.

He shows me a very lovely view that he can see while he's at work. He wraps his arms around me.

"You're so pretty."

"Oh, stop it."

"You are."

"No, YOU'RE pretty."

"Boys can't be pretty."

"Yes, they can."

"What boy is pretty?"

"Orlando Bloom is very pretty."

"Well, I'm no Orlando Bloom."

"Don't worry. Orlando Bloom isn't even Orlando Bloom pretty."

This exchange forces me to choke back the vomit of actually being this adorable with someone. We could take this act on the road, I'm telling ya.

He shows me the dark room. I realize that when he doesn't turn on the light behind us, something's up.

I guess because he's younger, I forget how strong he actually is. Now I know I'm not a big girl by any stretch of the imagination, but he picks me up like I'm a napkin. I wrap myself around him and kiss him. I laugh because when he holds my entire body up by one hand to reach my neck, he has to move my lab coat out of the way. I had joked that I was going to make him wear the lab coat, but as it turns out, I was the one in it.

The dark room proves too dark for me. I can't tell where anything is. I can't get my bearings, and him kissing me like that certainly doesn't help much, either. We go into another room.

"This is the table I eat lunch at everyday."

I jump up on the table and smile devilishly at him.

"Works for me."

Having completed all science experiments for the evening, he walks me back to the subway. Even though we're on the East Side and he lives on the West Side, he walks it everyday. He says it's how they do it in Sweden, even if it's cold. I say whatever allows him to have that body, then go to. Walk to the end of the Earth, then. I'm pretty sure based on my sampling, Swedes must be batshit insane.

I settle down in the subway and get out the iPod. Billie, always having a sense of irony, plays Ghostrunner first. I laugh like an idiot right there on the train. Oh, Billie, you crazy iPod bastard, you.

I curl up in my bed, not quite sure what I'm doing, but happy to be doing it all the same.

This is What It's Like to Live in My Brain

You know,

If I were God, I would combine semen with Listerine. That way, you could give head AND fight gingivitis at the same time.

Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner [aka, No One Shushes Carrie]!

I have had two things stuck in my brain today:

--schadenfreude
--nerve gas

The first comes from Becca giving me tickets to go see Avenue Q on Broadway last night. Lovely. Normally, I'm freaked out by puppets, but I have to appreciate puppets singing about schadenfreude. And how the internet is only for porn. It was funny, well-written, well-performed, and just all around fabulous. I often forget how much I love seeing live theatre until I see it again. And that wins DUH statement of the day.

The second, of course, comes from 24. It's gotten worse since Spencer has shown me how to download the show right onto my computer. Very unhealthy. I find myself imagining Jack Bauer swooping in and fixing all my problems. And killing several people along the way. This website is hilarious. Jack Bauer killed 44 people in Season 4. That's 44 people IN ONE DAY. Man, imagine what damage he could do at the DMV.

-------------------------------------------------------

Spring's bachelorette party went fabulously, minus a little shushing incident you can read about in the comments of Chris' blog. Seriously, who shushes ANYONE in New York?! It's not only the city that never sleeps, it's the city that never shuts up.

After the shushing incident, we headed off to karaoke. Let me tell you, a private karaoke room is the way to go. It's harder to avoid scorn if you're going to be shitty about "Oh, I don't sing." Oh yeah? Well, you're still shelling out for a private room so you might as well become one with the "Baby Got Back" or something. Spring sang "Me and Bobby McGee." Twice. Far be it for me to knock someone once they've got their theme song. Sharon of course rocked "Sweet Child O'Mine" (her standard karaoke song). I was saddened that my standard was not on the list, so I sang "Big Spender" and yup, my favorite choice of the night, ADIDAS. Nothing says I'll-Love-You-Forever quite like Korn. We were all sort of in love with the fact that in the private room, there was a phone. You picked up the phone, said "I need [booze]" and then? THEY'D BRING IT RIGHT TO YOU. Amazing. Life should always be that easy.

When we dropped Spring off at her place at the end of it all, she was drunk and had a grin plastered across her face.

"I'm the most popular girl IN THE WORLD!"

Good. Mission accomplished. Sharon and I bought Spring a massage for the next day, and consciously lied to her about the time, telling her 15 minutes earlier, taking into account her propensity for tardiness.

She called to thank us when she got home from it. She sounded relaxed and happy. Double mission-accomplished. We rule. Now I just have to get my hair done, and we're all-systems-go for a lovely wedding. I have a very dashing date (Conor) and a very pretty dress (thanks, eBay) and a boy-toy to come home to at the end of it all.

Speaking of which, Swetus (as I have now dubbed him, for "Swedish Fetus") brought up "The Talk" on Friday night, when we were clearly in no condition to do so. But considering the last time I had "The Talk" with any boy, I was blacked out drunk and didn't remember, at least this one was at least a step up from that.

"So, are we, like, a couple?"

Eesh. That word frightens me. Must be diplomatic.

"Well, if someone were to ask me, who is this [Swetus] person, I would say, 'he is the boy I'm seeing.' Is that okay with you?"

"OK"

"OK"

Done. And done. I'm seeing a boy. We have an official date tomorrow, getting Mexican food. I am concerned about what any Swedish person's take on what good Mexican food entails, but I'm willing to give it a shot. And then fully prepared to bitch about it. Why? Because I'm a snobby Texan and I'm very particular about my salsa. And based on what I've researched, I'm not sure a Swedish palate can distinguish good Mexican food. But hey, he wants to pay, so I guess it's no sweat off my back.

I had a dream last night where I was changing the diaper on a puppy. I'm not sure if this is implying Swetus is like a newborn, or if I'm afraid of being pregnant. Probably both. And probably I should be careful what I consume right before bed, as well.

And that's about all the news that's fit to print. Hold hands when crossing the streets, kids.

Never Fuck with A Redhead's Friends

Seriously.

This skank is talking about the burlesque show Sharon was in.

Ready.

Set.

Rage.

I wrote as ikanread and it was nicer than I wanted to be. But just calling her the names I wanted to makes it easier for her to disregard the fact that I'm right and she's a fucking cunt.

That is all. Your assignment for the weekend is to shake every jiggly part you got and thank God that you have them. This will be on the final exam.

Just Gonna Get My Feet Wet Until I Drown

The Cliff's Notes version of my interesting night that I reference before:

Sharon and I go to bellydancing. Some boy walks by that Sharon knows. She did a tour with him. She tries to introduce me. I already know him. He's my good friend Devon from high school theatre. He is rehearsing a show with who I can best describe as the Chris of my school. Every girl had a crush on him. I had a crush on his brother. It's all so funny and so weird and worlds collide more often than you can imagine. I knew Devon from high school. Devon knew Sharon from touring. I knew Sharon from the Fates putting us together. And we all know each other, without knowing each other knows each other.

And that, my friends, is life in New York.

The other day was incredibly stressful, but these days I'm happy (and not just because I'm getting some). Yes, there is a boy who I like a lot. That's good. I have bellydancing, which I think I'm getting pretty good at (and Sharon's shimmy would make anyone blush as well), there's guitar, which I am not so good at but I want to play and I enjoy the challenge. My good friends are getting married, winter is ending, my sister's visit went well, and my birthday's coming up. 23 was a pretty shitty year for me. I have high hopes for 24 (and not just the Jack Bauer kind).

But most importantly--

The subway system has been on my side lately. Anyone who has spent any time in New York and has ever missed the train by seconds and then waited forever, wound up late and frustrated, knows that there seems to be something almost sacred about public transportation in New York. Sharon rode with me a way after guitar tonight and I was telling her about what I call "The Subway Gods" and what she called "Metron." I find that brilliant (reason #2343293470.3 why I love that girl). Anyway, on top of things running somewhat smoothly, most importantly, all week Metron has been on my side. He has smiled down upon me, and times when I was planning on being late because of his wrath, the train came and I arrived at destinations on time, if not early. You have no idea how satisfying that is.

I'm good. I'm stressed, but good. I think sometime in May I'll be able to chill out but until Spring gets married, I turn 24, and Abby graduates law school, it's going to be crazy until then. Ah well, the only worse than having too much to do is having nothing to do.

Not me, No Sir

Trying to give Spring a wonderful bachelorette party. Once again, I am a miserable failure.

Work is insane. Truly insane. I don't know how late I'll be here.

I need to do my taxes.

My hair

Get my dress altered

Figure out what to wear

And stuff like this makes me want to vomit. Oh, I feel soooooooooooooooo bad for all those CEOs losing money on productivity. Do what I do for ONE DAY and then talk to me about "not hitting the snooze button." Assholes.

I have a brilliant story from last night. Absloutely sublime. Just today tried to ruin everything. So it will have to wait. But needless to say, only in New York, man. Only in New York.

Sinners and Saints Come From the Same Place

I know, I know. It has been a while. It has been a bit crazy over in Crazyville. Not surprising. Not nearly as cool as Margaritaville, but we do what we can.

Yes, there is a boy. The Nubile One. No, I have no idea what category to put him in. You have to appreciate a guy who shows up to your place with a mini-keg and a set of glasses (he doesn't like that we only drink out of mugs). Yes, some boundaries need to be set because I cannot be with someone 24/7 like he apparently can. But no, that does not mean I'm pulling my usual Destroy-the-Nice-Guy routine. I know it well and it has not served me in the past and so I'm trying to ride the melt; but if I invite you over on a Friday night, that does not give free clearance to stay until Monday. Especially if you haven't brought a toothbrush. Somehow I will try to find the happy medium of it all because I like him and he is good to me and probably the first good idea I've had in the realm of men in a very long time. Perhaps ever. Except for the fact that it's a gamble showing up to any bar with him because I'm not sure if they card. So we'll see. There's that. And men reach their sexual peak at 18/19, so might as well cash in, since I never did when I was 18/19. And so there's that as well. His skin is always warm and I like how my hand feels in his. But I have no idea where it's going. Basically, it all just makes me feel dizzy. Booze and drugs also help with the dizzy as well.

My big sister Amy was in town and we had a lovely time, I dare say. Brings back a bit of shame for ruining my family's visit in 2004, but if they came out here now, it would have been a different story. Before my life was in shambles, and these days, I'm pretty happy with things (and not just because I'm getting some). I have friends that I trust and love; while my job drives me nuts a lot, at least it is more stable than temping and I know I will have a job in the morning; though it's still very cold, winter is on its last legs; more importantly, I've forgiven myself for a lot of the behavior that I felt so guilty and ashamed about. It took a while to get there, but I finally feel I have solid ground beneath my feet and since Amy is the more neurotic of the Taylor Clan, it's good that I could be in a good place when she was here, otherwise it could have made the Disaster 2004 Visit look like a trip to Disney World.

Us Taylor women all love us some Dorothy Parker. Anyone who reads this knows I do, but it's a family thing as well. And Ms. Parker was known to drink and booze with her fellow writers at the Algonquin Hotel. The one and only thing Amy and I planned to do on her visit was to go get a drink at the Algonquin and bathe in the ghost of Ms. Parker. We go and it's really a lovely place--they've kept that Old World feel with deep greens and dark wood and you can almost feel Prohibition lurking around the corner. It was the one time I was sad that you can't smoke anywhere in New York anymore because it is the kind of place that in order to complete its atmosphere, it needs a dim haze of smoke around it. We realize this place is going to be redonkulously expensive, but it is going to be our one splurge and we felt it had to be done.

We look at the menu. There is a Dorothy Parker vodka martini. Well, done. Now we know what we're drinking. There's also a Dorothy Parker burger (three mini burgers and some fries--why Dorothy Parker would need three little burgers I have no idea, but we had Amy's friend with us so it sort of worked out perfectly). And so now we have our food.

Our drinks arrive (we all got the Parker). We raise our glasses and I say (from our Patron Saint):

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

We clink glasses and enjoy our drinks. Dorothy would have made fun of us for being so sentimental; but then again, we're talking about a lady who would NEVER order the martini that we did, because she's the type to not mix the vodka with anything, just drink it straight from the bottle. And if she made fun of us, I'd be sure to give her a jab that at least drinking is legal these days, so she can take her bathtub gin and suck it.

And then she would.

Dorothy Parker is awesome.

It was a perfect New York moment.

And right now, my sister is downing her Xanax to prepare her for her flight back to Texas. Ms. Parker would enjoy that as well.

When I Say I May Fade like a Sigh if I Stay

Interesting.

Well I'd a-danced like the Queen of the Eyesores

Every little girl wants a pony or puppy or kitten or some other sort of pet. She'll beg and beg and cry and throw fits and the parents sit back and after a while, they are worn down and think the persistence must mean that she takes the responsibility seriously.

They grant her wish. And suddenly, pony doesn't get fed, puppy doesn't get walked, and kitten gets no attention at all.

I get it. I'm always that little girl. Just I'm 23 and looking for a Nice Guy and then one shows up in my living room. And now I have no idea to take care of it. Maybe it's more like the little girl who begs for a pony and gets an iguana. An iguana? Well, shit, I don't know anything about iguanas. I can't brush its hair. And it's totally not fuzzy.

Initial thoughts: ACK!!! Take it back to the store!!!

Then thought: Maybe an iguana is what you need. Everything else just shits on your carpet and aggrevates your allergies.

[It seems unfair to make a Nice Guy an iguana in this extended metaphor. Because I think in animal form, they would totally be fuzzy]

---------------------------------------------

I'll call him Nubile Crush. He's a young one. Yeah, I'm not going to get arrested, but I didn't miss the cut off by too much. How young is too young?

I don't understand guys who want to look at me too long. I don't understand ones that want to help me take the trash down or clean up my kitchen. I am very big on personal space and I don't understand guys that want to spend the night with me in my tiny bed. I certainly don't understand snuggling all the time. Even post-coital, I like a good ten minutes tops. Then I want to roll over and grab my teddy bear and call it a night. Boys legs are heavy and I don't like feeling trapped by them. And yes, I don't know if I'm referring to being trapped by their legs or them in general. I just know claustrophobia is a familiar sensation.

I am an old woman set in her ways. An iguana freaks me out. But at least they don't get fleas.

Far below a furry moon
Our purposes crossed
The weird divide
Between our kinds
--The Shins

------------------------------------------

Finally, someone other than a dirty, left-wing, crazy hippie feels like I do. Problem is, she already retired. Thanks a lot, Sandy. I guess it's easier to call BULLSHIT on the administration once you've left politics. You let the possible dictator put in your replacement in a branch of the government that has the power to fight against it. Or something. That whole checks and balances thing somewhat escapes me while looking at how the world seems to heading.

------------------------------------------

I participated in our firm's Trial Advocacy program. Basically, it's an excercise for the first year attorneys to practice interviewing and cross-examining witnesses. They call upon us paralegals to play the witnesses of an actual case that the lawyers then "try." I studied my testimony very closely. The problem was, my witness saw an accident, but no more than "he went over here and then over there" was illuminated. My hiring attorney chose me to do the first demonstration and the first thing the nervous, young attorney did was tell me to go up to the map.

Utter horror.

Now we can have as much fun with non-essentials of our person, as long as we don't change the facts of the case. Where an accident, a fight, where people are standing are important facts to keep straight. I can't make this stuff up. And yet, I have no idea where I'm supposed to be pointing. In the end, it doesn't matter because a lawyer might come across a witness who doesn't remember shit, but it is a little awkward to not be able to point out your own house.

The guy had picked me because I'm an actress. If I had known the schematics better in regard to my testimony, it would have been a beautiful piece of performance art. Instead, I mumble and gesture vaguely and am just about the WORST witness imaginable. I had a feeling that the guy was sitting there, thinking, "THIS is our actress? No wonder she has to work at law firm."

The big group then breaks up into small groups and the whole thing gets repeated again. One of the first-years that I actually know (besides him, the only other attorneys I know are the hiring attorney and my boss) and he was thankfully in my small group, and before the faculty could bust him, explained the map for me.

Then I was ready to go. I had decided my "character" was a talker. She has a hard time staying focused and loved to talk about her cat. My original idea was to keep talking until the lawyer was forced to cut me off to keep me on track. Sadly, after the first lawyer interviewed me in my small group, I realized that these lawyers weren't good enough at this stuff to know when to stop me. But I did it a little bit. On cross, the lawyer was trying to get me to admit the part in my curtains was too small for me to really be able to see anything. I had told him the curtains were parted because my cat likes to jump up there (which was the actual testimony from that witness, and was my inspiration to make her obsessed with her cat).

"So the curtains could only have been parted about this much to let a cat sit on there?"

"Oh no, sir. Much more. My Izzy is really fat. Like monstrously fat. I know, I know, it's not good for them. But she's so cute and when she begs for food, I just can't say no to her."

Also fortunately, my hiring attorney was in my small group as well. He laughed at this. Hopefully, I redeemed a little of whatever was lost in the big group about my ability to create a character.

I also enjoyed talking about how those curtains were from Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

And that I had a bad hip.

And that I liked to watch Law and Order, though it makes me feel a little nervous to actually be living in one.

I gained a whole new respect for Abby, seeing as she was never a big fan of performing because I realized how much of being a good trial lawyer is dependant on being a good actor. You have to sell whatever side of the story to the jury. And these newbies were pretty bad and the faculty was very good about giving critiques that were very nice and helpful. I literally had to bite my tongue to ask if I could give acting notes. I think what every lawyer needs is a monologue class. A teacher that will help them with all the little mannerisms, while adorable in a person, are distracting as an audience/jury. Things like awkward hand gestures, shifty feet, and the desire to say "um" or "uh" when getting stuck on something. Also, POSTURE. I swear, I know lawyers had to study for a thousand years either while in law school or for the bar or whatever, but Dear Lord, take a yoga class or something. I can't imagine anything more disturbing for a jury to have, especially say a defense attorney, approach them like they're Quasimodo or something.

And an improv class. The funniest thing I found during the whole experience was this one poor newbie. What she needed me to say after we established where I lived and where the window is, etc. was that I heard a noise that made me turn my focus away from the TV.

How she put it:
"What did you hear to turn your attention from the TV?"

OK, I'm not a lawyer, but I think I know what happened here. It's a leading question. If I haven't said it, you can't assume I heard ANYTHING on the night of whenever. She needed to ask if I only watched TV the whole night or did I ever have occasion to turn my focus away from my show, or something like that. That way, we're not basing the course of my testimony on things that haven't been established yet (Abby, if I got any of that wrong, feel free to correct me, but I think I did pretty well for a non-lawyer). So of course, the opposing counsel objected and it was correctly sustained.

But poor newbie had written that as her question. And I guess had decided that THAT question was written in stone, like it was one of the Ten Commandments. Asking me what I heard was gospel to her, and you don't fuck with the word of God. We spent at least the next five minutes with her changing maybe the order of the words, asking a longer question, etc--but she still kept asking the same question. Opposing counsel kept objecting and it kept getting sustained. You gotta think on your feet, little attorney, and stop asking me what I heard. This isn't getting us anywhere, and inverting word order isn't tricking anyone. She looked like she was going to vomit. And while I kinda felt bad for her, this was a fake courtroom and not like anyone was really out to get her, so I found it vastly amusing.

And nicely enough, the one who did the best job examining me was the one first-year that I knew. So good for him. He had a bit of the Quasimodo stance happening, but he was articulate and well-prepared, so even the Hunchback stance came across as more cocky than creepy. And juries at least expect that from a lawyer.

---------------------------------------

And that's my world. Odd thing, this life.

And Now For Something Completely Different...

Here's the new hair. It looks lighter in natural light and I'm going to add platinum streaks in it, but you get the idea. I don't know how to take care of the red eye thing, so be patient with my laser eyes.

All the Live Long Day...

Marina and I can't stop doing this survey. It's left me with nothing else to talk about.

So I do one more. A word of caution: once you start, it is hard to quit. It's like Pringles in that way.


Choose a band / artist and answer ONLY in titles of their songs:

1. Name of band/artist:
Nirvana

2. Are you male or female:
About a Girl

3. Describe yourself:
In Bloom

5. How do you feel about yourself:
Something in the Way

6. Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend:
The Man Who Sold the World

7. Describe current girlfriend/boyfriend:
Smells like Teen Spirit

8. Describe where you want to be:
On a Plain

9. Describe how you live:
Lounge Act

10. Describe how you love:
Very Ape

11. What would you ask for if you had just one wish?
All Apologies

12. Share a few words of Wisdom:
Come as You Are

13. Now say goodbye
Stay Away

What IS the Sound of One Ass Cheek Clapping?

That's a Zen question for all of us packing junk in our trunk.

Today was crazy busy. Work was flying at my from all sides. I took multitasking to a whole new level. For a little while, Murphy's Law seemed to be in full effect. Example: "This needs to get done right now!" Cue Carrie spilling water all over her desk, her notepads, the Blackberry goes flying, and all down my left pant leg. Here she is folks--Paralegal Extrodinaire. The Year of the Fabulous feels a little damp, to be honest. I told Sharon tonight at bellydancing that generally when everything seems to go all to Hell at work, it must be Tuesday. For whatever reason, it always seems crazy on Tuesdays. The gods have declared it thus. But I got everything done that needed to be, made it to bellydancing on time and had a grand ole time shaking my shit with the Unsinkable Miss Sharon.

During my crazy Tuesday, Conor dropped by for a visit. He works in my area and will on occasion drop by when I take a smoke break. Generally, two get smoked. And we try to give the Cliff's Notes version of our lives in ten minutes from the last time we saw or talked. We're both in good spirits these days. He noticed the goofy look in my eye that hasn't been there for a long time.

And it's true. I'm starting to feel more like myself than I have in a long, long time. I'm goofy and curious and much like a child. I am easily interested in the things around me and am not watching the ground, tripping over my life. And once again, the city shifts to suit the new mood. Instead of the shadows being prominent in my view, it's more a game of peek-a-boo with the sun. The subways are still dirty and the people are still crazy, but it's not as threatening or depressing as it can be. It's the city starting to shake winter. Much like a dog after a bath, winter comes flying off and the energy spills in all directions. People are sitting in their homes in Jersey, shaking their heads and wondering what happened. And why they smell like wet dog. But that has nothing to do with this metaphor. I just hear that Jersey smells like wet dog.

No, I'm not in love. No, I'm not high. My interest is peaked again, and there's really nothing that can stop me when I'm like this.

I'm pretty amazed with my microwave even. I came home tonight and put in a bag of popcorn. And I remember the days when you hit the "popcorn" button and it was a crap-shoot on whether or not you'd have a withered, burned mess and the permeating smell of burning popcorn that sticks around for weeks after such incidents. And now? I am enjoying the most fluffy, perfectly popped popcorn the world has ever seen. My beer is cold and Jon Stewart is on the TV. You know, sometimes, it really is the little things that matter. I'm sleepy and still somewhat dissatisfied with certain elements of my life, but there's also a lot of good in there, too. Tomorrow is going to be another long day at work, but then I'm going to top it off by seeing my other lady Spring and playing some pool in my new favorite pool hall, their apartment. I'm telling you, if there was a pool table in my bedroom, it'd be bad. Like, I'd probably stop showering and sleeping. And we don't have neighbors to worry about, so there wouldn't even be a curfew. I'd be like the Bird Man of Alcatraz, only with pool. And a chick. And not in prison. So scratch all that. Basically, I'd just be playing pool all the time.

Also, I'm too lazy to search for the link. Perhaps tomorrow I shall edit this and add the link, but I think everyone should know that Yanni was arrested the other day. Yup. Yanni. For a domestic dispute/domestic violence. I just can't help but think his own music, normally used to be an opiate for the masses, the go-to sedative of people in confined spaces like drug stores and elevators, finally drove him over the edge. A sort of reverse psychology from the man who created it. That, or perhaps Yanni goes home and listens to nothing but Rage Against the Machine and had he been listening to one of his own CDs, his girlfriend wouldn't have a black eye right now.

That's all for now. Good night and Good Luck.

She's Coming Up From Behind...

Too busy to write much. But much is happening. And I am doing okay.

I've become 12 years old again. It makes me giddy. I'm going to doodle hearts and stars on a notepad.

[Le Sigh]

I am Watching the Rise and Fall of My Salvation

Everything that can go bad, will.

Grumpy is the understatement of the year.

I'm working both days this weekend. I only get really annoyed when I get informed of this stuff at 8:30pm on Thursday night. I plan for stuff in advance, then bombs like these lovelies get dropped at the last minute and it throws everything to Hell. And next weekend? Both days, too. Add on top of that car service delays, a low battery on my iPod on the train, which I just missed at 9pm so I get to wait even longer and then stopped once on the train for 15 minutes because of some "police incident." Billie manages to get me all the way home, I walk into my apartment and it's all dark and Devon felt this would be the best time to jump out at me in the dark and scare the crap out of me. To be fair, he didn't know the shitty day I was having, but a heart attack just seemed the perfect cherry on top of this ice cream sundae of SHIT.

I stayed up until 1am adding Rage Against the Machine, Korn, and Tool onto Billie. Couldn't have come at a better time. I have yet to listen to something today that isn't threatening to burst my eardrums.

Grrr...Argh...

Lately things won't go my way.
Lately everything is grey.
It feels like something.
It feels like.. nothing
So I came too far.
To end up this way.
Feeling like I'm god.
Feeling there's no way.
So I'm angry for today.
Anger's the only thing I've made.
It feels like something.
No it's.. nothing.
--Korn

Best not to sneak up on me today. Best keep me away from sharp objects.

I Thought You Died Alone A Long Long Time Ago

I think about things like Ash Wednesday and Easter and the whole deal. The one person, if given the chance, that I would invite to dinner for a chat and some grub would be Jesus. Not in a evangelical way, the way Christians immediately list him off as the answer to every question posed in front of them. But here we have a guy, who really existed, Son of God or not, who taught and preached one thing and then has lived more vibrantly posthumously than anyone else in the history of time. Any way you slice it, he was given a raw deal. And I see what has happened since his death and what people do in his name--the hatred, the murder, the judgement, the invasions, the wars...I'd like to get his take on all of it. It sort of reminds me of those artists whose albums are out for a long time and then somehow the radio stations pick up one of the singles and they just explode onto the scene like they haven't been around forever. He taught tolerance and love and turn-the-other-cheek and cut to today, there's a website called Jesus Hates Fags.

Questions to the man himself:

--"Do you hate fags?" [yeah, didn't think so]
--"Mary was totally your wife wasn't she?" [I have a hard time believing Jesus was sent by God to live a human's life and not experience the one activity that God put us on the Earth for--"Go forth and multiply." It's hard to die a thirty-something virgin, even back then. Unless you're Issac Newton, then maybe.]
--"Crucifixtion totally blows, right?"
--"Have we gotten this whole thing wrong?"
--"Can I have your autograph?" [though this one would prove problematic, there's no autograph to compare it to--hard to convince people I actually got Jesus to sign my cocktail napkin]
And most importantly
--"Could you turn this water into wine for me?" [DAMN that's a cool trick]

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Random sidenote--as I was typing all that, a random paper clip came whizzing by my face. [growl] Neighbor...

"Oh, it's on now, bitch!"

"No, I have a question." [Billie on full blast, you understand]

"What?"

[There is a small huddle of paralegals around the big table]

"So a woman who is a front for a gay man is a beard, right?"

"Right"

"So what's a man who is a front for a lesbian?"

[pause. reflection]

"I don't know...a pussy shield?"

"Ewww..." [go all the boys, the girls start laughing]

But I really don't know. Add that to my list of Jesus questions.

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I miss Dru a lot. We both have this odd tendency to attract even stranger situations and shenanigans. We used to do it together. Then things got...weird...and then he went on tour and it can't happen anymore for a while. But these curious incidents will occur and he's the first person I want to tell. I thought with him gone my life would be relieved of most of its problems. Not that my problems are directly Dru related (well, maybe one), but he was really my only close connection to People Who Hurt Me and I thought everything would get at least easier once he left, if not better. It's not the case. That stuff still stings and I just miss my friend. Spring gave me a bunch of books to read, but I miss mine and Dru's book club.

But I realize I'm very adept at replacing my social scene. Making friends has never been a problem for me. Or keeping them, for that matter. I'm not tooting my own horn or anything; some people are good at physics. I'm not. But I am good at meeting people. And I seem to have taken the Boys of Doom and replaced them with Boys of Work. Once again, I find myself part of an all-male crew. None of them have seen me naked. Yet. Ha, just kidding. I was good about turning down that bad idea sex, remember? It's condemned me to a life of celibacy and I may have to walk to the ends of the Earth before I find love that's a Good Idea, but I'm determined to do that. Or get 23948024398 cats and a Zyrtec prescription.

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I stand close to Crush and we talk and joke like buddies. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Then I try to remember that nothing is going to happen there and do I really need to lead my heart on again? Then again, it's better than thinking about anyone else. How much do I really like him and how much do I just need a distraction? I suppose the motivation doesn't matter as long as it stays in the phase that it's in. And I'm happier these days. And damnit, that's got to count for something.

I feel restless and wistful. I laugh and punch him on the arm. My heart jumps four paces to the left. It's an optical illusion. Keep your eye on the hat and you won't notice where he pulled the bunny from. It's all about distraction and illusion and slight of hands. The woman wasn't really sawed in half, but it's better to believe that she was. Makes for a better show.

When personality is scar tissue
It travels south with disuse
I'm subtle like a lion's cage
Such a cautious display
Remember take hold of your time here
Give some meanings to the means
To your end
-Interpol

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I don't like it when I end entries like this. So here's some baby pandas to enjoy. They're so my new mascot for MY LIFE. I've been looking at panda pictures since my dream the other night with Kristen in it, and it has not failed to make my heart go all squishy with the cute. Almost as good as a smoke break. Almost.

Still Laughing Over This...

I'm Lieutenant Fluffycheeks.

What's your squirrel name?

[Forgive the repeat, Sharon. It's just too good to stay in one of your locked entries.]

The Cost of My Desire / Sleep Now in the Fire

People are indicating that perhaps I have been watching too much TV and thus, the weird dream. But I have been a busy bee and haven't watched a full show until SVU last night. Before that, nada. And last night, I had a dream a la Saw and Saw II. I think it was Ashley Dill threatening to kill one of 4 friends with weird nicknames, like the One Who Shall not be Named had the codename Captain Obvious (I swear) and she was killing one of them and I had to figure out who the code names belonged to and how she would do it to prevent it. Because they were going to be killed in elaborate and torturous ways like in those movies; one scene in my dream had a guy trapped in a crawlspace behind an elevator that slowly filled with water. And people rode in the elevator and never noticed him and blood started mixing with the water because he was scratching so hard to get out. Dude, that shit is sick. In my course of trying to protect Kristen from an equally horrendous fate, my scheme somehow involved me making her run for Student Government. When I found out that Kristen wasn't going to be killed and I told her why I was sticking so close to her under the guise of elections, she didn't want to run anymore. And then, I swear on my life, I went behind the counter, pulled up a baby panda bear and said, "What if we made this the new mascot?"

I blame the Nyquil. To be fair, the panda was really adorable.

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My belly doesn't know what to do. I am pretty sore from last night's bellydancing session, but on the other hand, I just had an incredibly satisfying lunch. Happy? Sad? Closer to comatose in the end.

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I work in a room full of other paralegals. Except for Judy, who has a little corner office and is a manager of some sort. And we always kind of viewed her as our babysitter. She'd come out and say someone's music is too loud, for us to keep it down, do our homework, eat our veggies, etc.

And she retired yesterday. Her office is dark. Neighbor (who I don't know if I mentioned is also a cube neighbor as well) immediately started playing his music loudly upon her departure at 5:30 yesterday. First song choice? "Another one Bites the Dust." I like that kid. But now we can fully become the Romper Room that all the other paralegal rooms are and it's a refreshing change. Now, through most of the day, I sit at my desk and work with Billie on full blast. Neighbor is somewhat amazed at my anti-social tendencies during the work day. People can call, people sneak up on me all the time. I'm either in Work Zone or 293482749028493 blog Zone. But I've started branching out a bit and talking with folks a little bit. And now that Judy's gone, all Hell has broken loose in our paralegal room. Neighbor and I have started just randomly calling out "BALLS! SHIT!!" to each other just because Babysitter isn't going to come out and bust us. It's incredibly satisfying. That, and Neighbor has noticed the amount of office supplies that get thrown at his head from my direction has increased exponentially.


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I looked at this guy's MySpace profile, who is the one fellow I can claim to have broken his heart. Much like me, his infatuation was mostly in his head, but it was one of those situations where everyone else wanted me to be with him and so I tried to convince myself I liked him in that way, too; but that just resulted in me leading him on on several different occasions and it's probably the only Love Roadkill I can lay claim to (I think that the name of my band should be Love Roadkill, by the by. I just made that up and I'm loving it more and more upon reflection).

Anyhoozitmanias (that's just going to keep getting longer and longer just so you're aware--it's going to become the Anna Karenina of transitonal words), he changed his status on there to "In a Relationship." And I got upset all over again. Not like cryishly upset, but seriously bugged. And I have no idea why. I guess because I'm pissed that everyone ON THE PLANET seems to be able to find at least people who are interested in them. I have a cell phone bill and fresh C batteries. Because I've never wanted him, him being in a relationship doesn't make him more appealing to me or anything; in fact, in a trying-to-not-be-so-self-involved way, I'm really happy for him. I may be awkward in love, but this guy made me look like Casanova. So good for him.

But blah blah blah WHAT ABOUT ME?

Whatever. I'm just going to have to take my chasitity medicine and deal with it. I work too much. I have too many other activities going on. I'm still hung up on unhealthy patterns. I have a hard time giving myself enough credit. Blah blah blah I need more personal growth until I can be with someone blah blah blah--I just want someone to catch me at the end of my crazy days and put me back in my charger and run his hand over my lower back, which is sore from whatever the hell it is I do to it.

And rinse. And repeat.

But it's apparently not for me. At least not yet. And patience has never been one of my finer qualities. I think I just need a really good replication of a man to curl up with at the end of the day. Though, now that I think about it, any man I've been with turned out to just be a replication of a man, not a real one anyway. The Cheap Imititation Rolex of Relationships and Maturity. I guess step 1 is that if I want to find something authentic, I gotta stop shopping in Chinatown.

I go a long way
To bury the past for I don't want to pay
Oh, how I wish this
To turn back the clock and do over again
Now I'm just wondering if you'd come along
Hold up my head when my head won't hold on
I'll do the same if the same's what you want
But if not I'll go
I will go alone

-Dave Matthews Band