WT at WM...In Other Words, Just Another Oklahoma Friday Night

Well, even after yesterday's excruciatingly painful gym experience, I trudged my happy ass back up there tonight. My Inner Lazy Bitch is at war with my Inner Competitive and Stubborn Bitch, and the stubborn bitch is ahead by a nose....tonight, FuckStick's plans included "back and bi's." Nope, I don't mean those who are sexually confused, I mean the REST of the muscles in your upper arm. They still don't hurt as much as the triceps do, but I'm sure that will all change tomorrow morning once the Icy Hot wears off.

So this evening, I had the ex-hot FuckStick mostly to myself. Of course, he was trying to be all cute and charming and shit, but I wasn't having any of that. He was just trying to DISTRACT me from the insane number of reps he expected me to do on the lat pulldown machine and the rowing machine. And more fucking ab crunches. If I don't look significantly more buff and cute at the end of this 8 weeks, I am so giving up and going on the chocolate cheesecake diet.

I did gain a little insight into FuckStick's character tonight, though. He's very competitive. He also happens to be the only trainer at the Y right now who has any sort of clue what he's doing. Basically, he has decided that our little group is winning this here showdown, and we will not be standing in the way of this happening.

Under ordinary circumstances, I would not mind this one bit, and I probably do need a sharp boot to the booty once in a while. Seriously, though, we are going to the Y, where everyone is a winner, and I'm sure that whatever happens at the end of this challenge, everyone will get some sort of stupid certificate about how they had the cutest workout clothes or something. Really, that philosophy is good for kids playing sports, but we're all grownups now and we should all know that someone has to win and someone has to lose...if I weren't so sick of all the election shit, I would make a crack about George Bush being the loser in that metaphor.

Blah, blah, blah. With all this talk about aches and pains and Icy Hot, I'm starting to sound like a freakin' senior citizen. Please stop me before I start talking about my colon.

So after the whole Total Y Experience, I have to go to Wal-Mart (WM from now on). You see, Loopy has been VERY VERY VERY poor for the last week. And Loopy was out of toilet paper and paper towels (which, in Loopy's house, count as dishes), and anything resembling edible food.

Before hitting WM, I stop to have some nachos at Taco Cabana. It's right next door to WM, and I've earned them for being in pain. Taco Cabana provided the first clue that perhaps this was not going to be the quiet "sneak in on Friday while people with lives are out having fun" excursion. The place was fucking packed. So I think, okay, it's not the best part of town, probably just the po' folks having a decent meal and shit. Then....I enter the Evil Empire.

First of all, the carts provide lots of slalom practice in the parking lot. After finally locating a parking space (and yes, my Inner Lazy Bitch won, and I drove around until I found a close one, thankyouverymuch), I mosey inside, and see....one retard trying to explain cart collection practices and procedures to another retard. By "retard," I do not mean someone who is just a person of average intelligence doing some stupid shit. I mean, the mentally challenged leading the mentally challenged. Had I not been so fucking worn out, I would have had to try MUCH harder not to laugh until the tears ran down my face. Yep, I feel them flames, Oh Lordy. What made it even more entertaining was that the one doing the explaining was a fat guy in an elf suit. I really wished BFRB could have been there, but she was eating dinner somewhere nice with her Republican relatives....the only person she could talk to without fear of being discovered was her 12-year-old cousin.

After taking my sweet time unsticking two carts, I fight the crowds to obtain the necessary items. However, tomorrow, OU is going to pound the shit out of the ‘Pokes (OSU)(and I should explain at this point that I really don't care that much about football, but the rest of this freaking state sure does), and plus, it's trick-or-treat night, and ain't nobody got no costumes. At least not in my town. Despite the serious feeling of claustrophobia which settles over me every time I'm in some crowded place (especially crowded places where I would rather not be), I did overhear some amusing things....

(Mustache-y short scrawny dude talking to slightly pudgy chick with a bad bleach job and their teenage offspring-gender undetermined): "Ah don't know why you always have to make some goddamn SCENE." Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

(African-American twenty-something talking on the phone in the meat department): "Girrrrrl, so should I make the ro-tel or just get some hot-dogs or something?"

(Hispanic family, several children under 7, oldest of said children talking on some pretend PA system which nonetheless certainly carried loudly into my auditory space): Gobbledy-Spanish-Gook. I think he was pretending to be something, but I don't know what.

Luckily, despite the overrunning of Wal-Mart with varieties of trash, especially White Trash (WT), they actually did have plenty of cashiers. Mine was even friendly and dressed up for Halloween. I don't think I was very nice, because by the time I fought all the screaming hordes, I could barely keep my eyes open, so we were at monosyllabic grunting communication. I felt kinda bad, because most of the time I try to be nice to the usually rude checkers.

Finally get home. But the Econo-Jug of cat litter is still in the car. My arms don't need to be lifting anything else tonight. GID is coming over tomorrow. I'll freaking make him carry it. For some reason, he likes doing macho shit for me. I think it's because I'm pretty much the independent type and won't let him. However, he can thank FuckStick. I only wish I'd left more stuff down there.

I Used to Think He Was Cute.

So last night, the Y finally decided to put us in a participating Total Body Challenge group, and actually set a meeting with a real trainer (and not the lifeguard pretending to be a trainer who only works in the mornings when our group is a night-people group). At first, I was excited. I was excited because we were finally feeling like we hadn't just donated $20 to the Y, and I was excited because our trainer is hot. (18, dark hair, buff as hell, pretty boy who makes you reconsider your stance on cradle-robbing hot.)

Well, now I don't think he's even cute any more. He sucks. He is one sadistic motherfucker.

Seriously. I have been working out regularly since March. I do lots of cardio, I lift weights 3 times a week, and I am not a wimp. At least I didn't think so until last night. BFRB has been working out since May, lifting weights A LOT. She thinks our trainer is a super-deluxe dick munch too, although she would still consider him as a dance partner for the horizontal mambo.

I don't think I have felt this incompetent (in a physical fitness sense) since 8th fucking grade. Last night we did "chest and tri's" (that would be triceps, those muscles on the underside of your upper arms, for those of you who are wise and don't make the mistake of going to the stupid gym.) I usually do 3 sets of 12-15 reps at 35-45 pounds on the tricep machine. I thought I was pretty okay there. Beep, wrong, thank you for playing. Our trainer, hereinafter referred to as "FuckStick", made us do that, plus some more free weight shit, plus some pull-up and push-up shit, plus chest presses, attempts at the bench press shit, and then, to top it all off, AB CRUNCH SHIT.

It's a damn good thing that typing doesn't require much arm movement, because I can't move the fuckers. If I lift them, they sort of flop uselessly at my sides (like that part in Harry Potter where the bones in his arm are removed).

Tonight, FuckStick expects us to do bicep curls. And lat pulldowns. And some more back exercises. As if.

Cast Page

A Cast Page, Instead of Any Thoughts. Because Right Now, My Only Thoughts are "FUCK My Head Hurts" and "HOW Long Is It Till 5 Again?"

Okay. Last week, I got all motivated and was writing my autobiography, and now I think my life is supremely boring and crushingly lame, so I have no desire to finish it. Either that, or I just want to continue denying that my adolescence existed. Anyway, since all I did was tell some stupid stories about when I was a kid, and really wasn't saying anything which made my current journal or diary or whatever word we're calling them this week any more meaningful and relevant. Ergo (and I love that word, by the way), I present to you….THE CAST OF CHARACTERS.

Me. GoingLoopy. 30. Female. Resident of OOOOOKLAHOMA where the wind comes sweeping down the plain. Nope, wasn't born here, nor am I sure I want to live here for very much longer. But right now, I have a job where I can basically slack a lot, so why fix it if it ain't broke? I have three cats, my parents, siblings, stepsiblings, and extended family all live in galaxies far, far away (actually, Houston, Seattle, and Flint, but it sounds better when it's all Star-Wars like). I have an "older writings" journal, and you can click here (or on "The Old Loopy" link above) if you want to read my bad poetry and stories about my quarter-life crisis.

BFRB (Best Friend/Running Buddy), a/k/a TickTrix. She lives in my building. She has two cats. She's 34. We met at a job we both used to have and felt instantly like we had known each other for years. We are co-dependent, and that's why we have problems when someone else (boy someone elses) want us to be in another high-maintenance relationship. Or it could just be that lately, our boys have been pains in the ass, and they aren't worth the energy.

BFRB2 (Best Friend/Running Buddy 2). She lives in Norman, which for those of you misguided fools who do not believe in the superiority of the Sooners, is the home of the University of Oklahoma and is about 20 miles from OKC. I've actually known her longer than BFRB. We met in college, while we were pounding nails in our coffin after a class we had together. She is 40 and has one cat. She is like the big sister I never had.

TM (Third Musketeer). She used to live next door to BFRB and I. She is 20, and I think she has a dog now, because her dad is being a jackass and was going to leave it out on their farm in the country when he moved to town. She moved to Alabama for a year, and recently returned to OKC. She is like a little sister to both me and BFRB.

GEB (Gay Ex-Boyfriend). He also lives in Norman, is 30 (his birthday is two days before mine, and we were both born in Michigan), and has three cats, two of which were my fault (they showed up on my doorstep, and I couldn't have that many, so he needed them.) We met on the way to our very first class on our very first day of freshman year in college. The classroom was very hard to find. We were friends for about a year, dated for almost two, broke up (and not because he was gay, either), didn't speak to each other for a while, reconnected, he came out, I came unglued, and then I decided that he was really a good and loyal friend, and that I probably couldn't continue being friends if he WASN'T gay. Probably makes no sense to anyone but me, but it sure is nice to ALWAYS have a built-in-no-drama-date if you need one, and he moves furniture and cleans house too, and likes to shop, and likes Tori Amos and the Indigo Girls. I should have known better than to date him….

OM (Office Mate). Self-explanatory. She is also a refugee from my former place of employment. She's about my mom's age, but is really nothing like my mother. She has one dog. My mother, for example, would never use the word "blow job" in a sentence, nor would she own lime-green shoes. We were next door to each other at our old job, and we would come up with convenient excuses about leaving shit in our cars so we could go smoke, because they were Nazis and didn't want you to LEAVE THE BUILDING during work hours, unless it was at their behest and would not benefit you personally in any way. We also had no patience with the silly mind-games some of the people there liked to play. And we both really have a shoe problem. We have always gotten along very well.

GID (Guy I'm Dating). He's also 30, has one cat, and currently lives with his mother (don't even fucking start with me.) He is moving out next weekend. He was trying to run his own business, but made the mistake of trusting his father to be his business partner, so the only place the business ran was into the ground. He is somewhat of a socially-retarded dork-boy, but he has some useful skills and attributes. Plus, his work hours are the opposite of mine, so he can't totally annoy and bug the crap out of me all the time. Once a week is plenty, thanks.

FHH (Fucking Hell Hole). My last job. Also self-explanatory.

Pretty much everyone else's acronyms are just their initials. That doesn't mean that the rest of the people I mention are insignificant at all. It just means that I was trying to tell a story and was focused on the plot rather than getting sidetracked by coming up with a pithy, easily-abbreviated description, which would generally involve some sort of complicated sub-plot because my descriptions tend toward the obscure. My, but that last sentence is kind of fucked-up sounding, but do I care? Not last time I checked.

Hopefully, this will clear up any confusion caused by my profligate (I like that word, too) use of acronyms. And hopefully tomorrow, I won't be so completely uninspired. I was trying to write some shit that was deep and poignant, but it wasn't going anywhere today. I need some more thinking time to formulate what I really want to say. Yeah. That makes me sound all hard-working, and tenacious, and shit. Word.

Oh, and one more thing....if you click on that Blog Explosion link from yesterday, you can sign up so that you can promote your own blog...everyone needs some blogging love.

Insomnia Sucks.

Yep, friends & neighbors, I was up until 1:30 a.m. Again. I don't think I have actually had a good night's sleep since Friday….

Heard from an old, old friend, though…KT, who was my Millipede adversary in college, and one of my best friends during that time. Oh, the memories. Being completely ripped and playing video games (old-school Nintendo style), listening to Tori Amos (Little Earthquakes), the soundtrack to The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, and REM (Eponymous). Betting on the outcome of these Millipede games….loser had to go fetch the winner a coke and a candy bar. At 3 in the morning. Good times. Anyway, KT is getting married to another friend (really more of an acquaintance), and I'm really happy for them. She's a really good person, always very genuine, real, and caring.

I really thought I would still be able to sleep, though. I mean, it's not like I was on the phone THAT late. No, it's just my fucked up brain that won't shut the fuck up. Plus, I'm feeling a little guilty, since I blew off going to the Y last night. Yes, I realize I can take breaks, but I feel like such a slug when I do it. I'm irritated at the Y people right now, too, which is yet more of an excuse. See, BFRB and I are doing this whole "Total Body Challenge" thing. We paid $20 in addition to our membership fee to participate in this program, because we need some motivation, yo. However, we have yet to have a meeting with our group and trainer, we think the rest of our group is flaking out anyway, and they assigned us a trainer that only works in the morning….when we ALWAYS work out at NIGHT. We had our body composition tested, and we have yet to receive the results. Many pointed comments have been made to various employees regarding this complete cluster-fuck, to no avail. Seriously, if they don't get their shit together in the next two days, I'm asking for my $20 back. I really do not understand why they cannot run this properly…this is NOT the first time they have done it. I've seen signs every few months since I joined the Y in MARCH. Ugh.

I'm also wondering if it's not time to locate new lodgings. Granted, I live in the ghetto, and I knew it was not the best neighborhood when I moved there. Lately, however, we've gone from the occasional unobtrusive drug deal, random panhandlers, and college kids fighting, to the crack ho screaming at her dealer, a white-trash chick who keeps lurking about trying to get some sweet lovin' from our neighbor, and having gang signs spray painted on our front door. (They just removed the one from over the weekend, and another one was painted this morning….) The problem is, I don't think anywhere else this cheap that's five minutes from work exists, and even if there was a place…I'd have to MOVE. Moving sucks almost as hard as the crack ho does when she's looking for her fix and ain't got the cash.

Gee, it's almost 9:30. Time for my morning smoke break, another cup of coffee, and then maybe some actual (gasp, choke) work.

The Book Club Non-Meeting

We (allegedly) have this book club at work. Our meeting was supposed to be 3 weeks ago, but no one read the book. Since then, it has been postponed repeatedly. Well, it was today. Our fearless leader (hereinafter "FL") sent a reminder e-mail this morning, and she said you should be there regardless of whether you read the book or not. (The book was One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and no one has read more than about 50 pages. Oprah, I don't know what you were thinking when you made this one a book club book, babe. Seriously.) The idea was that we would have a brief discussion about how lame the book choice was and pick something actually interesting for next time.

FL and I were the only ones there….so we picked out the book for next week, and she gets to be in charge of sending a snarky little e-mail to the rest of our members. (Hehehe. I said "members.")

Other than that, this morning has been most uneventful…of course, we're getting political e-mails again. The ones about how John Edwards is responsible for the whole flu-shot shortage. Think again, fools. Poor BFRB. She works in an office full of these misguided little gremlins, and they keep sending her this propaganda. Which reminds me of the T-shirt Emily Sailers (one of the Indigo Girls) had on last night…it said "WAX BUSH. Vote 2004." A spectator had one that said "LICK BUSH." My, but it is so convenient that the angry little short man has a name which can so easily be misconstrued.

Okay, one more little quickie rave about the concert, and then I swear I'll shut the hell up. Some of their music is political…but what's really interesting is that a lot of it was written before 9/11…and it is even more appropriate now (i.e., the line "the president has no idea who the masses are…"). At the end of the concert, they and their opening act (Girlyman) did an a capella song about world peace. It was a little cheesy, but it was just beautiful and a great ending to the evening. I swear I will shut up about it now. I promise, supermom3604 and warcrygirl.

Sing a Song...

I just got back from seeing the Indigo Girls in concert, and they rock. Of course, I thought they rocked before the concert, but now I think they rock even harder. Go buy all of their CD's and listen to them repeatedly...and know that they sound just as good live.

It was an interesting crowd...they are politically active lesbians, so we had the gay men, the gay women, and the straight women who dragged their boyfriends. One such couple was sitting next to us (I went with GEB.) To his credit, the man actually appeared to like the concert.

I will never, ever understand why lesbians have mullets, though. Seriously. I can almost understand the lack of feminine fripperies, if I approach it from the "casting off society's bonds" angle (as opposed to the "I hate men, but I'm going to dress like them" angle), but why the bad hair, chickies? I think I counted about 30 mullets in our section before I stopped counting. So strange.

So anyway, it's late, and I need to pretend to be tired so I can get up at the butt-crack of dawn to go to work. If I could go back in time, I would hunt down the ass-monkey who decided that the business world needed to start at 8 a.m., and I would make sure the shitbag died in excruciating pain long before his ideas took the world by storm.

Friday Night in the Big Town

Okay, I just looked at my clock, and when I saw that it was only 8:38 p.m., my ass freaked the fuck out. I thought it was like 10:30. I was thinking my snuggly cozy bed and my snuggly cozy kitties would be in order shortly. However, staying home on Friday night is boring enough without the added "and I went to bed at 9, too" stigma.

Ahhhh, just removed the gym ponytail holder...

I was thinking about posting another online dating profile. I got about halfway through it and decided that I was too tired to come up with any witty comments. All I was sounding was bitchy. I think I'm going to ignore that stuff for a while. I just get bored with it. Dorks, losers, geeks, freaks...they pretty much find me anyway, so why make it easier on them? Plus, I guess I'm allegedly in a relationship. He thinks so, anyway. Not that I've been cheating on him, or anything, but on my planet, one should not assume that hanging out once a week constitutes something serious. I guess I just don't know how I feel about GID. I like him, and sometimes, he surprises me with his unexpected coolness. Other times, though, I think he's an emotionally retarded, delusional, socially inept freak. Unfortunately, he also happens to be skilled in the sex department. It's so much easier to blow them off when they're bad in the sack....and when you get an unexpectedly skilled one, you know that the sex will be difficult to replace with some that is satisfactory.

I've never understood why anyone would find sex to be difficult, for god's sake. However, some people just don't get it. I don't know who told them that shit was ok, but trying to make them unlearn things is such a pain in the ass. I have always adhered to the philosophy "do unto others." I really can't believe that ANYONE would find genital-chewing, tongue-choking, or manhandling to be pleasurable. Unless they're some kind of masochist, or something. But that's exactly what you get a lot of the time. I guess sex is like everything else in life....there are people who "get it", and people who never will.

I could have gone somewhere tonight, for the record. BFRB2 invited me to come hang out. If it was just her, I would have, but she has her two youngest nieces. I love them dearly. But I have no energy for children this evening. I don't have energy for much, at the moment. I worked all week, I worked out all week (well, mostly) and now I'm freaking tired and just want to set the clock to 420 and chill.

I don't understand the whole going-out-on-Friday-night thing. I can understand happy hour after work, but the get all hookered up and party thing is just beyond me. My, but I am getting old. Although at 25, I would come home on Friday nights and fall asleep reading a book with all the lights on. So maybe I'm just wired in some lame way.

BFRB and TM are not online, either. TM may be at work. Her schedule is always different. And speaking of TM, she wanted me to post a picture that did not feature her holding an imaginary penis and standing over a toilet. She did that on her own, man. However, she is really not psychotic and freaky looking. See?

Last time we did laundry, she said some really funny shit. I really wanted to post it and attribute it to her. But I was in a slightly altered state (I mean, really, how can you do laundry stone sober?) so my mental notes were erased. TM, if you remember what you said about Ebonics (but that wasn't the word, and the word was hilarious), comment. Because I do remember laughing my ass off. In between you poking BFRB and I in the shoulder blades with a straw, of course. Next Friday will be laundry night again, which usually means all kinds of wacky things can happen....

My brain is dead, my eyes are tired, and my fingers will no longer hit the keys in the proper sequence. Therefore, I will say goodnight, and God Bless America.

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I'm Tired of History Lessons Right Now.

...We'll get back to them. Sooner or later. But I really want to talk about something else besides my whacked-out, fucked up childhood, okay?

So anyway, stupid shit I've seen this week:

(1) A license plate that said "GODFILL". What the fuck is that? A landfill for Jesus, an invitation to do something pornographic, or something else?

(2) An old lady in a big ol' hat and some big ‘ol sunglasses trying to parallel park her big ol' Oldsmobile. Looked like she had failed at it in the past, too....there was a big bumper chunk missing.

(3) People are still googling boss's day shit. It's over, kids. And planning this far ahead would make you an ass-kisser the likes of which the world has never seen. Other dumb shit people have googled to find me: "buy fat-free coffee mate," "supermodel,yo," and "random life changing epiphany." And yeah, I should probably link those to myself, but I don't feel like it. But feel free to self-Google.

A cool thing: I found my diaryland twin.

In other news, the book club meeting at our office has been moved again, dammit. I really thought I could just make my excuses and get out of the meeting and play when they were reading something interesting, but no...I think everyone else has had the same idea, so it's like this battle of wills. What's really amusing is that the book club leader hasn't read the whole thing yet either. I think only the office dork-critter has. She's one of those people that is just clueless, but has a degree, so thinks she has a clue. Yes, I know, I have a piece of paper too. However, unlike a number of people in the lawyer-groupie field, I don't believe that immediately conferred some knowledge. I prefer to think of it as "adulthood avoidance on the parents' payroll." Office-chick is just flat weird. She's one of those people that just doesn't quite seem to fit together right. She's almost pretty, almost well-dressed, almost articulate...and she almost makes me want to kick her.

GID wants me to read some of his writing again. I don't know why he keeps doing this to me. He never, ever likes what I have to say at all. He's very creative, has some great ideas, but his grammatical and spelling skills leave much to be desired. He really wants to get published, but every time I gently suggest that maybe he needs to run the spell-check, or something, he gets all freaking defensive and tells me it's not an English contest. Maybe it's not. However, the editors are likely English majors who couldn't get published, so they're probably going to be nit-picky about that shit out of pure resentment and spite. I didn't think he was ever going to make me read anything again after my comments on the last batch of stuff, but alas, I was wrong. Super. Which means on Saturday when I hang out with him, we'll be having a stupid argument instead of sex. At 20, I would have loved some shit like this...discussing things, having a "relationship", being all deep, blah, blah, blah. At 30, I just want some regular boo-tay and perhaps an occasional dinner/movie date. That is one of the universe's great jokes...at 20, women want relationships, and men want sex. At 30, women want sex, and men want to "settle down." Hopefully, when we hit 40, men and women will want the same thing: someone who doesn't annoy the living crap out of us.

I could probably babble on for days if I were more awake, but I'm really tired. The insomnia fairy has visited this week, and I am feeling it. Does this mean Loopy will go to bed now? I will try. However, I am almost positive I will remain awake for quite some time. Maybe I should take one of my anti-insomnia pills, but when I do that, I have a really bad tendency to sleep through my alarm and get woken up at 7:45 by my little Maggie's starving-child act....and if I just stay awake, I will hit the snooze button 8 too many times and wake up at 7:45. (Gotta be to work at 8, allegedly....luckily, I only live 5 minutes away. But if I don't have time for coffee and cigarettes and MahJong Garden in the morning, I get very cranky.)

What did I say about babbling? Clearly, awake is not a prerequisite for that.

A Loopy Little History, Second Installment

I probably should have typed this whole thing at once and THEN posted it. But this is more fun. I know you're all waiting with bated breath for my next thrilling installment...because my life is so unbelievably fascinating. Of course, all of us D-Landers think that, or we wouldn't be here, obsessively checking our stats, trying to come up with new and interesting banners, and reading many, many diaries in an attempt to convince ourselves that we're really not so fucked up after all.

Chapter Two: In Which We Move Back to Houston, I Suddenly Have No Friends, and My Life Generally Blows the Goat Ass

After my friend's party, a last night of Barbie-playing with my best friend Sarah, and tearful goodbyes and promises to write, we move away from Pittsburgh. In this process, my mother had some seriously fucked up dreams, one of which my brother and I still tease her about. She dreamed that the moving truck was in the driveway, and they were trying to load the freezer, and it was full of popsicles. Chock full. Popsicle-o-rama. She keeps trying to give them away to all the kids in the neighborhood, but all the kids HATE popsicles and don't want any. This causes my mother to completely freak the hell out and scream "Doesn't ANYONE want a popsicle?!?"

Maybe it's only funny if you know my mom. She's the type who spazzes about everything. Don't get me wrong, we get along very well and I love her very much. Sometimes, though, she really needs some valium or something. Holidays are particularly stressful in mommy's world. It's like she thinks our family is going to quit being dysfunctional and weird for a day and pretend we're like, normal and stuff. This usually results in a complete breakdown about something like side dishes for Christmas. Therefore, for the last two years, my sister-in-law and I have been in charge of beverages. As in, we make sure mommy's wine glass (and our own) are not empty. This has many amusing repercussions. My mother SO cannot hold her liquor. Christmas is much more fun this way.

Okay, back to the moving away from my true home story. We move back to Houston, same house, same neighborhood, same elementary school, and I thought, same friends I had before I left. Wrong. My friends had all MADE OTHER FRIENDS. I was totally rejected and no longer a part of the crowd. I made some new acquaintances, but basically spent the next two years without a real "best friend."

Some stories from this period:

(1) Parents drag children, kicking and screaming, on a motor-home tour of Texas. My favorite part was eating junk food (velveeta and pepperoni on ritz crackers) and suffering the consequences in some remote West Texas wasteland when my dad wouldn't stop the freaking motorhome so I could get over the sick part. I hate camping. And fishing. And hiking. And all of that nature shit. I'm a city girl. I need concrete and pollution and traffic noise and malls. I don't like bugs, slippery rocks, sunburns, lack of showers, port-a-potties, or my family in an enclosed space for two weeks.

(2) My friend April in fifth grade taught me how to TP a house. That's still the only time I've ever done that.

(3) I fell off the swingset in the backyard and chipped my two front teeth. I'm so coordinated.

(4) In fourth grade, our Reading book was the same one we did in third grade in Pittsburgh. I told the teacher this, and she ignored me. My mother finally had to call the principal, they gave me a test, and sure enough, I had done the fucking book the previous year. I got my very own reading book, and a whole shitload of other special activities. At first, I thought this was cool. Then I started feeling all lonely and left out.

(5) At the end of fourth grade, I tore a ligament in my ankle playing softball, and spent the last day of school on crutches.

(6) In fifth grade, my homeroom teacher was a moron. However, our English teacher, Mr. Bridges, was the coolest ever. We all had crushes on him.

(7) Fifth grade also marked my introduction to orthodontia. I had a bad overbite, because I sucked my thumb long after I was old enough to know better. Can you say oral fixation, boys and girls? (And I wonder why I'm fat and I smoke.) I had to wear this nasty big ass retainer thing. At school. All day. That lasted about a week. Then I wore it out of the house, shoved it in the case as soon as I got out of sight, and put it back in when I was walking home from school. Ironically, the orthodontist was very pleased with my progress and let me out of it early. What followed was less fun, but I'll save that story for the next installment.

(8) At the end of fifth grade, we had a pool party. This kid I'd known since preschool or something asked me to be his date. I was horribly rude to him. Like really mean. He was kind of a dork, but then, so was I. (I won the fucking spelling bee, for fuck's sake.) I still feel really horrible about this. His name was David Rodgers. If he by some chance stumbles across this, let me say that I SINCERELY apologize for being such a bitch. On some stupid superstitious level, I wonder if this is not why I've had completely shitty luck with men.

That will be the end of tonight's thrilling tales. Sixth grade belongs to junior high, which was a whole new dimension of suck. Sounds like a lovely project for tomorrow at work.

A Loopy Little History, First Installment

I have been reviewing what I've written, and I realized that any information anyone has about me is in bits, pieces, and spurts. I just sort of jumped right in to my life. I can't believe I did that. It's like starting a movie in the middle…you can sometimes follow the plot, but you don't always have enough information. Yeah, I did 100 things about me, like everyone else (shut up, Dusty, we can't all be as cool as you), but that doesn't really tell you who I am, what I'm about, and why you should give a rat's rosy behind about reading this drivel.

Therefore, without further ado….

Chapter 1: In Which I Am Born, and My Parents Really Start Re-Thinking the Whole Having Kids Thing.

I was born on May 12, 1974…Mother's Day…in Flint, Michigan. My parents lived in a trailer. My whole extended family lived nearby. My father worked at GM. Then he got laid off. Then we moved to Houston, TX., where I lived until the age of 18, except for the two years we spent in Pittsburgh, PA. I loved Pittsburgh.

Somewhere along the way, my parents cursed me with a younger sibling. I like him now, except for the fact that he's a complete dork. But I sure as hell didn't as a kid. He did stuff like eat my crayons and color in the VERY FIRST LIBRARY BOOK I ever brought home. I was totally mortified about this.

I learned to read at age 3 (or before…I don't remember learning how, I just remember knowing how), and to write shortly thereafter. I used these talents for evil, doing such things as inviting my friends to parties and sleepovers which my mother knew nothing about.

As a child, I loved Mickey Mouse, the color red, macaroni and cheese, swimming, coloring, reading, ice cream, visiting my grandma and grandpa, Strawberry Shortcake, Barbie, the public library, and smacking my little brother upside the head. I hated my dad, my first grade teacher, vegetables, being told what to do, the booger-eyed ass-monkey in my third grade class who had the nerve to make fun of me, the dark, and my little brother.

Some stories from my childhood:

(1) My grandma still lived in Michigan. In the summer, when I visited, we would go strawberry picking. Up until the age of 7, I loved strawberry-flavored anything. That all changed. We picked some strawberries. I ate a huge mixing bowl full of them. The expected result occurred. It looked like a strawberry milkshake. To this day, I have a very difficult time eating pink food of any kind.

(2) My mom took my brother and I to the mall once. I was 9, he was probably 5 1/2. We were moving away from Pittsburgh in a week, and one of my best friends was having a birthday party that night…hence the reason for the mall visit. My brother acted like a mutant from the planet Stupidio the whole time we were there. My mother erroneously included me in these misdeeds, even though I didn't do shit. We went home. She told my dad. I almost didn't get to go to my friend's party, because they were ignoring my protests of innocence. Parents suck.

(3) We had two hamsters named Sugar and Spice. Sugar was a big fat hamster. Spice was a little runty hamster. Sugar would get to the food first and empty the whole food bowl into his mouth pouches so that Spice couldn't have any. Spice had issues anyway…he never gnawed enough to clip his teeth, and we had to do it; he was always kind of sickly. Sugar lived forever. Spice lived about 6 months. After that, we had a hamster named Peanut. He was so fat that when people saw him sleeping, they thought it was two hamsters.

(4) I was a very hypersensitive and stressed out child. In third grade, I kept having these unexplained headaches and stomachaches. They never did figure out what was wrong with me, despite various food-deprivation diets (to see if I was allergic) and taking away my favorite old feather pillow. I read an article as an adult. Turns out I was probably depressed.

(5) Most of my very best friends had younger siblings about the same age as mine. We came up with lots of new and interesting strategies to get rid of them. One of my personal favorites was playing house and making them be the family pet.

Okay, I need to type some work-related stuff at some point. (I always say this. But really, one day, they're going to notice, right?) However, this will be my project for the next few days. Next installment will focus on my adolescent years and why a nice, juicy hot carl would probably have done less damage in the long run….

For the next installment, click here.

Lunch Hour Smackdown

My office mate and I decided that we could not stand the office for another second. Therefore, we took a little field trip to Ross Dress for Less. Not like I have money. But I stare at my closet every morning with this perplexed look on my face, like I somehow expect that things have appeared in the night. They usually don't. I keep hoping, though…

We came, we saw, we shopped. Evidently the rest of the planet decided they needed retail therapy on this gray and rainy Tuesday too, because the lines at the checkout were very long. Our cashier had this hair that looked like her cat had been grooming it for her, and a bad 80's vest. At least she appeared ironed. Including her hair.

The Ross employees finally get a clue, and they open another lane. The new cashier very clearly states that the next person in line without a return can come over to her lane. I was clearly next, followed by my office mate. Guess we didn't move fast enough, because this bitch behind us starts making a beeline and saying she has to be back at the office. Don't we all, you fucking ho? However, she wasn't fast enough either. This other chick with a bad dye job and some seriously huge glasses (they went nicely with the huge print on her outfit) shoves in front of HER and says something along the lines of "I really can't wait any longer." This woman then proceeds to argue with the cashier about whether her nasty new clothes cost $12.99 or $11.99. Office-mate and I BOTH checked out, and this bitch was still arguing. Yep, you're in a hurry.

Speaking of Tuesdays and why they are lame….

We get this e-mail from our office administrator about an hour ago. There are a lot of people in our office. So, they have decided to make an internal directory. That, in and of itself, is fine. What is NOT fine is that they give us 20 minutes notice on the photo. Everyone on my floor is decidedly unhappy about this. We need to know this crap so we will be sure to (a) fix our hair (b) wear makeup and (c) wear a presentable outfit. Maybe it's really a spot-check to see who is violating our dress code. Of course "no jeans except on Fridays" pretty much seems to sum up the fashion rules at our office….but still. I think this photo will be worse than my driver's license. And no, I'm not posting that picture either. I look like one of those madwomen they used to lock in the attic, or an escaped retard.

I should work, or something. I think "something" is going to win this afternoon.

I Thought MY Weekend Sucked.

Why am I in such a contemplative funk?? This is crazy. However, I think I may have taken some serious steps toward overcoming my stress-eating problem this weekend. BFRB and I have decided to participate in the YMCA total-body challenge. Perhaps I mentioned this last week. Perhaps not. But regardless, I am WAY too unmotivated to go look today. So anyway, being that the weigh-in is tonight, and to win your team has to lose the most weight, we decided that this weekend would be a lovely time to eat tons of junk food and ditch the gym. (Which sounds much like the old me, now that I think about it…) I really didn't think the old me was too far gone, either…but I think she is. I was MISERABLE last night. Like wishing I had a stomach pump miserable.

Today, I must confess to being hungry. However, I really don't want to eat any more fried shit with cheese on it. So I ate my breakfast Lean Pockets and now I'm having a cookies-and-cream carb control bar. No, I am not one of those low-carb-heads. Can't do it, captain. I must have carbs or I become extra cranky and try to cram a whole day's worth into an hour before bed. I bought them because they had a lot of protein and not very many calories. I was HOPING for a satisfying feeling of fullness that would last all afternoon. Nope, doesn't happen, but it does last marginally longer than a Slim-Fast. I think it's the chewing factor. You can try to convince yourself that drinking a nutritious yummy shake is the same as eating, but your stomach has other ideas…as in, that was a nice appetizer, bitch, you planning to really feed me now? The chewing thing is good. However, the taste….not so good. It will help you in your gazillion ounces of water per day quest, though. You'll need it to wash the strange aftertaste out of your mouth.

Onward, pagan soldiers….

GID needs to fucking get control of his hypoglycemia or whatever the hell turns him into an asshole when he doesn't eat. Friday night, he came over after we did laundry. (In a side note, the Laundry Nazi was most pleasant…opened the door, traded me $20 dollar bills when mine wouldn't work in the change machine, etc. Maybe she got some from that freak who spent all evening following her around the last time we did laundry.) Okay. So anyway, I was running around, tried to call him to tell him to come a little later, but of course, this is the one time he shows up early. And pissed off. And hungry. Hopefully he will not be pulling that shit again. If me being pissed didn't do it, him not getting any might have. I've gotten at least two apologetic e-mails, and he was most nice on Sunday when we went to the zoo. Men are so annoying.

Where was I? Oh yes. I was supposed to hang out with BFRB2 on Saturday, but by the time I got done running around to Wal-Mart and all that shit, I was not in the mood to be any fun. She understood, but I still feel really lame. I spent the evening taking a nap, posting a lame update, and playing video games. I'm such a party animal.

Oh, in my entry of random top 10's, I promised to explain when it's ok to tailgate. It's okay when you're on a non-passing type road and the person in front of you has forgotten that they have a gas pedal. This happened on the way home from the laundromat. We got behind some complete moron who kept their speed at a consistent 20 mph. Never saw brake lights. Never saw acceleration. BFRB flashed her brights and tailgated, and the fucker didn't appear to notice. Once we FINALLY got to a part of the road (on which the speed limit is 35, I might add) where we could pass the dickhead, we sense go-to-hell looks and a really ugly hat. The windows were tinted, so we couldn't really determine species and country of origin. What was even funnier is that he was GOING to turn right, but then went straight. I think he was trying to follow us. Going-you guessed it-20 mph. We lost him after the first light.

However lame I thought my weekend was, it pales in comparison to that of my co-worker's. She was helping her mother with a garage sale. In the meantime, while she is out in the cold and wind making signs and injuring her (other) hand (she hammered the first one earlier in the week), her mom gets a call from co-worker's significant other. The S.O. works for a telephone giant as a repair person. They have been obligated to work mucho overtime lately because of the suck-ass weather we've had. The S.O. was trotting out into the yard of her last call of the night, carrying her 28 foot extension ladder, and she stepped in a hole. And fractured her ankle.

So anyway, my co-worker was counting on the S.O. to help with the garage sale shit. Instead, not only is my co-worker having to deal with her mother whining, she has to deal with whining at home, too….not to mention all of the domestic crap (i.e., cooking, cleaning, shopping, bring me stuff, walk the dog, etc.) Further, they just got some new furniture and electronic equipment. S.O. was in the middle of reconfiguring everything when the ankle incident happened. So now, in addition to everything else, there is a satellite receiver with accessories in the middle of their living room. Here's hoping no one trips on it and breaks something….

I'm trying to work today, really I am. Therefore, since I have finished my delicious cookies-and-cream-like substance, I should do the productive thing. Right after I go smoke.

Random Top 10 Lists. Because I'm Too Lazy to Type a Real Entry.

10 Favorite Songs

1. Indigo Girls "Closer to Fine"
2. Tori Amos "Tear in Your Hand"
3. Tori Amos "Purple People"
4. REM "Find the River"
5. Counting Crows "Round Here"
6. Dusty Springfield "Son of A Preacher Man"
7. Norah Jones "One Flight Down"
8. Dave Matthews Band "Grey Street"
9. Erasure "A Little Respect"
10. Janis Joplin "Me and Bobby McGee"

10 Favorite Books

1. Tom Robbins "Another Roadside Attraction"
2. Pat Conroy "The Lords of Discipline"
3. Dan Brown "The DaVinci Code"
4. Tom Robbins "Jitterbug Perfume"
5. Claudia Shear "Blown Sideways Through Life"
6. Lynne McFall "Dancer with Bruised Knees"
7. Ayn Rand "Atlas Shrugged"
8. J.K. Rowling. All the Harry Potter Books. And I don't think that counts as five, either. They are a unified set.
9. Fannie Flagg "Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe"
10. Baroness Von Orczy "The Scarlet Pimpernel"

10 Favorite Episodes of South Park

1. Rainforest, Schmainforest
2. Chinpokomon
3. Chickenlover
4. Cartman Gets an Anal Probe
5. Big Gay Al's Big Gay Boat Ride
6. Christian Rock Hard
7. Cripple Fight
8. Two Guys Naked in a Hot Tub
9. Damien
10. Probably

10 Favorite Foods

1. Plain Hershey bars, frozen
2. Ben & Jerry's Vanilla Heath Bar Crunch
3. Cheese enchiladas from Pappasito's
4. Velveeta Shells & Cheese
5. Mushroom Swiss Burger from the Diner
6. My mommy's roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy, and corn
7. Peanut butter & marshmallow creme sandwich
8. Chicken salad from the Ground Floor Cafe
9. Garlic mashed potatoes at Charleston's
10. The Crawfish Combo at Pearl's

10 Favorite Video Games

1. Poppit!
2. Mahjong Towers II
3. Rocket Mania
4. Astro Pop
5. Jewel Quest
6. Super Collapse
7. Rumble Cube
8. Pyramids
9. Shape Shifter
10. Bounce Out

10 Things That Completely Irritate Me

1. Alarm clocks
2. Any kind of persistent noise...tapping, clicking, beeping, etc.
3. Stupidity in any form
4. People who tailgate (however, there are a very few instances where it is acceptable to tailgate. More on this when I decide to type a real entry.)
5. Running out of toilet paper
6. Waking up too late to make coffee
7. Having to wait when I made an appointment
8. Insomnia
9. Condescension
10. Being poor

And finally, so I won't end by being a whiny bitch, which I have done far too much lately:

10 Things That Always Make Me Happy

1. Hearing from an old friend
2. Finding random cash in your house
3. Clean sheets and blankets
4. My kitties purring and being all cute
5. Finding out you have something weird in common with someone
6. Hot showers
7. Smelling good
8. Finding a bargain
9. Setting a new high score on a video game
10. Checking my stats and finding out people sometimes really read this.

Just Three Things…and a Three Paragraph Rant.

THREE THINGS THAT HAVE PISSED ME OFF TODAY
(1) Overdraft fees
(2) Headache
(3) My boss moving a staff meeting and fucking up my lunch plans

THREE REASONS FOR OVERDRAFT FEES
(1) SW Bell
(2) Oklahoma Guaranteed Student Loan Program
(3) My fucking health insurance company which would prefer an unplanned pregnancy to paying for birth control

THREE E-MAILS THAT HAVE ANNOYED ME
(1) Drag your mouse to find Jesus
(2) Person unable to figure out how to click on and follow a hyperlink
(3) E-mail informing me that staff meeting was at 1 p.m. and not 10 a.m.

THREE THINGS IN MY HEAD
(1) I really don't want to call my mom and borrow money
(2) I don't know that I have a choice
(3) Life sucks big purple donkey dicks from the sky

THREE SONGS THAT I WISH I HAD NEVER HEARD
(1) Hoobastank – "The Reason"
(2) Anything by Dashboard Confessional. And don't even try to tell me they are good. Yeah, the music world needs more whiny white boys about as much as it needs…
(3) Michelle Branch – "Everywhere"

Thanks to the MySpace bulletin I received last night from redstarhelix for the idea for the above lists.

If you guys are not getting the picture here, let me state for the record that today sucks. Actually, the last three Fridays have pretty much licked the sweat off a dead whale's balls (that's for you, arc-angel666). I have no idea why, but somehow, Prozac doesn't work on Fridays. I was in a perfectly good mood earlier this week. But today, I feel fat, ugly, worthless, and poor. And at least two of those four are pretty accurate.

I have a headache that four Advil have not touched. I need a cigarette. I need someone to not make donuts appear in our office when I'm in this kind of mood. What I really need is to go home. I wonder if anyone would notice if I snuck out. It would probably be the one fucking day that someone needs me at 4:30 for something. That's the kind of day it is.

Please, make it stop. Or make it ok to have a loaded bong as a desk accessory. Think I could pass it off as a pencil holder? Or a bottle of Jack Daniels could pass for cough medicine?

And a PS for BFRB: I tried to put the quiz in, but the link was too long and it made some FUNK-O-RIFIC things happen on the bottom of the page, yo. So if any of the rest of you want to find out what DMB song you are, give Ticktrix a holler. Further, add HTML to the list of shit that makes me nuts today. Forget one quotation mark and see what happens. Go 'head. I also realize that this is more than three paragraphs. I further realize that I don't really give a rat's ass. I will add this to my list of reasons why I am a complete fuckup today.

Fire Drills, Random Googling, and Body Piercing

I thought that, after I moved out of my college dorm, I would not have to be subjected to any further fire drills. Oh, how wrong I was. We just had one. In our office building. First, the redneck security guard gets on the loudspeaker and informs us seventeen times that it's only going to be a drill. THEN, the annoying little siren noise and the chick voice saying "Do not take the eleva-TORS" starts. And it keeps going, and going, and going….our floor, with the exception of a few knee-jerk rule-followers, debated at length whether we were going downstairs. Finally, I decided that walking down five flights would not be that suck-a-licious, and that if we were having a fire drill, the least I could do was create some smoke. As my office-mate and I progress into the hallway, the annoying bitch gets louder. By the time we enter the stairwell, it's so loud I'm thinking the building needs to be issuing ear protection.

So we get downstairs, and it's freezing outside. Of course, being me, I wore warm clothes this week….every day BUT today. I really think the sadistic property managers waited to have this stupid fire drill until we had a cold day. It's been beautiful out all week. At least it wasn't raining. But they can toss my salad.

And in a completely unrelated topic, like most newer D-landers, I check my stats obsessively. Here is a short list of the things people Googled to find me:

(1) "Stab Soft Palate"
(2) "Mexican Mullet"
(3) "Boss's Day Stupid"
(4) "Boss's Day Speech"
(5) "Boss's Day E-card"
(6) Many other variations on "Boss's Day".

I think "Mexican mullet" is my favorite. Of course, knowing that random Google searches will find me, that makes me want to come up with some seriously goofy shit. I consider it a creativity-building exercise, rather than just an excuse to say things like "guzzle platypus semen" and "rectal spelunking".

My, but I am sinking to new depths hourly. Maybe I really should work, or something. Of course, since I review medical records, sometimes I read really disgusting shit. Like about a 340 pound woman with bilateral nipple rings and a tongue piercing.

I'll just leave you all with that lovely mental image…..

If We Vote for Them, Will They Shut the Fuck UP???

The presidential debate is on. I was really into the first two. Now I'm just bored with them. Maybe it's just because neither one of the candidates are saying one thing that is new and interesting. And the sad part is, what they are talking about tonight (that being domestic issues) is the stuff that will really affect me personally.

Blah blah blah...seriously. I know I'm voting for Kerry. I think he's full of shit, but they're all full of shit. At least he's giving lip service to things like abortion rights and equal pay. Bush is blethering on about education. Which is ironic. His standardized testing crap is frustrating the hell out of teachers. And are teachers making enough money to put up with a bunch of whiny brats and their parents? No. My mom is a teacher. She loves working with kids, and hates the administrative crap.

Kerry's usually so well-spoken, but I think he just said "gunnoo." That's approaching "nukular" on my annoy-o-meter. Not quite. But Johnny boy, you need to be sticking with the intelligent and rational approach. Don't start sounding like that moronic redneck.

But they are yelling at each other. That's fun. Gotta love the drama.

I really should be paying more attention to this. I should also be reading the book for my book club meeting tomorrow. I just can't make myself do it. Am I turning into a complete junk-food reader? What I'm supposed to be reading is 100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. What I want to be reading is the new Patricia Cornwell book. What I actually AM reading is Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban for the I-don't-know-how-many-th time. Fuck it.

This is why I don't know if I'm mature enough to go to graduate school. Give me an assignment that does not offer a monetary reward, and I don't want to do it. I probably would like that book if I'd actually read it...but the fact that I have to makes me not want to.

BFRB and I actually went to the gym tonight. The Y is having this 8-week total body challenge thing, and we're going to do it. We've been stunningly unmotivated lately...her about going, me about eating as well as I should be. We decided that we need some external motivation...that is, someone will be checking on our progress. And it's a contest, too. Pathetic though this may be, I am a competitive little freak. BFRB has those tendencies, too. The participants are in teams of four people. We were all scoping out the gym for people to be on our team. We finally asked a chick we see there all the time who seems cool, and she agreed...she also has a BFRB who wants to play, so we'll be kicking some ass. Word.

However, the Y was not all sunshine and flowers and rainbows tonight. First off, my ass hurts in a serious way. It's that fucking cardio machine from yesterday. I don't ever do that one, but it was crowded, and that was the only available option. I've spent all day in pain, despite the handful of anti-inflammatory pain relievers. And tonight was lower-body weights night. So now my ass and legs REALLY hurt. Secondly, I managed to pinch my little finger between two slidy weights, and now I have a blood blister. It's ugly. And I can't decide whether popping it would make it hurt less or would just be painful and gross.

Aren't you glad you read this far?

It could be worse. I could be talking about personal itching. Or something. I was surfing the members directory and found this dude talking about his bowel problems. I'm not linking it. I was too lazy to bookmark it, and I don't want to be encouraging that nastiness. Sometimes defecation can be an amusing topic. But it's all in the presentation.

If these two assholes don't quit talking about how Jesus loves them and that's why they'd make a good president, I swear I'm going to move to Canada.

Things That Piss Me Off, Part 9324561

1. String cheese wrappers. Specifically, EXTRALONG string cheese wrappers. The fucking things will not come off, no matter how hard you try. It's funny...it has some stupid little warning about not using your teeth to open it. Personally, I'm not sure if you could open it with a chainsaw, a blowtorch, and a team of oxen.

2. People eating food items out of the work freezer which do not belong to them. This happened to me today. I decided to TRY eating a weight-control snacky protein bar of some sort for lunch. At 2:30, it wore off. I decided I needed my Lean Cuisine lasagna out of the freezer. Somebody ate it. So then my completely broke ass had to go purchase alternate sustenance. Of course, I had to send an e-mail to our floor bitching about said snarfing of my food item. As it turns out, my former office mate was the culprit...she thought it was hers. So she is buying me lunch tomorrow. Because she is actually a cool person.

3. People who cannot read and/or listen to simple declarative sentences and follow instructions.

4. Little assholes in Ford Festivas who try to tailgate me. I say "try," because when the slow-ass motherfucker in front of me moves and I kick up the gas, this little go-kart masquerading as a street-legal automobile is left in my dust.

5. Sexual-equipment-impaired assholes in big trucks who tailgate me....and then, when you get out of their way, they drive right in your blind spot for the next five miles.

6. Not being able to find things I know were there a month ago. In this case, the missing object was a book I promised someone I had in my possession. However, when I was digging under my bed as part of my fruitless search, I found the brown sandals which have been missing for three months, which were way too expensive, and which I now cannot wear unless I wish to court frostbite. (Okay, maybe that's a little teensy bit of an exaggeration. Perhaps I should say, risk pneumonia.)

7. Insomnia.

8. Midnight munchies when I haven't even smoked anything to make them happen.

9. Being incredi-poor. It's not a matter of IF something is going to bounce...it's a matter of WHEN. Will it be the phone bill or the student loan payment...or all the other random $5 checks and/or debit card purchases I've made in the last four or five days? Knowing my luck, that's exactly what will happen, and I will be charged another $200 that I don't have in overdraft fees. I really have this secret hope that our firm's bank will make a mistake and deposit our paychecks early. Like tonight would be great.

10. Going to Barnes & Noble in said poverty-stricken state and NOT BEING ABLE TO BUY ANYTHING. That's like taking a starving child to Golden Corral and telling them all they can have is a glass of water. So close, and yet so far away....

11. My cat (Maggie) always has to be in my face or my lap or just whiny when I'm trying to talk on the phone or type anything beyond a website address on the computer.

That's all I have to say. I'm tired, and I'm hungry, and sooner or later, one of them will win. And in the meantime, I think I need to play some stupid mindless computer games.

Hail to the Chief, and More Hallway Plumbing Fixtures, and Stuff

…Good lord, can Boss's Day just be over already? At least now, though, everyone appears to be coming up with some sort of consensus, but we're still having issues about who is in charge….and we're still getting e-mail. At least it's only been 5 this morning.

And I want to know, who the hell at my office supported Jesus's right-hand woman? Seriously. We got this e-mail from her:

Dear Firm:

Many of you have expressed concern and prayers regarding my upcoming surgery (removing fibroid tumors) on 10/12/04. I am grateful for the outpouring of well wishes.

Your response to my book, The Guardian, has been tremendous. Thank you. You will never know how much I appreciate your help.

[MR]

Ya'll, it's like feeding a stray animal…it won't ever leave. And it will expect you to feed it every day.

Oh well, at least the drama keeps us entertained. It's not like we really have the normal work-related crap to bitch about. Most of the people are actually nice, too, but given that I work in the legal field, it attracts people who like to be in charge of stuff. As long as I don't have to deal with this stupid shit, and as long as I don't get 51 e-mails in 4 hours with no actual decision made, I don't really care.

In other news, a sink has now been added to the toilet in my hallway. If a bathtub shows up, I will truly be frightened. I can't figure out why they are there, either….I mean, they are all old and fucked up looking, so I'm sure they are being replaced. There's a dumpster located right outside. I'm sure the homeless people who dig in it would just LOVE a sink and toilet.

Finally, speaking of contributing money to various causes, the fundraisers haven't stopped. There are like three or four of them in the kitchen right now, we get another e-mail about a new one every day, and that doesn't even include the home-based business folks. You see, Jesus's woman is not the only one trying to grab some extra money by guilt-tripping her co-workers. Oh, no. We have Avon, Mary Kay (which is actually a double-whammy, because it's someone's college kid trying to earn money), Home & Garden Party….

Okay. Since I've already gone off on child prostitution, I mean school fundraisers, it's now time to give you home-based business folks a little clue. MY SALARY IS PROBABLY REALLY CLOSE TO YOURS. Therefore, if you need extra money, chances are, I do too.

Yep, today's entry is random and lame. However, you really should go check out discothekid. Right on, my brothah….can I get a "George Bush Sucks Ass!" from the congregation?

Mondays Could Quit Sucking Any Time.

First of all, it's raining and cold. And it's a federal holiday. That would be Columbus Day, for those of you like me who don't get the day off. Why the hell do we still celebrate this holiday? It's not like he really "discovered" America anyway.

Next, we have the parking garage traffic jam. Evidently, THEIR boss doesn't seem to realize that most of us working folks don't have the fucking day off, no matter how much we need it. Therefore, said boss only has about 2 employees parking cars this morning, which means that the line was down the block and around the corner.

Oh, and yeah, the boss's day e-mails have started again. So far, we're only at 4. I think everyone else is sick of this shit, and they don't care what we do as long as it does not involve them being in charge.

However, even though my Monday has been fairly lame, it doesn't even compare to BFRB's Monday….GSD, the personals guy, has turned into a complete stalker freak. She thought she got the point across to him last night, but alas, no. He e-mails her this morning, and when she doesn't e-mail him fast enough, he calls on her cell phone. She's told him not to call her during the day while she's at work. Repeatedly. He updates his diary with "50 Things about Me"…he read hers, which would be why the reduced number. This list is pretty much about her. It also "jabs" a little about things like not returning phone calls or paying enough attention to her. He has actually updated said diary about 4 times this morning….the last one, before lunch, was a weird cat picture that he said was his favorite???

In the middle of all the boy drama, BFRB's co-worker is being a complete psycho hose beast. She's about to get the axe. She was out of the office Friday, and BFRB covered some things for her at the request of their boss. This morning, she walks in, looks at her desk, and starts screeching like a banshee at BFRB, and quickly progresses to screeching at some clients.

Further, BFRB's dentist is being a complete asswad...and telling her she needs to schedule a three-hour cleaning (on what planet does it EVER take that long? Unless maybe you're a shark and have 17 rows of teeth, or something).

Then, BFRB has to meet GSD for lunch. He's trying to be all sweet, but it's so obsessive she can't even deal. He brings her a flower. She wants to puke. She cuts lunch short, saying she has to cruise back to work. After lunch, he posts some more fucked-up shit in his diary….

Monday is going okay for Monday so far...with one exception.....

[BFRB] is having a bad day at work and I know that she's under stress and all from it, but she seemed way off today and even though she said I had nothing to do with it maybe I feel that I am stressing her out in some way which is contributing to they way she's acting...I dunno...maybe I'm just worrying too much...but I just had to open my fat mouth Friday night and say the three words that I DREAD telling anyone....and I think that's scared her....

I really honestly do care about her a lot, and I want nothing more than a great, wonderful long-term relationship with no worries and no hassle...but have I spoken too damn soon? I think I'm going to get hypnotherapy to erase those three words out of my vocabulary.....I swear I just jack shit up by saying it....and now I hope I can recover from this and not scare [BFRB] away....this sucks...I'm probably worrying for nothing and it's all work-related....

I did get her a rose today to cheer her up...so maybe that will help put a smile on her face today....

You're the best [BFRB]...I'm sorry for putting my foot in my mouth too early."

This entry pretty much sums up everything that is fucked up about this boy. He sounds so rational and normal, until you look at the fact that he's posted 4 times today about her, and he's called, e-mailed, and been to lunch with her in the meantime!! In addition, his entries almost blame her for not being pathetically grateful to have him. Of course, this means that she's going to have to be completely hateful to get rid of him. Men suck.

So much for online dating….

Ahhh, Productivity.

Okay, so I was going to write this yesterday, but that didn't happen. Actually, not a whole lot that could be construed as "productive" happened yesterday. My day:

1. Come in to the office.
2. Answer call from BFRB, venting about her office drama of the morning.
3. Go get coffee.
4. Answer e-mail from boss.
5. Catch up with office mate.
6. Go smoke.
7. Go get breakfast.
8. Go get flu shot. This involves standing in line for TWO HOURS.
9. Answer e-mail.
10. Go get lunch.
11. Go smoke.
12. Engage in conversation with fellow employee regarding the boss's day brouhaha.
13. Answer e-mails from GID and BFRB.
14. Read e-mail from another co-worker regarding the book she has written.*
15. Do some actual work for 15 minutes.
16. Answer further e-mails from BFRB, GID, and my former office mate (hereinafter FOM.)
17. Have conversation with another co-worker regarding technical difficulties on the computer and our favorite episodes of South Park.
18. Do 5 more minutes of work.
19. Answer e-mail from my dad.
20. Shut down computer.
21. Go get car.
22. Go to gym and bust some ass on the elliptical trainer and the bike (what?? something useful??)
23. Go home and bathe.
24. Meet GID for dinner.
25. Pick up birth control prescription (and something else that actually needed to be done???).
26. Hang out with BFRB to get the latest update on the Guy She's Dating (GSD) and the drama at her office.
27. Read idiot-milk's diary for a while.
28. Cuddle with my kitties.
29. Sleep.

* Up until this point, I actually had some respect for this co-worker. She has some serious balls. When we had a meeting about our supervisor's concerns that we found her "unavailable," this chick said what everyone was thinking: "This doesn't mean we're going to be micromanaged, does it?" And last week, several of us were hanging out in FOM's office, drinking coffee and avoiding work. She came in to pick up the things she ordered from FOM's kids' fundraisers. She and another black co-worker had both bought African-American themed items. They said that it wasn't because they particularly liked this stuff, but since they didn't used to have any of it available, they felt the need to support their people so that multicultural Christmas decorations, toys, etc., would continue to be available. So anyway, this is the e-mail we got yesterday:

"Hello...
Just wanted to invite you to review and/or purchase a book that I wrote and published entitled, The Guardian . . . I've placed copies on each floor's break room for your convenience. The book is a gripping true story about how I faced death but live to tell the story. The whole purpose of the book is to encourage others to NEVER give up!

You will laugh AND cry AND experience every emotion in between. You can read this entire book in one sitting (45 minutes). I really think you'll enjoy this quick read.

I have left an envelope to put your $6.50 check in. You can contact me here or find out more at the below website. I'm having surgery next week and will use the proceeds from this book to supplement my income since I haven't been here long enough to get disability insurance."

There was also a link to her website. Jesus wants you to buy some shit, yo.
Remember, this e-mail went to the WHOLE OFFICE. There are a lot of people that those on our little stepchild floor never see. I still admire her balls, but this is some seriously crazy stuff, right up there with seeing the image of Jesus in the couch on someone's front porch in Anal Wart, Arkansas.
Okay, time to make a stab at (gasp, choke) working. Happy Friday!!

51 E-mails Later...

Just a brief rant….

Close your eyes, and let's travel back in time to my college years. I did competitive speech and debate, and we had a very opinionated team with widely divergent food preferences…one vegetarian, one who wouldn't eat veggies…you get the idea. Deciding where to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner (we traveled out of town extensively) was very similar to World War III. At one point, we agreed that we would pick restaurants before we left. Well, we did. Then, we get to a tournament, no one wants to eat where we decided, and our coach, in utter frustration, starts screaming that "WE'RE EATING AT WENDY'S DAMMIT." (That is what had been agreed upon earlier in the week.)

What is the point of this story, you ask? Well, group decisions still pretty much suck donkey balls, and the degree of suck increases exponentially with each additional person involved.

For those of you who are not aware, Boss's Day is October 16th. At my office, we pretty much like our bosses. So, at 8:30 this morning, the e-mails about what we're going to do about Boss's Day start. As of this writing, I have received 51 e-mails regarding this momentous decision.

My office is huge. There are about 40 people just on my floor, and there are just as many on each of three other floors. We have e-mail groups for staff, part of the staff, part of our floor, all of our floor…well, let's just say our IT guys aren't taking care of bidness, because the people upstairs got e-mails we intended for just our floor. So everyone has pretty much put in their two cents. In an effort to stop the insanity and reach a decision, a woman in the office next door sent around an e-mail with a definitive proposal:

From: CDP

Sent: Wednesday, October 06, 2004 9:39 AM

To: Five

Subject:

After reading all of the e-mails this morning, some of us discussed how obscenely complicated this whole Boss's Day thing is getting. We think that the little folks on five should be doing their own thing...here's the proposal.

I've called [Spa Name Withheld], and they offer a head-to-toe, hour-long massage for $71.00 (this includes tax). If everyone on 5 contributes $6, that will enable us to purchase a massage for [Direct Supervisor], [Office Administrator] and [Trainer], plus a card for each of them.

Anyone who wants to is still free to participate in the breakfast/lunch/whatever activities upstairs.

Please let me know if you agree with this proposal. If the majority of us do agree, please have your money to MNC no later than next Wednesday, October 13th as she will take care of purchasing the gift certificates. Thanks!, CDP

This sparked another 20 e-mails, none of which agreed about any proposal on the table. Finally, in desperation, I sent this:

From: GoingLoopy

Sent: Wednesday, October 06, 2004 11:36 AM

To: Five

Subject: RE:

...because [CDP] heard that was a really good spa, and we didn't necessarily think they would go during the day....

I think the point of this e-mail was to see if we could actually make a decision and stop with all the e-mails flying around (and ending up making the actual decision at the last minute)...it was not to try and make anyone feel left out or obligated. It just seems like we've spent all morning back and forth with everyone upstairs and downstairs and everyone disagrees and everyone wants to do something different for different people. [CDP] was just trying to sort of streamline the process a little.

I think, at least at our end of the hall, we're fine with whatever. This was just a suggestion. If everyone wants to do something else, fine, but let's just get it done already....this shouldn't be this complicated.

Of course, there is still no decision, but someone e-mailed me back and said that she thought it was decided when the first e-mail was sent at 8:30 this morning?!?

One final point, and then I will stop my bitching and do some actual work. On Secretaries' Day (or Administrative Professionals' Day, or whatever the fuck stupid politically correct term they've renamed it this year), everyone on the staff gets a thank you card, $50, and a two-hour lunch. Therefore, why can't we just chip in and get some Visa gift cards or something easy? Why we got to be spreading dissension about massages and flowers and candy and cooking breakfast for the whole office?

Maybe the people in our office are just not busy enough.

Weekends and Wal-Mart and Schnitzel and Noodles

So, about my weekend, which I've been intending to write about for three days….

I went and hung out with BFRB2, and we did some lunch/shopping type activities, then went to JS's house for dinner (she cooked. It was yummy. I've been full ever since.) However, that was the first time BFRB2 and I have gotten to hang out together in a month. We made plans twice….the first time, she forgot that she had promised to help someone move, and the second time, I had the yucky cold.

I used to live very close (like less than a mile) from BFRB2, and nowhere near BFRB. Now, the situation is reversed….and I spend way more time with BFRB than with BFRB2. It sucks. I hate that friendship is such a function of proximity. Don't get me wrong….I love hanging with BFRB. And I talk on the phone to BFRB2 frequently. It just irritates me that hanging out with one of my best friends has to be such a fucking project. I really like spending time with JS, too….she's a new friend, but a good one…however, we communicate mostly via e-mail. Of course, now I'm wondering in my screwed-up, warped, twisted head…do people really come into our lives for a reason? That is, would we meet our best friends no matter what happened, or is it all a function of convenience? Or coincidence?

Okay, Loopy, back away from the coffee pot slowly and no one will get hurt….

On a completely unrelated note, let me once again state for the record that Wal-Mart blows the goat ass. Their selection blows, their employees blow, the businesses that rent space from them blow, and their customers blow. Why, you ask? Last night, I went to Wal-Mart after I went to the gym. I needed to get my nails done, and pick up the following food items: (1) coffee creamer – Coffee Mate Fat Free Cinnamon Vanilla (2) NutriGrain Chewy Granola bites in Caramel Nut Crunch (3) Orville Reddenbacher's Movie Theater Butter microwave popcorn. They had #3. So now I'm stuck with plain vanilla creamer and no chewy granola bites….and the nail place arbitrarily closed an hour early, so I didn't get that errand done either. Which means I have to go back to the evil empire TONIGHT.

To add to the general frustration, the cashier at Wal-Mart had some serious issues. Story time, boys and girls. The last time BFRB and I went to Wal-Mart, we decided to purchase cigarettes, because they had them on sale for like $2 a pack. The sale was on individual packs only, not cartons. Wal-Mart also only allows you to purchase cigs at ONE register, which is an express lane. This means that you have to stand in line twice. The cashier in the sin lane is an older African-American gentleman who clearly does not realize that Jeri-Curl has not been socially acceptable since the 1970's. So anyway, BFRB and I smoke the same kind of cigs. She gets the last 10 loose packs. When it's my turn, all the moron has to do is open the carton, dump the smokes out, and ring the fucking things up. This happens….after he consults with management and the two of them clearly cannot figure this concept out. 20 minutes later, after all my frozen food has thawed, I finally get my fucking cigarettes.

Forward to last night. Now Mr. Jeri-Curl is working a regular register, since he clearly does not have the speediness required for an express lane. There is one person in front of me, and he has almost no items. Of course, one of the 4 items he has rings up incorrectly. So once again, our fearless cashier must consult management about the price per pound of Granny Smith apples, which takes about 15 minutes by my watch. Then, the idiot cashier starts ringing up my items on the other guy's order. He tries to void them, succeeds, then drags them BACK across the scanner FOUR MORE TIMES, thus necessitating more voiding. Finally, the customer manages to figure out how to work his debit card (how do people not understand this???) and it's my turn at last.

Never go to Wal-Mart hungry. I bought $70 worth of shit and I'm not sure I have any actual food. I'm going to be living on popcorn, sun chips and fat-free dip, fat-free Jello pudding, and coffee for the next two weeks.

I'm sure I'll have more to say about Wal-Mart sucking tomorrow, since I have to go back and get my nails done tonight. Assuming they decide to remain open, that is.

Microsoft Word Can Kiss My Ass.

My, but it's Monday…

First off, I actually make an effort to be on time. This is foiled by the incompetent fools working in the parking garage where I park my car. Remember, it's valet parking. (Shudder.) This week is jury week at the courthouse, and the courthouse is very near the parking garage. Therefore, all the people who never come downtown and have no idea what they're doing are trying to park in my garage. The attendants in said parking facility are way too busy smoking weed (seriously…one of my co-workers found a pipe in her car) and talking to each other to possibly be bothered with doing their jobs. The cars are backed up down the street and around the corner….so I am sitting in some deluxe gridlock for at least 20 minutes. (This is to go LESS THAN A BLOCK.)

So I finally make it upstairs to my office, and I just have a few little edits to make on some documents which can then be printed and distributed. As I'm finishing the last table in the last document, I get some stupid error message saying that "the table is corrupted." The document was still open, though, and it appeared to be fine. However, it was not fine. When I went to print it, the table decided to re-format itself and replace a large amount of my data with mumbo-jumbo.

Let me backtrack for a moment here and mention that I'm usually the unofficial "tech support" at the office….everyone calls or e-mails me when their software is not behaving. I can usually fix it, too. Not today, kids.

After closing the document (without saving the jacked-up Word-inflicted changes, that is), I rebooted the computer. Document is still fried. I attempt to reformat the table. Sure, it reformatted….but not the part I told it to reformat. We then tried the old "cut and paste data into a new, properly formatted table." Nope. It just put the jacked up formatting in the new table, too.

Time for retyping, friends and neighbors. I hate retyping things. And I hate it even more that the last printed version I have of this document does not contain the stuff I spent all day Friday entering. Can I get a "fuck you, Bill Gates" from the congregation? WordPerfect never does this shit. You can always fix things in WordPerfect. Unfortunately, the WordPerfect makers did not ensure compatibility with Outlook and all the other programs that Microsoft's monopoly forces you to use, so people are switching to an inferior word processing product.

Of course, in the middle of all these technical difficulties, we get an e-mail from our supervisor saying that we need to review all of our data (we review medical records for a class-action lawsuit, and each person doing this job has about 50 people) to determine if they have had a particular type of surgery. We get this communiqué at 9:12 a.m. She wants our answers by 9:50. For those of you who are mathematically challenged, this means reviewing at least 250 pages of documents in 38 minutes. So, of course, I drop everything and do this project, hoping against hope that my document will be mysteriously returned to normal after I close it again. Don't be silly, little girl.

Therefore, I decided to type a brief rant in hopes that it would diffuse some of my feelings of frustration. It's not working. I'm still irritated as hell. One more time, worshipers…"FUCK YOU, BILL GATES."

A postscript: I usually type my entries in the evil program, then cut & paste to post them. I go to post, and diaryland is not working either. I don't even get to officially vent. Grrrr. Can I go back to bed now?

Chaos Theory

Looking around my apartment, I am always amazed. If anyone who didn't know me came in here, they would think I was insane. You see, I'm not an organized person. I'm the antithesis of organized. I need to be on that "Clean Sweep" show, or have that chick on Oprah come to my house.

For example, my bookshelves. (First in my line of sight at the moment, you see.) They contain: books. Magazines. A McDonald's McHappy Bucket with decorative marbles that don't go in anything since the cat broke the vase. A box of envelopes. Some perfume. Some nose spray and cough drops. The light fixture that won't go back up. The iron. Some candles. A box for the cordless phone I gave away. A bag with miscellaneous mail and receipts. A cup of pens. CD's containing various computer software. A space heater (not running, of course). A hair clip. A jar of vicks. An empty plastic cup.

You get the idea. I am just a random collection of crap. The rest of my house is very similar. I usually know where stuff is, though. It's a coping mechanism. I think that, since I've been like this my whole life, I've learned to consciously remember where I leave things. It's usually totally logical to me. That's why I've found my electric bill in the bathroom and the book I'm reading on top of the refrigerator.

I have tried to get organized and keep things in places which make sense to someone besides me. But it never seems to stick. When I moved into this place, I put things away. I sorted into little containers and drawers. There was nothing under the bed, the bookshelves just contained books, and my nail clippers were not in the kitchen drawer. As time has gone on, though, my apartment once again reflects the inner chaos that is me.

Compounding my organizational problems is the fact that I don't like to run out of things. You would think that this means I always have a replacement on hand (of stuff like toilet paper, toothpaste, dish soap, etc.). But that's not really it. I tend to save the last little bit of stuff for "emergencies." I have a collection of bath and body products in my bathroom, most of which have but one or two uses left. I don't even like most of the scents anymore. But I won't throw them away, either, because they've been discontinued and I can't replace them. I'm that way with other stuff too...I have a freezer full of food that doesn't sound good, but that I won't throw away in case I'm ever on the verge of starvation. Not that this has EVER been in danger of happening.

To most of the world, I seem to have my shit together. My friends just think I'm a little scattered. If any of them had to go through my stuff (if I were in a serious accident or dead or something, what a cheerful thought), they would think I was straight up nuts. Maybe I am. Maybe I should get my shit together. Yeah. I'll get right on that.

Sound and Fury, Signifying Nothing

So, once again, BFRB, TM and I make our bi-weekly trek to the laundromat. And once again, we're hungry. This time, after the headache of past experiences, we decide to head for Arby's. We've been there before. The service is much better than it is at Denny's . However, it's almost the opposite extreme...customer service overkill. These folks are not working for tips, mind you. But they are all like "WELCOME to ARBY's" and inviting you to enjoy delicious turnovers and their pepper and pickle bar. It's kind of scary. The people there tonight were not the same ones from the last time we were there, but they all had the same Ghetto-Stepford-Robot look about them. I really wonder what kind of drugs they were on. Seriously.

Anyway, it's a little rainy here tonight, and on the way back to the laundromat, there's a rice-burner full of some sort of young guys, and they are attempting to accelerate very fast on the wet pavement. We're talking, tires spinning, brakes squealing, super-fly gas pedal action. But the car was going NOWHERE. We're motoring along in BFRB's Jetta, and we're about to rear-end these yokels. People like that are so annoying. The ones who are all flash and dazzle and noise, but really, they're not saying too much. (Just like George W. Bush in tonight's presidential debate!!! And there I will stop with the political commentary for tonight...)

After ensuring that we will not be involved in any sort of collision with the Boyz in the 'Yota, we turn our attention to our lovely surroundings. The journey from food to clothing takes us through an interesting area...partly collegiate, partly run-down, partly rebuilding, partly convenience store, partly strip mall, partly mom-and-aunt thelma hair salon. There's a billboard. For a church. And it talks about building people's finances. BFRB was a little perplexed about why a church was talking about helping folks make money, and TM explained that the God tells us we shouldn't be in debt. My comment: "Guess I'll just add that to the list of reasons I'll be burning in hell." BFRB's Comment: "Guess we need to go party...that's SO not what I'm going to hell for."

Adding to the list of completely random shit I'll be discussing in tonight's post, we ran into one of our Laundry Nazis this evening. It's not the mexican mullet girl; instead, it's the long-gray-haired-almost-looks-like-she-has-a-story-but-I-really-don't-want-to-hear-it one. Anyway, she's not being totally annoying on this particular occasion, except for the usual following us around picking up dryer sheets and sighing routine. I overhear her discussing her prison life, the terms of her parole, and the conditions of living in her halfway house with this bizarre nerdy dude. This conversation takes place while I'm getting quarters to put in my machines. The dude is still there an hour later. This guy was really, truly odd. He looked about 20 years younger than the chick. He had a very small head, very short hair, very nonexistent socks, and very high-water jeans. He very much invaded Laundry Nazi's personal space. However, I guess because of her time in the Big House, she didn't seem to take umbrage at this. The freakazoid was still there when we left, and still following her around. They win this week's "One of these Things Just Doesn't Belong" award.

I get home after all of this somewhat shallow observation and contemplation, and BFRB2 calls. She's talking about life-changing, epiphany stuff. She wants to do something to help underprivileged infants....the ones that are falling through the cracks in the system. Let me back up here. She's an attorney. She mostly represents your basic college-town criminals: DUI, DWI, possession of {pick your favorite party drug}, shoplifting, etc. Since she's a fairly new attorney, she also takes the court-appointed files from time to time...the "if you don't have an attorney we'll give ya one" files. (The attorneys get paid a token sum for this representation, but it's better than nothing.) Some of these involve deprived children. Today, she goes to visit her law partner's new grand-niece, and is struck by the dichotomy between this healthy, pink, squirmy little infant and the abused kids she sees in her practice. She doesn't have any kids, and doesn't really want any. But she always has wanted to fight for the underdog. And she makes a good point: who can hate a little baby? She plans to do some research about what she can do to make a difference, because she needs to do something that she feels passionately about.

Gee, that seems to be my problem lately too. I am passionate. But right now, it seems so unfocused. I need a direction. I just keep thinking more and more about what I need to do to make a difference...and I guess I'm torn between the higher-values, socially-responsible making a difference, and the "I want people to read my diary and think I'm the funniest person ever and I want to have a column and a radio show and a TV show and be famous" making a difference. I want both. I want it all. I want to be Oprah. Why is it that when you figure out what you want to be, someone's always done it first? And done it so well that even if you're good at it, you'll always be seen as a copycat/knockoff/lame-o imitator?

...and I wonder why I have the insomnia of bloody death...brain, shut the fuck up. It's late, mama's tired, and her little Maggie kitten is licking the skin off her arm in a pointed reminder that it's fucking bedtime already. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...the sun'll come out...and it's anothah day. And as the literary allusions progress from the sublime to the ridiculous, I best stop typing, or shit's going to get ugly.