It's an awfully good thing that I've never been very into drugs (at least not the illicit stuff--but man, a nice hit of vicodin on a crampy night does the trick), because I'd be completely unable to function.
Look at what happens when I end up ingesting a little (okay, too much) sugar (and glitter)! For about half an hour, I was talking so fast that my lips were naught but a ruby blur, and my pulse registered at least 300 beats per minute. Now, twenty minutes later, I can barely keep my eyes much less form a coherent thought.
Heaven forbid I ever try to get seriously into drugs.
When the coroner is slicing me up in an attempt to determine how I died this afternoon, he's going to have a tough choice--It could have been a sucrose overdose...but then again, it could be Glitter Lung.
Yet again, my costume is kicking some arse. Easily the hottest shit.
...
How 'bout that storm last night? Whoo. It would have kept me awake if I hadn't been exhausted.
Um.
Yeah.
I'm way distracted--no bloggy-bloggy for me right now. Must bask in the glowing warmth of the warming glow of television--no, wait, not teevee, the glowing warmth of compliments.
See? No false modesty necessary.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 08:53 AM October 30, 2001
See, Buffy would be sex-ay,
See, Buffy would be sex-ay, too, if she'd freaking eat something. Remember way back when (three seasons ago) when she was all cute and had an ass that wouldn't quit? Those were the days.
Elvis Costello is on. Reminds me of something that no one but Blondie will get: remember how Grant Mandarino used to dress like Elvis Costello and call the Beatles "bubblegum and hippieshit"? Again, those were the days.
...
Actually, those were particularly miserable days, because I'm pretty sure we started hanging around Bill/Will/Liam/Billy and his pals, it was right after Tyrone broke my poor little underage heart, and those were sad times, indeed.
In fact, Boy and I were just talking about said sad-times last night--I reminded him of just how necessary it is for the two of us to never break up, and do you want to know why?
Because when that no good stinking heart-breaking-jailbait-loving assmunch broke up with me (after mentioning that he'd been cheating on me for a while, thankssoverymuch), I didn't just have a miserable 17-year-old breakup meltdown. I sort of...um...*blush*. Oh, never mind. You don't want to know, I promise.
...
Fine! I stopped functioning for a few days, on a very basic level. I stayed in my pyjamas, skipped every single class i had (including the one he'd been tutoring me for) and...stopped showering. For five days. Until Blondie came over and rescued me from myself by throwing me in the shower--and my youthful adoration for Tyrone is nothing, nothing, I tell you, compared to the love I've got for my Boy.
Heh. I believe I've revealed too much. I'm starting to sound more than a little nuts.
...
Ooh, the rain and wind are picking up, and I'm home alone. Boy had to go back in to work for something, and I'm starting to get all nervous, being here in the dark with just a candle and the light of the flatscreen keeping me company. Oh, and the webcam, of course. I think I'm off to bed for now--but rest assured there will be more embarassing revelation to come. Oh yes. There will. And there's nothing you can do to stop me, muahaahahahahaha!!
Watching Buffy and Spike feel this flirting-thing out isn't helping, either. This is better than pr0n, and do you know why? Because I haven't had a first date in absolute aaaaages, and I'm feeling the burn.
I suppose I should explain, though, since most people read "blind date" as "walking hell on earth"--I, however, do not feel as such. I've got this peculiar fondness for meeting strangers and picking their brain, dazzling them with my shiny, brand-new-never-met-before-wit, telling them the stories that no longer entertain everyone else I know.
(corollary: there's also the added benefit of using your first-date moves, the first-date clothes, and first-date make-out spots. I hate to sound like a heartless wench, but sometimes it's just too easy, really. i guess it's for the best that I'm first-date-less.)
Man, we've heard this from me before.
Back to Spike and Buffy. That Spike is too hot for words. I think it's a combination of vampire+british = sex-ay.
For lack of anything interesting to say (that nutrigrain bar wiped me out this morning), I'll pass the meme. Smart-ass answers courtesty of yours truly:
Living arrangement?
3 bedroom house on Lake Washington that I share with the most darling Boy in the world. Hottub included.
We desparately need a roommate. You know how to reach me if you're interested.
What book are you reading now?
Erm. Not. Really. I mean, there are books that I read, but they're just to help me get motion-sickness on the bus in the morning, apparently. Stupid books. Last great book I read was From Dawn To Decadence: 500 Years of Western Cultural Life. Because I'm a dork.
What's on your mousepad?
mouse. logo. paperclip.
Favorite board game?
My Scrabble skillz are lethal, yo.
Favorite magazine? Jugs. Or perhaps Cigar Aficianado.
How many rings before you answer the phone?
Depends on who's calling. Some people need to be made to wait.
Future child's name?
Matteo. Elèna, so I can call her Lainey. Erin. Jack. Conchita. Runs-with-turtles. Shaniqua.
It's going to be a Benetton family.
Most important thing in life?
Shoes.
Favorite foods?
Pumpkin pie. and pumpkin pie ice cream. And apples. And milkshakes made with pumpkin pie ice cream. And big bloody filet mignon.
Chocolate or vanilla?
Erm?
Do you like to drive fast?
I know no other way.
Do you sleep with a stuffed animal?
Depends on how long ago we've eaten dinner. Oh, and I have a big black bear named Forrest who watches us sometimes. We're kinky-ass freaks.
Storms: cool or scary?
fabulous, dahhhlink.
First car?
Audi Quattro 90. I wish I still had it. And that it was in decent and/or functioning condition. I tend to be a little hard on cars.
If you could meet someone dead or alive...?
RuPaul. Or Gilda Radner.
Favorite alcoholic beverage?
Sidecars made with orange zest. MaCallan 25--I like my scotch older than I am. Cosmopolitans.
What's your zodiac sign?
You've got to be kidding me.
Pisces on the cusp of Aquarius. I can't make decisions to save my life.
Do you eat broccoli stems?
they're the only part I like.
If you could have any job you want, what would it be?
Drag Queen. Fighter pilot. Groupie. Ladybug.
If you could dye your hair any color?
Actually, I'd rather not dye my hair and rediscover my natural color. I think it's too late for that, though.
Ever been in love?
Silly quiz.
Is the glass half empty or hall full?
This is a bottle, not a glass.
Favorite movie?
Sleeping Beauty. Usual Suspects. Hackers. Best In Show. Anything with Angelina Jolie naked.
Do you type with your fingers on the right keys?
It's not like you'd know the difference if I lied about it.
What's under your bed?
Coffee table. Blonde wig. handcuffs.
What's your favorite number?
This thing just gets dumber and dumber. pi.
What's your favorite sport to watch?
Girls' College Volleyball. Those kneepads are fucking hot. Or maybe, giant slalom.
Color me sheepish: I figured out what was making me sick to my stomach every morning a while ago--it's the bus. I've been trying to read my book while riding in the back half of the bus (the front is always full by the time I get on), and it's giving me a nasty bout of motion-sickness.
Curses! I've never been prone to motion sickness in my life...I used to live on a boat, fer chrissakes! That sort of makes you immune to this kind of thing, thankfully, and reading in the car or whatever has never been a problem. Perhaps it's all those people in a relatively small bus. That kind of freaks me out, actually--all those germs and perfumey smells and body odor and god knows what floating around...
*cough*
Anyway, I've got to figure out how to make the nausea go away--and I've got to start sitting in the front half of the bus. That's what I did yesterday, and I was fine. Today, I almost passed out. I started getting all head-rushy-weird, reminded me of being in that grade school in Strasbourg where i passed out in the hallway. That was fucked up.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 08:31 AM October 29, 2001
We're supposed to be going
We're supposed to be going to the KOMO Mayoral Debate tonight, playing the part of informed (and non-partisan) audience members with well-worded, rehearsed questions that will further our (my?) candidate's already-leading spot in the polls (48% to Nickel's 45%, thankyouverymuch)...but I think we'll be skipping that. I need a nap!
I've been much preoccupied today with thoughts of piercings, nipple-piercings in particular. I really like the idea of having a nipple ring, but at the same time, it grosses me out to no end. Not to mention, the pain factor.
Tattoos are one thing, they're good and prickly. Piercings are completely different, all ouchy-like.
Perhaps I'll get it done as a christmas surprise for Boy. (shh, don't tell!)
Our art department has entirely too many resources on hand. You wouldn't believe the invitations they sent for our Non-Denominational Winter Holiday Soirée. Good thing we're all about relaxed excess, Boy says his coworkers would revolt if their company did some of the things our morale-folks did.
Did I mention the pumpkin-carving contest we've got going on? Feel free to make your own comparisons between my workplace and highschool.
That was the oddest sandwich I've ever had. It was turkey and ham and pastrami on this big roll with tomato and lettuce and swiss and I feel kind of sick to my stomach just thinking of it.
I need some Repressitol.
Only an hour and a half until my biggest (and most time-consuming) meeting of the day, praise the heavens.
And no, I never ever ever (forevah-evah?) thought I'd be looking forward to a long, boring meeting. Again, I must be getting ooooold.
My left quad is spazzing, and I think it's from wearing four inch heels for seven hours on saturday night. I didn't notice it yesterday, because I didn't do anything yesterday. Our traffic pattern consisted of bed -> fridge -> bed -> potty -> fridge -> sofa etc. etc. ad nauseum.
Anyway, quad spasms. Cripes, I used to wear heels all the time! What's wrong with me? I'm getting old. That must be it. old and decrepit and one quad-muscle in the grave.
This morning on her way to work, not only did she bring me feel-better drugs, but breakfast AND lunch, too! Now that's love. Drugs, food and this afternoon quite possibly a small infusion of cash, if my conversation with illustrious stepfather goes well.
I've got blisters, too. And they're not even from anything fun, like new shoes--it's from my bloody stupid gluegun. See, I'm all about the glue gun, right? Forget that sewing nonsense, hot glue solves all kinds of problems.
Oh, do shut up. I'm not talking about fixing a hole in my sweater--"just a dollop of glue'll do 'er!"--this is relating to my spectacular halloween costume. And darning socks. Hot glue works for that, too, heh.
Don't ever accuse me of not being domestic. Between my pie crust skillz and being down wit' da glue gun, I'm going to make some freak a great wife. So long as he doesn't mind having 92 pairs of shoes in his closet.
Okay, so some of those 92 pairs are in storage or at my mother's. And I've promised that I won't break the 100 mark. That would be excessive.
Glue!! I was talking about gettin' some hot glue gun action...on my fingers. Ouch. No fun at all--that shit's lethal, yo. I've got two little blisters on my thumb, and a burn on my arm where it dripped off the gun and stuck before I could fling it across the room, screaming. More Ouch. Then I kept burning the same spot on my thumb over and over until I learned about bandaids.
If I were to get hit by a car and die right now (which is highly unlikely, as I'm sitting at my desk, in my office, on the 5th floor. Wait! Maybe it'll be a flying car. right. moving on.), and my body were taken to the morgue, they'd be thinking all kinds of crazy shit, what with burns and cuts (that would be the papercut I got a minute ago from stupid work-related paper. stupid paper. stupid stupid stupid.) and my poor bruised nipple...
Now, that's yet another story. Boy and I lounged yesterday in an attempt to make him feel better...but I get distracted. And I hadn't put away the tools and stuff I was using to deal with that 10g copper wire...nor had I hidden the electrical tape from myself...Oh, let's just stop there. You really don't need any more detail than that. Suffice to say, electrical tape + nipples = bad bad bad.
Boss-lady has arrived. I must attempt to look productive.
O horror of horrors, UTI be thy name. Why yes, it's a miserable morning already, thank you. What's that? You have little concern for my pain? You...You are all...Bastard People!! I just HATE you... and I hate your... ass... FACE!
Yeah, I'm a slight bit of pain. I'll live, though--Mom's bringing me drugs, because she's a good mom like that.
grumble. Stupid Mondays.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 08:45 AM October 28, 2001
Note to self: Resist the
Note to self: Resist the urge to update weblog while watching Foxfire. Angelina Jolie naked = distracting.
Just to cross it off the list, here's the 'anger management' story, and I promise it's not as interesting as I made it seem (dammit, that's happening more and more lately. I'll do my best to remedy that.):
So I stop by dad's on my way home the other night (thursday?) with the intention of thanking him for the pumpkins (did I mention that he plays Pumpkin Fairy for me every year? It's cute, really. And slightly creepy, to come home and find a bunch of pumpkins on my porch. Watching. Waiting. Silently hoping for any sign of weakness.) and ended up sitting for a few minutes while Dad and Evil Stepmother-to-be got dinner ready. I don't remember what we were talking about, but somehow the words "I'd really like to kill them, but I don't because it's against the law" and somehow that made Dad decide that I've got "anger management" issues.
sigh.
Anyway, the weekend. You'll notice I'm doing the weekend update early--it's been a reeeal slow day, and it's unlikely that anything will happen between now and going to bed two hours from now.
No, really. Nothing's going to happen, Boy's been feeling unwell all day, and I'm half-nursing a headache (with grape soda), so there's not likely to be any naked time or anything.
I finished the costume yesterday, praise the heavens for glue guns. Boy and I were hot shit, I tell you--between his sexy jumpsuit and my delectable glitter-coated lips, we had them all under our spell. Or at least, I got Dave to fetch my drinks for me. He and Quincy were looking rather fetching as well, all glammed up and shiny-like.
And really, it would have been a nice party. I like seeing big people get dressed up--mostly because it makes so many of them uncomfortable, which amuses me to no end. The single hair in my salad was the arrival of Boy's psychotic ex in her Powerpuff Girl costume.
Oh, how very uncomfortable. She cowered in the kitchen for a while, then cornered Boy while I stared death at her. And it only went downhill, but I think I deserve a little applause for restraining myself. I merely looked death at her, after all.
(!)
Maybe dad's right. More update later. iBook battery drained, no power cord in sight. Ta!
Posted by ferragamogirl at 08:50 PM October 27, 2001
First, a solid reminder to
First, a solid reminder to intrepid souls everywhere: Jack & Coke = fairly reprehensible in normal circumstances. Jack&Coke = bad bad news in a bowling alley bar.
I must say, it was a highly amusing experience, though. I never knew karaoke was so easily and publickly mockable! Highlight? The two drunk guys doing "Aint' Nuthin' But a G-Thang". Oh, and when my Boy did "What I Say", it was positively adorable! Good times, indeed.
I've also solved several engineering issues I was having with my ladybug costume--the satin was being problematic, but I've beaten it into submission.
...
That was violent. Reminds me of a story i'll tell y'all later, but my Boy's finally awake, which means only one thing:
Naked time!
Posted by ferragamogirl at 11:39 AM October 26, 2001
As much as I love
As much as I love having candy-apple-red lips, man, do they start to feel scrungy by the end of the day. I think I've got to buy some lip pumice or something.
Here's the suck-ass part of when Boy and I carpool together: I'm ready to leave, and he's still at work. Grr. We've got to head straight home tonight, too--I've got to glue like the wind and finish that damned ladybug costume before we head out for a lucious double-date with EDS and his lady. Dinner and tiki-bowling, here we come!
...
I'm just destined for the island lifestyle, I tell you.
So way back when (two weeks ago) I was preparing for my mother's big 5-0 birthday party, right? And part of that preparation was buying decorations and balloons, to make the house pretty. So I head downstairs to the balloon store and purchase a whopping $40 in balloons, of all things. And in the process of getting out of my office, into my car and to my mother's house (20 minutes in all), HALF of those balloons managed to pop (one in the elevator, which was an experience I'd like to avoid repeating, please, my ears can't handle it)! Why, yes, I was livid. Hoo-boy, was I mad. Being a person who likes to take out my frustrations on others, I immediately called the balloon store and ranted to the only person who would answer the phone. Oh, so very frustrated. And what does that asshole say? "You should have expected that sort of thing--you did buy balloons," whereupon I reached through the phone and pummeled him to a bloody pulp, since there was nothing else I could do, the party was starting! I couldn't just get more balloons, that would be too easy--so I complained a lot. And did some pouting.
And then, as with so very many things that seem like such a big deal at the time--I forgot it happened.
And then! today, in a meeting, I remembered, and regaled my coworkers with my sad, sad tale of faulty balloons and crappy customer service (remember who I work with?), and everyone was properly horrified--that's no way to treat customers! O, the outrage. And we all have a good laugh at the mental picture of me walking hunched over with twenty balloons in my hand, trying to keep them from spontaneously imploding, miserably failing, suffering morbid embarassment when I'm carefully approached by the security guard in the garage who thinks I've been shooting at cars, "do you have a gun, miss?", when really all I've been doing is delicately transferring balloons to the backseat of my blazer, pop pop pop go the balloons...
And then I leave the meeting with this distinct feeling of unrest--a more hackneyed version of myself would say I was disgruntled--and I stew. and stew and stew and stew, in my tiki-hell crockpot, until I just. can't. sit here any longer. (Frustration with coworkers contributed.)
So I get up. Coat on. Purse in arm. Righteous Ire in command, dragging Meek Placation much in the manner one might use when forcing a longshoreman to enter the opera house on première night, I marched into that balloon store, and kicked some ass (complained).
And got two dozen balloons out of it. Free. Non-popping-balloons, I hope.
I usually point and laugh when I watch old movies, all these offices full of desks with...no computers?! How on earth...Crazy. No computers. Typewriters! Ha, what good are typewriters? You can't do anything with those silly old things. ...And just this second I realized that my very own father never used a computer in a single job he ever had.
Ever.
And it's not like he was doing manual labor or the like--he was a salesman for twenty-five years, in the very industry that I know call my own! Never ever used a computer for work. Didn't even really use one at home unless I was trying to teach him something.
At least, not until lately. I stopped by last night on my way home, and he starts talking about these absolutely fascinating websites he's found "on the online", like the Used Ikea Furniture site (?!), to which I replied that Ikea furniture is flimsy enough to begin with--I'm not about to buy it used. Besides, we're not that poor. Yet. A few more months of rent like this, and we may be selling our sofa for patio furniture, carpet for sod. (that's for you and my Boy, no one else will get it.)
And thus, everything slams to a halt: A high-profile representative has his Seattle office here in my building--and guess what he got in the mail today? Yes, suspicious white powder. No more air-circulation for us, hello nose-swabs.
Did I mention there's a radio station in my building, too? And the Seattle Models Guild, which allows for a lot of eye-candy in the elevators.
I'm waiting for people to start freaking out. You know, out loud. I'm busy freaking out inside, but it's yet to manifest in ways other than being really cold and shivery. I'm sure I'm not the only one, the people I work with are sheep.
So I've got two coworkers, and we've got a boss, and she's got a birthday, and for said birthday, we decided that it would be a good idea to have a little birthday-thing for her and the other October birthday-people, and the two coworkers jumped on the idea and got everything organized and it was sort of implied that that's all that needed to be done to take care of things and they go to lunch today and come back with this big box from Nordy's and plop it on boss-lady's desk while she's at lunch, too, and now I look like a total schmuck because I wasn't included, and this isn't the first time it's happened, it's very easy for the two of them to do this, because their desks face eachother and they sit and talk and talk and talk all day and I'm sort of across from them both, allowing them to use that as an excuse to leave me out of things, which is normally fine! Who cares, so what, big deal (*pout-sniffle* goes little me, but we don't let that show usually), I don't need them.
So, I can either run out with some other people from work and buy her something equal in size/value so that i don't look like I'm a solitary ass-kisser, or I can just sit here and frown. Brain says go buy something, Budget says don't even think about it, missy.
I guess I'll just take comfort in the fact that my superior intelligence and wit will soon allow me to leave them in the dust. Fuckers.
Good christ. I don't think I've ever found anything in Slate as amusing as the article I linked to in that last post. Ha! Kids Say The Darndest Things.
I find it extremely amusing that this Slate article ranking Halloween candy has a big splashy ad that screams "Drop 10 Pounds Fast!" embedded in the second paragraph. Touché, Slate!
I feel like a pale, washed-out version of my yesterday's self. Might have something to do with not drinking any water for fear of smearing my cocksucker-red lipstick--I didn't have a straw long enough for my big water bottle! I managed to delicately sip some of that manna from heaven known as Peach Iced Tea, but the big water bottle was too imposing.
Also, I woke up this morning with these swollen, reddish lips and big sexy hair and sultry, smoky eyes and I thought Good lord, but I'm a sexy motherfucker...And then I turned the bathroom light on and screamed. Thank you, Mister Hot Shower, for returning me to sanity.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 09:09 AM October 25, 2001
I hate getting deep in
I hate getting deep in thought and when I come out of it, realizing that I was frowning. We want to discourage wrinkles, thankyouverymuch. I can already guess where I'm going to get them, and if I were at home right now, I'd play Photoshop on a picture of me and show you, but I'm not, so you'll just have to speculate.
What I've got so far:
-stupid stupid dimples that make people want to pinch my cheeks, whereupon I want to kick them. I suppose that has less to do with age and more to do with genetics.
-freckles on my nose (which I add to the Inevitable Aging Process)
-just a leeettle bit of laugh-line-y stuff around the eyes. Hey, I'm big on winky-smiles.
My only recourse? Moisturize, moisturize, moisturize. And fine-grade sandblasting when I hit 50. Then again, I'm hoping none of that will be necessary--I've got some pretty good genes.
And there's no cracker involved (read the comments attached to that post. Weird.).
-black sparkly eyeliner, Galaxy by name
-long and luscious lashes, by way of Stila
-Hard Candy eye shadow in Jailbait (ever so perfect)
-and, praise the lord, Chanel's Pirate lipstick.
Forget being a fuckin' lady--I'm a fuckin' rockstar today.
I was feeling like a total hottie-hawwttt today until I looked in the mirror and saw how bloodshot my eyes were. My boss probably thinks I'm hungover, but I'm not this time, I swear! I spent last night watching "Mom's Got A Date With A Vampire" with my kid sister after taking her to swimming lessons! And we ate pizza! And I drank water! And then Boy and I went home and watched West Wing! And I fell asleep because these early episodes are boring! And I missed Blind Date, which has rapidly become my favorite television show to watch, because it's followed by The 5th Wheel, Elimidate and Change of Heart! That's two whole hours of god-awful tripe that makes me thankful I'm not an aspiring actress or former Miss Hawaiian Tropic! Ha! I almost typed "Hawaiian Traffic"! Ha! Ha! Ha!
I had this dream last night that Boy and I were traveling with some other friends of ours (notably Scott and his girl, and some old friends of mine that aren't really friends anymore), on a road-trip-like thing, and we stopped at this carnival where we had the chance to hypnotize each other--so I end up hypnotizing Scott's girl, and she starts touching my ta-ta's and talking about babies in this weird voice so we ran away and Boy says, "want to live in Florida for the summer?" and I say, no, let's stay here, and he says "no, c'mon, we'll stay at the house on the bay" and I finally agreed, so we get there, and it's this beautiful castle-y place, and his entire family is there, all these people who in real life don't exist, and his grandmother liked me and his grandfather smoked cigars and wore a funny hat, and his mother was so irritating that I wanted to strangle her--she had this muscle-bound boyfriend who spent the whole time laying out by the pool and the whole dream felt so incredibly real....Until I looked out the window at the house next door, and it was a donut place. And then Boy dragged me to the roller rink, and I figured out that it was a dream.
The donut-thing, though...I realized that I've had dreams before where he said he lived next to a donut place. That would be my subconscious craving a Krispy Kreme.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 09:29 AM October 24, 2001
I know that I always,
I know that I always, always say these things, but this is really really rilly the best blog I've ever read. Ever.
If I could read my Boy's brain ten years from now, I think it would look something like that. And that's a compliment to them both.
If you, in your perpetuarlly lazy and procrastinatory state, ask me to do some of your shitwork because you have to leave early (after arriving late) do not, under any circumstances, attempt to blame your state of disarray on moi. Learn the alphabet, because cramming everything into one file is not the answer.
He paid me the most lovely compliment the other night after buying the photo printer by telling me that there just aren't enough pictures of me, naked or otherwise.
See, it's sweet and lovely because there are pictures of me everywhere, if you know where to look.
Boy has charged me with making two lists: One, the obvious--a christmas list, because my needs and wants are indecipherable like that; and Two, an Anniversary List (which, in case you're blind or stupid or just started reading or maybe even all three! is the day after Christmas because we like a challenge). (I happen to think the day after Christmas isn't nearly as bad for an anniversary as my parents' anniversary--New Years' Eve--I can never remember which year their anniversary is on.)
More accurately, the Anniversary list is a list of domain names that I'd like, since all I want for our anniversary is my own little corner of the GlobalHyperMegaInterWebNet. I had the brill idea of posting that list here for all to see--but then I remembered that I didn't want anyone to steal them away. So I'm not.
However, I have no hesitation about posting my tentative Christmas list:
*This Coat, in the tweedy color.
*(duh) Mittens. I asked Boy for a hat, too, but I came to my senses after his resulting snicker: I look stupid in hats. I'm just destined to have a cold head.
*This.
*This, in Graphite. Case to match and protect.
*I'd like to say that I was kidding when I put this on my wishlist...but I'd be lying.
Oh forget it, here, just look at my wishlist, it's almost all there.
Sometimes my brain does funny things, pieces don't connect up there the way they should--and the most obvious proof of said misconnection is the prevailing inability to multitask at not-too-crucial moments. Give me a crisis, and I'm good for it. Time crunch? No worries, I'm the girl for the job. But widestretch of day during which I must accomplish three only-mildly-important and not-terribly complex tasks? Trubble.
I get distracted by blinking lights, the sound of sirens on the street below, paperclips, the six separate conversations that are going on at/around my desk, organic pretzels, other tasks of equal importance, and that dog that keeps coming to work with one of the guys in CS. To say nothing of the toys! I've got a minicatapault, block puzzles, squirty toys, a snow globe, and the infamous bubble-bear--And then, to add to the mélee, there are clothes in my office! It's like having my desk in the middle of Nordstroms sometimes, but without the cosmetics department.
Then again, I work with a bunch of women, right? We've all got our makeup bags in our desk drawers, and on occasion we pull them out and trade and sample and coo with glee over Dirty Girl lip gloss, brushes and powders forgotten for that sleek shiny tube. And we wonder why everyone's had the same cold for the last month and a half. Biological warfare right here in my own department. We're unconsciously attacking eachother with lipstick.
I really must find the perfect red lipstick. I haven't worn a dark lip color in years, my friends, absolute years, and I've come to miss it. In an embarassingly awkward stage of my youth (post striped-tights, pre-Annie Hall), I had a fondness for that bloody-dark Chanel Vamp, and it never truly went away. There's something about smearing on this slash of dirty-hot that gives me a thrill, and I want to start again. Unfortunately for me (fortunately for everyone else), it's all about the perfect red this season, which means I'll have to forgo Vamp for...*drumroll, please* Pirate.
Indeed, my color for the season shall be Chanel's Pirate, a nice true red with blueish undertones to deal with my paleish-whiteish-pinkcheeked skin. Arrgh, matey. Call me Cap'n Rackham. Although I'm really not sure a pirate would ever wear Chanel--they'd need something a little more...action. A nice, moisturizing foundation with at least SPF 30, and some serious waterproof mascara.
To the person who did this google search: You're looking for that Michael Stars t-shirt that everyone in my office has. It was freaking me out yesterday, they were all wearing it at the same time, like eight different women I work with. Crazy. Way to be different, just like everybody else.
I know that there is a better way to start my morning than accidentally punching myself in the face. Wouldn't you agree?
...
Okay, it was more of an eye-poke, but still! Right in the face, almost-first-thing in the morning! Gah. At least I didn't jab my eyeball with mascara. Now that sucks. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about. Pardon me, ladies and drag queens. Ooh, I love me some drag queens.
(segue)
Speaking of queens--this site absolutely made my morning. What would I do without Blogger's Blogs of Note? (and yes, I secretly aspire to get on the list. oh yes. it shall be done.)
Perhaps you've picked up on my noticeably better mood. Yesterday was a pretty darned good day, all in all. We had grand intentions of joining my family for that illusive pumpkin-carving, but bailed at the last minute for some us-time. We headed down to Mitchelli's for a cozy dinner, then home for some Buffy and naked-time, and snoogling galore--and that's all I really need in life.
And diamonds. I need me some diamonds. And mittens.
(segue)
So, remember a while back when I mentioned my pudding fantasy being fulfilled? (note to self: do that again) I've got a new ultimate fantasy--I want to be naked but for mittens, and showered with loose diamonds.
Mmm, mittens.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 08:52 AM October 23, 2001
Links updated again. Mostly the
Links updated again. Mostly the shoe section. I want new clogs.
I know that I should have eaten lunch by now, because it's four p.m. and I'm feeling lightheaded. But I haven't.
...
It feels like I've been wearing a napkin on my lap all day long. Weird. And once in a while I get the distinct feeling that I should be wearing a seatbelt while sitting at my desk. Double-weird.
Annoying: Bringing those wrapping-paper-crappy-chocolate-stupid-trinket school
Annoying: Bringing those wrapping-paper-crappy-chocolate-stupid-trinket school fundraiser things to work, eliminating all effort on your child's part.
Just Plain Rude: Standing at each individual coworker's desk, hands on hips, waiting for us to leaf through this silly book of crap that I wouldn't purchase for my least-favorite aunt. Rude!
1) I've got issues with electricity. There have been six instances of mild-electrocution in these first 21 years of my life, five of them involving the same string of christmas bulbs and a wicked-mean outlet on my parents' porch. The first instance was at age 3, in my parents' showroom, dad's keys, unprotected outlet, *bang*--shot me across the room. Feel free to draw your own connections between these incidents and my short-term memory issues.
2) This is my nose...but it's not the one I was born with. Pretty close, though. Courtesy of a baseball bat, a careless Little Leaguer, and a very competent rhinoplasty-surgeon.
3) I did, indeed, spend an interminable few months as a shampoo girl. Ugh.
Any rumors about a sixth finger, ability to make myself invisible, or distinct flowery scent are to be disregarded.
Whoo! Mood-swings much? It's amazing what flattery will do for one's outlook on the day. Mine has noticably improved, thanks to a few sincere compliments and the sure knowlege of my darling's love.
I used to use the word hate a lot. You know how impetuous youth is, yes? Hate this, hate that, hate parents, hate rules, hate hate hate. And then I grew up, and stopped using the word almost altogether. There are few things on earth that I honestly, completely and viciously hate.
I had this dream last night that I was crossing a bridge, a very very precarious bridge, with lots of holes in it that one might fall through, and instead of the bridge being over a river or a gorge or anything interesting like that, this bridge was over a freeway full of speeding cars. I was crawling across this bridge, and in front of me was this little red-headed girl who was having some difficulty and instead of slowing down and taking her time, she was scrambling, and can you guess what happened? She fell right through the holes of the bridge and landed on the cars below and turned to dust. I kept crawling slowly, made it across, and went to my old high school, where I climbed up a hill made of brown sugar before going to class, where we were attacked by flame-breathing demons with big scary burning-red eyes.
More evidence of why I'm often tired after "sleeping" for nine hours. No one gets any rest with dreams like that.
That wasn't particularly abbreviated, was it. Whoops.
Also, have I mentioned the costume-change? No longer will we be David Bowie and Coked-Up Groupie. Now it's "Ladybug and Exterminator", which will be even more fun. I get glitter and bobbing antennae and Boy gets to wear a sexy jumpsuit with Die, Bug, Die! on the back. We're hot shit, I tell you.
I had a Weekend Update post written, complete with minute-by-minute detail--but it just. wasn't. funny.
I don't feel very funny right now. It might be the weather, or perhaps it's just a (shoot me now) Case of the Mondays (*bang*)--but I'm just not in the groove. So here, an abbreviated version:
Saturday:
-phone defection
-new handbag (it's all tweedy and petite and absolutely to die for.)
-leisurely (and garlicky) lunch at Piecora's
-picked up Q
-Ikea for Q's new sofa, and a shelf-thing for our phone.
-Fabric store for us girls (halloween, donchaknow), CompUSA and Best Buy for the Boy (new photo printer! dirty fun to commence. Oh, and the new Weezer cd for me, isn't he sweet.).
-dropped Q off, headed to Display & Costume for more costume-bits and glittery things
-home to watch Memento (which thoroughly fucked me up--apparently I sat up in my sleep and asked Boy "who are you!??"--and that's after I had all this difficulty falling asleep. I just could. not. stop half-thinking about that damned movie.)
-sleep sleep sleep.
Sunday:
-sleep sleep sleep.
-brunch with the 'rents, which was entertaining. Illustrious stepfather insisted that I should change my current career path...to nanophysics. I agreed, mentioning the jump to nanophysics from the garment industry isn't as difficult as one might think, heh. What a nut.
-A quick but frustrating stop at Home Depot for some...materials. (again, halloween-related)
-Home for snoogling on the sofa in front of a crackling fire, rain and wind pounding the house, and some heavy costume construction. My hands are killing me from that 10gauge copper wire.
-oh, and naked time. duh.
-dinner with (again) the 'rents (mom better quit bitching) with intentions of carving pumpkins as a family, but that was tossed aside in favor of Josie and the Pussycats (which in my world is better than pr0n, what with all the chicks and the pop music and flashing lights).
-home for sleep sleep sleep.
And thus, our weekend. Never long enough, of course. I'm thinking of switching over to working four 10 hour days instead of five 8 hour days. Wouldn't that be nice?
Speaking of, I actually have things to do.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 11:06 AM October 20, 2001
Soooo braindead. I woke up
Soooo braindead. I woke up all stuffy and Marge-throated, which is slightly unnerving. *marge grumble*
I made cookies first thing this morning. Phone guy was here switching us over from Evil Qwest to Less-Evil AT&T.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 10:40 AM October 19, 2001
Ooh! I'm getting myself all
Ooh! I'm getting myself all bummed out, so let's move on.
Boy and I are dashing home to get naked before I run up the hill to our cute little local pub to meet an old...friend for a beer.
We carpooled this morning, and it was lovely! (that would be me and Boy, of course, not me and said ex-lover) We hadn't carpooled for a good long while, and it was nice to have that extra twenty minutes in the car together. The last few weeks have been a little...not exactly distant, but distracted. We've had houseguests and wild schedules and headcolds which all add up to time not-together-but-not-apart.
Speaking of houseguests, I'm sorely disappointed that my darling Puds (see also: Josh, Puddles, Mr. Puds) and his darling wife Mü won't be making it down here this weekend--I was all prepared to iron the linens for them!
I'm at work much later than I have been for a long time, and it feels weird. I'm used to leaving when the office is still mostly abuzz with crack-fueled activity. I think I'll turn my music up, because the quiet (which used to be so familiar) is slightly unsettling.
Another one for the "Least Interesting Thing In The World Is Listening To Other Peoples' Crack-Dreams" File: I had this dream last night that ended with me and Boy building a fort in what was supposed to be my mother's front yard using sofa cushions and mattresses. Boy kept asking me when I was going to get the rent money from Blondie since she was always sleeping upstairs in the room that has no furniture. Then I buried my feet in mattress and was swaying back and forth like the sproingy hula girl I had on my dashboard. It was incredibly vivid, the sproingy-ness--all rocking and swaying and comfortable.
Good Idea: Crisp, fitted white dress shirts on women.
Bad Idea: wrinkled white dress shirts over purple demi-bras, complete with nippleage. Good lord, that was distracting. She stood there talking about shipping errors and controlling warehouse mistakes with customers and I was supposed to be paying attention to the words but all I could think was nipples.
It's been a randy morning, though. Boy and I slept in, snoogled, showered together, smooched in the car--all in all, a good way to start my day...however, it's left me wiggly as all hell, with no relief in sight until our early-evening rendezvous.
Listening to Marvin Gaye isn't helping matters.
And I smell like jailbait (thank you, Sara), fuel to fire.
See, the other problem with coming in to work late-ish (9:30 instead of 8ish) is that everything has already started and things are noisy when I get here and it just bothers me.
Good Idea: Going to Survivor Party, rejoicing in televised misery with pals.
Bad Idea: Not going to Survivor Party, being up too late, sleeping in and getting in to work after the boss-lady.
It's never a good idea to get in after the boss-lady.
(These Good Idea-Bad Idea brought to you by my lingering cartoon nostalgia. Those wacky Animaniacs were too entertaining.)
Posted by ferragamogirl at 09:43 AM October 18, 2001
Several realizations that won't make
Several realizations that won't make everybody happy, but at least I've gotten them figured out:
1) Ex only remains appealing in any form because he's never given me what I wanted, that being for him to want me as much as I wanted him. As in: I've been wanting him to fall desparately in love with me, only to have me tell him that I just. don't. feel that deeply. Or at least, I used to. Doesn't really matter now. (this makes me happy, because I've figured it out--that was the strange attraction he held, and it wasn't really even attraction, it was just heart-breaking revenge! but will make Boy unhappy because he just doesn't like hearing about it. Sorry sweets.)
2) It is indeed possible to stretch forty minutes of actual work into eight hours of shuffling things around on your desk. (actually, this makes no one happy, because I get bored--and exhausted--doing nothing at work, and the boss-lady wouldn't much like finding that out, either)
3) Vegetarian cooking is a pain in the butt (sorry, Q). (this makes me unhappy--well, not really, it's just a challenge. it'll make Q happy, though.)
4) I'm ready to leave work now. (this makes me very happy. No word on how everyone else feels.)
A Secret Note of Adoration to My Darling Boy: You're the greatest thing since bread came sliced, you've got it all, you've got it sized, like a friday fashion show...(and then the song gets all weird and depressing, but my sentiment remains the same: You're the greatest, baby.)
No! See, it was a bad idea because while I'm baking cookies and making buttercream frosting in four different colors (white, green, orange, blackish-brown), I was tasting and licking fingers and between that and the birthday cake at Mom's (note to self) and the candycorn at work and the grape soda, I was so jittery that sleep was impossible.
Also, I'd been grumpy for no reason at all (poor Boy), which turned into stupid miserable hormonal tears.
Anyway, things have leveled out (thank you, makers of Orthocyclen.), and there will be no more midnight-cookie-madness!
...
Oh! Mom's birthday. Everything was lovely, thank you. Food was fabulous, drinks were flowing, Mom didn't cry over turning 50, and illustrious stepfather apologized for being difficult. Although I have to say: Sweetie (meaning Boy, of course), if you ever buy me raingear (be it incredibly expensive or otherwise) for my birthday, I'll cry my big brown eyes out. Seriously! Illustrious stepdad bought my mother raingear for the boat that cost almost more than my (big, anonymous state-school) education.
I've been wearing two pieces of candycorn on my two front bicuspids (or are they just regular cuspids? I don't know!) vampire-style all afternoon.
I think our COO got kind of freaked out by it.
A Word Of Warning To Those With Whom I Reside (i.e. Boy): I'm slipping into mildly-retarded-mode. Some crazy things have been coming out of my mouth at the most inappropriate times today, so I've decided to just keep my mouth shut for the rest of the afternoon. Also, I've been launching paperclips over my bamboo screen with my miniature catapault.
...
Okay, mood passed. I just needed a good drool-fest with coworkers over the window-washer guy banging against the side of the building.
Did I tell you about my riverboat fantasy? I played kenny rogers and you played dolly
I never know when to hold 'em, fold 'em or run away like a fool
but you already know--you know there's no excuse for me.
Sitting here at my desk, eating a rather summer-ish lunch of cucumber sandwich and iced tea, I was suddenly struck with a most overwhelming wave of incredibly intense adoration for my Boy.
Don't ask why, just accept it. I just love him to pieces, itsy-bitsy ones with sprinkles.
Oh, and in case you haven't already heard: Melissa and Darin (boy and I call him da-RIN, it's very amusing) are the official winners of the trip around the world and the $200k.
What, you weren't watching Love Cruise: Maiden Voyage? Fools.
So the guy in the red passat who followed me through the parking garage, then flirted with me in the elevator about the "Spank Me" sticker in my rear windshield? You just made my morning, babe.
And, indeed, he was quite the babe. Looked like that guy...the one who played Prince Karl on 90210 in the fifth or so season.
I've just revealed (yet again) what a dork I am. Ah, well.
Also, I've revealed a very very pertinent bit of information in my attempt to get y'all to buy me stuff--My name. Yes, it's true. My reeeeal name. Be good, okay? If I start getting more of those crazy voicemails, I may have to rethink stuff.
Anyway, be good.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 08:39 AM October 16, 2001
Ooh, I hate it when
Ooh, I hate it when I forget to turn the italics off.
I've found all manner of crazy David-Bowie-groupie shirts on eBay. Now we just have to commit to the costume idea. Other ideas already summarily dismissed:
-Pirates (arrrgh, matey)
-pair of (dice, m&m's, salt and pepper shakers, turdmonsters, etc.)
-Gladiator and greek...lady, or whatever. Alternately, Antony and Cleopatra
-Cop (me) and jailbird (him).
-Nurse and doctor
-Nun and priest/monk
None of those use enough glitter for my taste. And if Boy's willing to let me dress him up as my greatest rockstar fantasy and paint him all glittery right now--I'd better take advantage of it while I've got the chance.
You are the woman. [Boyfriend] and I are having a great laugh at Keith's expense. And I agree with you completely -- I've been wondering for months why Keith has been unemployed for so long... we think that if Carrot Top can get a job, Keith Berman should be able to."
Also, did I mention Boy and I have figured out our Halloween costumes? He's going to be my rockstar-husband, David Bowie (Ziggy Stardust-era), and I'll be a coked-up groupie!
This kept me entertained at first...but then it just made me sad. (via blather.)
Posted by ferragamogirl at 09:47 AM October 15, 2001
Do you see how clever
Do you see how clever I am? HTML isn't as hard for me to learn as I thought. If you want on the list of boys boys boys or girls girls girls or trannies trannies trannies (heh, that one's coming later.), let me know! I'm still adding, so if you don't see yourself on any of the lists, relax, I'll get to you. Or, alternately, you suck. For most, only the former applies.
Mom's picking me up from work today, which solves my embarassing problem. More info to come at 5 and 6:30, sports and weather on the half-hour.
Here's why, and I promise after this I shall do my best to curtail the whining and complaining:
All of the magical plans we've (meaning me, my aunt, my oldest cousin and my mother's best friend) been trying to put together for my mother's big 5-0 birthday might as well have been for nothing, because here it is, two days before everything and illustrious stepfather is threatening to move out over some fight they had about my becoming-less-difficult-but-not-quickly-enough-brother.
And it just makes me tired. Can you guess why? Because then I play Emergency Therapist until they can get in to see a real doctor, and I do.not.like.it.
Oh, what a night. Late December back in '63, what a--erm. nevermind.
I've got this crazy muscle-nerve thing going on with my left arm: every time I turn my head in either direction, this stabbing-shooting-ouch-pain runs all the way down my neck through my shoulder into my elbow. Very disconcerting.
It's been suggested that I'm being punished for my sins, to which I reply--every single one of them? I'm making out pretty easy, then, for they are vast and nefarious.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 09:18 AM October 14, 2001
From the always delightful Keith
From the always delightful Keith (yes, kids, that was sarcasm. What an asshole.):
"Fuck off, you little wanker. I thought you were mature enough to at least recognize the stupidity and the immaturity of what you said and possibly apologize for putting down an entire group of people whose circumstances are beyond their control, since having a job is a privilege and not a right, but you don't seem to realize that, you fucking little spoiled child. I realize now I overestimated your intelligence, your maturity and your character. Have a nice life."
Whoo! It's amazing, isn't it? He doesn't seem to realize that the more pissed off he gets, the more entertained I am! It's sad, really, that he doesn't understand--but it keeps me amused.
I have to admit, though, that I brought this upon myself--and I'm actually rather glad I did, things were getting just a little...what's the word? boring. I hadn't gotten hate mail in ages! Remember, things are always more exciting with a bit of strife added to the mix.
...
What? You didn't know? Well, now you do!
Posted by ferragamogirl at 10:26 AM October 13, 2001
Terribly Ironic And Mightily Amusing:
Terribly Ironic And Mightily Amusing: It looks as though I've gotten more hits than ever since a certain nasty someone blacklisted me. I'm all tickled pink because of it, heh.
Hey, I never said I was righteous and good. In fact, I've never claimed to be of anything but the loosest moral fiber, and I quite like it that way. You should have seen this all coming.
"If you're like us, you have on several occasions said to yourself, 'Those rich rappers are going to eventually retire and move to a community appropriate to their changing lifestyle, and I'm just the person to build that community. But what will I call it?'"
Homiez' Coochie Landings: Assisted living for the mature jacker.
Whatever it is you think you're going to get--forget it. I may have been harsh, but that doesn't mean I need to apologize. I don't feel bad about the things I said--I still think they're true. I have a very difficult time believing that it takes this long to get a job. And frankly, I don't much care whether or not you've de-linked me, badmouthed me, written all your little friends about how mean I was--it's just that much more entertaining for me.
That being said, let's move on.
So, last night! Blondie and I had ourselves a celebratory girls' night--drinks and boys and flirting galore! Okay, maybe not boys and flirting galore--but this one guy looked at us funny while we were snorting into our drinks. And a couple other guys gave us weird looks while we were at Dick's, too. Probably because we were chowing down like heifers while making fun of everyone at the drive-in. (hey, it's tradition.) We were some hawtties, I'll tell you that much. Oh, and the obligatory drunken Dick's run was perfect.
It was nice to go out and be young and nubile with my best girlie-friend, because we don't do that nearly often enough anymore. We were talking about how it's probably a good thing that we've got an hour and a half drive separating us these days because we used to get in an awful lot of trubble together...but at the same time, we miss being able to run over to the other's house at a moment's notice. *sigh*. Oh, the perils of growing up.
And now, to clean house and take care of my darling Boy, who has contracted my Anthrax and is firmly ensconced on the sofa watching documentaries about New York in the 30's. (I think he'd prolly feel better if he'd stop that and watch Buffy instead, but perhaps I'm biased toward the latter. Ah, well.)
Posted by ferragamogirl at 01:54 PM October 12, 2001
"Until you've spent months -- literally -- sending out 500+ resumes, searching fruitlessly for a job, spending sleepless nights worrying what's going to happen once your unemployment benefits run out, having your job search consume your life, falling into depression because you feel worthless from receiving rejection letter after rejection letter and letters saying that they received your resume but due to economic conditions they're not going to be able to hire anyone for that post anymore, getting more and more worried by reading about the ever-slowing economy and more people being laid off and flooding the market to go after the same jobs you are and creating incredible competition, waiting in 2-hour-long lines at a job fair because there's so many other people there doing the same to talk to a live company HR representative for 5 minutes... when you've done all that, then you can come to me and tell me how easy it should be to get a job. Until then, I don't hate you because you have a job. I hate you because you trivialize my lack of one and my supposed lack of effort in finding one."
Ha! Almost. Not quite. There are plenty of people worse off than you, sir, and for that reason, I have little sympathy. Not only that, but christ! You're not the only unemployed weblogger on earth--and I didn't say it was so damned easy to get a job, period. I said that I was amazed that other bright, clever and well-read folks haven't had the same luck that I had with my current job. At least, that's what I meant.
the anthrax, I fear, has moved into my chest. cough cough, all manner of nastiness comes out.
take that last bit as you will, in reference to my earlier nasty post about unemployed bloggers. If I were a good and compassionate person, I never would have written it.
praise the powers that be I'm eeevil. like the fru-itts of the dev-ill.
I suppose I should say something about the demise of Aimee's blog, since I'd been reading it almost daily since before I even started blogging--but it's really been a good long while since I felt good about reading it. Mostly, I'm sad that she's gone because it means I'm one step closer to being the shallowest blogger around. I think she was keeping me firmly in place lower on the list, what with the Beefcake of the Week and Stuff I Bought, which was staggering in its futility. Now, however, I'm feeling pressure to step up the intellectual content here in my own blog, to avoid such materialistic impulses. Also, I need to stop spending money, so that'll keep things in perspective as well. I can find happiness and entertainment without dropping dough, right?
Oh, well, okay, I'm sad for another reason: I do take such grand pleasure in reading the weblogs of the unemployed. Nasty pleasure, I might add, since I'm so cozy and newly-promoted in my lovely job at my lovely (and stable, non-dotcom) company. I can't help but enjoy it, the plaintive wailing about unemployment lines and endless resumé-sending, interviewing, and fervent prayers for respite. Yes, I was lucky, being offered my lovely job two days after starting as a temp--it was another case of being the right person in the right place and time. And I just can't believe that it's not that easy for everyone else!! There are always jobs to be filled and things to be done--how can it take this long? Ehh.
Don't hate me because I'm employed. Hate me because I'm a gorgeous bitch with a big mouth.
(oh, and just so's you don't think this is about you, sweets--how'd the interview with EA go?)
Here's how paranoia is a bad thing: this is the second time in about three weeks that I've had this cold-y-flu stuff going on, right? I was down for two days, then got mostly-better for another couple weeks...and now I'm worse than I was before. This all started happening after September 11th, too. So today, I'm reading CNN in an attempt to keep from sounding like I live in a cave when I talk to coworkers and such...and I start reading about anthrax.
I'm absolutely convinced that that's what I've got. After all, I play such an integral part in world affairs, heh. I can just feel those spores crawling through my alvioles, infecting left and right, slowly killing me with mucus. and headaches.
There's this woman here and she drives me bonkers, she does. She has silly euro-sounding nicknames for her children but speaks with this very flat, whiny west-coasty accent, and touches my desk when she walks by and drinks more coffee than I think she needs and just generally irks me.
It gives me one slight bit of amusement to wear this sweater that I haven't worn in years (or, more accurately, since last winter), because I've found bits of my hair on it from then--and it was such a wonky color! It was rather light, really, and longer than I remember it being.
In fact, I think I actually remember the last time I wore this--it was the day of the Big G's holiday party (big g being bill gates, but i'm trying to be less of a name-dropper, i hear it's making the locals antsy) and the MSFT .Net bash at the exhibition center--they turned the whole place into a miniature New York...oh sigh, it's making me sad. Anyway, I was wearing this sweater when I went out that morning to buy hairspray for that night, because I managed to run out and not think about buying more until I needed it again.
this sweater works with my new bowling-looking shoes that make me tall. the flavors match well together and they shall win the peoples' fame and ovation forever.
I hope I'm not getting any new readers today, because they'll run away kicking and screaming, I sound like such a lunatic. Please, new readers, give me a chance--go read my broken archives (gotta fix those), or at least farther down the page where I am funny.
Tomorrow will be different. or maybe even later in the day!
Back at work, which is currently a crime against body and nature, and here's why.
My head. it hurts. it's the deep and intense pain that is generally associated with many and violent blows to the head, but I'm lucky enough to get one without that kind of action. Mine. just. hurts. When does it hurt? When I move too quickly. Or too slowly. Or when I stand up. Or sit down. Watching, listening, talking, moving, reading, writing, fucking, bathing, oh and the best of all, breathing. These things all make my head. hurt. a lot.
However, this day must must must pass quickly. It's friday, I can survive friday. Fridays are good! Good. Just two pointless meetings and some shit work, and the day is done, I'm home, taking a nap until eternity. Or until this headache goes away.
I'd put my money on eternity, if I were you.
Speaking of surviving...Survivor 3, ohhhh yeeeeah. Those people seem more than a little lacking in likeability, but we'll warm up to them, I'm sure.
Anyway, headache. If that headache would go away, I'd be dealing juuuuust fiiine with this sickness nonsense. You'll notice that at this point, it's making me a little punchy. with good reason, I say. I've defied all of my natural instinct and avoided drugs this time around, because...well, they're bad. They'll get rid of the symptoms I have and give me a new set of weirder, more freakish symptoms. And they'll kill me eventually. Or make me fall asleep while driving.
Speaking of driving--some asshole in an SUV (oh now that was just unnecesary, stupid. Why did I mention SUV? It could have been any kind of car. Hell, I drive an SUV. Sheesh.)--anyway, asshole in a big white vehicle with WAY too much accessory-type stuff all over it came screaming down 7th Avenue this morning--straight at my car, and do you know why? Because 7th Avenue is a one-way street right there. One way southbound. Which direction was he going? North. Very Very Scary. Instilled the Fear Of Idiot Drivers in me. Couple that with my experience on...whatever last day I was at work. I can't remember. brain all fuzzy with hurt and mucus. Drivers bad. Even me. Boy hates it when I drive, I'm telling you, and so I never do anymore, which is okay mostly because it takes the pressure off of me to do stuff, but man i miss driving like a lunatic.
see what i mean about punchy? I think I'll stick to work from now on.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 08:25 AM October 11, 2001
desparately ill. no worky-worky for
desparately ill. no worky-worky for me. can't hold head up any longer. sleep now.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 09:57 AM October 10, 2001
going home now. fever rising.
going home now. fever rising. head is one big wooly mucus-y mess.
Oh, and if I ever again happen to mention the phrase "mucus sex", please do admonish me severely.
These days, nothing is as entertaining as Blather. Thank you, Billbarol.
The sinus headache, earache and sore throat are now officially my second cold of the season. And we haven't even hit winter yet. One dubious pal suggested that it's from using public transportation. Gross. I bet it's that damned Squirrel Girl's fault.
...
There are no "sexy+african+jokes" here.
...
I'm being very focused today to make up for yesterday's folly. I plan on finishing all eighty million things I need to do quickly, then going home and sleeping. Yes. Sleep. Sleep good.
See, the problem isn't falling asleep, I do that readily enough for the most part--ask Boy, because it happens at inopportune moments (Tuesday night.) It's the waking up at 4 a.m. and not being able to go back to sleep that's the problem. I start having all these disjointed dreams (usually about work these days, which is another problem altogether), which keep me awake until maybe ten or fifteen minutes before I'm supposed to get up--which leaves me feeling not the least bit rested. And the work dreams! I wake up and feel like I've already been at work for nine hours--it's making it difficult for me to want to jump out of bed full of vim and vigor.
bitch moan bitch moan.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 09:30 AM October 09, 2001
Still no relief. Bitch moan
Still no relief. Bitch moan bitch moan. And I'm dying to get laid right about now.
So I can spend the afternoon being irritable and unfocused from the continuing misery of a sinus headache...or I can take drugs and be zonked out and unfocused from the numbness provided by sudafed and the like.
I think i'd rather be an insufferable bitch. No drugs for me!
Sinus headache. Sore throat. And I'm pretty sure that's an ear infection.
What a morning already, huh?
I think I'll keep posting to a minimum today, because I'm only likely to bitch and moan about being sick again.
Stupid immune system.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 09:26 AM October 08, 2001
I'm being a good and
I'm being a good and supportive girlfriend and adding to the profitability of my Boy's company by making secret purchases and fluffing up my wishlist (buy me stuff buy me stuff). And I'm rating things like mad. And I wrote a review.
See what a good girlfriend I am? Even if I do try to be friends with my ex.
It's not like at the beginning of this long strange journaling trip, where I wanted to have sex with the ex, that was madness. It's more that I think he needs a friend--and I'm a good one, usually. And let me explain the earlier post:
He's in love with this girl, Becky, who has a boyfriend, Chad. Chad treats Becky like dirt, but Becky sticks around because they've been together for a long time and they live together and so forth. Becky, despite this boyfriend, claims to be in love with the Ex. (that's MY ex, not hers. I don't know hers. I don't know her, either. Just to be clear.) Got it so far? Ex loves Becky. Becky says she loves Ex. Becky says she doesn't love Chad, but won't leave him. Ex loves Becky but doesn't love himself enough to just walk away. Instead, he calls her and takes her out to lunch and buys her things and goes away on secret weekends with her and all manner of inappropriate things (as he is wont to do--it's sort of his style, that inappropriate stuff.), and even though he knows she's jerking him around, he still pines for her like a schoolboy. Or something. I'm not so much with the metaphors right now.
So Becky, after weeks of sneaking around behind her boyfriend's back, finally says to Ex: no more phone calls, no more lunch, no more Leavenworth on weekends, etc. Ex is, quite obviously, displeased, because he's obsessive that way in the early throes of a relationship and has to see the womanfolk all the time.
Trust me, I was there. You know, when he was dating me. So I know what I'm talking about.
That was a few weeks ago, I guess. Then today, apparently out of the blue, she calls and tells him she wants to have lunch and "talk", which in turn makes Ex act like a ten year old girl on her way to the 'NSync concert.
Am I really supposed to be happy for him that she's talking to him again? I think he definitely needs the love of a good and sensible woman (not me, obviously.)--but she seems neither good (with the sneaking around) nor sensible (we've discussed many a time the evils of complacency.). And thus, I really can't work up much enthusiasm for her recurring role in this drama.
It's time to recast the part. Any ladies between the age of 18 and 28, who are good and sensible (though preferrably with a touch of the bad, because he needs that, too) and SINGLE (he's got some problems with only being attracted to women who have boyfriends. or fiancé's. or husbands. bad deal.)--I've got a guy for you. He's reasonably intelligent, kind of macho, knows how to fix things (mechanical or otherwise), has nice hands, dresses fairly well, has gainful employment and a good dog (sharpei), looks good on a motorcycle, and...uh...yeah. That's enough, right?
You must be:
-, tops.
- 5'0-5'6. 5'7 tops. I think I was really too tall for him at almost-5'8. Not that he's short--he's about 5'11 or so. But he likes the shorties.
- not psycho.
- smart, witty, clever, etc. Though not more so than I am, because I'm a petty bitch that way.
- in the Greater Seattle Area, which includes but is not limited to: Everett, Edmonds, Woodinville, Bellevue, Kirkland, Redmond, Issaquah, Shoreline (heh), Bothell, and Ken'mo. If you live anywhere south of downtown on the West Side, go away. Residents of Tukwila, Kent, Southcenter, SeaTac, and Renton (and further outlying communities)--no thank you. And stop reading my blog. (sorry coworkers-who-read-this.)
- Able to tolerate, within reason, the following detractors: He's a Republican one. And conservative. He has a problem with prioritizing--quite often, cars/motorcycles/racing/etc. come before girlfriends. He also has issues with expressing feelings, so get ready to pry any sort of deep thing out of him until he loosens up--and it can be maddening. And he likes to grab both your hands in one of his and poke you in the ribs until you want to die. You have been forewarned.
So. I'm now pimping my Ex. Seriously, though. If you're interested, mail to mama_p_funk at hotmail dot com will do the trick. I'll even chaperone your first date like, if you're being a ninny.
I can't believe it's come to this. Ah, well. All in the name of making everyone happy. Besides, if he's got a good and sensible woman, I can stop being his friend and my own love life will be perfect again, yes?
I'm eating my designer salad from Nordstrom, which used to be a spinach-egg-bacon-almond-avocado-raspberry vinaigrette salad--but now is composed solely of bacon, boiled egg bits, toasted almond slivers, and two untouched bits of avocado. I hate avocado when it gets brown, which is what happens when it's got a splash of raspberry vinaigrette on it.
I like bacon salads.
So I had this physics prof in school, all blonde and surfer-like with little regard for grades or exams or attendance--which worked well for me. He had this brother, whose occupation I couldn't tell you, but whose favorite meal was--careful, gag-reflex--meat salad.
That would be, for you unedjemacated folks, a bowl of meat. Shredded, sliced, diced, smoked, whatever. Meat. I presume there was some sort of dressing/sauce/whathaveyou on it, but I didn't ask for fear of gorge rising any higher.
*shudder*
I'm glad I finished those four little snips of bacon in my spinach salad before I started thinking about the meat salad. Gross.
he's mad at me right now, but sooner or later he's going to realize that she's using him for her own selfish urges--that i was right, even though i didn't really want to be. she wants the flattery and compliments he gives her--but she's not going to leave her asshole boyfriend for him. he can't stop wanting her, though, and for that i feel bad because i know the drill.
sooner or later, he'll realize that i'm the best friend he has right now.
It was, for the most part (with the exception of the raging headache and nausea Saturday night provided--more on that in a bit), a lovely and relaxed weekend, which is just the way I like them, uh-huh uh-huh.
We witnessed history being made on Friday night as our (beloved?) Mariners won their 115th game, breaking some record or another. I was more interested in inhaling my garlic fries and subsequently grossing Boy out with my supermegaultragarlic breath. He was not pleased and refused to kiss me, the bugger! Praise heavens for gum.
[tangent: I say (beloved?) Mariners in reference to Boy's insistance that Seattle sports fans are the most fickle on earth, loving when the chips are high, and leaving when the chips are low--but I don't happen to agree. Illustrious stepfather has ensured that our loyalty is absolute by way of season tickets behind home plate (field level), family vacations spent following the team ('92 Midwest, '93 East Coast, '94 West Coast) and the unwaivering faith that our love and support will somehow push that damned team through lean years into this meaty season where we may well take the Series. Of course, we're only individuals.
But we're individuals with powerful friends who get us great tickets for sold-out-record-breaking-friday-night-games. /end tangent]
And then there was Saturday, an evening of great amusement, despite a shaky beginning at Fado--Boy and I are not nor shall ever be Pioneer Square types--moving on to Garage for drinking and joshing and all of that celebratory goodness. (Again, happy belated birthday to Manziki, he's a grownup now!) I believe it was the third sidecar that crashed my joy party--and the nausea might have had something to do with a deluxe and a strawberry shake from Dick's at two in the morning.
Sometimes I do bad things to my body. *snicker*
And, as mentioned previously, yesterday was spent in my pyjamas, with Boy at my side.
I think that's all I'd like to say about Sunday.
And now, there's today--slept through the alarm, got to work late...only to remember that my boss is out of the office today, heh. Thank heavens for small favors. Had my petit dèjuner of sourdough toast and cocoa. Doing some chatting with Blondie. Other than that--we're trying to keep the brain functioning on the lowest level possible while still awake. I don't want to contemplate the new Cold War.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 10:04 AM October 07, 2001
I think it's still a
I think it's still a little early for this, but who could blame a retired newspaperman for that kind of blog?
I'm really very nervous. And I'm choosing to deal by staying in my pyjamas all day, not answering the phone, and occasionally twitching. But only on my right side, the twitching. First a bicep, now a quadricep, a toe, a finger.
Harbinger of things to come?
Mortality and I don't see eye to eye. I have too much to accomplish (or not, as a particular parent might point out in one of his less-supportive moments) and see and feel and do for this single puny lifetime--but I know that like tanks of superunleaded and cans of soup, this too shall empty.
I just don't want it to happen as an effect of warfare, wide-spread, biological, or otherwise.
j'ne suis pas prêt
Posted by ferragamogirl at 05:39 PM October 06, 2001
Weekend reigns supreme. No thinky-thinky
Weekend reigns supreme. No thinky-thinky for me today--I'm busy curled up on the sofa with my Boy and my Kid Sis in front of a fire watching Cartoon Network and eating Halloween Peeps. Ghosts! Pumpkins! in the form of sugar-coated marshmallow!
Good times, indeed.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 05:19 PM October 05, 2001
And then there's every morning,
And then there's every morning, every single perfect perfect morning where I wake up wrapped in love and Boy and duvet--I am safe and warm and there is no other place on earth where I am so perfectly at peace.
...
Although I really should put all that damned laundry away, because it's disrupting the Zen aspect of our bedroom.
There was another morning, a perfect perfect parisien morning--crisp air, no cigarette smoke or disgruntled parisiens to be found yet--where I crossed the Pont Neuf from the Rue Boutarel (where our flat was) to arrive at Les Tuilieries before the tourists were out in full force. Camera in hand, brioche in pocket, and a small flask in the shape of a heart (so the fam didn't know) in case I got chilled--and as I walked the early-morning-quiet streets, I could feel myself being watched. Turn, look, slight surprise: A man who paints the Seine was...painting me. Same red cap, same green coat, my brown boots slipping across cobblestones older than my homeland--painting little me.
There was this morning, this perfect perfect morning where the dew was thick and the water met the trees and fog hung low on the mast--I was first watch, just me and illustrious stepfather, cruising a small channel near Robson Bight--and there has never been a time since where I've felt so quiet and small and capable at the same time.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 10:54 AM October 04, 2001
You'll notice a small change--I've
You'll notice a small change--I've decided to give up my rather frumpy alias and am now signing my posts with a sleek and succinct nom de plume: Ferra.
Don't ask questions, just accept this. If you link to my site by name, you'd be smart to catch up quick, or link-followers will become confused and stop reading your site. Ancient Gypsy curse.
Now, please--dreamless sleep? I need it right now.
*Early-morning onset of nausea
*Forgot bus pass in yesterday's coat pocket, had to pay for commute (-$1.50)
*Payroll system fecked up, shorted me two days' pay (and everyone else who used their ATO time in the last pay period. Stupid Kronos.) (-$250.00)
*deli put all manner of nasty-ness on my sandwich, rendering it inedible, and my passive-agressive self was too wimpy to demand retribution (-$4.00)
*Potentially crazy exchange with coworker in supervisory position. I like to push boundaries.
Good things that happened today--A List:
*Early-morning nausea mostly went away after my french breakfast
*Taking the bus to work saves me $13 a day in parking and gas, and is good for the environment. (monetary benefit: +$11.50; environmental benefit: immesurable)
*Paycheck shortage will be remedied--and in the process of dealing with that, also found out that I got two months of health care benefits for FREE. (+$120 in deductions that were never deducted, along with appx. +$400 in doctor's visits, labwork and prescriptions that I would have had to pay for if I didn't have said benefits)
*well, there was really nothing I could do about the sandwich, so that's still a loss.
*Potentially crazy exchange of opposing views resulted in no animosity whatsoever, despite my initial overreaction. (+1 friend of dubious beliefs)
*I'm looking fairly foxy for a girl with no makeup on.
*Didn't get fired. That must suck. (+22,000/yr)
Looks like I'm up $22,276, one friend of dubious beliefs, and some environmental kudos! And I'm looking foxy sans makeup. As my darling Zone is so fond of saying:
Oh, and did I mention that I broke 3,000 individual site visits this week? Yay! Thanks to you all, of course, and thanks to meee for being entertaining enough to keep you coming back, heh.
"Okay, now I think we have alot of the same opinions, but are saying them differently. Again, I'm sorry the e-mail offended you. I appreciate your opinions. You're a very intelligent individual, and I like and accept you just the way you are!"
Aww! I'm so glad that this didn't escalate any further. She's not a fucking moron, she's just...*shudder* conservative. She's really a sweet lady, despite having some opposing views. And I'm always rather fond of people who call me smart, heh.
As opposed to those who call me "Smart-mouth". ...that would be my evil uncle Bastard, and no one really likes him much, not even his fourth wife.
Newsflash: Mood slowly improving.
I've really got to kerb my quick-temper-flaring-impulse-judgment thing, don't I. It'll end up being a liability if I let it get out of hand. Curse this emotional irrationality! And hormones, curse them, too.
"Since you felt the need to share your opinion on this e-mail, I feel the need to do the same. I think we're gonna have to agree to disagree. While I don't believe in some of the points made, such as the abortion issue, I think there are some very valid points, and I think that while the "big picture" is general, I think what the message is is that part of the reason there may be violent tendencies in our children is because we are not able to discipline them the way we want or teach them right from wrong or good from bad the way we see fit. I'm sorry about your teacher and I'm sorry I offended you, but I think I'd like to point out that if you are giving children all these rights, you are taking rights from someone else---the parent. I believe in freedom of speech as well, but I am a firm believer in thought process. If you hear things over and over again, you're eventually going to accept it. I'm curious, what do you attribute the violence in our children these days to, and around the world for that matter???"
*sigh*. And my response to her response...
"I'm perfectly fine with agreeing to disagree--and please don't take these words as hostile or combative, that's not at all my intention. I'd just rather not get forwards like those in the future.
Also, I understand the "big picture" message--there are a lot of values and beliefs that children aren't getting lately, and it's having an adverse effect on American society as a whole.
However, the proof that email provided, the minor points? I happen to think they're off-base. I do not personally believe that a lack of physical abuse on the part of the parent or the educational system (and that's how I view spanking, as physical abuse) makes America's children more prone to conscience-less behavior, to choosing wrong over right, to be disrespectful. In fact, I believe the opposite. I feel that children who are subjected to physical abuse as a form of consequence are MORE prone to violence, and more prone to propagating that same form of consequence upon their children in turn, and I don't like the sound of that cycle.
Of course, that starts to sound like a huge sociological debate about Environment vs. Genetics, which is more tangential than I'd like to be, so we'll forget it for now.
As for freedom of speech taking away the rights of parents--that wasn't my point at all. Children are, indeed, the responsibility of the parent--but in my view, a great deal of that parental responsibility lies in teaching their children to make intelligent and informed choices after seeing what life has to offer. The forwarded message was right, I think, in saying that there's an awful lot of crap being produced by all forms of media--films full of unnecessary violence and profanity, music that's degrading and offensive--but I don't think taking away an individual's right to produce those things is the answer. Teaching your children what's right and wrong, good and bad IS. I fully believe in parental supervision regarding media influence--but I don't believe in parental censorship (this is a highly simplified view in light of the conversation--I'm not going to argue every single last semantic point, because this is neither the time nore place).
So how do we solve this problem of increasing violence and remorseless action on the part of mere children? I don't really have a workable answer. I think that the points I've made are good and sensible ones, if highly simplified and optimistic. And really, not being a parent, I can only make the assumption that these are the tactics I would use with my children--I would beand communicative and guide them to make what I feel are the Right Decisions, and teach them to be Good People. There are, of course, exceptions to the rule--that's what parental supervision is about. If your child wants the latest Eminem album, then I'd say go ahead and put your foot down, because the message that artist is sending is certainly not one for young and formative minds. But there does come a time when a parent just has to let go and allow the child to make their own decision. Regardless of what the decision is about--choice of religious beliefs, degree of education, sexual activity, or hairstyle--if the parent has taught the child how to do this intelligently and within the bounds of reason, then I think they're doing a pretty damned good job.
It's not about restriction and conformity: It's about freedom and intelligence. In light of the recent terrorist attacks, we should all be even more greatful for those two things that we're able to take advantage of--we have the freedom to think and say things however we choose, even if it's not "the norm", and most of us have the intelligence to use that freedom in a positive manner.
Anyway, I'm starting to babble. I hope that made things a little more clear (even though it took a while for me to say it all!)"
Updates at 5 and 6:30 with traffic and weather every half hour until 7. Stay tuned.
I managed to (mostly) avoid biting the moron's head off in a return email:
"I just found most of it pretty offensive--being a not-very-religious abortion-supporter who doesn't believe in corporal punishment in schools or restricting speech in any form. Also, I had a teacher who was shot by a former student when I was in junior high. Subsequently, I have a hard time accepting the broad generalizations made in that vein--Children are not more likely to have shooting rampages because there is no mandatory prayer in school, nor are girls more likely to have abortions for the hell of it just because they're available, and teenagers are no more likely to have sex because condoms are available, either.
Of course, everyone is welcome to their opinion--but if you come across more forwards like that, just leave me off the list? Thanks."
And it just makes me tired. All of it.
I'm incredibly hormonal right now. I'd better go for a long walk when I get home to be absolutely sure that I'm done being this way before Boy gets home. I feel guilty about being difficult like this around him, all crabby and mood-swing-y. It's irritating enough just for me, I can't imagine what it takes to put up with me.
And to top it off, I got the following email today from a coworker:
"Dear God:
Why didn't you save the school children at . . .
a.. Moses Lake, Washington 2/2/96
b.. Bethel, Alaska 2/19/97
c.. Pearl, Mississippi 10/1/97
d.. West Paducah, Kentucky 12/1/97
e.. Stamps, Arkansas 12/15/97
f.. Jonesboro, Arkansas 3/24/98
g.. Edinboro, Pennsylvania 4/24/98
h.. Fayetteville, Tennessee 5/19/98
i.. Springfield, Oregon 5/21/98
j.. Richmond, Virginia 6/15/98
k.. Littleton, Colorado 4/20/99
l.. Taber, Alberta, Canada 5/28/99
m.. Conyers, Georgia 5/20/99
n.. Deming, New Mexico 11/19/99
o.. Fort Gibson, Oklahoma 12/6/99
p.. Santee, California 3/5/01 and
q.. El Cajon, California 3/22/01?
Sincerely,
Concerned Student
Dear Concerned Student:
I am not allowed in schools.
Sincerely,
God
Let's see, I think it started when Madeline Murray
O'Hare complained she
didn't want any prayer in our schools.
And we said, OK...
Then, someone said you better not read the Bible in
school, the Bible that says "thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not
steal, and love your neighbors yourself,"
And we said, OK...
Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they
misbehave because their little personalities would be warped and we might
damage their self-esteem.
And we said, an expert should know what he's talking
about so we won't spank
them anymore...
Then someone said teachers and principals better not discipline our
children when they misbehave. And the school administrators said no faculty
member in this school better touch a student when they misbehave because we
don't want any bad publicity, and we surely don't want to be sued.
And we accepted their reasoning...
Then someone said, let's let our daughters have
abortions if they want, and they won't even have to tell their parents.
And we said, that's a grand idea...
Then some wise school board member said, since boys will be boys and
they're going to do it anyway, let's give our sons all the condoms they
want, so they can have all the fun they desire, and we won't have to tell
their parents they got them at school.
And we said, that's another great idea...
Then some of our top elected officials said it doesn't matter what we
do in private as long as we do our jobs. And we said, it doesn't matter
what anybody, including the President, does in private as long as we have
jobs and the economy is good...
And someone else took that appreciation a step
further and published
pictures of nude children and then stepped further
still by making
them available on the Internet.
And we said, everyone's entitled to free speech...
And the entertainment industry said, let's make TV shows and movies
that promote profanity, violence and illicit sex...And let's record music
that encourages rape, drugs, murder, suicide, and satanic themes...
And we said, it's just entertainment and it has no adverse effect and
nobody takes it seriously anyway, so go right ahead...
Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no
conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't
bother them to kill strangers, classmates or even themselves.
Undoubtedly, if we thought about it long and hard enough, we could
figure it out. I'm sure it has a great deal to do with...
"WE REAP WHAT WE SOW,"
Pass it on if you think it has merit! If not then just discard
it...but if you discard this thought process, then
don't you dare sit back
and complain about what bad shape this world is in...
Keep good thoughts in your mind and love in your heart:)"
...
I can't believe someone actually sent this to me at work. What an absolute fucking moron.
Pain grille et chocolat chaud has helped the nausea subside. I feel like I'm in Europe again. But...not.
Evidence of why I'm a complete and utter freak, in the form of another bizarre dream: It was Thanksgiving, and I lived in my house with my former best friend, Kate (go read the archives, she's all over in there)--and for some reason, I wasn't going to spend the holiday with my family. Kate and I decided to make a "traditional Japanese Thanksgiving dinner", but out plans were foiled when the poop log that we'd been planning on baking fell off the roof onto the deck and got rained on. So she volunteered to make spaghetti instead, but I declined and went to my parents' house like a good daughter.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 07:25 AM October 03, 2001
I was the meat (heh)
I was the meat (heh) in a weirdo sandwich today on the (thankfully short) bus-ride home. On my right: the infamous Squirrel Girl, sans squirrel, avec an urge to talk crazy to...no one? Me, perhaps, but I wasn't interested in anything but my book, thankyouverymuch. On my left: You really don't want to know. Trust me on this one.
Enough. I can't think about it any longer, I'm getting all freaked out.
I've been writing this entry in bits and chunks (not that it's big enough to have chunks, more like just little scraps of skin left over) because I'm frantically running about the house getting. things. done. I've resolved to be the absolute Best Girlfriend Ever, because my Boy most certainly deserves it. I don't think I'll finish the thing that I'm doing by the time he gets home, but I'm making a pretty good go at it. I'll do the first half tonight, and the second half tomorrow, and all well be fabulous.
So usually, when I'm doing orders for our men's division, I get through about 8 or 9 an hour. Today's (and yesterday's) productivity level? Approximately .75 orders/hour. I'm feeling laaaaaaazy.
...
I'm also being punished for my sins--that Cherry Coke gave me a monster of a headache.
The lady who waters 75% of the plants in my office (all of the big plants are "under contract" to a...plant watering service, how gay is that?, and we're required to take care of the small ones that are supposed to be aesthetically enhancing but really just end up making a mess because none of us can keep the poor things alive--and really, how are we supposed to?? Palm trees and orchids really don't belong in this city, I tell you)...
Is a Wet Spot member. In fact, she happens to be the Wet Spot member who was in the wading pool full of pudding with me and Boy last weekend.
There's something in the air here today at work--everyone is starving to death, and I am one of them. I made a bagel run a while ago, which included all sorts of improbable bagel sammiches (brie and tomato on jalapeño, smoked salmon and sprouts on pesto, peanut butter and cream cheese on garlic, and most improbably--low-fat cream cheese on plain. Blech.), and we're all still hungry. *sob* What's wrong with us??
Eeek! Nicole over at Ubiquitous.nu gave me a front-page link! I stumbled across her weblog via...diarist.net? I think. and have been in love with it ever since. She seems like a positively wonderful girl-woman. Go! Read! Enjoy.
If you are the crazy bastard who left the crack-addled voicemail message for me at work, do let me know. I strongly dislike cryptic messages from strange men who don't identify themselves or leave return numbers.
I must be the most obnoxious girl in the office today--I can't stop sniffing the roses Boy sent me. And I keep adjusting the vase on my desk drawer, to the girls' amusement.
Oh, I didn't mention? Boy sent me the most beautiful dozen roses I've ever seen, and I've been swooning ever since. I mean, more than I usually swoon over him, which is a great deal, so this added swoon-y-ness is something to behold. The girls in the office are green with envy, and rightly so--he's positively the most wonderful Boy on earth. Spectacularly wonderful.
Superlatives aside--I can't believe how lucky I am.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 10:07 AM October 02, 2001
What on earth have I
What on earth have I been thinking all day?? I've had crackers in my desk drawer, and I completely forgot. I'd better start chomping, because this nausea is killing me.
Completely unable to concentrate. I should scrap the day and go home. In fact, I think I will. Gotta stop and visit mom first--she had her surgery today, and is doing fine apparently--but I got her some balloons and stuff anyway.
And I got a surprise for my darling Boy--he should keep his eye on the mailbox. hint hint.
whoa, deja vu, anyone? Where did I read something about cottage cheese, I swear some journal i read was talking about the same damned thing. Was it...You? I can't remember!
Boy and Zone (my dinner companions last evening--I made the best veggie chili and cornbread and we watched Waiting For Guffman) are both feeling fine, apparently, so I don't think I poisoned them with dinner.
Not that poisoning was really an option, everything was either: a) fresh from the store; or b) beans in a can. Well, there was also cheese, but I think it's safe. The only thing that I had that they didn't was a scoop of sour cream--Boy pointed out that I ate something that was intentionally soured before you even buy it, which kind of grossed me out once I thought about it--but I don't think that was it, either. Besides, if it had been dinner last night, don't you think that I would have gotten sick much sooner?
Fecking bodies. I'm ready to just be a floating disembodied head. And two hands, 'cause I've got to type. And snoobs, they're fun. And a butt, because that's fun, too. Oh cripes. Look, just give me what I've got, but cut out the problematic parts and fill them with...stuffing. No stomach, intestines, uterus, or right knee. Just stuffing.
Doesn't everything seem so much better after you puke in the bathroom at work?
...
Oh wait. No, it doesn't.
You know, I felt fine this morning, if a bit rushed. I managed a banana and some oatmeal for breakfast, and I've been drinking water all day--so why am I barfing in the bathroom and feeling like someone punched me in the stomach? If you know, please do pass the information along.
Just to make you aware--You will find none of the following here:
+"secretary sex"
+"tiki torches or bamboo sale"
+"Disney sex"
+"Howard Stern"
+"Chinese swear words"
+"Head shaving pictures"
and most disturbingly...
+"Celine Dion camel toe wedgie".
More evidence that I'm entirely too easily influenced by media and advertising: A Dream Like Another Dream I've Had.
It started with me being IN my Sims game, but still controlling the other players. Crazy. Then, suddenly, I was Buffy the Vampire Slayer--and I was stabbing people in Coca-Cola t-shirts with straws in a Victoria's Secret.
Those straws weren't working too well.
I woke up in a clenched mess half-way down the bed, having slept through my alarm as well.
Posted by ferragamogirl at 09:35 AM October 01, 2001
half an hour to kill
half an hour to kill until I can guiltlessly leave the office.
I have been so freaking productive today, it's scary. I'm now the most organized girl on earth--or at least in this office. Files have been made, arranged, and slipped neatly into place in a convenient drawer. My Outlook inbox has been sorted, folders created, deleted items good and deleted once and for all, incoming mail color-coded and directed to their final resting places. New-job-tasks have been explained and made-note-of, and I feel like everything is coming together.
It's not just work, either.
Boy's car is fixed, meetings with potential roommates are pending, and things are shaping up at home. We had a week of slump, wherein I must have been the most miserable person to live with, I don't know how he does it--there's no mistaking when *I* get crabby, no sir. But that's done! Closure has been gained and fantasies fulfilled, and I'm in love with the most wonderful boy in the world. What more could a brown-eyed girl want?
Not much. Flowers. flowersflowersflowers. (Sidenote: My darling Boy--yes, this is a hint. A big one.) Other than that--I'm set.
Nope, wasn't pudding in my ear, thank heavens. I wouldn't want to have to explain to my mother after I complain about having an earache. It was bad enough making excuses last night when she asked us to Sunday dinner:
Mom: So, since I know you two don't have any plans for tonight, come to dinner, your stepfather misses you. And your poor, little, impressionable sister. And your baby brother. And your new brother. Me, slightly guilty even though I hung out with my sister all afternoon: Mom, Buddy and Henry are almost 18, and Liv's 8. They're not little OR new--and tonight won't work, we actually do have plans. Mom, skeptical: Right. *pause* So we'll see you at six? Me, blushing, mind racing, god what do i tell her?: No, we're...*stammering pause* going to a dinner party. At...a friend's house. In...Bellevue. (shit, why did I say that?) Mom, moving into full interrogation mode: What are you talking about, Bellevue. No one goes to Bellevue for dinner on a Sunday night. Why would you go there?? Me, panicking: It's...an Amazon thing. Mom, giving up easier than I expected: Oh, fine. But you'd better be making dinner for the rest of them on Tuesday night while I'm recovering from surgery. Me, flooded with relief: No prob, love you, gotta go, bye! (slam)
Gah. My family. I love them to pieces, but it'd be so much easier if they didn't freak out over me being a complete and utter sex-pervert. Then I wouldn't have to resort to...dinner parties. In Bellevue. On Sunday night. Because who goes to Bellevue for dinner on sunday?
You are all going to be so jealous. Seriously. Do you know why? I had my absolute ultimate fantasy fulfilled last night (or at least enough of it to make me blissfully happy):
Boy and I rolled in pudding last night. And chocolate syrup, and marshmallow fluff, and cherry pie filling and honey and non-dairy topping. In a big huge wading pool. With another (strange) woman, but she left after a while--probably due to my go-away vibe. I wanted it to be just us, in front of our appreciative audience, covered in goo.
And do you know what? It was fucking incredible. Words do not do the experience justice, I tell you. In fact, I won't even try. If you'd like every single squishy, intimate detail, you know how to find me.
(Warning: Do not attempt at home. Go somewhere where people will clean up after you. And shower at least twice, using brillo pads and dishsoap. The greasy residue is incredible.)
