Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Oh, I just can't decide.....poor me
PL dropped by last night with my case o' wine. I usually grab a Chilean merlot or cabernet sauvingnon, but my oh my, I now have 800 different kinds.Okay, a case only has twelve, but you get my point.
PL's quite proud of his wines as he uses no chemicals and all those lovely bottles have been aging for at least a year.
I have barbera, cabernet sauvingnon, two merlots, a bordeaux, two pinot noirs, an alicante, two montepulcianos, bourgeron and even one white.
Fortunately, I managed to curb the urge (due largely in part to more computer frustration) to lock the doors, turn off the phones and open all 12 bottles.
The best part is he only wanted to charge me what it cost him - 4 dollars a bottle. WELL, I say, that's not fair, you should make a profit!
We settled on five bucks per.
Love that man.
I'll have to spend some time on the weekend figuring out the characteristics of most of them.
Cheers!
And also for some strange reason I was going through my draft posts today and found a couple that I have no idea why I removed them. So I put them back. Must have been a 'moment'.
M2 had a good idea last night that I should track humidity levels for when my knees hurt. T2 and I were talking about it and wondering what the data would provide (not a solution, although as M2 said - a threshold - although I'm not sure what good that would do me either, "Quick everyone, humidity levels are rising, pack your shit, we've gotta get out of town!") . . . T2 is convinced that M2's point was that I could prove it really did have something to do with the weather and that it wasn't all in my head. But is too much of a gentleman to put it that way.
Nice. Both of you.
lyric at post:
..I'll hold you in the desert
And on a lonely beach
I'll hold you in these places
Where no one else can reach you..color>
Monday, August 30, 2004
All's Well That Ends With Crying With Relief and Joy
But just so you know - I loathe, no I hate javascript and it's picky snitty attitude.It needs an adjustment.
My attitude however, is marginally up the scale towards sweetness and light once again.
And even though most of you have no idea what I am talking about, just rest assured that I (we) have conquered one demon (my inability to see what's in front of my face) and that I shall not be frustrated in the slightest until at least 9 am tomorrow.
Cause there's still ten other things to deal with.
Candy fuelled
I am settling in at work for an exhausted haul to the end of one nightmare task so that I can get on with another one tomorrow.And then I'm going home to bed. Straight to bed.
After a sugar run, I realize how sad that is as I sit here, staring at a candy love heart that says... Hold Me.
Gahhh.
However, that is balanced slightly by the fact that the next one says Web Site.
Now, wouldn't that be the perfect next-generation step for the internet? A website that holds you.
lyric at post:
..you're the angel that keeps me in line..color>
Can Someone Take the Sign Off My Back Please
That meeting on the 15th? That one we haven't invited anyone to yet? The hotel cancelled the room this afternoon. Imagine that.Christ.
However, sometime this week PL is coming over with a case of wine I just bought really cheap from him. Anyone wanna come over for a wee bevvy?
Sunday, August 29, 2004
A Night For The Poets to Speak
I was reading Allen Ginsberg just now in the mind of finding a quick quote. But then, drawn in - I'd forgotten what a fascinating mess he was. I'll be the first to admit that today was a discouraging day for me (for many reasons) and I'm having a little trouble relating to someone who did a little too much ether and wrote things like this:What can be possible
in a minor universe
in which you can see
God by sniffing the
gas in a cotton?
The answer to be taken in
reverse & Doubled Math
ematically both ways.
excerpt from Aether, Allen Ginsberg, 'Reality Sandwiches'
There was a little dance with Dylan Thomas - who was great for many reasons but will more than likely only be remembered by most for:
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
"The zipless fuck was more than a fuck. It was a platonic ideal. Zipless because when you came together zippers fell away like rose petals, underwear blew off in one breath like dandelion fluff. Tongues intertwined and turned liquid. Your whole soul flowed out through your tongue and into the mouth of your lover."
Love that. Anyways, she's managed to come up with something that describes the reading of wonderful, insane poets late at night after a long, difficult day, rather than the melancholy poignancy I was actually looking for. And that is the mark of a good woman.
Again & again
I have read your books
without ever wishing to know you.
I suck the alphabet of blood.
I chew the iron filings of your words.
I kiss your images like moist mouths
while the black seeds of your syllables
fly, fly, fly
into my lungs.
Untranslated, untranslatable,
you are rooted inside me -
not you - but the you
of your poems.
excerpt from To Pablo Neruda, Erica Jong, 'Loveroot'.
I think I might just take her to bed with me.
note to self #6
Worrying about what you are thinking really means I am not even thinking about you. I am thinking only of myself.I know it is pointless for me to think I am wrong for feeling insecure or frustrated or overwhelmed.
It's like hating the internet because I can't understand how to make it do what I want it to do, right now. I'm allowed to be frustrated. Whether I am responsible for these feelings or not I am responsible for what I do with them.
I want to listen to you, not to myself. I don't want to listen to just the things you are saying but I want to feel what you mean by them.
Just because I can't be far enough back to see it, that doesn't mean it isn't there. I want to learn to listen for what I don't hear, instead of listening to myself.
Everything *I* have to say, I've already heard and I don't need to hear myself again because when I'm listening to myself I am hearing things from yesterday, or last year or a lifetime ago. I can choose to be ruled only by what is happening right now.
Update on the Blood Red Carpet
Once it dried, it was orange.I'm not here today. I am working on employment worky things and learning something new and shaking in my little slippers in case I send the whole interwebnet crashing to the earth in a shattering (but strangely beautiful) display of color.
Erm. Sorry. In advance.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
I Shouldn't Have Had that V-8
But it looked so good sitting in the door of the fridge. That last little bit, just enough for a glassful jammed full with ice. Ahhhh.All set up in my easy chair, little table beside me for the external mouse on this infernal laptop, V-8 all ready to make me happy and refreshed. But before I sit down and get all comfy, I just need to.....
*sploooosh*
V-8 everywhere. The living room now looks like the scene of a particularly messy murder. Splatters of slightly orangey thick and oozy blood over the floor, the computer, the couch, the cat, my legs....
Thankfully, I'd built time into my schedule to spend half an hour on my hands and knees scrubbing at the beige carpeting.
Since the last person to borrow the carpet shampooer did something to make it stop working.
I should sue.
So, here I am, back where I should have been 40 minutes ago.
Without that last glass of V-8.
Which now I REALLY want.
If I happen to knock over the glass of raspberry crystal light now on the floor beside me, I'm sure you'll hear the screams of frustration and thwarted thirst-quenching in Paris.
just because this kind of thing pisses me off
and I'm a mouthy little premenstrual shit disturber
(that is, if you need an excuse to stand up for yourself)oops. and now I'm just being all bitchy. I expanded on kim's comment a bit and sent the following to blogger.....
The blogger at the following link is plagiarizing other blogs.
http://inflatable-emu.blogspot.com/
The post which has alerted me to this plagiarism is
http://thisfish.com/Archives/000767.html
and was written by a blogger I have read for a year, who has very original content and whose blog entry matches her style much more than this EMU person. If you look at the comments for the post that alerted me to this, you'll see that other people who have investigated the EMU blog have seen that she has plagiarized many other blogs-- in fact, she probably hasn't written a single original word since the beginning as it seems even her profile appears to be stolen.
Since this is a violation of Blogger TOS, you have an obligation to shut her down immediately. This is intolerable, not only as a violation of your policy, but as an intelluctual violation of a blogger, any blogger, whether they be well-respected or not.
Following is a sample that other bloggers have posted in regards to this person: Compare (please note that I am too tired to check these, and in true Jen fashion, have trusted to my fellow bloggers:
http://inflatable-emu.blogspot.com/2004/08/my-mobile-phone-cooks-perfect-eggs.html (FAKE!)
and
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/g/a/2004/07/02/notes070204.DTL&nl=fix (REAL!)
http://www.rics.org/ricscms/bin/show?class=Feature&template=/includes/showfeature.html&id=1277
Her Aug 10th post is from here:
http://nonsenseverse.typepad.com/nv/2004/07/maybe_i_should_.html
Her Aug 9th post is found here: http://luvabeans.diaryland.com/placenta.html
Although I have always been extremely pleased with my experience with blogger, I have noted - in this case, the first that I have experienced - that, despite emails over the last four days, this blogger has not been removed from your system nor have we seen any response regarding this issue. I, personally, take this very seriously and this concerns me greatly. Why have your stated policies not been dealt with in a more timely manner regarding an issue that I'm sure (by your articles) is close to your staff's hearts and morals? We all understand that the internet is an extremely transient medium but this is an issue close to the heart of all of us and it would be appreciated if you could look into this and deal with it in a manner befitting the character of the medium you are administering.
Much thanks
Jen ****
randomgestures@blogspot.com
(***) ***-****
random_gestures@shaw.ca
I can't be arsed to make them proper links but if I'm gone tomorrow you'll know that big brother google has had me killed.
lyric at post:
..Mama told me not to come
that ain't the way to have fun, son..color>
Friday, August 27, 2004
ahh, it really IS Friday isn't it?
A new word no one at work will 'get' cause I called someone a twat today. Could have heard a pin drop. No, I'm not trying to get fired.Okay, well, maybe a little.
Do I look like I give a fuck?
Like I said, I'm a lucky girl.
But for now, tonight, I am going to broil myself some premium cow (a shock, I know), drink some wine, hook up the laptop (but only so I can lay on the couch and write an email which is overdue), watch a movie, have a bath and then crawl into bed.
And maybe jack in a new blog if one of you comes up with a suitable name since my brain leaked out my ears this afternoon right about the time I checked out for a sec and called someone a twat in front of a couple of senior VP's.
I figure, lately, that you get what you pay for. Right? That's a generally accepted rule of thumb. They don't pay me enough to act like a lady. No, seriously.
On second thought, could anyone pay me enough to act like a lady?
Giving that a serious and sober moment, I have to admit that years ago I made the decision to NOT be normal (right about the time they wrote that reference letter, J,A - I should really blank out the names and post that, cause it really does make me some sort of superhero, even if it was 11 years ago. Can you imagine what I could have done by now if I'd given in to the 'man'? Staggering, really. I'm not even sure it's possible anymore, I may have mushed out my brain too much.) because I always thought that someday, someone would appreciate my inherent 'jen-ness' and respect my insistence that the person I am - is the person I am all the time. This is largely because I have a hard time with people who are multiple personalities (which appears to be completely acceptable and not quite so 'sybil-like' and requiring of medication as we are led to believe).
"Hi, I am eight-hour a day work Ian who loathes you." *ding* "Oh, it's five pm, I am now evening Ian, want to go downstairs for six or seven pints?" *ding* "Oh, HI THERE, you haven't met me yet, I am Ian with a pregnant girlfriend so I don't know you." (erm, just a name I made up there, sort of. Regardless, nothing dodgy there, ick, but JESUS, can you just be the same person for five minutes so I can get a fix on you? Is consistency some sort of a CRIME these days?)
Where was I? Oh, yeah. I tried. I tried a lot actually, but I've come to believe that I am looking for something that exists only in my mind (which, frankly, lots of things do BUT sometimes, even briefly, there are glimpses and moments and days where those things exist and I don't think it's too much to ask - obviously - for me to ramble on endlessly in parenthesis) don't believe that will happen. Unless I go into business for myself. Which - according to our 'infamous' tea leaf reader, I will - if I could ever come up with something I can do that someone will pay for. Pay LOTS for.
The conclusion that I have come to is that people will pay lots for what I am doing right now, but only if I can do it whilst I act like an automaton. Further, I have decided that if doing that for a year will get me the things I want (money) then that's what I will (money) do. Even though a year spending (money) eight hours a day as someone else goes against everything (money) I believe in with my entire being.... it's all about the (money) ability to get where I wish to be.
Plus my attention span is completely....ohhhh, look at that pretty blinking light on the modem.....
aaaand .. break...
To my shame, I have lost all patience with the growing hair as it spent all day tickling my eyeball, being at (one of many) the stage (yet again) that completely pisses me off and makes me want to shave my head. I have to confess that I have finally sunk to the level of ponytailing my bangs on the top of my head.
Yes, it's true. Please don't hate me.
I promise I will never go out in public like this. Don't leave me. I can change.
All things considered, though, my aura is not in the least bit prickly (according to the 'sensitive' people at work) and I am smug and happy. Not only for me, but for Jen,also who packed it in today for a move to a happier, more productive place. Of which I am inordinately proud (like I had something to do with it, which I didn't) but mostly because, well, she deserves it. Which is the short version of a very long and drawn out list of the reasons I absolutely adore her.
And, while I'm adoring people, let's just add Sal, a worthy blogger for adore-ment if ever there was one, and Dooce (Heather), as well as her husband, Jon (no 'h' there please), who truly must be among the most adored bloggers on the planet. They're having a hard time and for someone whose days have been brightened and enriched by the both of them, I'd like to wish them both a happy return home (and you should too).
lyric at post:
..build a stairway to heaven with a prince or a vagabond
and may you never love in vain
and in my heart you will remain
forever young..color>
Thursday, August 26, 2004
too deep for me
An extremely shallow acquaintance of mine called the other day. She's just gotten married to someone she's only known a few months and when I asked her how married life was ... her reply was this ... (imagine, if you will, this recitation in a completely flat and unexcited voice)"Well, you know.... we're still learning new things about each other all the time. I have noticed that I feel my space is a lot more ... err ... smaller. But, you know, it's alright."
Far be it from me to point out I was talking about this very thing but oh wait, I'll be right back because that was such a glowing endorsement that I feel I must marry the first person who'll have me.
Oh, sorry. You did, didn't you?
With the conversation being such a chuckly barrel of laughs at this point, I admit I wasn't really paying attention (being in the middle of quietly banging my head against the wall) and I made the mistake of answering her next question (you know, those "I am defined by a man so you must be too" questions) with some offhand innocuous comment about, yanno, that Aussie I can't get rid of.
OH god. Bad move, that one. She actually said ...
"OH! I looove Australians!! They're ALL sooooo blonde hair and blue eyes.... YUM!!"
And, I thought - SHIT, I GOT RIPPED OFF!! Who's in CHARGE here?? Mine's got GREEN eyes and BROWN hair! Someone GAVE ME THE WRONG ONE!!
Ah well, I'm sure at the very least he's wrestled a few crocs and boxed with kangaroos.
lyric at post:
..look away, look away
you might be tired and troubled but not today..color>
how to make me wonder how you lived without me
and therefore, how you will again
Call me and leave me a message like this...I am 100 feet away from the building and calling to ask you to remind me that I drove to work today.
Otherwise, I'll do what I did last week and take the bus home and then have to come back for the car.
(I shit you not, this is true).
don't bug me, I'm busy
Thoughts for Contemplation*Never take life too seriously..... Nobody gets out alive, anyway.
*Health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die.
*Give a person a fish and you feed them for a day; teach a person to use the Internet and they won't bother you for weeks.
*Some people are like Slinkies . ....... .not really good for anything, but you can't help but smile when one tumbles down the stairs.
*Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in hospitals..dying of nothing.
*All of us could take a lesson from the weather. It pays no attention to criticism.
*Why does a slight tax increase cost us two hundred dollars and a substantial tax cut saves us thirty cents?
*In the 60's people took acid to make the world seem weird. Now the world IS weird and people take Prozac to make it seem normal.
*****AND THE #1 THOUGHT FOR THE DAY...
You read how many Terrorists came here legally, then hung around on these expired visas, some for as long as 10-15 years. Now, compare that to Blockbuster; you are two days late with a video and those people are all over you. Should we put Blockbuster in charge of immigration?
lyric at post:
..we don't like talking in the morning,
and we dream all afternon..color>
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
oh, carp. or is that crap?
I just remembered I promised to tell the FBI story. But now, really, the lead-up is so much more than the story itself. *heavy gurgly fluey sigh*But, also, I have about 8 hundred million things to do today (and it's only 12:17 am so I best get to bed so I can actually START the day) not the least of which (why do I keep saying that lately?) is compiling / creating / writing a four page cover letter for that rocking job which pays (SAL) 20k more than I make so that it can be proofed by lovely Jen,also and sent off by 4:30 on Friday.
Pacific Standard Time. Cause I don't think time zones are a viable excuse for being late for something that is based on time management.
It'd be a bit of an oopsy, I think.
Sleeping now (except that I think I forgot to say how absolutely perfect you are today).
Halfway. Through the week.
I'm pretty sure all the disasters at work have been narrowly averted. Considering my knees kept me up most of the night, I'm not sure I care.At least the screaming meeming urge to sell the condo for this OR this one has passed. Although, with that last one I could have lived off the extra money for a couple years. Damn tempting, that.
But it's been a good day. *whew* Cause *I* was getting on my nerves.
Today's stupid ebay thingymajiggy? Right here.Erm. But it's dead now. It was 'Britney Spearmint' - gum she'd stepped on. Bidding at something like $1300 US last time I checked. Nice. Nice planet we live on.
Today's great comeback?
"God, C, that music makes me want to cry."
"You know what would make me want to cry? Training my whole life for one moment and then tripping."
He's got a bit of a point there, hey?
Otherwise, I have many many things to do tonight, not the least of which would be letting the cat out of the freezer.
And looking for lyrics that don't make Sal sad. Cause that's.... well... sad.
lyric at post:
..you call me sugar baby
but do you swear?..color>
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
12 hours of sleep but no end in sight
After restraining myself from slapping 1 boss and having 2 more pre-empt each other over my duties before scrapping it out in public in front of contractors / staff, thoroughly insulting me in the process, I hobbled home at the end of the day (still w/the flu) on screaming it'sgonnarain knees (which it now is) to lock the cat in the bedroom in the vain attempt to shut.him.up before throwing open the door after 15 minutes & screaming at full volume: "SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO EAT YOUR GODDAMN DINNER YOU FUCKING FUCKWIT!!!"Whereupon it occured to me that on top of the pains, the aches, the flu, the job stress and the fifth day of rain, that I might just be premenstrual as well.
Oh the endless joys of womanhood.
I'm going back to bed now.
Monday, August 23, 2004
Can you just toss me another blanket? Thanks.
Cause, apart from making no sense at all, shivering all morning and the loss of my ability to correctly pronounce anything more than two syllables long, about 2 pm my entire body started to hurt.Now this could be due (and rightly so) to the sudden horrifying shocking bereft-ing removal slash loss slash leavetaking of my seeing eye person whom I shall not see for another four agonizing weeks this morning but, sadly, I must admit it feels an awful lot like the flu. Which has been going around the office.
(and yes, bereft-ing is now a word, because SICK people get to make up their own new words)
When I get the flu, which I haven't in forever, I also get fever pains. Sharp shooting pains in my hands (mostly) which make me yelp. And cry. Because pain in my hands is one thing I can't deal with.
The girls at work echinacaed me (and no, I can't be arsed to look up the proper spelling - I'm SICK), I've eaten a large amount of leftover Chinese, had a hot bath and am about to take my book and extra strength Nyquil and go to bed, where I will intermittently sob brokenly and pathetically before switching over to sweating and fitful nightmarish sleeping.
My empty bed.
With hurty hands.
*sob*
and oh yeah, being sick makes me slightly melodramatic
oh. err.
I meant MY bookstore. The one I own. In the town in my head where I'm the mayor. It's in the middle of the forest yet not too far from town. The only people who get to come in are people I like. Sometimes. When I feel like opening it. And some of the books I won't sell cause I'm just too attached to them. I think I may have even drafted a floor plan once, I'll bet it's in the same book where the floor plan of my house built on the side of a mountain is.Hey, I can't help it if I spent a lot of time alone as a kid. Eventually dewey-decimal-ling your own meagre library is done and you have to find other things to amuse yourself.
I'd tell you more about it except I have to work.
At least until I get to go home.
lyric at post:
..staring at the dark again
you left your silhouette on my pillow..color>
baaaaaack
Alright, here I am.But I am not happy about it.
And even unhappier by the "There's this thing and a speaker in Vancouver that we need to set up here." Can you possibly be any more fucking obscure? Oh, right, forgive me, I'd forgotten while you were blessedly away on holidays that you seem to deliberately try to fuck.me.over. Wanker.
And, tomorrow, I become a project manager. Apparantly.
I want to get up in the morning and go to my book store and read. Maybe, if I don't really feel like it, not even unlock the door and turn on the 'open' sign. I don't want to be organized. I don't want to take shit from idiotic children in adult bodies. I don't want to be the convenient scapegoat. I don't care that you think I should be able to read your mind for the shit money you pay me when it's possibly the last thing I care about.
And don't even get me started on the other YOU. Because I don't want to be unable to watch you drive away with my arm. Or something. Whatever that missing piece is. I don't want to grow up. I want to be a ToysRUs kid.
I don't even want to put enough thought into making any sort of sense.
Friday, August 20, 2004
away message
I awoke this morning to find that I'd gone completely blind.Fortunately, the Australian tourism commission - those nice people who send me emails every month asking me to visit - anticipated with impeccable timing my sad dilemna and delivered a seeing-eye delegate in the middle of the night.
I plan to take my lessons in navigation by other senses extremely seriously and so for the next couple of days I will not be HERE, but will be out THERE somewhere, touching and feeling my way errr.... around.
Good weekend all.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Incompetence
I am quite capable of being so incompetent by my very own self that it seriously pisses me off when the incompetence of other people negatively impacts my life.As much as I appreciate that almost the entire US branch of one of our offices may very well be fired on Monday (and deservedly so) I find it irritating that I, a mere secretary/babysitter/"executive assistant" can be expected to step in and fill the role of a Sr. Project Manager whose entire project (beginning MONDAY) has completely been mismanaged to shit. Although I appreciate the confidence. Really, I do. But I DO NOT want to bring myself up to speed and try to juggle and fix the myriad problems so far in play. From, what?, 4,000 miles away.
One, because you pay me about $20K less than you would for that position, that you've actually been paying to Miss. Epitomy of Fuck-up-ed-ness for 10, yes, 10 years. and. Two, ONE MORE SLEEP. Jesus.
Outcome remains to be seen. But I.am.not.happy.
I did, however, offer to go live in Houston for a while (ie: through the winter) to rebuild the office. For a raise. A big one. In US dollars.
lyric at post:
..let's take a spin through this godalmighty din
to a place where we can be discreet..color>
picture of health
The cat seems to be over his cold. I know this because he is no longer blowing snot all over my face at 1 am, 3 am and 6 am but has resumed the seriously annoying and hyperkinetic chasing of his own tail around the bed at odd hours of the night.I'd forgotten how much I hate that. I think I'd prefer him sick.
one
more
sleep
lyric at post:
..we spotted the ocean
at the head of the trail
where are we going
so far away..color>
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
I'm having one of those days
Me:"Hi, could I talk to Steve in your computer department?""We don't have a Steve."
"Hmm, I talked to someone there a minute ago, it must be someone who's name starts with -s-. Give me whoever that is."
Next...
Me: "Chris, remember how the last thing I said before I went on vacation was for you to email these VERY IMPORTANT CONTRACT DOCUMENTS to this EXTREMELY IMPORTANT CLIENT?"
"No, I don't remember that.
And....
Me: "Hi, new temp receptionist, if someone calls for T or Jen can you put them through to Jen3, please?"
side note: not only do we have two T's but when I started here, there were *5* Jen's in an office of thirty. Now, there's only three.)
(overheard not FOUR minutes later)
"T or Jen? I see. Which Jen would it be that you were looking for?"
*sigh*
I don't get angry anymore folks, but I am experiencing an incredible amount of hysterical frustration.
SO
"You know the world is going crazy when the best rapper is a white guy, the best golfer is a black guy, the tallest guy in the NBA is Chinese, the Swiss hold the America's Cup, France is accusing the U.S. of arrogance, Germany doesn't want to go to war, and the three most powerful men in America are named 'Bush', 'Dick', and 'Colon'."
Not only do the instructions *the object of the game is to keep him walking, without falling over, by using your mouse from left to right.* do me absolutely no good as I have been unable to correlate my mouse movements to what he is doing, but since the site is in an unintelligble language, this has done absolutely nothing to allieviate my frustration but I thought one of you more smarter people may be able to figure it out. I made it 9 metres before I went to get a beer. The record is 96 metres.
The Drunk Game.
lyric at post:
..round and round my head she goes
in the good dreams though she wears no clothes..color>
how to make me lose all respect for you as a human being
Try to make me understand why, exactly, you would never talk to, let alone date anyone without first knowing what their salary is.Because there is a line below which it and they are unacceptable and not worth the waste of your precious time.
Regardless of what they actually do.
twooooooooo
lyric at post:
..my whole existence is flawed
you get me closer to god..color>
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
things I do not understand about cats
Of course, there's a million of these but right now I'm thinking about one in particular. Do they like fried eggs? Normally? Cause I am, of course, eating a fried egg sandwich (it's a phase - I eat in phases) and yes, I know it is 10:30 at night but I did not leave work until 8:30.ANYWAYS, the cat has a cold. A nasty *sneeze*-right-inyourface-please-get-up-at-5:30inthemorning *sneeze/snot* cold to keep me company *sneeze/sploosh* cause I'm miserable, and you *sneeze/splatter* should be too kind of cold. Which he seems to get a lot. And it's gross cause he'll sit there and mouth-breathe for a while and then blow out all those lovely germs in the midst of all that gunk and I totally want to grab a kleenex and say "blow". So, I'm eating, in the kitchen so it doesn't feel like I'm eating dinner at 10:30 at night (it's more like a snack if you eat it standing up in the kitchen and don't use a plate) and he's trying to crawl up my leg.
Unless someone can back up the 'cats like fried eggs' question (and no Dr. Seuss please) I'm going to go with the theory that he's only eating because he can't smell it to tell whether it's something edible and he's trying to cover off the "just in case it was something good but I didn't know it" angle.
And now I'm going to do something that may cause dieters everywhere to hunt me down and kill me - go to bed RIGHT AFTER I ATE.
'night!
reliance
Jen-who just got back from business lunch: "I'm hungry."N: "You were born hungry."
Jen: "HA! Guess what I was doing at 11 pm last night."
N: "Uhhhh, eating?"
Jen: "Fried egg sandwiches."
J2: "I hate people like you, eating all the time and thin."
S - voice over the wall: "OH god, has she pulled out that tiny roll of fat for you to see yet?"
I'm getting the feeling that there is no sympathy to be had here. There is a roll, I swear it.
Every morning lately I get up and the first thing I do - after turning on the coffee pot - is go to the computer to check my email. Normally, we all know how absolutely fucking terrible I am about mornings but suddenly, it's become my favorite part of the day.
Every night before bed M's gotten into the habit of sending an email telling me about his day. I've come to rely on it being there when I wake up. It always makes me smile and it's such a nice way to start my day. Better than coffee. And lately, better even than cigarettes.
Today, waking up, I knew there wouldn't be one. I didn't want to get out of bed. Not in that "ohgodkillmeNOW" sort of way, just in a "hmmph, I'm spoiled and I don't want to" kind of way. Even though the reason there was no email is because he's on his way HERE, it was still a bit of a shock and I have this insistent need to pout a little.
It occurs to me that I honestly have no idea how people doing whatever-this-is managed to survive before email and texting. Well, phones obviously but that just seems so .... strange, somehow. We don't talk incessently on the phone. In fact, sometimes I forget he has an accent and then I hear his voice and I think,"Why are you talking all funny?" I suppose we could IM but that seems a little like overkill. We have email and texting and he reads the blog so we know, for the most part, what each other's day has been like.
Our time together is limited but as weird as it seems, most of the time I don't feel like he's very far away at all.
....and right now, getting closer all the time.
threeeeee more sleeeeps
Monday, August 16, 2004
reiteration
Disaster averted. I found my keys. I am however, a little embarrassed to tell you where they are for the simple fact that it was obvious.So I'm not telling.
And even though *I* started the digital picture butt-wars on the weekend, I still stand by this. Mostly because one of the volleys was one of those pictures from Stampede. Which looks a whole lot worse when seen close up and sent in LARGE format. It's quite amazing how many people are willing to send pictures of their butts and pictures of the butts of their unknowing friends willy-nilly about the email highways and byways. Isn't the internet great?
All the sleeping pills managed to accomplish last night were to make me dream about demonic children and leave me with a fuzzy mouth. All day. Which even the three coffees and two jumbo chocolate bars I just ate have not alleviated. I feel an urge to run around the office yelling 'wheeeeeeeeeee' as soon as the sugar hits my bloodstream in order to avoid what I should be doing.
Isn't sugar grand?
Now I am off to write a marketing brochure for our division. Me being the obvious choice of course since I have never done it before, it is not part of my job in the slightest and I am the one who least wants to do it. Seems perfectly reasonable to me.
(four more sleeeeeeeeps)
lyric at post:
..do you dream or do you sleep?
do you pick and choose amongst the jewels for one to keep..color>
Sunday, August 15, 2004
yeah yeah fine.... BUT
No injuries, I'm quite proud to report. And I would tell you all about the games except that I currently have something else that seems a little more... urgent, to figure out.I've lost my house keys.
Now, that can't be all bad can it? Since you went out today? Not so. Since yesterday I've been using my spare set. Which don't include the important keys.
Now, I know absolutely and for a fact that I used them to get in the house on Friday after work since I distinctly remember picking up the spare set from where they hang beside the door yesterday. After being unable to find the 'real' keys and thinking "hmmmm, must be in my knapsack, I'll just use the spare". Ergo, I could not have used the spare set to get into the house. But since I have been IN it all weekend, then therefore I used the 'real' keys to get in.
But they are not. In my knapsack. Nor are they in any of the three or four places I always put them.
It's not a big condo. I lose things in it all the time and that is one of the enduring mysteries of my life. Even though I'm not one of those people who put things in widely disparate places for no reason at all, like say, the top of the microwave or in the washing machine.
But, house keys? The only two solutions I can come up with are: I left them in the door (seriously highly unlikely) and someone's taken them, which then leads inevitably to me coming home tomorrow to an empty abode; or I somehow dropped them into a garbage bag whilst cleaning on Saturday and have thrown them out.
I am not going down to the dumpster.
It seems quite obvious to me that this sleep-deprivation thing has gone on far too long for not only did it cause me to be grumpy and a little bit shitty yesterday but I seem to now be operating in a completely different reality where keys just up and walk away.
I think I may just drug myself and go to bed. Maybe the keys'll just wander back in sometime in the night.
Yeah, right.
please mom, just five more minutes
Alas, there is no mom to come back in five. My funny (strange not haha) little Elmer the Fudd father is not around to come in and grab my big toe. For, the dreams I dreamt last night have left me feeling unaccountably ten again.Maybe it's the baseball. Or maybe it's just the simple fact that the universe feels skewed somehow when one must be up at 9 am on a Sunday morning for the purpose of exercise. And the great likelihood of pain, bruises and/or broken off pieces of a brittle crackly excuse for a human being.
On that note, I am going to chug back another cup of coffee and rearrange my face into something resembling cheerful enthusiasm until the rest of Jen catches up. She's still sleeping. The bitch.
(on a happytail-waggingwholebumgettingintotheact kind of way that has brought us to five more sleeps)
lyric at post:
..stay in the light
keep your target in sight..color>
Saturday, August 14, 2004
then, realized
Writey bit. Was annoyed by cheerful Jen and was grumpy today. Don't anyone be getting all out of whack, it's an exercise in invention with only kernels of truth. Not all of them mine.ancient curses
"There was a man here, looking for you.""Did he say who he was?"
"No. He just said that he'd come back another time and maybe then he'd catch you."
Those words. I hear those words and the first thing I wonder is if someone's told him where I am. An automatic mental flip-flip of the memory rolodex, who knows? oh god, I was there, who mentioned him? who sees him? who? spiralling down and up through the years in a rush.
Why I don't automatically think it might be good news at this point in my life I just don't know. Could be it's still a reaction like a kicked-dog instinct sharply honed over many years. One that, while no longer strictly valid in such an extreme sense, has left it's own nasty residue. A kind of shivery slice of anticipation to live on like a ghost inside my room.
It doesn't occur to me, even after that initial twist, that it might be something good, something fantastic and life-changing. Something deserved. I'd learned my lesson well that good things don't magically come to any of us, except maybe those who you can instantly see have no right to them.
It can't be an angel, a genie or a leprechaun with wishes. It's not someone you used to know or used to work for - who's decided the company can't do without you anymore. Name your price, we want you back. Not someone who owes you money. No one with unexpected wealth or gifts.
When someone comes looking for me in the place where I think I'm finally safe, something oily with cold and featherlight wings begins to flutter in my stomach. For a moment, all sound ceases and the only noises I hear are wave upon wave in my head that deafen me, leave me swaying, before I breathe breathe and there's silence inside me once again.
Broken arms and cracked ribs. Split lips, a blurry eye. Fists. Guns. Silence. Working temp, a different place every week and coming out at five to find cards on my car. A car behind the bus. A car at the end of the lane. Thumps behind walls and soft little cries. Shadows moving fast ahead of you in an alley. Footsteps tap-tapping on a deserted walkway as the ocean continues it's melody in the background. Unceasing. Uncaring.
These painful, heartbreaking things - witnessed and endured both - of a violent and angry youth linger far in the background. Mostly forgotten. Mostly accepted. All looked squarely in the face. Mostly gone.
Yet, nothing frightens me as much as "he's looking for you" and I wonder briefly if those four words will ever loosen their grip on me. Or, even if I should wish them to.
i think i was starting to frustrate him
Jen. Who? says: guant3 says: the island? guam?
Jen. Who? says: *snort*
t3 says: gaaaaarrrrrnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jen. Who? says: told you, cannot type when laughing. I make a bad australian. maybe cause I'm CANADIAN
Which after learning 'freeballing', 'freebagging' and 'toe-y', I can't say I'm too arsed about learning more of it. I like the Brit slang much better. Bugger it, I promised myself I would write something tonight. I'm off.
oh no, I couldn't ... really ...
I've been talked into playing baseball tomorrow. This is bad. I am weak. Why? When I was in Grade 1 - we played softball in gym. Some little shithead child broke my nose. Never played again until I worked for Fish and Wildlife and my very first run - someone hit me in the middle of the back. Hard. Then, finally, year before last, Dave and Brad talked me into it. Brad threw the ball, which hit the ground and bounced up at a great speed right into that bone. You know, that one between your knee and your ankle that runs down the front of your leg. Really close to the skin. Shinbone? Yeah, that's it.Right about then I figured the universe was trying to tell me something. But, OH NO, here I go again.
So, the house has been mostly cleaned. I am going to take a break on the balcony and then work on my volunteer project. How exciting am I? Really?
Mental note to self: when looking for an article you saved from the newspaper it may be in your best interests to assume that you MAY have photocopied it and are not looking for newsprint. Since you've just noticed it sitting on the desk in front of you, even though you looked there fifteen times.
The article was about the best things about older women by Robert Mason Lee, which some ass at work gave to me. Cause, well, you know, it's been on my mind and why bother saving everything if you never actually do anything with it? Besides, it makes me laugh, especially since the writer is a man. So, here you go, some bits...
1. Younger women are like bijou apartments on the Left Bank: absolutely darling, but you wouldn't want to live in one. Whereas, older women are like an Edwardian terrace in Mayfair: commodius (although I could have done without that particular word which MerriamWebster defines in part as.... "comfortably or conveniently spacious" ), well-furnished and cozy in winter.
2. Younger women expect the best, older women have known the worst.
3. You can walk around the house naked with older women. They don't count your six-pack; being reasonably fit will do.
4. Both older women and younger women have their delightful charms in bed; this is a given. But as Franklin said, "in the dark, all cats are grey". Don't think roller coaster, think a long train ride through the mountains. Which would you rather be on?
5. Older women are better at pleasing conversation. They are more impressed by a fast wit than a fast car.
and last, but not least...
6. An older woman is more likely to know tht life is a funny old thing, often difficult, and frequently tragic. She knows the same is going to be true of you. She will be less downcast when times are downcast and more fun when times are fun. She is less likely to take you for granted.
Which fits just nicely into what is playing on the radio right now. Aldo Nova. And not 'Fantasy' which I think may be the only one I've ever heard on the radio. 'Ball and Chain'. First concert I ever saw. And yup, that dates the shit out of me, don't it, since the album came out in 1982.
lyric at post:
..Life is just a fantasy
Can you live this fantasy life..color>
Friday, August 13, 2004
undone
I had tons to do today but absolutely no focus. Mind flitting from place to place like a fly in a shithouse. So, I accomplished nothing other than something to do with a bathtub big enough for two. Now I'm home, where it's too hot and I have a list of things that must be done in the next two days staring mercilessly at me from the spot I stuck it to the wall. So, nap. Then maybe I'll be able to get something done.I hope.
edited....story time with Tony:here
I haven't seen Tony:here since March. I knew there was a reason for this and I was willing to wait it out, as I believed I knew what that reason was. It was me. He needed to take a step back from what you guys experienced here during the Lacey decisions, for the simple fact that being around me then was like "being shot in the chest". You all experienced the pure feeling and that's an easier thing to read than it is in reality. No matter how much reality dilutes it. We all know I'm all over the place. I'm a human being of extremes and I probably always will be but the time between December and June was the most terrible thing, for me and those around me.Tony:here is nothing less than honest and I've come to rely on that from him. Even though, sometimes, it's been difficult and the things he has had to say to me are painful. He has stuck by me through so many things, I cannot fault him for his decision to step away for a little while. I also cannot fault him for feeling me out on the phone a couple of times before he agreed to see me.
Tony:here has fallen in love and suddenly a man I've known always to be mostly stoic and unemotional, is a veritable overflowing cup. Which interests me because suddenly I get to ask all the things I've always wanted to ask and I get to hear all the things he's never told me.
We talked about, well, almost everything under the sun. Our lives lately. What we've been doing and feeling and learning. Even how we learn - why I need to say things out loud (to the blog) as I talk myself through the things I'm trying to learn, but how that he has learned from me that he 'blogs' in his head and it fulfills the same purpose as what I do here.
And me, fascinated, because he is in love. So I want to know. What love looks like from inside my friend. And although it's hard to distill four hours of non-stop conversation into a few paragraphs and although some of this is not explained at all, it gives me a point to which I can return and remember.
We don't often ask people what it feels like and I don't know why because we really have no idea other than what we've come to believe from society. My friend Marlo made a point the other day that when she asks her married friends if they are happy, the answers are usually not that hopeful or happy. We know that people get married for all sorts of reasons and that everyone has a different idea of what love really is. I've watched friends 'talk' themselves into loving someone and I've done so myself. We can convince ourselves of just about anything if we really want to. But why do we want to? I guess that would be one of those decisions based in fear.
So, completely entranced, I listened as Tony told me. How it makes him feel. What it makes him do, makes him want to do. What he thinks society expects of us, what movies and obligation have taught us to want. What and how, he believes, the real thing feels like and how he feels inside of it looking out at a new world that he's never seen and in fact, never knew existed. How society feeds into what we have all come to expect our lives to be or what we expect love to look like. How much of that is a lie and what are the things he believes to be the truth. How love feels like the last thing you thought it would. And all I can do is marvel and think and listen so that I can learn from the things that he has come to in the last year, in a rare moment of his sharing.
Then, of course, there's all the things he's never told me about me. Not in the way that people make offhand comments about who they think you are but someone who's spent a long thoughful time working it out, watching you and is enthusiastic about relating all the good things he sees because he's just so damn excited for me. I don't often get to see how I affect other people. Other than email, which is an amazing and wonderful phenomenon in itself, but coming from people that know you, there is a different flavor, a different feel. Even the bad things aren't hurtful for the simple fact that he's coming from a place of love for me and an idea that I can be better than he'd ever thought I could be, that constantly I suprise him and show up on another level and throw him all over again.
He tells me that when he first met me - he was completely blown away. There was wit, intelligence, wisdom, stories (and I feel a bit weird saying this, like I'm all big-headed) as well as the ability to know when I'm being stupid and dumb and an idiot but, all the same, being able to laugh about it and tell a good 'Jen story.' Because, by now, we all know I'm a storyteller, I just have a limited scope - the things I know. But, he realized somewhere along the way that I required honesty and sincerity and communication. So, since he was not ready for those things, he made a conscious decision to back away and be a friend. I've never known this during the five years we've been friends but I can honestly say I never looked at Tony:here as a prospect for anything other than a friend. A lifelong friend. But, no matter, he has become, over the last five years, someone who will always be in the top five of people whom I love. One of the very few people I feel that I can rely upon, in a world where I rely upon so few. He has pulled me from the edge more times than I think he will ever know. With the understanding that, if I need someone to help me, my family will never do and, of everyone else, I will never ask. He was one of the only people I told when I was sick. For the simple fact that I owed him nothing less. And he deserved nothing less.
I respect him enormously for the person he is but also for the simple fact that he's stuck it out with me because deep down he's always believed that I would find the things inside of me that I've spent so long looking for. His faith surprises me and makes me smile.
So, first and foremost. Jen,also - I gave him that email. And he wants me to tell you that you are gifted and beautiful and that your words are priceless and amazing. Oh, and that you are fabulously spot-on and he is flabbergasted by your talent.
erm. Agreed. You still make me cry.
Secondly, he tells me that being someone who affects the mood of the people around me, that once again, I've become this person who's 'intoxicating to be around' and I've become again, that person who he was so infatuated with but has seen only flashes of for five years. That I am now, again, that person who draws in everyone around me and drags them along with me on whatever journey it is that I'm taking at that moment in time.
That my honesty will destroy me at the same time it saves me. That my saving grace behind my honesty is the sincerity with which it is delivered. Because there are so few people in the world that truly believe that what they say is important and understood.
I have to admit that I had a boss once who told my that my biggest failing was that I believed wholeheartedly in what people said, instead of what they did. That, as a part of that, I always thought that people believed what I said because what I say and what I do normally tend to be the same thing. The only times they really aren't are the times I'm lying to myself, not to those around me. I always knew he was right but I just could never see any way around it. Until now. I couldn't see how to get it until now.
I've hit an exponential learning curve that I do not want to end. Ever. And, if you're willing, you can come with me because I'd very much like to take you along.
Are you packed? Are you ready? Let's go.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
an interesting question in the midst of a minefield
A couple of weeks ago, Canada's weekly newsmagazine, Macleans, ran an article entitled Can science give you a better sex life? The premise being the assertation that 2/5 women may be sexually dysfunctional (FSD) and whether it is an 'epidemic'-- or a manufactured problem and the research being done on a 'viagra for women' kind of pill.Although I may or may not have strong opinions on this topic, I'm too busy right now to climb up on my soapbox and harangue my gentle readers but you're getting a couple anyways.
It's a convoluted case-by-case sort of thing. Do I think women are more complex than men? Physically? Sure we are. I think we can all agree on that. Do we need a cure-all pill? I'd say that may help some people. Do I think it would address what I believe to be predominently the cause of the problem, if that's what we want to call it? No.
What do I think the single most effective thing that this planet can do to solve / prevent / address the FSD issue, if that's what they choose to call it? Do something to stop this... Around the world at least 1 woman in every 3 has been beaten, coerced into sex, or otherwise abused in her lifetime. Most often the abuser is a member of her own family. Somewhere in America, a woman is raped every 90 seconds. (US Department of Justice, 2000) It was estimated a couple of years ago that currently there are 60 million female survivors of abuse in the United States alone. (I'm not forgetting that 8% of victims are men, but we're discussing women here).
Take a sec and look around you. If there's 18 women in your office - SIX of them have been abused. If you've dated say... five women, chances are one of them has been raped. Violently. Maybe by one of the people who they are supposed to be most able to trust. Maybe by that uncle you sat across from at dinner last week. Do you think that maybe a whole schwack of "female dysfunction" could stem from these kind of traumatic events? Considering there's so many of them. Think about it.
Have I had bad sex? Of course. Have other people had bad sex with me? Undoubtedly. Do I think that's because of FSD? No. Am I a 'feminist'? No. I'm a woman. I have common sense. .... you're getting my point here, right?
I do find the following reader comments from here and here pretty much cover the spectrum...
-- Dr. Jim Battersall, Vancouver
-- Maggie Negodaeff, Ottawa
I have found that bright, witty, gentle, compassionate men have had the quickest, most effective results on my libido -- but all the men I know who fall into this category are either taken or unavailable. Maybe there is a way our Canadian education system could produce better-educated men, who would then become more desirable lovers. The health system would benefit because women would not suffer as much from FSD and the pharmaceutical companies could concentrate on researching cures for real diseases.
-- Christi Grout, Salt Spring Island, B.C.
Female "sexual dysfunction" is more than just the product of the overactive imaginations of drugs-for-profit corporations. It is the result of years of gender oppression. Women's magazines rarely tell you how to please yourself -- just how to please your man, and you better look good doing it! Once men and women get beyond this cultural tripe, that lucrative little niche market will disappear. Bad news, Big Pharma: feminists and their men don't need your help to get their kicks!
-- Kerrie Thornhill, Vancouver
It is not up to drug companies to define what sexual dysfunction is. Only the individual can do that. If I want to have sex only once a month, what is wrong with that?
-- Jennifer Richard, Sheet Harbour, N.S.
Considering that the female gender is every bit as human as the male gender, why should we suppose that sexual dysfunction is in male territory any more than baldness is a male-only affliction?
-- Steve Trask, Riverview, N.B.
I hope the guy who came up to me this morning and offered to give me his leather jacket for gas money gets wherever it was he was needing to go. Hopefully, that was out of my neighborhood.
Phone call this morning that said, "I've just signed up for the Pro-Am Tournament as I wanted to have a feeling what it would be like to play professionally. My golf game has seriously improved this year for two reasons. My mental attitude and your swing-coaching. Thank you." How's that for nice?
I'm all proud of him. And feeling pretty good about myself too.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Quirky Jen-Beliefs I Will Defend to the Death
or
I'm Feeling Much Better Now But You Are So Dead When I Get My Hands on You
I have serious issues with being referred to as a chick. I do not know the origin of this particular bit of Jen-ness, sadly, otherwise I'm sure I would tell you. You can call me bitch, wench, twat, tit, hey you, and well, a lot more, and none of them will bother me. I must admit ditch-pig, a charming left-over from high-school, does irritate me slightly for although I don't recall being called that, it just ....ick. It also has to be said that any of the myriad old and new words ending in "unt" will only pass my lips if they are really and truly deserved.
Many times in the past and with myriad personalities I have politely requested that this word not be used in my presence or, if it must be used, that it is not used to refer to me. This, usually followed by whining, bitching and yelling only further engages the male I-just-can't-help-myself gene which will inevitably cause them to have the hated chick top-of-mind, front and center and just dying to be used when around me.
And, trust me, it's not a *giggle* oooo, i hate being called that *giggle* kind of thing. It's a 'could you just step a little closer so I can punch you in the face' sort of knee-jerk reaction. Ramps me right up.
I have, however, somehow recently become a 'chook'. Which, I did sort of think awfully cute until (damn that internet) I looked it up.
Which brings me to belief numero deux....
'Cute' is not to be used in conjunction with people over 29 for any reason. Whatsoever. (nice segue, hey?) Once one turns 30 one becomes endearing, bewitching, fetching, touching or winsome but never, ever, CUTE.
That particular hell (latin term= nauseo preciousness infernus) is reserved only for those who have not yet reached the awesome, staggering and inspiring hard-won age of 30. Those of us that have deserve words that reflect a little respect. Thankyouverymuch. And that will just have to be a painful and time-consuming lesson that I may even untie you for.
And, don't you just find the funniest things when you put cute into the internet?
And now, I am going to sleep for 12 hours. Goodnight.
lyric at post:
..Put your hands on your hip let your backbone slip
Do the bearcat..color>
i am
a back, suddenly feeling like a snapped vertebrae, laying on the floor of an empty officea tummy, with too many grapes, a plum that may not have been all-the-way ripe and three cups of coffee, upset with my owner
eyes, gritty from three days without adequate rest, blinking in the flourescent lighting
a neck, in sympathy with the back, creaking and popping with every motion
a brain, no longer connected to my speech function, unable to form full sentences without transposing words
a mouth, smiling, in the direction of a computer screen
a heart, light, in spite of the sudden complaints of a body unused to being pushed so far
a girl, awed, at serendipity seemingly putting in some overtime
a blogger, absent, for another day longer
Monday, August 09, 2004
Monday thoughts
It feels like early October in Victoria - but in Calgary. I like it. I want to sleep outside on the balcony. I really do.The postal people are uh... a little behind ... (ie: slacking off and not walking the 50 feet over the to post office to leave MY PARCEL for me)
The cat is driving me insane. I may have to (insert the medical term that sounds nicer than 'rip-out-his-tongue-with-my-bare-hands' here).
FTP'ing away. It's been hours. My, what an awfully... big... website you have, my dear.
But, hey, there was that funny email - something that makes me smiley when I wake up to one in the morning (although it is not nearly as nice as the real thing), and then that other one (sorry, Pob, but thank god other people wake up with bruises too, besides me and Bandhag), and the quite witty and welcome IM chat.
I rented out my parking spot and some lucky new underground parker is on her way up with cheques. Extra income. A good thing. Cause that girlie just paid for something that's a sneakity-sneaky secret.
T1 gave me things to do today and for once, couldn't find fault with me, like I'm sure he sets me up for lately. Cause I rock. And they no longer ruffle my little feathers.
I walked to AND from work today.
Tony:here and I are getting together for beersh on Thursday and I have not seen him since March. It may take two days to catch up.
I ate large amounts of healthy fruit and vegetables today. And then never got around to dinner except for a slab of cheese. I am proud.
And those things have made my day.
Oh, and I'll be leaving in November to fill in for T3 during harvest so he can have the condo and ski while I make cute with the sheep (and tell his parents completely false but convincingly shocking stories about the apple of their eye) in a land far, far away.
Sweet dreams, all. I'm taking a day off as I have to do some of that "yes I do have a life and I am not an internet addict" stuff, so I'll see you Wednesday but until then a little question from Muted Faith to occupy your minds.
will it still take the same number of pancakes to cover the doghouse
if your arms grow ten feet long?
Good luck with that. I'm still choked that noone but M2 got the joke in here. Or maybe was just the only one to admit to having an inherently dirty mind.
lyric at post:
..touched down in the land of the Delta Blues
in the middle of the pouring rain..color>
carrot 'evidence'
Well, okay, they just mention it. You're just going to have to trust me on this one. Article here.For, although it gives no evidence of any sort, contains the infinitely intriguing line... 'That's why I like to remind young smokers I know that the habit strikes men in the penis and women in the face.'
Hey, haven't I seen that in every porn movie, ever? Uh, not that I watch those sorts of things, you understand.
The licorice root works quite well too, but the last time I tried that, I tripped at a football game and ripped open my knee. It bled for three days. I was actually becoming paralyzed by the fear of rare diseases and imminent death from loss of blood before MaJen (who gave it to me in the first place) mentioned that licorice root is a blood thinner.
So, licorice root in moderation, kids. Be careful out there.
hello? hello?
When I got around to turning on my phone this aft at 3 pm, it seems that my front door called me twice this morning. What does that mean, you ask? Well, I'll tell ya....I got a present, I got a present! From Chrissykins! Although I do not deserve one. But I can't waiiiiiiit to get home and see what it is. 'cited. Very 'cited.
Oh, and I feel that I can put this in writing as it was comment about engineers made by another engineer....
"Yeah, there is that whole nasty myth that there are no good engineers but there are, really, it's just that it takes a mining engineer to find one."
tee hee
carrots saved my life
The word 'carrot' always reminds me of this nasty passage in a Norman Mailer book I read as a child. Now, you would think I shouldn't have been reading Norman Mailer as a child, and you would be right, if only for the simple fact that I now associate carrots with strange sexual practices. This was also the very first time I ever encountered the word 'twat'.Apart from that, however, someone told me a while ago (and it may have been one of you) that carrots helped with nicotine cravings.
I COULD KISS YOU, WHOEVER YOU ARE.
(uh, eating them that is, just in case you thought I might be at work and... oh, never mind.)
Sunday, August 08, 2004
aaaaarrrrggghhhhh!
I have just spent an hour looking for an article I saved from the paper four months ago. Cause it was funny and it made a damn good point, to boot. And yay, though I wade through the valley of the packrat, I cannot find it.I did however, become mightily distracted by emails and posts and unexplainable horoscopes I saved. I'm sure that at the time, these horoscopes must have had some profound meaning that I was sure I would remember forever.
Newsflash. I've forgotten.
And, although I had planned to update some stuff and things in here, I am far too frustrated to do so. So while I listen to good old Hawksley Workman sing Jealous of Your Cigarette, I'm going to post links to a couple of Pornyboy's classic posts. Cause I miss him. And then I'm going to go cook up that peppered angry bovine I bought the other day.
I'll Have a Tenner on the Archbishop of Canterbury, Please
A Journey Across the River Styx to Buy Shorts.
In Which There is Vomit and David Bowie's Penis Makes an Unwelcome Appearance in My Head
and one more, since I could go on forever, resurrecting lovely laughs of my past, not to mention postitively hours of whining pathetically and abjectly about PB's absence (I hope you're reading this YOU BASTARD!) ahem. No, no, quite alright, thanks.
This 'What Goes Around, Comes Around' Deal...Is There An Increase In Momentum or Anything?.
lyric at post:
..I'm jealous of your cigarette
And all the things you do with it..color>
*sigh*
Someone found my site by googling... "drink listerine"Things like that touch my heart in such a special way that tears spring to my eyes and make all this worthwhile.
Uh. Not.
Saturday, August 07, 2004
pieces of a day
I realized this morning that this was the first weekend I've actually been home and alone in four weeks. And that it's also been a while since I wrote anything. So, maybe I'll do that tomorrow to break up the work I had to bring home to do, but today was all about settling back in.That nasty housecleaning stuff. As funny as it is to see Cabot get snagged on the carpet with every step he takes, clipping his freakishly long nails and then chasing him around with 'stuff' to squirt in his ears and trying to trick him into taking his antibiotics. Considering the cost of that stuff you'd think they'd have a cat and dog version instead of giving us the pediatric yummy tasting stuff. Cause I'm sure it tastes yummy to five year olds but cats? Not so much. Although, I do have to admit, for a street cat, he tries to get away but he never puts his claws out. Maybe why he was a bit of a failure at being hard-living kind of guy.
I coordinated flights for the wedding with the father of the children who is entrusting his angels to my care. He spent more than five minutes with me, you'd think he'd know better, but whatever. As long as no one thinks I kidnapped them, it's all good. I'll just sit in the aisle seat so they can't get out and then ignore them. Did I say that out loud? I'm terrible. They are fairly cute though, which at least is a saving grace. And I think I frighten the older one - never a bad thing.
Lesley picked the pictures for the wine labels I'm putting together for them as they're supplying their own for the big event.
This'll be the last wedding for a while I think. Everyone else is already married and of those of us that aren't I think we're all pretty much in agreement that it's not something we have any intention of doing. That's not to say I can't see Dave or Derek or Ralphie (or me, for that matter, I guess) getting married but that it's never been the goal for us. It's not what we've been working towards, while for most of the people I know, it's always been the end result. The logical place to end up.
What else? It got sunny so I picked up some lottery tickets (I need to do something with some of that extra cigarette money) and went for a walk along the river. Did some thinking. But not a lot. Read some words. Learned a little about trials riding.
And now I'm making dinner. While listening to some of that digital music on my TV that I pay for but never look at. Although, I have to admit I didn't even stop on "Baroque" "Jammin'" and "GoldRock". The 70's? -You're still the one, and we're still havin' fun-. The 80's -Wild Boys, never close their eyes-. The jazz cafe was pretty good though. I should flip through this stuff a little more often.
And that is all this boring girl has got. Except for maybe the thing I was thinking about that I read today. Which I'm pretty sure is a concept I've seen somewhere else. For some reason I'm thinking Maslov, but I'm probably wrong.
All human actions are motivated at their deepest level by one of two emotions - fear or love. In truth there are only two emotions - only two words in the language of the soul.
Every human thought, and every human action, is based in either love or fear. There IS no other human motivation and all other ideas are but derivatives of these two. They are simply different versions - different twists on the same theme.
This is what's called a Sponsoring Thought. It is either a thought of love or fear.
Every action taken by human beings is based in love or fear, not simply those dealing with relationships. Decisions affecting business, industry, politics, religion, the education of your young, the social agenda of your nations, the economic goals of your society, choices involving war, peace, attack, defense, aggression, submission; determinations to covet or give away, to save or to share, to unite or to divide - every single free choice you ever undertake arises out of one of the only two possible thoughts there are: a thought of love or a thought of fear.
Fear is the energy which contracts, closes down, draws in, hides, hoards, harms.
Love is the energy which expands, opens up, sends out, stays, reveals, shares, heals.
Fear wraps our bodies in clothing, love allows us to stand naked. Fear clings to and clutches all that we have, love gives all that we have away. Fear holds close, love holds dear. Fear grasps, love lets go. Fear rankles, love soothes. Fear attacks, love amends.
Every human thought, word or deed is based in one emotion or the other. You have no choice about this, because there is nothing else from which to choose. But you have free choice about which of these to select.
I took a half-hearted stab at trying to figure out when I flipped from predominantly one to the other but in my case, I think it was a gradual thing as opposed to an abrupt shift. There was something interesting a little farther on about passion (in the emotional sense), expectations and freedom but rather than inflict any more of this on all of you, I am going to eat my dinner and watch Tom Cruise hack people into bits.
lyric at post:
..two weeks away feels like the whole world should have changed
but i'm home now, and things still look the same ..color>
Canada gets in on the game
We fired a blogger in Nunavut.So, of course, we all know about Sassy and Dooce but I started thinking, who else? It seems that Michael whom some of you may remember as the Microsoft guy that got toasted, has put together a list of Dangerous Bloggers. So, eight from (and including) him and the one above makes lucky 9. Anyone know of any others?
lyric at post:
..walked for days with no one near
and I returned as chained and bound to you..color>
Friday, August 06, 2004
someone else's words
The Bicycle Ride.With thanks to the wonderful and amazing Riley Dog.
I'm not the only strange one here, honestly
Someone actually said this to me at work today,"So when I was at the bone-throwing competition in Saskatchewan I saw some rats in a grain bin that had eaten themselves to death. I thought of you, in fact, I almost called you."
This refers more to the fact that I've had pet rats than it does to the likelihood that I would eat myself to death given free run of say... McDonald's. Or a buffet in Seattle.
guilty
Ok, I admit it, I was looking up the dog on Sesame Street. Purely research, you understand. And I came across the "Which Sesame Street Muppet's Dark Secret Are You?" quiz. It's got great questions.I am...
Cookie Monster's Bulimia Nervosa Yes, cookies *are* good. But too much of anything is never a good thing. Instead of bingeing and purging, try to regulate your eating habits. Maybe instead of having two dozen cookies, you could have two. Also, you should slow down your eating. Chew each bite several times before swallowing. Eating more slowly makes it easier to tell when you are full. And don't worry about body image--people love you just the way you are, googly eyes and all.
Which Sesame Street Muppet's Dark Secret Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
err, how do I work this thing. gimme a sec.
O boy, did I feel great when I got to work this morning. At 11:30. Damn you and damn Lesley and that blackberry wine. *sigh* Anyways, the tshirt (I keep pictures of the weirdest things) and a picture of me in a hotel room in Corvallis, Oregon. And yes, aren't those lovely Seattle Mariner's wristbands/sweatbands? And yes, I even had rosy cheeks back then. And yes, I'm the blonde one. And yes, I was 11.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
we pause for a word from our sponsors , in honor of the following...
1. the Jen birthday(s)2. the Donna email (big kiss)
3. the Matt who-has-no-idea-what-this-is (being a tourist)
4. because 8675 was a nickname given to me by a teacher in grade 6 (of which I think I still have a picture of the t-shirt he bought me that said on the front "Yes I Do, But Not With You" and 8675 on the back, can you say "ped-o-phile" boys and girls?) followed by me actually being on a bathroom wall in grade 9 (don't ask - a girl has to have some secrets)
5. in defiance of that US cell phone company who's using it for a commercial (bastards)
6. the poor people who actually had this number all those years ago
7. and last but not least, Tommy Tutone, who I'm pretty sure never had another hit song and probably died in a pool of his own vomit in an alley...
by Tommy Tutone
Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to?
You give me something I can hold on to.
I know you think I'm like the others before
Who saw your name and number on the wall.
Jenny, I got your number.
I need to make you mine.
Jenny, don't change your number,
8-6-7-5-3-0-9, 8-6-7-5-3-0-9
8-6-7-5-3-0-9, 8-6-7-5-3-0-9
Jenny, Jenny, you're the girl for me.
You don't know me but you make me so happy.
I tried to call you before but I lost my nerve.
I tried my imagination, but I was disturbed.
Jenny, I got your number,
I need to make you mine.
Jenny, don't change your number,
8-6-7-5-3-0-9 (8-6-7-5-3-0-9)
8-6-7-5-3-0-9 (8-6-7-5-3-0-9)
I got it, I got it!
I got your number on the wall!
I got it, I got it!
For a good time, for a good time call....
Jenny, don't change your number.
I need to make you mine.
Jenny. I'll call your number,
8-6-7-5-3-0-9 (8-6-7-5-3-0-9)
8-6-7-5-3-0-9 (8-6-7-5-3-0-9)
Jenny, Jenny who can I turn to?
(8-6-7-5-3-0-9)
For the price of a dime I can always turn to you.
(8-6-7-5-3-0-9)
Oh wait, silly me, forgot this was the internet and not my personal broadcasting system.....
Official Site - apparantly he had SEVEN albums and is still on tour. Egads. Can be heard here at the bottom of the page, although it's a bit shitty. And, according to Snopes.com the phone companies are still having issues.
Join the club.
list
I'd forgotten that Pilates makes me want to cry. Ouch. Ouch.I miss PornyBoy. Someone find him and make him come back. Pretty please?
My right knee now clicks every time I take a step.
This is not my fault and someone should pay. Dearly. I don't care who.
I am not right now smoking a cigarette, but my body is insisting I should be.
Stridently. Loudly. Incessantly.
The cat is still pissed off and competing with my body for strident caterwauling.
Tomorrow is Friday and payday and should be my 'summer hours' 1/2 day off.
But it won't be. Cause I owe the company time. Lots of time. Lots.
Unfortunately (or fortunately?), I am still pretty cheerful and cannot work up any anger or bitterness so you'll have to imagine this was all related completely monotone.
The waaaaah-ing, whining, clicking, non-smoking, holding-the-cat's-paw-cause-it's-got-opposable-thumbs-and-my-hand-is-lonely girl will be here all week.
...unless I succeed in my new quest to relax my sore muscles in a hot bath enough to accidentally drown myself. Pob gets the stereo. Yeti gets the cat for research purposes. And for the love of all that is holy in whatever religion you practice, someone bury me with a pack of smokes and some matches.
the burning question of the day, legs, and a job prospect
The DB's on the heart and stroke diet this week. He doesn't need to lose weight but he's trying to be healthier. I think it may be the 38th birthday a couple weeks ago that prompted this - good on him actually, mine prompted me only to drink at least one beverage every single day from July 9 - 31, except three - although I blame that on Stampede and vacation and am now practicing alcohol avoidance maneuvers until the wedding at the end of September. -Uh, not mine. The wedding, I mean.
Where was I? Oh yeah. He informs me this afternoon that he weighed himself before he got in the shower this morning and then again after he got out. He goes on to say that he's spent the entire morning in his office trying to figure out WHY he weighed three pounds more after his shower than before.
Sadly, I could not help him with this dilemma and due to the mental picture this statement prompted, I may actually never be able to.
I, however, have not been able to walk five feet today without someone exclaiming, in an amazed tone of voice, "HEY, you're wearing a skirt." This offends me slightly due to the fact that I actually wear skirts at least one day a week all year long.
What's the difference, you ask?
It's a short one.
And while the reasons that have been put forward have been heartily amusing and downright knee-slapping at times, it is due solely to the simple fact that I have a tan.
Normally, being as white as the underbelly of a shark does not prompt me to put on anything but the floor length skirts and the knee high boots. Cause, frankly, I subscribe to the Dalai Lama's request that because we all live so close together, if we cannot help one another, then we should at least not hurt one another (or something along those lines). And in my big-hearted way, I try not to expose those around me to the glaring snowblindedness-causing color of my skin.
Now in the pictures I may look fairly tanned but in reality, I'm not very at all. Even compared to my Asian LFD who took some time out the other day to point out that he was darker than me and hadn't been out in the sun at all this year.
It's all relative, right?
Or, it may be because for the first time this summer, I'm not completely covered in bruises and scabs like a seven year old who's been falling out of trees since June.
This, just in....
OtherJen: HEY
ThisJen: HEY!
OtherJen: perfect job for you overseas. you ready?
CNN.com - Help wanted: Court jester - Aug 4, 2004
ThisJen: you made me snort
OtherJen: ROFLAMO...you need you own outfit (with bells). I can help you out with that....
ThisJen: will send measurements asap
ThisJen: SMARTASS
OtherJen: :-)
ThisJen: M2 spent some time with circus people, I could get him to teach me how to juggle fire. I'm all ready!
OtherJen: PERFECT! And the timing's almost right, too...summer '05.... do you have a bladder bag???!!!
ThisJen: I have a little bladder, is that good enough?
And just cause she'll kill me for this (paybaaaaaack) it's OtherJen's (aka Jen,also) BIRTHDAY TODAY!!!!!!!! Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday to yew!
muah ha ha ha ha
lyric at post:
..I hardly recognize myself it's such a strange thing
to find another woman walking in my blue jeans..color>
hi there
I would like a cigarette now.Please?
lyric at post:
..You've launched a secret heart with your face
You don't always say what I want to hear but you move me..color>
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
bailing out
I realized something today. Not a big epiphany or anything - in fact - it was a little bit sad. About Calgary. And I was going to tell you about it.But I've just spent three hours messing with the galleries. Divided 2003 & 2004, added more pictures from April 2004 and my trip last weekend is up too. So, I'm tired. And sick of looking at this monitor. So I'm going to read my book to the cat.
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
who's the boob now?
I tell ya, I should go away more often, cause when I'm back it's all 'oh, blog this, blog that, blah blah blah, can you repeat that so I can write it down?' And then for days and days I just don't shut up.Unfortunately I cannot tell you what I did today that scared me. Cause it's a secret. What? You want I should tell you everything? My, you people are greedy. Go have some ice cream, you'll feel better.
So I shall tell you something vaguely annoying/embarrassing, although completely unsuprising, that happened on my vacation.
I drove back up to Lesley's on my last night, although absolutely exhausted and all full of the aptly named "BBQ", because I did not want to drive two hours TO the ferry in the morning. Tired. I was very tired.
And then I returned Mike's call, who, as it turned out, happened to be in a bar one point five blocks from Lesley's house.
It's a little difficult to get out of that one so I went down for a beer. Mike and all his little Harley biker friends are draped on and around the bar. They seemed nice enough, mind you, for people who'd been drinking all day and driving up and down the highway yelling at people.
Until halfway through my second unrefusable beer when Mike (god love him) decides to do the "...you know guys, in high school, Jenny had really BIG ..." (cause of course they all call me Jenny). Which is kind of a shock to me since I was his best friend's girlfriend and yanno, they're not s'posed to pay attention to things like that. And I'm pretty sure to this day he would not say something like that in front of Scott. Anyways...
This prompted a large amount of catcalling and comments, even from one guy's wife.
So, picture Jen, who normally isn't in the slightest bit fazed by things like this and probably would have given as good as she got, but is so tired she actually drove through a four-way stop without noticing, and not particulary cheery at this point....
Turns out that the guy screaming - at full volume - "Did ya play volleyball naked?" over the (quite nicely harmonized) back-up chant of "Show us your tits" was actually the owner of that fine establishment and although I did not know that (in my feeble defense) when I said something extremely nasty about his eerie physical resemblance to Porky the Pig, I may never actually be allowed in there again.
Which, honestly, isn't going to break my heart, especially since it ended up being free beer, but on the other hand - it's one of the only bars in town.
It's all six of one, half a dozen of the other, innit?
And, there actually was a reason other than that charming little 'trip down the potholed memory lane of highschool' story that I came in here....
It was actually a post called Pubes - Nature's Little Miracles which is long and mightily funny. Excerpt...
Like all living organisms death eventually comes to visit the mighty pubic hair. Unnatural death is usually swift and in the past was most often caused by doing the zipper up on trousers without looking. In more recent times shaving the pubes has become fashionable and many millions of hairs have found themselves hacked down in the name of art.
When a pubic hair reaches the end of its natural span, however, a tradition bearing some resemblance to the ancient Inuit act of sending the elderly off to die takes place. There are no ice floes in your nether regions - although I've known a few girls who possibly could have used some more investigation in that direction to confirm it without a doubt - so the pubic hairs are sent out into the next best thing: the first mouth that ventures near the area.
For the hairs this represents a reabsorption ritual, a completion of the cycle of life, a return to the inside from whence it came. Although not the same inside unless you're particularly flexible. For the human engaging in one of the sexual activities probably still outlawed in several American states this represents the perfect opportunity to gag, choke, splutter, and ruin the intimate moment or swallow and imagine that the hair can still be felt at the back of the throat thus totally destroying sleep patterns for the whole night. Either way it gives all the other pubic hairs a good laugh.
Why is my doctor called LFD?
A conversation (edited to the good bits cause it meandered quite a bit, that man has absolutely no focus at all)..."What do you think this is under my eyes?"
"Hmm, that's weird. I don't think it's a reaction to the drugs. It sometimes happens when people get pregnant though."..eyebrow up, meaningful pause...
"I'm not pregnant. Could I be a were-raccoon?"
"I always thought you looked more like a chipmunk, actually. We could laser it off, but that could be up around $800 cause, you know, it's cosmetic."
"No one is coming near my face with a laser."
"Why don't we try this cream then. It'll take a few months to work, though."
"That's fine, I'll just put it on along with the eye wrinkle stuff Mom started sending me when I turned 30. Now, what about these weird brown patches on my fingers?"
"Hmm, can't say I've ever seen that before. Did you burn yourself?"
"In the exact same spot on the inside of four different fingers? Are you mad? Unless my subconscious is into self-mutilation and I've become a sleepwalker. Besides, it doesn't hurt."
"Okay, must be a rash. We'll try cortisone cream."
"Alright and there's this thing on my cheek. I thought it was a pimple but it's not. I think it's a fat lump like the one they cut out of my arm when I was 19 or so."
"Could be a sebaceous cyst. Tsk, it's just gonna keep getting bigger though. Want me to stick a needle in it and see if we can pop it out? Oh, but that'll hurt cause I can't freeze it."
"Yup. Let me just sit on my hands here so I don't punch you in the face."
"Yeah, that wouldn't be good and it wouldn't be very nice since I have just offered to basically pop a zit for you. See the sacrifices I make for my patients?"...heavy sigh...
It didn't really hurt but I think he enjoyed slapping the biggest band-aid he could find over half of my face and telling me I couldn't take it off till tomorrow morning.
I'm so pret-ty.
Off to eat. Still. And then I'm going to do something that scares me. Cause quitting smoking this morning obviously was not enough.
bribes and offers of nifty rewards happily accepted
