as you'll read in ocean's blog, fish can feel pain. when i woke up this morning and was preparing to go home, i was in the living room of the guys' apartment getting my crap together when ocean announced this to me, in lieu of greeting. "they've proved that fish have feelings," he declared. the thing is, i thought he said, "you've proved that fish have feelings," which got me to thinking, "i did? wow, i'm barely awake, and already i'm doing awesome things."

i knew i was a scientist at heart. although i'd much rather be described as a poet at heart, an artist at heart, even a cat lover at heart, because- as several embarrassing anecdotes involving high school science labs gone horribly, horribly wrong could prove- i've never really been one for the science. the math, either, unless it has to do with calculating my ultimate savings from marked down jeans off the clearance rack.

that's me- perpetuating gender stereotypes left and right. but hey- who else in the room can say they've proved that fish have feelings? huh? huh? oh wait, i didn't do that either.

i am a stranger in a strange land. i suppose i'm starting to feel semi- comfortable here in the northern suburbs, but i was kind of hoping that by the time i actually did move up here, i'd know the area like the back of my hand. nothing stinks more than having to ask for directions to the nearest walgreens. i have this feeling that, during the summer when i want to leave the apartment by myself to go to the best buy or some shit, i'm going to have to use mapquest. which is ri-goddamn-diculous.

ah, well, i still have a month or so before i have to really worry about it.

today, while chris was at work, i found my way to the jiffy lube (where i was told i have all sorts of belt problems that they can't even begin to fix, those fuckers) and then to borders where i could entertain myself for a while with some free magazine reading. i spilled a little coffee on the newest copy of "utne," but that's what they get for allowing me to peruse their merchandise after all of their signage practically forces me to buy a beverage. leaving borders, i made a wrong turn, but even when i started to realize that nothing was looking familiar, i made myself keep going because, really, even the correct way back to the apartment wasn't going to look all that familiar. if my memory serves me correctly, i think i hit lake huron before i finally admitted that i was lost and made the decision to turn around. after all, i know for a fact that chris does not live anywhere near lake huron.

i'm sure after a period of no longer than 18 months, i'll be absolutely fine out and about on my own. right now, though, i feel a bit like a retard.

here's something cool, despite this rampant retardedness: on my drive down rand rd. towards my new job, i can see the sears tower in the distance. it's faint in the distance, but it's definitely there. the odd thing is that where i live now in the southside, i'm about the exact same distance from downtown as we are up here. and i *never* see the tower, not even when i stand on something tall and squint.

hmm. so as long as i can see the sears tower, i'll always know which way is east. southeast. and as long as i know that... fuck, i'm just going to go out and buy a goddamn map. but first i have to ask somebody where the map store is.

do you ever feel like your life is just one trashy romance novel after the other? i think this is how i'm going to start describing my life to strangers, like when i meet someone for the first time and they say, "tell me a little about yourself." i'll say, "well, really, my life is just one trashy romance novel after the other," and then close my eyes, start fanning myself, and maybe slouch down in my chair a little, being sure to arch my back. after i open my eyes, and maybe get out a few subtle moans, they'll probably be gone, scared off and perhaps a little creeped out. in which case, mission accomplished. either that or they'll be more interested in me than ever. in which case, cool.

i'm thoroughly upset, having lived through yet another sleepless, restless, agonizing night. there must be something seriously wrong with me, but since i'm not a doctor, i don't know what that would be. i can't fall asleep. then, once i do fall asleep, i cannot stay asleep. then, once i do stay asleep, i have sick, disturbing dreams. then the the alarm goes off, and i feel like crying because i've really only been asleep for about 2 hours, 1 1/2 of which was spent in a dreamscape so horrific that i can't even write a blog entry about it.

i suppose i exaggerate. i do get *some* sleep, but it's nowhere near the recommended dosage. hopefully, i'll sleep well tonight. i notice i have cycles; i'll go through about a week of shitty nights followed by about a week of normal nights followed by about a week that would have the possibility of being normal except for the fact that i keep eating mexican before bedtime. ach.

now to pour the coffee. i'm sure my excessive coffee intake, not to mention high alcohol levels and all those peanut m&m's i eat during day, have absolutely nothing to do with my lack of zzz's.

carole got this job where, basically, she's going to be making more in a year than i'm going to be making in my entire life. which is cool if you're into that sort of thing, by which i mean paying rent, affording food, not having to panhandle on corners, et cetera, et cetera. however, the thing about this job- from what i understand- is that you actually have to devote a good amount of work to it. like, not only do you have to work while there in the office, which sounds bad enough, but then you end up having to work while at home, or on the train, or anywhere, really. imagine- you're doing spreadsheets in a public toilet and finishing up powerpoint presentations at your nephew's bar mitzvah. what kind of life is that?

i've spent a lot of time feeling guilty for not truly wanting a career of any sort, a lot of time lying to everyone that i was looking for some powerful ceo-like position somewhere that would require me to wear nylons and put my hair back in a bun when, indeed, i haven't been looking for jack. jill, either. it's not what i want, the big-time job. and i'm not ashamed to admit it, as least not anymore. so i'm a slacker. so i'm wasting my education. so i may never have the kind of bucks that can afford such luxuries as a french chateau or, like, really expensive egg rolls. fuck it. i don't care. i don't even wish that i cared.

congratulations, carole- this is what you've wanted. but congratulations, jackie, as well- you also have what you've wanted. not to mention, you don't have what you didn't want. and everything in between? those things are in their places, too.

ach. what a waste of a blog entry. i'm going now to do something productive, like stick bread in the toaster.

they say the grass is always greener on the other side. i think this is supposed to mean that other people's lives always seem better than your own. that sentiment may at times be true, but why must we use the condition and color of someone's lawn to get this point across? this old addage doesn't necessarily work for me because i for one plan on purchasing a house sometime in the future that will include an entirely cemented over back yard. front yard, too. who has time to spend mowing the lawn? and watering it? and planting crap? grass is a waste of space; i'd rather be able to rollerblade around my home, organize some yard hockey ("game on!"), or maybe get out a bucket of sidewalk chalk and make the whole damn thing into an elaborate hopscotch arena.

the saying for me should be "the grass is always totally gone on the other side." this would get the point across nicely.

i'm spending a lot of my down time thinking about the new apartment, which of course leads me to thinking about homes that i may own in the upcoming years. i really should have been an architect of some sort; good ideas like mine should not go to waste. like putting a bathtub in the living room so that you can still entertain guests while getting all of your bathing done. i'd also like to install an intricate system of ladders instead of having stairs. with ladders, as we all well know, come chutes. the whole roof would be a skylight, and there would be no hallways- you'd have to traipse through every room in order to get to your own. which would require at least two doors for every room, which would up the number of door knobs, which would mean i would have more of these said knobs from which to hang my purses and belts. also, it would mean that the residents of the home would have harder times ignoring everyone. no coming home and going straight to your room! first you have to walk through three other rooms, possibly past someone who was bathing in front of the company.

also, i've always preferred brick to wood. so even the doors would be made of brick. not the windows, though- those would still be made of glass. stained glass, with portraits not of saints but of senators in various compromising positions.

yeah, but the cementing of the yard is truly the best idea i have. i could park my cars anywhere i damn well pleased- biggest driveway ever.

my mother had the tv equipped with digital cable. it's something like 400,000 channels, and now this is her life. which is sad and pathetic and rather upsetting. mostly because she's totally hogging it.

carole sent me a picture that she had drawn of me. i love it. i've realized that i've had several friends in my life that have drawn portraits of me- and carole has been the only one who, upon showing me the final result, has not made me want to dunk my head in the proverbial, or public, toilet. i suppose this could be because carole knows to draw me as i want to be seen and not how i actually am seen- or maybe, and this would be awesome, she draws what she really *does* see- and, if so, that makes me incredibly happy.

i've always had issues with the way i look. of course carole knows this. once we were out having coffee, and i'd brought my sketch pad in with me. she took it and told me to sit still, drawing away as i sat there downing the approximate 16 ounces. when she turned to show me the result, i could see that it really may have been me- and still, surprisingly, i liked the way it looked. "this is you," carole had stressed, carole who went out of her way to tell me whenever i was having a good hair day or if i happened to look good in some other way.... i didn't really deserve all that positive reinforcement, but this is what carole does. even on the east coast, she still thinks of this and mails me a drawing that she knows will brighten my day.

i'm glad she's finally seen "amelie." i'd mentally compared her to amelie upon viewing, since both amelie and carole devote themselves selflessly to other people's happiness. in a lot of ways, i've wished i could be more like carole, since i don't always think i'm quite as good a friend as she is. but i try. and i love her.

last year, i spent most of easter at a gas station.

i kid you not. what kind of person spends easter at a gas station? that's a very good question, but one that i don't necessarily feel like answering. what an interesting fun fact, though. the funny thing is that i didn't even buy gas.

i think the whole thing would actually make for a very good short story. "easter at the gas station," by ferclyn jarrucci. that's my pen name, by the way- ferclyn jarrucci. look for my other best-selling works, including "new year's eve in a stairwell" and "thanksgiving in the coat room."

this year i spent most of easter in a car. to chris' aunt's, to my aunt's, back to chris' aunts, back to chris', to the adult bookstore, back from the adult bookstore, etc etc.

refrigerators should be see-through, so that you don't need to open them in order to view their contents. either that, or i should have x-ray vision. i suppose x-ray vision might be more than i can handle, though. what would it be like to look at people, see everything going on inside of them, and still make casual conversation? i'm sure i'd fail miserably. "so that's what happens to swallowed gum." "so that's what happens when you smoke while pregnant." "hey, dude, for a man with one testicle, you're quite pleasant to be around." "i'm sorry, roger, i need to ask you this....is that a... a... banana up your asshole?"

it'd be funny if that last one was said to, say, your investment banker.

screw x-ray vision. bad idea. but if only there was some way to tell what kinds of cheese were sitting in the meat bin without having to move from my chair.... yeah, that would rule.

mood: shitty.

there are things i told myself i needed to do today, but i know i'm not going to do any of them. that's just the way it goes.

it's past one o'clock, i'm home by myself, and i realize that i have yet to open my mouth and speak. i'm not necessarily a chatty person, but this lack of talk is killing me. i feel like making a phone call, but i know no one's around. maybe i should call the national weather service and just babble to the recording. the great thing about the national weater service, at least for chicago, is that they also give the time and lotto numbers. weather, time, and lotto: your three basic needs met with one local phone call.

bleh. i'm going out.

i want to take another vacation. i feel like i deserve a vacation every 3 to 4 months. after all, my life is riddled with stress, what with running my own company and all.

majors offered by beltway community college: dry cleaning. scalp care.

i've never understood the point of an away message. if you're going to be away, then just close the damn program and we can all get on with it. eh?

hung out with jason after work tonight, which was quite nice seeing as how i'd nearly forgotten what he looks like. i especially don't ever recall seeing him in a cowboy hat and cowboy boots; i guess a lot can change in two and a half months. he even said "howdy." or maybe that was "hardly."

i ended up working ten and a half hours today. i just kept volunteering to do things as if i were playing some personal game: winner who works all gets all. maybe my go-get-'em attitude was colored slightly by the fact that management was writing out reviews today. i figure staying late on a day like today should negate the days like every other ones in which i whine, beg, pout, barter, and curse in order to get off a couple hours early. that jackie. such a selfless employee.

speaking of work, today i got hit in the face with a pupilometer. it's a small machine that measures the distance between two pupils and, when thrust outwards, upwards, and into your forehead, hurts like a goddamn bitch. i actually started crying in front of the customer that, albeit accidentally, clocked me in the face with it. she looked like she felt really bad. i felt bad for making her feel so bad- or maybe i just felt bad because of the horrible, horrible pain, and of course the possibility of bruising.

check it out, check it out, check it out, check it out, check it out....

today is exactly "mid-april." i suppose mid-april might have started a few days ago, but today's the precise half way point. may is closer than ever, and after we fly through that (i always confuse memorial day with labor day), it'll then be june. "dumb and dumberer" is coming out in june. yes, i'm going to go see that, shut up. what else happens in june? it's a good month for graduations and weddings. trips to san francisco. immunity shots you possibly overlooked. father's day and subsequent wal-mart sales. the longest day of the year on the 21st. i hear you can balance an egg on the sidewalk. i myself have never actually tried, although i can tell you from experience that just when you think it's hot enough to fry said egg on sidewalk- it's not. and the only thing you get from the whole activity is a messy sidewalk and a mother who runs out of the house screaming and threatening to beat you lifeless with a flashlight. oh, to be nine again.

june. may. april. today. work. bye.

i have an ice cube in my pocket. how many people can say *that?*

i dreamt that my life was a short-running sitcom. at the end of every episode, i would turn to look at the camera and announce, 'only 3 more left!' 'only 2 more left!' i slept long enough to get to the series finale, which was not only unfunny, but also anti-climactic. in the last half hour installment of 'jackie and the things she does,' i went to a thrift store looking for pants. i didn't find any that fit. trying to leave, i discovered that the thrift store was located next to a bar. i sat down at a table and ordered a martini. the man next to me started a conversation; during this dialogue, it was revealed that we were in boston. this whole time, my sitcom had been taking place in boston, and i hadn't even known it.

it's a sad thing to be taken off the air. i guess i just couldn't get the commercial backing. as well, i did not do so hot in the nielson ratings; i was beat out every week by fox's 'wanda at large.' also by twenty-four other shows which i care not to list.

i kind of wish i could watch tv *now.* chris' apartment is unequipped with such luxuries, so i'm stuck reading and computing. these are not the ways the brain was intended to be used.

this morning, i am trying to drink green tea instead of coffee. i put the tea in a dark mug so my brain would be confused. today i am going to make an effort to consume only healthy foodstuffs and beverages. it should be like a game of sorts... a game where, even if you do "win," you still end up desperately miserable, craving french fries and a mocha and dipping your vitamins in chocolate before swallowing.

i never did that find that toenail.

what a beautiful, sunny day. i left my post at work to sit outside for a few moments. when i realized how bright it was, i started squinting, then went back inside where it was nice and dim.

yesterday, i went down to cover for paula at the sunglass hut. i spent the whole time thinking how much i really can't stand her, because she's so demeaning. the sunglass hut is located next to the jewelry section, where i often try on jewelry. it's also located next to hosiery, but i have yet to strip down and put on some nylons. anyhow, paula comes back as i'm admiring this kick ass bracelet that has little jewels on it and marbled-looking squares. i say, "this is cool." i put it down, go upstairs. later, paula comes up with a little box for me. in it? the kick ass bracelet.

i guess she ain't so bad after all.

forget the hot number crunchers thing- apparently she didn't make the finalist trio.

i need to learn more spanish so i can better tell when people are talking about me. i'm not too concerned about the other languages; it's only the hispanics that i feel may have it out for me.

due to poor planning on everyone's part, i was half an hour early for my doctor's appointment, for which the doctor herself was half an hour late. if you do the math, that's one hour of sitting around. i found a bench outside for a while, woke up a few people with some morning phone calls ("oh, you were sleeping? sorry. so, what's up?") then became engaged in a conversation with three very lovely women who gave me brochures entitled, "who is jesus?" i asked if they had a few more i could distribute to my own friends and co-workers, but apparently giving out salvation isn't the same as throwing a candle party or working your way into a pyramid scheme. not exactly, anyhow, but close enough. i think i'll just xerox the brochures on my own and become an independent contractor, but only to supplement the income from my candle parties. do you get income giving out jesus brochures? i think the one lady picked my pocket, but i don't think the irs would necessarily classify that as income.

but i digress. that's what i should call my blog: "but i digress." and i'm just kidding about the candle parties. i'm way too hip for that sort of bag.

my doctor was very nice and gave me a bunch of pills and stuff for free, which i had to wonder about, but then, as i was leaving, she began talking to the nurse. in spanish. i thought i heard the word "quaalude," but i suppose they could have been discussing lunch.

i'm chatting with mitch online right now. our conversation goes along the lines of the revelation that jesus was santa and the apostles were elves. he wasn't a carpenter, but a toymaker. i can only hope to find appropriate christmas cards come december.

we also decided that god's major was genetic engineering, with a minor in ceramics.

it seems like such a waste of time to be up this early.

go to www.wtmx.com and vote for my cousin in the "hot number crunchers" contest. she's the one showing a lot of leg and chewing seductively on a pen. lisa fox. lisa fox-y.

i can't wait for the "hot opticians" contest. the picture i send in will be of me showing a lot of sock (probably my ducky ones) and chewing seductively on a pair of opthalmic frames. i'll also be wearing a cheese wedge hat and an oversized button that says "kiss me, i don't smoke."
________________________

strange life moments: when your dad gives you driving instructions to the gynecologist's office.

strange life moments: when your dad, who you live in the same house with, sends you an e-mail telling you that, yes, after all, he is rather proud of you. instead of saying it. which i, actually, totally understand.

strange life moments: when your dad gives you four more bob marley cds, as if one wasn't enough, as if i'd ever mentioned tolerating, let alone liking, bob marley, as if bob marley cds were the answer to any and all father/daughter bonding issues, as if-- well, to me, it just seems strange. really strange. but there's nothing wrong with expanding my scope of musical tastes, or marley-an tastes, so heck. hell, even.

i tried the strategy. "chris, do you want some water?"

"not really, but if you're getting some, i'll have some too."

damn. he knows the ins and outs.

i'm debating whether or not to pay my parking ticket. if i don't, i may end up parking downtown one day soon and getting a boot on my car. but, yes, while that would probably be a bitch to take care of, it sure would make for an interesting blog entry.

1

chris: do you want a beer?
jackie: sure.
chris: okay, they're in the fridge. can you get me one, too?

****
2

ocean: did you call the apartment people?
chris: no.
ocean: well, don't forget to call them today.
chris: okay.
(minutes elapse)
chris (casually): oh, jackie, can you call the apartment people?

****
3

chris (casually on way out door): well, if you're going out for lunch, you should go to jewel and pick up a pound of chicken breast for dinner.
(door closes)
jackie: notice how he just got out of not only paying for the chicken breast but also going to the store to get it.
matt paul: get used to it. he used to ask me if i wanted a steak quesadilla. i'd say yes, and then he'd say, 'okay, make me one, too.'
jackie: ha ha. i had a similiar experience last night with beer. (see dialogue 1)

****

it's not that i mind as much as i find it funny. i do admire his strategy a little; i may have to test that out myself.

sleep is elusive. really, i just can't do it anymore. monday night i was up until four a.m. trying to get my brain to shut up; last night, at chris' apartment where he, matt paul, and i tried to all camp out in the living room, i switched back and forth from said living room to bedroom at least four times. there was a lack of heat in the bedroom, along with a lack of blankets, so while in there i heaped clothes and towels upon myself in an attempt to keep warm. i felt kind of like a homeless man covered in trash. ah, trash. back in the living room, i tossed and turned next to chris before finally falling asleep only to dream about having to put away what appeared to be a truckload of eyewear. what a nightmare that was! then the sun woke us up at the ungodly hour of 7:00 - and while i may have drifted back to sleep, it was only for filmy, tissue paper moments at a time. and now i fear that tonight will just as bad, and the next night will be even worse because it will be the eve of a doctor's appointment, which young jackie has always been known to dread.

i used to hear stories all the time when i was young about people who 'didn't believe' in doctors and had never gone to a single one in all of their lives. these people all ended up dead, of course, of some disease that could have been easily cured had it only been diagnosed. i had it in my head i would end up being one of those 'i've never believed in doctors!' kind of people. but, alas. maybe i'll just die in a car crash instead of some preventable illness as planned.

so about that sleep. i may need to cut back on coffee, which doesn't seem like a viable option, or figure out ways to relax myself while laying down. perhaps counting small mammals will help. or if i could figure out a way to stop my brain from saying, 'hey, have you heard the one about the pope, the rabbi, and the buddhist?' that could maybe help as well.

i've decided that i would like to be awarded an honorary degree. preferably from an ivy league school, but i'll take whatever i can get. i'd also like to give a commencement speech. preferably one so full of despair and cuss words that my honorary degree is almost revoked. almost.

i've also decided that i would like to discover a cure for something. anything. it doesn't necessarily have to be an ailment that humans suffer from; does anyone know of any rare but untreatable gopher illnesses?

decision number three: i'd like to become a better cook. i'm told it's no more than reading and following a recipe, and i know i've got that down pat. just this afternoon i was able to remove the film from the potato portion (and only the potato portion) of my banquet meal *without* compromising the integrity of the film that covered the roasted turkey and the six to eight green beans, as per the recipe indicated on the side of the banquet meal box. and i don't want to hear any arguments about the differences between "recipe" and "directions." those are just semantics.

get up, stand up, stand up for your right.

everyone in this household knows of jackie's approaching move in june. and it is of both of my parents' opinions that i'll be home by september. nice, huh?

it is of my manager debbie's opinion that "this is it." her maiden name is the same as chris' (different spelling) and now she's a fan of saying, "i can't believe you might be a buerger!"

"different spelling, deb, and we're not getting married, we're just shacking up."

"yes, but still."

it is of gail's opinion that chris is the one. of peggy's that chris is the one. of tom's and carole's and julia's and heather's. i wish my parents could have as much faith in this as the rest of the southside. but alas.

it's of my opinion... well, i don't want to get too sappy here. but every time i hear, "you'll be home by september," i think, "yes. i will. actually, i'll be home by june." because that's what chris kind of feels like- home.

my dad is being exceptionally nice to me. not that he's not normally nice to me, but i have to admit i find any extreme form of sweetness to be a warning sign of sorts. plus he's been on my back lately because my employment status doesn't meet his standards, and when people get on my back, i tend to avoid them. anyhow, yesterday he got me two cds i might appreciate- a rolling stones "the london years" and bob marley's greatest hits- and then proceeded to make me a steak dinner. we all know how i feel about steak. bloody steak. he wanted to go for a walk after i was done eating, but i had to decline since i'd been up since 6 am (through no fault of my own) and was growing quite weary. besides, it was cold, damn cold.

i wonder what he wants.

probably nothing. he can be one hell of a guy. and if he were home right now, i'd bet he'd make me french toast.

any good party should involve a karaoke machine. now i know that there are plenty of nay-sayers out there who will want to disagree with me on this one, but karaoke is a hell of a lot of fun. it also helps to be drinking. tonight at april's 30th birthday party (boy is that bitch old), i debuted a new song in addition to my old favorite "walking after midnight." it's called "killing me softly" by roberta flack. maybe you've heard of it. if not, i can let you borrow my compilation cd "songs by women named roberta" on which it's track numbers 2, 7, and 12.

so there are two songs that i can sing really well. two out of approximately 19,843,956,435 that i can't sing at all. any good artist only needs to know about two songs anyways to be considered a raving success, though, so blow it out your ear.

i think chris should learn these two songs on his new keyboard, and then, together, we can take america by storm with our traveling show "the fergers take america by storm." i've already got our costumes mentally designed. i mean, designed mentally. i mean, i hope chris likes tie-dye.

speaking of which, i wore my handmade tie-dyed tank top tonight. i noticed, post putting it on, that the tie-dye happens to radiate out from the left boob-al area. which is, you know, pretty sexy, in an odd "i wonder if she realizes how dumb that looks" kind of way.

so, yeah, we saw the movie w/ ed norton. the title escapes me, but i think it was something along the lines of "just you wait, jackie, just you wait," and then we (chris and i) went back to his apartment and spent some time fooling around on the internet, playing monopoly and scrabble and alienating perfect strangers in the chat rooms. besides going to the movie (technically a matinee), it was sort of a non-night, what with us staying in and all- but oh how i enjoy the non-nights, the fact that we can do practically nothing and still be happy.

well, at least i'm happy. i suppose i can't speak for him- but, hey, as long as i feel this good, who cares how he feels?

until we meet again....

i truly believe:

when writing a poem, your choice of font can make or break it.

generally, a book can be judged by its cover, and should be.

also, a book can be judged by the picture of the author that accompanies it.

poetry by anyone under the age of 21 is automatically bad.

a limerick is always good.

prologues should have absolutely nothing to do with the rest of the novel,

and large-print novels should be avoided like the plague, even if you do have trouble seeing. they give off a negative vibe in regards to your intelligence. i can't explain why.

****

my mother reads large print novels. with the aid of a magnifying glass. and her vision is fine.

**

is it too much to ask for the weather to make up its mind already? it's like playing roulette trying to figure out what to wear each morning.

things i have eaten so far:

1 bowl of corn flakes. 1/2 chicken sandwich. 1 tuna sandwich. 1 microwaveable spaghetti "dinner." 2 cups of green tea. 1 container strawberry kiwi yogurt. 1 kiwi. 1 handful teddy grahams.

i've only been awake for three hours. it's going to be a hell of a day- i'm in the mood for a hoagie.

should i feel bad? the customer said, "pick out a couple of frames for me-" so i went straight to the armani section. seven hundred dollars later, the customer said, "am i going to need sun glasses?"

"oh, definitely. everyone needs sunglasses, sometimes two or three pairs depending on whether or not you play sports or like to keep maybe one in the car and one at home."

"oh. well, yeah, maybe i should get two. what do you suggest?"

"here are a few more armani's."

i think i took him for the proverbial ride. i felt bad all day. then i check my commission screen and didn't feel so bad. i laughed- all the way to the bank, you might say. and then i realized the bank was closed so instead i came home and checked my email. i wish i recieved more email. you can never get enough email. or antibiotics, i hear that you should take an antibiotic for just about everything.

i'm going out with my mother in a few hours, just me and her. this happens rarely in nature, and there's a reason for that. the last time we went out, just me and her, i spent the following five hours driving around by myself and crying. maybe it wasn't five full hours, but it was certainly no less than two. i hope that once i move out, i can grow to appreciate how fucked up she is and maybe even establish some sort of relationship with her other than the one we have now- which i like to think of as apple-like, consisting basically of a core of resentment, the fruit of hatred, a shiny bitter skin, a small green leaf of too-small peace offerings, and the stem of any self-doubt i may have... i mean root of all.... anyhow. i haven't been able to eat apples in a while, but that's a different story that has nothing to do with anything else AT ALL, except for maybe that movie "titanic," which i can't believe i ever sat through. all four times. i mean, what were we, as a collective group of sappy fuckheads, thinking?

i can't remember.

and now back to daydreaming about the general layout of the wrigley factory. oh the fun i could have in a gum factory! kind of like that book, willy wonka and the chocolate.... something. that was a movie as well. probably worth renting, but i really wouldn't know because i haven't seen it. it wasn't on afi's top 100- but who's in the afi anyhow? certainly no one i know- and nobody i would WANT to know.

too many of my meal choices include noodles. my personal food pyramid is all out of whack.

we've got the apartment. i've got my transfer. we bought a bed. and now all we do is play the waiting game.

aww, the waiting game sucks. let's play hungry, hungry hippos.

i freaked out a little with chris yesterday, convinced that, now that the plans are all in place, he's going to change his mind at any time. at least he knows i can't cook. or, as was embarrassingly revealed before our lunch (which he made), i also don't know how to use a dishwasher. all he wanted me to do was load it and i got confused. it reminded me of the time i tried to make brownies- i just stood there holding the bowl and staring blankly at the eggs wishing that the ceiling would fall in so that i would have an excuse to take some aspirin and go lay down. or like the time i tried to make hot dogs. "do you boil the water first or do the whole thing simultaneously?"

i'm not a fan of cleaning. when i do laundry, i do the whites and the darks, the towels and the sweaters, all at the same time. i don't believe in hanging up coats, since they're going to have to be taken off the hangers eventually anyhow. or making the bed, for that matter. i've never taken the garbage out; it's always just kind of disappeared on its own, you know?

i'm overly excited about buying silverware and coffee cups. about coming home from work and having someone to cuddle with- every day. i'm excited about everything, really. this is so out of character.

and now i go to work in orland. after this week- only 8 more.