Is it possible to get a headache from eating too much garlic? I have a HUGE headache. And it’s the only thing I can think I did differently today. Aurgh! I can’t write, it hurts too badly. Maybe I need more coffee. Holy crap, I promise to never do it again. Please go away now.

Hello. Toby sent me this. Ain’t he cute. Send one to a friend. If you can’t pee on them, pee for them. Indeed. Thank you, CC Fruit Fruit.

Human pet-peeve number 233: CLAIMING OWNERSHIP

What is this thing people do with claiming human ownership? Say you’re in a position of power, I don’t know why you’re there, but you are. And you refer to the “lesser forms” as yours. You refer to people as “My man” or “My guy”. It’s not right. You sound ridiculous. Example below:

Tech Guy: I need to clear space in order to work with the server.

Person of power: Ok, I’ll have to get my guy to let you in to that room.

Person 1: Who can clear some space as well? Is there maintenance or something? Person of power: Yes, but we have to wait. My guy who normally does this for me is out.

He’s not yours. He’s not anyone’s. Shut up.

Here are some pictures of our view last night.

Man, I ain’t gunna lie, I am so tired. My head is spinning and I want to sleep and my body aches. I just want to stay home and watch movies beneath the hum of my 250 dollar air-conditioner. I want to not be bothered with drifting in and out of consciousness, and I want to not worry about getting up from bed. So tired. If it were raining, working would feel criminal. Ouch. I’m not ready to play (today). Not at all. It’s hard doing the same thing day in, day out when you realize how little a difference your roll in work week makes. My job is paint by numbers. I don’t even have any extra colors I can mess it up with, it’s just what you get in that box the day you buy it from the local five and dime. I want to do something better with this part of my life. Any ideas? :)

Someone cracked the black toilet seat. Oh dear me. Whose ass did such a thing? Whose ass took on the black seat of death and won? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD IT CAN’T HAVE A CRACK! Fear of the cracked, black toilet.

I am at a lack lately. There isn’t much on my mind I guess. Or there is and I just don’t want to talk about it. Or I just don’t have the energy right now. Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s the time of the year. Maybe I’ll come back around. Things are going pretty well right now. I feel pretty even. I don’t feel like the end of the world is right around the corner. I’m worried about the future but in that normal sort of way. Like where are Toby and I going to end up? How will we find work? When will the slump of employing the creative end, etc. Nothing anyone can answer. And I can’t force it to happen. I guess I have to just let be be. I was contacted yesterday by someone I don’t have a lot of fond memories of. And I spent the rest of day elated, realizing how happy and lucky I am to have what I have and be with who I am with. He makes me laugh every day. And I’m a better person now. I noticed that life ain’t so bad (over all) and my boy spoons. (This could go on and on and on so I will stop here). I am finding it hard to make time. I just don’t want to sit in a bar and have a drink. And anyone that contacts me to hang out suggests that we do so by meeting in a bar. I imagine having a drink, and it seems fine and then I think of the time my body spends after said drink and it suddenly loses its appeal. So I have no real desire to meet folks to chat in a bar. Park anyone? Pool? Lake? How about a porch? Yes, let’s find a porch. (See? I have nothing to say anyway).

I have not much to say. Today.

I have not much to say. Today.

I saw the Beth Orton video for “Stolen Car” at the gym today and it annoyed me. What the hell was/is the concept? Damn woman! It’s like she just wanted to appear pouty for 4 minutes. I dunno. Why hasn’t the concept of “the video” died yet? Jeesh, they’re all just steps below goofy (imo). And what’s up with this concept of women having their houses taken apart. I saw two like that today. Hmmmm.

The Faint makes me want to try and dance. Something not so pretty. I often try and guess what folks listen to while they’re working out by the way they move or whatever. I bet if I put this cd on while on that stair-thingy, people would totally know. Here’s a song.

Pictures. (Not many) from this weekend.

I am following this story as if someone I know is involved. It combines so many personally terrifying ideas all I can do is sit and hope for a happy ending. I was at the gym earlier, reading along with CNN on the TV. I kept thinking of how horrible it must be for the family members, the free miners (survivor’s guilt), and the men 247 feet underground. I can’t hom what they’re going through and I truly want to take it away from them.

I wonder about their thoughts. I wonder (if they are still alive) is there any laughter? Does the human mind allow for bits of relief by way of hope while they’re down there waiting? (Waiting).

What does one think about? What could possibly go through someone’s head 247 feet underground, submerged in water, in the dark? I can’t imagine. (Someone do something).

I want to sell bottles of liquid fear and terror. Small bitty bottles of whatever emotion these men are feeling as they wait for us to get to them. Like Snapple, instead of many flavors let’s make different varying degrees of terror and hand them out. And on the days where we think life is bad, that the traffic is bad, that our debt is too high, or that people owe us something because we’re not so responsible, we’ll have a sip or two and understand what it really feels like to hurt.

I used to quote Bukowski (because I’m a total loser) when I was annoyed with how people (and myself) handled life

The problem with these people is that their cities have never been bombed and their mothers have never been told to shut up.

Half of that statement happened this past year and still we’re wandering around like a bunch of irresponsible, self-righteous bastards. Give me the phone, get me the home phone number for all the greedy baseball players, Karyn, the guy suing the the fast food industry, the asshole in the car on the hightway who drives down the sholder, the person at work who won’t stop gossiping, I want to tell their moms to

shut the fuck up.

Because nothing seems to be changing.

(Perspective).

This guy and his wife came up with this in response to that lazy, Karyn chick. Thought I might share. I saw it on Fox news at 10. I would link her, but I don’t want people to go there, become brainwashed into thinking it’s actually a good idea, and give her money. It’s easy enough to find on your own.

So Toby worked it all out. We have not been charged reconnection fees. And we have till Monday to clean up the balance. So that’s good. I need to remove the attitude and be nice. There’s a time and a place. I just get so frustrated with the lack of customer service and ease. But that’s not here nor there, I need to be nicer to phone personalities all over the United States. And on top of this, my printers are fighting. Yikes. I hope they don’t fight over my huge job, spilling blood or other bodily fluids between punches.

Pictures from today

I’m in a foul mood over Verizon DSL services. I wish I could write about anything else right now, but I really can’t. I’m finding it impossible to settle down at the moment. While I realize I have late payments, I have no idea how an online service provider can make it so damn near impossible to pay for service online. They have disconnected our “phone line” without warning. I spent all morning going from one operator to another. They don’t take check cards, only checks. Who carries a checkbook with them? I don’t. You can’t pay it online once the phone is disconnected. You can’t even sign in if your phone has been disconnected. They’re now saying we may need to repay all our starting fees and that it could be pricey. I asked why we received no email for the termination notice, they said,

Well, we tried to call…

IT’S DSL, YOU MORONS!!! And then Toby took matters into his own hands… He is so much better with people than I am. I’ll front the cash if he wheels the deals. I’m really annoyed. Who needs the internet at home anyway? Right? I’m on edge. I just want it to be easier. And I don’t want them to call my DSL line to tell me they’re canceling my service. Stupid ninnies.

I saw Ton(i)’s breasts today. The other day, when I signed up for the gym membership a very tall, blond woman did all my paperwork. She was bubbly. She’s an Australian import (she married a New Yorker and moved here).

I just love it! LOVE IT!!

she raved.

I LUUUVE IT

She was super done up in a killer, John Waters style make-up, jewels from far away lands, shoes of a high pricey brand, and crazy blond, curly, big hair. She even had her lips injected, for the

I give great head

look. She had a presence, she did. And liked to flick around her bracelets like they were noise makers. (I am thrown off by shiny things. It’s true. I like them especially if they make sounds). She had shiny, sound makers around her neck. And she was orange, so the silver really stood out. They draped downward. They fell between a perfectly formed crease we all call cleavage.

There is NO WAY they’re real!

I said to Robyn a coworker who came along for the signing.

Yes, they were totally fake. Her lips were as well.

They DIDN’T EVEN MOVE.

Maybe they’re like that from all the working out.

She joked.

Today I saw Toni’s tits. And I’m not even sure I know what I’m looking for. Is the absence of flaw enough? How about the fact they really don’t move? Is her desire to show them off a clue? I think it was Jerry Sienfeld who said you have to feel them and I while I have no desire to do so by molesting her in the steam room (which is where I saw her entering) I am sure I am right. It’s amazing the levels people will go to. (Not me, her). :)

I could go on and on and on about how much I HATE THIS MAN but I will not. I’m just really glad he’s probably too fat to breed. And if he wins this… I might have to COMPLETELY FREAK OUT. Humans prove stupid. (Thanks Nifkin for the link. Put a news section on what-i-eat).

I just thought of George Burns. Just now. I haven’t thought about him in a while. “I Wish I Were 18 Again” was my favorite song in the whole wide world when I was 7. Holy cow, I loved him. It was the second record I ever owned, second to Blondie’s “The Tide is High.” Anyhow, I just thought about him and I remembered he did pass away. I remember being a kid and begging my mother to not tell me when this event took place as I was not sure I could handle the news. I still have that record. It crackles and pops and spins around all warped. What was your first record?

My friend Jason is riding his motorcycle across the United States and back again. He has already made it one way and is currently in San Francisco ready to head back east again. He has been keeping a journal while out and about. The photos are great. I want to share.

Pictures from last night and today.

We finally saw Road to Perdition last night. I enjoyed it muchly. It was taken from a graphic novel, which was so well worked into the art direction. You could see each how each scene may have been taken from an ink drawing. I was impressed mostly by that. I love it when you fixate on the stills which make up the motion. I truly enjoy this. This film, in particular, makes it really easy to spot. (This is called “Art Direction” right?). So nicely done. And the acting was amazing, as one might expect. It has Oscar Nominations written all over it. Overall a great film. Truly. We returned home late. I went pretty much straight to bed after watching Friends at 11, part of my usual nightly downshift routine into sleep. I’m curious, however, does anyone know who was booted off American Idol? (Yes, oddly I care). And today I have some pictures. Indeed. Not many, but some. :)

I’m sort of down on myself lately. I write something then I look at it, I turn it upside down, I dissect it, I picture it being read by someone who knows me and I think

Yeah right, you’re full of shit

I fear saying something argumentative or incorrect. I fear sounding phony when really EVERYTHING will eventually sound phony if you think about it too much. It’s like playing that word game where you say a word over and over again, and it starts to sound absurd. The same can be done with thought. And it damn near cripples me at times.

So what is real? What can be a certain idea? I watched Audition on Saturday. It’s a Japanese film about a woman who has a terrible past and is completely deranged because of it. She cuts off a man’s feet with a small bone saw and stabs him with acupuncture needles. You’re not sure if it’s a dream (like that of a David Lynch film) or if it’s real and the director intentionally leaves it that way. While she’s acting out these acts of gore, she says something along the lines of,

Pain can be trusted

While, I feel, the film may appeal to perverts (who are a step up on level triple porn) and people who (still) aren’t totally tired of ‘shock value,’ this is not the point. The point she made, that I agree with (and have thought about A LOT as of late), is that pain is one of the only things I can’t seem to let my mind undo (so to speak). If it physically hurts, I can’t talk myself out of it. Anything else can be deduced to false, or at the very least, the lowest divisible of the original problem. When the problem is based totally on emotions and/or learned behavior by way of one’s past it can be reduced, not forgotten (hence my battle) but reduced.

It’s driving me mad.

Is this why ìcuttersî exist? Is this why, when some people talk too much (crap) in a crowd, I pinch my left arm (over and over again) under the table? Do I need it to seem real? Are my thoughts not grand enough to be taken seriously by everyone and myself?

This will pass. Do not fear crazy, as I assure you, I am not. I just can’t seem to make sense of some of these petty little problems people (and myself) run around and yammer on about. And I am losing Me’s battle over undoing some of these emotions, hence my mood as of late.

For those of you who know me, I am sorry for my conflicting moods lately. For those of you who don’t, I am sorry for this cliche post. (I think).

Ok, so I want a change. I am in need of one. I’m searching for one. And times are rough now, we all know so it’s hard. So what’s a bitch to do? But redesign her websites. Indeed. I would love feedback from ANYONE who ever comes here. If you hate it, like it, what you like, what you don’t like, etc. The design/change will reflect whatever I think is the “better half” but when you’re right there, down in it, sometimes it’s hard to see. So whatever you might like to point out and/or mention, please do so at this time. Are the photos lame? Are they boring? Would you like me to shut the hell up more often? Should I turn it into a naked chicks room? I dunno.

Last night Toby and I darted home (yes, darted) to beat this HUGE, man-eating storm headed right for New York City only to never find said storm. Our plans on viewing Road to Perdition were quickly ruined. Our dinner plans? Destroyed. All for the storm that never came. I guess it all ended up fine. In the end I was able to watch American Idol and some Dateline show on airbags and Nissans and going blind. So all wasn’t totally lost, I suppose. And I’m finding it hard to not spend the next two minutes rambling on about how I feel about American Idol and who (I feel) should win this particular competition:

::cough:: Tamyra ::cough::

but I will refrain from doing so at this time. Instead, I’ll say that the show Scrubs on NBC is one of the most brilliant shows every written or made. It’s like they have the correct equation finally figured out for laughter. Yep, that’s it. Can’t say much about my life right now, so I will talk primetime and get to work.

It’s supposed to rain tonight and I left my windows open (again). My TV and my stereo are among the items beneath said window. We live on a river. Our windows are huge. You might think I’d learn to not leave all my expensive shit near an open window. But you’d be wrong. I’m not that smart. And now, it’s all I can think about, my stereo, the TV and our DVD/CD collection. Zippity dooo da, how annoying. Speaking of which, I have annoyed myself endlessly lately. I can’t deny it. I wish I could (sometimes) go on vacation from myself. I guess that’s why people do drugs and drink. Is there any other way to reach said goal and not feel like shit afterwards?

Sometimes, you just have to do what’s right. Put your foot down and say,

Are you high? Think about what you’re asking me to do then think about being me and think about what YOU would do if you were me.

I feel very good when I make a sound decision.. Not that I can do this all on my own, I did need help, (a lot of help) but sometimes it works out. I feel very good right now. Much better than I did yesterday or last week. Thanks CC Fruit Fruit and Freakgirl and dad for your help.

My cat knows how to operate an alarm clock. Many years ago, when I was still in school, she put two and two together that every time that thing (the black box) makes a sound I get up and she gets fed. She figured out that if she spent enough time walking (or stomping) on the black box eventually noise would come from it. And it worked every morning I happen to sleep later than 9:30.(This used to happen more often as I used to have a messier schedule. Up late, slept late, and so on). Sometimes I would lay there and hit snooze, shooing her out of the bedroom and shutting the door. And then she’d hit the bathroom. For several months I had two of these particular black boxes (as my brother had much of his stuff there but rarely stayed) and I moved his into the bathroom, onto the back of the toilet where I could listen to music as I showered. She’s smart. On this particular black box, she knew I had to get up. Last night, Pookum slept with us. And I guess she was hungry all night as fatty Poopington (Schmitty) tends to eat most of the food before she becomes full. She spent most of the night, walking on the alarm clock, trying to wake us up. I didn’t know she was hungry, I thought maybe she just wanted out. I let her out, she ran back in. Finally, I fed her at 6 and the alarm dancing stopped. It’s back. The Pook is back, indeed. And I’m sort of sleepy.

Well, who knows. Life is so funny. Life is so odd. When did it happen that money became the main drive in having to make choices? I do so wish things were different. We may have better teachers, better doctors, happier people everywhere. But instead, life is often times made living by the amount of money one needs. And frankly that’s just sad.

How did it get this way? I never intended on getting sucked in. Yes, I do realize living in New York puts a certain necessity on income, but why must one need to make a bloated salary in order to avoid depression, doggy-paddling through life, or just being able to eat a meal out once a week?

And say you don’t take this route, say you take the more noble, I-can-sleep-better-at-night route is that so bad? If you can still live, (even though barely) is that bad? Do folks see you as a failure?

All I ever wanted was to be proud. Money was never a part of the recipe to proud. It’s more of the necessary evil to make life livable. I am bouncing back and forth here. Wondering how we let it get this way. Why create a world that perpetuates an unattainable happiness by way of wealth? I’m not sure what to do. (Robert Frost, you dork).

Geek Love

I’m not trying to brag for him, really. I just can’t help myself on this one. Do boys have any idea how hot it is for some of us ladies when they know how to do all that fancy code shit? It’s just like being a rockstar, only remove the axe and replace it with some fancy ergonomic keyboard. And it’s not music per say but instead code. And if I could stand in front of him (if it wouldn’t be just downright annoying) I’d be there (instead of those two lucky monitors) and I’d dance. I would. I would dance around and cheer him on and maybe (if he’s lucky) flash him some goods. I would use my zippo during certain algorithms.

When he sends me these things he works on (and sometimes complains about) it’s like geek foreplay. I can’t even begin to tell him how cool that shit is. I try, I really do, but I think he has no clue.

So here is my dorky, geek-lovin ode to one foxy bitch straight up, midtown workin with his two monitors and his fancy operating system and all his keys strokes, (mmmmm keystrokes).

You is one hot mutha fugger. Can I be your #1 Geek Groupie? You is way too super cool for me. I just make things look pretty. But You? You make it smart. I dig your geek poo, CC Fruit Fruit. I do. Now come down here and gimme some of that hot action (script). Yum.

Confession:

I learned the definition of the word ‘Irony’ because of the movie Reality Bites.

I am not a naked person. Not at all. And so when a stranger stands before me in the locker room naked, nipples sitting there staring up at me, and says,

It is SO HUMID outside! I mean, could it be any more HUMID?!

I have trouble looking her in the eye. I’m thinking

Oh Shit! Am I supposed to LOOK at you? Am I supposed to ANSWER you? Is it rude if I don’t look at you? Do you want me to look at you?! OH NO! STOP! Please put your naked away!

And it appears that it may have just been me. I was the one hiding in the corner, two towels beneath an obvious fear, trying to figure out how I can put my bra on without having to take the towel off.

If I slip my shorts up this way, I won’t have to show them any of my ass.

I’m the person freaking out over being naked in a room full of women. Me. They’re fine with it. They can even talk to you, boobs and all. And so here, I’m learning how to act in the locker room. I mean, it’s not ok to stare, right? Even if they’re looking at you, you shouldn’t stare, (just look away). And its bad to avoid all eye-contact, right? Is it considered rude and somehow freakish? It’s natural to be curious of what other women look like so I can’t help but let my eyes pull over every so often, stop, take a rest and then move on. It’s curiosity. Maybe that’s why some talk, so it’s ok to look. I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m mature enough for the ladies locker room. My boobs don’t like coming out and my ass is a turtle, an albino turtle. And I’m going to try it again today.

Note to self: you can’t write what you want to on here, right now. So think of it later (how angry you were) and laugh when it’s finally over. Indeed.

Songs about drinking! GO!!!!

Still be Around

by Uncle Tupelo

Here comes a Regular

by The Replacements

This morning was different. I had to be somewhere (other than work) by 9 a.m. So many subway lines later, I am here. The city looks so much better during work hours. I noticed today when I was uptown, near Bryant Park, how pretty she is when she’s working. I tend to forget what sidewalks look like when they’re not dipped in shoppers and tourists. They move quicker. There are defined routes. There are messengers and suits, and cabs and deliveries. You can tell who is late and who isn’t. You can make fun of the people reading the Post. The light is better.

When I lived in Pennsyltuckey, I moved to England for a while. And when I returned home, I used to think about having seen England. And I figured, that no matter how bad a day was or where I was I would always know there was a place in England (the reversal to out of site, out of mind). I have done this all my life. Today I am thinking of Midtown. I am in Soho. I am only a few blocks south, and I’m thinking of Midtown like it’s a far away place I could eventually end up again. Gimme some iced tea. It’s hot and I don’t wanna be here. I want to be there, somewhere. Where is your mind?

Have you ever noticed that some people smell like diaper? Not poo, per say, but diaper. What is this smell? Is it the lotion? Is it the plastic? I just don’t know. But some people smell like diaper and I have noticed it for years now.

Oh, and I would like to say this to the men who put a 5 week old kitten on the grill as their lazy asses sat and drank beer:

I hope you both go to jail and are repeatedly raped by huge men as your face memorizes and warms the cold, metallic bars you scream behind. You are not human. If you were drowning I might let you die.

Pics and the tattoo I will get next.

We’re now artists. Yep. Bought some pencils and some drawering paper and some erasers and some sharpeners and some rulers. So we’re artists. Indeed. I dug out a book last night I bought when I was 19. There is an old Japanese carving I once saw at a museum called, “Ghost of a Woman” and I used to want it so badly as a tattoo but I wasn’t sure it would translate from photo to skin, so I put it aside. Anyway, I dug it out and I was flipping through in order to show the image to Toby, and I read the story about the sculpture (it’s a great story), and just like that my desire for it is back. Toby thinks it might be possible after all. With a few tweaks and a few changes, and the right artist, it might just work out. Look at me, I haven’t even healed from the last two and already I am planning this one. It’s contagious, I tell ya. Truly. In this book, there are other sculptures as well. There is one of a dog, aka

Neko

. I saw it this morning while on the bus. And I wanted to let Resa know, she wasn’t crazy. :) That is all. I must get to work now. (edited [see comments]: NO dog! A CAT!—Neko means cat).

Tonight we’re taking a trip to the art store. Yum. I am going to get rid of the old “east coast” portfolio case I have and move on to the “west coast” box-like variety. Indeed. TobyJoe is looking for colored pencils and such. I will also get some paints. I haven’t painted in such a long time. We don’t have much money but who cares. If we don’t go out but instead stay home and “make art” then (in the end) we’ll save money, right?

...and on the fifth day “GOD” created water.

Here is a closer view. Because I have too much time on my hands :)

Wow. I am not sure what to say, as I told folks to buy this crap. Toby gets sick and we’re eating this every night prior? I just wonder sometimes. This is SO SHADY! A big plus on being a vegetarian is knowing what it is you are ingesting. This is just bullshit. (Thanks Nifkin for the link).

Pics from yesterday and today.

Last night Toby and I met in Union Square Park. To watch the dogs and talk about dinner. We ended up at Pizzaria Uno on 3rd Avenue (again). A few weeks ago, we decided to see a movie and needed a rather quick bite to eat. And Pizzaria Uno is directly across the street from the theater of said movie. And since then we’ve been nearing a “regular” status. I recognized two of the waiters last night and the host sat us at the same table we had the previous time. Granted, we’ve only been there about 4 times total, but I still find it funny. We’re in New York City, the Mecca of all choices, and we find ourselves coming back to Chicago’s finest.

What do you want to eat? Madras? Mary Annes?

I asked.

Well…. Kate’s, but it’s too hard to get to. And I’m hungry. But I want something light, like a salad or something.

He answered.

Wanna go to our pizza place again?

I asked.

Sure. It’s cheap.

I giggled.

What?

We live in New York City and we’re going to a place with the tagline “Chicago’s Bar and Grill” I find that funny.

I answered.

I’m just preparing myself for moving to suburbia.

A few things I have noticed about the Pizzaria Uno on 3rd and 10th: 1). Most of the waiters are gay. (As Toby said to my brother last night,

To work here, one must worship the cock

). 2). The music selection features the 80s variety, (such as Pat Benetar or Till Tuesday) OR 80s TV show themes without the words (such as Mash or Bosom Buddies). 3). Hot girls aren’t afraid to eat there alone, and they order the flaming meat dish which fills the restaurant with the smell of flaming meat which then starts a chain reaction to the ordering of flaming meat. 4). Everything is huge. Everything. The iced teas, the Mountain Dew, the veggie burgers, the side salad and the flaming meat. All. Huge. And if I keep eating there, I may join the ranks.

I talked a lot today. And I’m tired of hearing myself think and write. So this will be short and sweet and we should all run along now and play with Lemurs and friends. G’night.

We have to walk down the hall to go to the bathroom. I mentioned that. Last night at around 9 p.m., I walked down the hall, toilet paper under one arm, flashlight under the other. We live on the fourth floor along with about 10 other people. As I was coming up on the community toilet, I saw something to my left move. I looked over. Standing in the doorway was a naked Asian man. He was totally naked. I laughed, he jumped. He laughed. I laughed harder. He said,

Sorry!

I said,

That’s OK!

And laughed some more. He shut his door and wandered back to his couch. Naked. Just thought I would share.

No water until tomorrow morning. But it will happen then, I am told. People may say that you hang from a thread. And at times It may appear very thin. And you might dangle there and people may say that at any moment it might snap. That’s not true. There’s always a reserve. The human mind has avenues of tolerance which appear out of nowhere around the most curvy of roads. These hidden roads surprise me. (This still doesn’t stop me from wanting to cry). So one more night of using a flashlight to go to the bathroom down the hall. One more night of a filthy toilet. Just one more. (You can do it, Michele).

We haven’t had running water since Friday morning. And it’s annoying. It’s annoying for obvious reasons, I’m sure. But there are other parts of the lack which have contributed to the ugliness in and around me, and I’m not too happy about it. The apartment is dirty and I want to clean it and there is stagnant water sitting in the toilet waiting for a flush. And there is nowhere for it to go or end up or stay as our pipes were severed and capped. I haven’t been dealing with it very well. I have been rather ugly (at times, hostile) towards people (mainly Toby) and it just sort of sucks. I can’t imagine how some people live this way. I NEED clean. I don’t need tidy, I can mess shit up like the best of them. I don’t even mind dirt. Dirt is fine. It’s mildew and mold and stench and old food and rusty water and dust and grime and filth. I can’t take it. Not at all. And I’m having nightmares because of it.

Last night I dreamt about the toilet. I won’t go into details. It’s as if New York City (an already filthy set) has moved home with us. It’s coming through the pipes and the cracks in the floorboards. I can smell its gas coming up from the sink. And if water were here it could help us fight it. The pipes’ throats are bone dry and soar and soon they won’t be able to even whisper for help. And the dirt and all the bugs and the germs will take over and push us out.

I wasn’t going to write about this (as this is something I consider personal) but it’s there (always) on my mind. And I might like to look back on this in a year and see how much it matters then. Am I just too spoiled? Along with zooming in to the microscopic bugs and germs everywhere, I have begun to place my own self under the microscope, and I am becoming horribly hyper-critical and ugly.

Thank goodness, my brother lives a few blocks away. At least our bodies are clean. We do have that.

Here are some pictures from the weekend.

A Lemur is resembled to a monkey. The Lemur swings like a monkey too. Did you know Lemur means ghost because their so quick it looks like there magic and it looks like they disipear! Lemurs are also Squirrel-like, too. There are many diffrent kinds of Lemurs like the flying Lemurs witch has very good Protective Coloration. There’s the Ring Tailed Lemur. Whitch looks like a raccoon but it is not a raccoon its a Lemure! A ring-tailed Lemure walks with its tail up. Lemurs are funny anamals they have big eyes Most Lemurs have large claws.A Dwarf Lemur is a small its cute too I’v liked monkeys alot and now that Lemurs are like monkeys, I love Lemurs too! The Dwarf Lemur is a very small one. Dwarf Lemurs are nocturnal, spending the day sleeping in there nests witch are built of smal branches and leaves. There body is 18 to 20 cm long (7 to 8 in. long) also.

I see bloated, beer-drenched faces and little rolls of white stretched midriff flesh. And filth. A lot the filth. Everything is moist and smoky. Everything seems charred and dark and desperate for outside air. I see used matches and butts and people yammering (but not hearing) and comparing and judging and complaining and gloating and saying everything they’re not really thinking. And actually thinking that nobody notices. I picture a drunker person beg a level 2 drunk for another drink, not because they want one (or need one), but because they’re afraid to go home and face the ringing in their ears from the bar and all it’s hollow syllables and empty facts. What useless brain matter. What a waste to a potentially perfect evening. A friend of mine used to think we go out and drink and get all forgetful in search of those long, successful days from childhood when you trip to sleep. And at some point during dead sleep, your parents tucked you in. But you’re not sure how you got there, or when it actually happened. Nights without fear or worry. Just sleep.

I would like an evening where we could all meet for a game of Kick the Can or Manhunt. In this city fireflies come in the form of cigarette butts and they are crushed beneath the shoes of some lonely soul leaving a bar in search of a childhood.

I swear to friggin GOD, Quark knows when you have made many, many edits and haven’t saved for a while. It knows and then decides to spit some humpin error message like:

QUARK HAS UNEXPECTEDLY QUIT. YOU SHOULD HAVE SAVED YOUR WORK. RESTART NOW LOSER.

Bastard!!! I actually liked where it was going too. DAMN! Do they write that into the software? AURGH!!! (as my professor used to say,

It’s not a problem, it’s an opportunity”).

I went here for lunch. I got veggies and stuff for dinner. I also finally found the book Naked Pictures of Famous People. It’s about time. :)

Tired of masturbating on the subway? Want real love? Real sex? Do you and your lover wanna make a baby? Well, here’s some Adventure Gear from Liberator, making it all a wee bit easier (Thank you, TobyJoe for the link). Rated level 6 on the work safe scale. 10 being “you’re fired”.

We see it ALL the time. It happens to me. I hate it when it does. Usually Toby pops it back in. My question is this, do you tell a stranger? Do you tell them it’s hanging out? Do you politely put it back where it belongs for them? What should I have done about this? It was huge!

Images from yesterday and this morning.

It’s nearing 8 am. I am waiting for Toby to get out of the shower. I haven’t left for work yet. The river is a blood brown. (I won’t make you go through a description). I took a picture and once I’m reunited with the download cord, I shall let you see for yourself. Nifkin is here for a few days. He’s in our last empty room. I was thinking that it’s sort of nice having another roomate so I hung a no vacancy sign out front. We’ve decided to not allow nifkin to leave, ever again. He will not be returning to Annapolis, Maryland. It’s simple. Last night we went to Planet Thailand. Chris met us and we all ate fake meat products and the like. I had a few beers. Yum. I took them down to Union Pool after that. At 10 I went home to find Toby again. The weather is perfect now. I am going to enter it and head off to work. Make it a good mta day.

::crosses fingers::

Here are some more pictures. Zippity doo da day.

Mass transit is on my side this week. A twenty minute commute, so nice. And it’s so nice out. I want to travel. Today I may take a long lunch and go to the bookstore. I might even peruse plane tickets to LA. (Though the idea of flying is still horrifying, enough valium could kill it). I went to LA last year to visit a few friends and had a great time (even though I never really thought I liked LA). We’ll see. I’m sort of tired of the ugliness sometimes. Today a man on the L train was masturbating in clear view. It was through his pants but left nothing to the imagination. Twas not pleasant. Not one bit. There’s an article in this month’s Time magazine called Should You Be A Vegetarian? It’s really quite good. I highly recommend picking it up. It’s responsible for having me choose oatmeal with nuts, raisins, and bananas over my normal bagel with cream cheese. I’m thinking it’s time for a change in the diet.

That is all, for now. I am going to finish what I began here yesterday.

Songs about farm animals. GO!!

Ain’t no one here but us chickens” by Richard Berry, Louie Louie. Louis Jordan (I think)

Horse with No Name by America

Here are a few pictures. You may yawn. I did. Yep. I need to run into more chickens and naked people.

I must stop spending money. Ouch. I just returned the rental car and all those hidden charges surprised me. But it was worth it. The trip was worth it. I need to remember we paid nothing for hospitality. Dropping so much money at once shocks me. Though rent has been paid, bills have been paid, I have nothing left now, but that’s ok. Money sucks. I wish it weren’t necessary.

I finally turned in some logos someone asked me for about a month ago. Before I met Toby I think I worked every waking hour (including weekends). When I wasn’t at work, I was freelancing for clients. When I wasn’t freelancing, I was at work. That life (though full of cash) wasn’t so fulfilling. Anyway, I fell out of practice when I met Toby and watched the world trip over a day in the fall. These days I guess I ain’t so good at the freelance and more so searching for smiles and joy. And though my intentions on finishing a great logo are there, I tend to put it off… put it off. It’s done. I hope he doesn’t totally hate them.

During the past few months (7 to be exact) I have dwelled on several questions. After a few frustrating “situations” that happened within my silly little life, I got fed up with my own created horse shit and started to take it all apart.

And so instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, drinking, blaming the world on my problems and wanting to hear,

Yeah, Michele! You are RIGHT! That DOES suck!

I have to try and change. Wallowing in some pitiful state of denial, sitting in a stagnant puddle of friends, giving perpetually bad advice, and never really changing suddenly became glaringly wrong. These days I am trying to wise-up and become a better person.

There are rules I have set for myself. But they just float around the concept of honesty. I love it. And when it hurts, it’s even better, like a powerful scotch or a long run.

I hate a liar. They make me want to puke. A liar is a thief of words and thoughts. And I hate a thief. Dishonesty runs rampant in so many different ways. And then fear tends to drive it wild. The need some folks have for group acceptance frustrates me evenly. Every. Single. Day. They become half that of what they could be because everyone else wants to keep the maximun up down near the ground.

But I don’t want to dwell on the negative part of this. Nope. There is always a flipside (hence the frustration). There are folks I have met and they have, in some way, sparked this thing called hope (in me). And instead of being angry with the goofballs out there, I want to be happy about the fine folks I know. This is for me to remember them by if I ever get hit in the head and forget everything.

Dad, I’m not so weird. See? But as it turns out, you are. And that’s pretty damn cool.

freakgirl, you make me laugh every damn day. And though I have only met you (in person) once, I like what it is you have to say. You’re a great person. Never a dull moment.

Mom, you’re some freaky, living saint who (strangely) does nothing wrong but (still) manages to take the weight off of everyone else’s shoulders and put it on your own. I wish you could give some of that away.

nifkin, I am constantly trying to come up with new compliments for you because you don’t seem to take any of them. Your modesty is admirable. And you’re super nice as well.

Nico, It’s great to have you back. You remind me that highschool wasn’t all bad. I have only great thoughts about you. You’ve known me a long, long time, creating a history outside of my memory. And that’s a great thing.

(Soung, I wish I knew how to talk to you now, because I think we have some catching up to do. And I miss you).

Toby, you’re the “grade-A motherfuckin shit”. And you make me smile endlessly. And I wish I could clone you. Earth needs more Toby. I’m so lucky to know you. So lucky. (I don’t have the words for you).

That’s all I have time for because it’s nearing dog park time. So if anyone is reading this, you may now (please) make fun of me. :)

Someone here asked me where I got the stickers (on my arms) from.

Here are some Pictures. Only 2 after yesterday’s 55, I figured a little peace and quiet might be in order. Am I the only person put off a bit by this ad? He’ll probably just go get the unwrapped goods elsewhere. Then again, I am a cynic at best. Does this kind of shit actually work? Does throwing the word ‘ain’t’ in there make it more human or something? What the hell is this? Bring your own condom? Bring it where? Out to the clubs? To church? Poker night? Bring your own hump on. Bring your own dildo. Shit, just stay home and rent some porn.

Punchy. I drank too much white wine last night. And here’s some advice never ever go to the Virgin Megastore on Union Square when you’re tipsy. Just say no to Virgin. I walked out of there 75 dollars poorer, with Chasing Amy and Looper under one arm, and Jerry Maguire under the other. All because Toby hadn’t seen Jerry Maguire and I loved Chasing Amy and he hadn’t seen it since it was released in the theater. Then there’s that damn Ikea ad (halfway down, called “Suntan”). It shows before any NYC movie and so I just had to have the Looper cd. Good times. Poor. But good. But I’m feeling punchy today. So it’s off the booze again for mihow. At least for a while. And now I must eat my bagel.

Two tattoos in four, easy steps.

Here are photos of the past 5 days There are A LOT. (55) I am sorry. (Don’t click if you don’t want to wait for them to load).

Ouch. Rewind. No. Please.

(Enter nutshell)

We’re back and it’s cooler in New York City. Which is a good thing. Pennsyltukey was wonderful, I think it’s my favorite state. Home of lightening bugs, trees, mountains, and bagels and colleges, skunks and more mountains, snack foods, meat, pugs, clean air and a lot of silence—so much silence you can hear your ears. We had trouble finding foods to eat, so Toby wants to open a vegetarian restaurant in State College. We packed our bikes up and took them with us. Riding windy roads, met detour, carried bike over plastic, tarp covered bridge. I thought we might be arrested or fall through into a stream below. But the water in the mountains, though cold, won’t eat through flesh. So I relaxed a bit. There are no crazy cab drivers, there are no sudden jerky pedestrians, it’s quite lovely. I miss the country.

I got two tattoos. I finally introduced the needle to the arm. I have always wanted stars. I now have two stars. One is pink the other blue. They sort of hurt (only now) entering that uncomfortable scabbing period. I purchased some Lubriderm this morning to keep them moist.

We went to New Jersey on Saturday. Met up with Nico and George on the beach. Amazing seeing her again. She’s the Nico I remember from years ago only more refined and even cooler (something I didn’t think possible). I plan on making LBI a habit next time we play mini golf and ride water slides. (Next time, we pack our eats).

Bob took us out on the boat yesterday. Such a great day. We docked and had lunch on the bay. You weren’t able to see anything, visibility was next to nothing. Because of Canada. What a shock that is. I could smell Canada. How very odd.

(Exit nutshell)

And now we’re back. We’re here. We’re ready. (I guess). I’m trying to figure out where it was I was and what I have been trying to forget all weekend. Alas, sweet speed, I am back hip-kickin.

Last night Toby and I went and saw About a Boy It was super fun. Super cute. I enjoyed it. It actually made me smile in a dark theater (where there was no seek for proof) and I actually cried. I did. I cried. A totally nice film. If it were a boy, it would be Owen Meanie. (yeah, ok, that’s what came to mind, alright?) Here’s a song for you and me and the film.

Today is a half day. We leave at one. And just like any day before a holiday, that pretty much means no work at all. Today I woke up, removed my ass from the wonderfully mild, air-conditioned bedroom and put it beneath a wonderfully lukewarm shower. Our loft is very large. (Very). And so using and air-conditioner for the large room is not an option. And so even before grabbing the towel, I was sweating again. I am not complaining, unlike the majority of New Yorkers, I happen to like the heat. (Yes, I am freakish). Thing is, I like the heat if I am able to dress to compliment it. So today, being half day and all, and that it basically resembles the hottest caverns in hell, I wore what I wanted. I wore overalls. I have received two comments. One of them was,

Damn girl, who’re you trying to be, Daisy fuckin Duke?!

(Fitting coming from a building manager named Cowboy). And the other was,

Michele, what in the hell do you have on?

But you know what, I don’t care. I’m comfortable and I leave today at 1 in a rented car. And me and my overalls will paint the town pink.

Before attack of the freaky search strings take over during the (only beginning) days of July, I want to point out that not everyone out there is weird. Here are a few decent search strings:

boca sausages magazine design david carson

(I’m sorry, but I still think he sucks)

stuff about saving the environment

............................................................. At the same time, there were these:

bitchlips saladuche hotornot clones shave nifkin skittle my diddle

There were others, but you can probably guess what most of them are about.

Here are some pictures. My hat is here. It really ain’t all that. But there is one cute baby.

New York City isn’t big enough. They say it’s large and all, but they’re just pulling your tired leg. I ran into a boy this morning who recognized me from yesterday’s second diversion from my everyday life. It’s sort of odd. Not super freaky odd, but sort of odd. It threw me off for a second. Boy:

Did you stop by yesterday to drop off….?

Me (interrupting)

Yes, I did. I am Michele, this is Toby. I will be stopping by again today or tomorrow.

Boy:

I’m _. I wish I could tell you what’s going on, but it’s not really my thing. So I don’t know.

I have no doubt in my mind it’s the hat. The pink hat. Wear a pink hat an people will notice you from one day to the next. Toby just stood there playing with the camera. He has nothing to worry about, I’m not looking to change that. But I might like to make some more money.

First they live in the same building now I’m running into them on the way to work. What’s next?

(Check Out My Code, Part II)

Pictures from the weekend. (This isn’t even all of them).