my boyfriend told me today that if i stopped writing blog entries, he would no longer love me. at least now i know what to do if i ever get sick of him and want to initiate a break-up without having to go through all the hassle of actually initiating the break-up. no "i think we should talk" kind of conversations, no painful "this may not be working" whispers over breakfast... just the lack of a few mindless paragraphs per week. day. whatever.

the thing about blogging is that oftentimes i feel like i really don't have all that much to say. and yet here i am taking up valuable internet real estate space. i feel that my entries are very predictable at times. what will jackie write about today? work? moving out? her boyfriend? the correct way to take home leftover fajitas? my material is getting old. i think i may need to punch up my format a bit. there are some of you out there who write hysterical blog entries time after time- you always have great, interesting, funny things to say. and then there's me. "i work at lenscrafters. i'm transferring stores. i can't sleep. this is what i'm eating."

bleh.

if i had a bigger, more involved audience, as opposed to the three of you out there who do read this, i would write up a survey and ask you jackasses exactly what would be the best kind of things for me to blog about. maybe i should write the survey anyway.

would you like to hear:

• hilarious sexual antics and anecdotes


• fart jokes


• important health issues affecting the elderly


• "what's the deal with" whatever diatribes


• book reviews of modern classics


• favorite hair care products


• war coverage of various wars raging in countries that none of us truly care about


• daily plagiarizations of song lyrics that i happen to enjoy... and want to take credit for

sigh. i could also do recipes of the few things i know how to cook. who wants to hear about how to toast the perfect... toast?

i'll be back when i have something awesome to say. tomorrow there's a surprise party for me which i have had the misfortune of finding out about. maybe after my surprise party, i'll have a great entry about how wonderfully i was able to feign surprise. i'm even planning on feigning cardiac arrest. like, if you're going to go out, you might as well go ALL out.

if he's going to stop loving me due to me not writing blog entries... maybe he's not the one... or maybe i should type *anything,* everyday, just to ensure that love will always exist. kind of like how i've been doing.

not only did i sleep soundly, but i slept forever- for over nine hours, by my calculations. and while that may mean i won't sleep at all tonight- oh, how good i feel now.

today is my second to last day of work. i've decided that i don't need to actually do any work today or tomorrow- like, what are they going to do, write me up? on my two last days of work? i think not.

i'm going to punch in today, and then sit down and- liesurely- drink my coffee. i may even take my shoes off.

i ate my leftover fajitas this morning, the ones i referenced in last night's blog entry. and you know what i realized? if i would have put my leftovers together into actual fajita form, instead of just tossing all the necessary ingredients into that one take-home box last evening, i could have avoided having to sort through the big, kind of gross, mess that awaited me this morning. that would have been the smart thing to do. but i didn't do it. anyhow, they were still kind of good.

last night my dream involved going to grad school. and it was kind of a nightmare. sometimes i wish i were more ambitious. other times, i wish i had bigger boobs. if i had to choose between a master's degree and bigger boobs (real ones, not fake ones) i'd probably choose the.... sigh. sometimes i wish i were more ambitious.

fajitas always seem like a good idea, but all they amount to in the end is too much assembly time and not enough eating time. or, rather, the eating time *seems* shorter because, frankly, all that work can make lose one lose their appetite. quickly, too. then there's the problem of taking home fajita leftovers. tonight, for instance, i scraped the remainder of my chicken, the rest of my tortillas, a handful of cheese, another handful of tomatoes, and a scoop of sour cream into one single take-home container. just one, for all that slop. and the result was not pretty.

the thing about fajitas is that they're relatively expensive- and after paying that much, i kind of expect my meal to be already completed. i feel like the cooking staff is getting off too easy here. like, sure you've cooked the meat, but can't you just go ahead and put together at least *one* lousy fajita for me? you lazy fuck. sigh. however, my eating habits often entail the arranging and rearranging of toppings, condiments, and dressings *anyhow*... so i suppose that, if i stop to think rationally, it's really just as well.

today i got a check in the mail for that story contest that i won. pretty cool, considering that technically i wasn't supposed to win due to the fact that i dropped out of the class after only four weeks and was therefore no longer a student of the college that hosted the contest. wow, what a long sentence, huh? so i guess that as soon as i cash this fucker, i can tell everyone that i'm a REAL writer, a writer who has actually been paid for work submitted. and, believe me, i will. i'm listing this as occupation on my next income tax form. occupation: REAL writer.

i think i'm going to work my story into a full length novel, get that published, and then work on selling the movie rights. with the money i make from that (and subsequent merchandising), i can take off some time and travel the globe. or at least the midwest. ah, this is the only time that i will ever win anything, ever, so i'm going to spend some quality time daydreaming about it. after all, that gymnastics contest i won in the second grade was a fluke, so that doesn't count. really, it was all quite silly, considering one of the other girls i was against not only had a gimpy leg but also seemed to lack in depth perception. oh well. who cares about gymnastics anyways? not me, i've got more important things on my mind.

i'm not even sure what memorial day is supposed to celebrate. veterans? isn't that what veteran's day is for? our independence? isn't that what the fourth of july does? the only thing i know for sure about memorial day is that it usually involves hot dogs. but no fireworks, and that's really a goddamn shame.

i think memorial day is a marker for fashion laws. as labor day says, "no more white," memorial day says, "break out the white!" which is why i'm wearing white socks this afternoon, as opposed to the socks that i usually wear, which include little to no white at all. i'm a fan of the multi-colored genre of socks, and i actually feel ashamed if i'm caught wearing plain white socks. but i guess since memorial day has passed, it's okay for me to be wearing these plain white socks... right?

memorial day means "no more school!" but since i graduated last year, that's what *last* memorial day meant. so why did memorial day occur this year as well?

i think that if may had more holidays, besides cinco de mayo which doesn't belong to us anyways, then memorial day would not exist. for instance, if we celebrated christmas in may, then the holiday gods would say, "hell, these fuckers had christmas off work, they don't need this memorial day garbage as well... that's just being greedy."

along those lines, i used to think the reason i was born in august was because there was no other major holiday in that month which would overshadow the celebration of *my* big day. for a quiet little girl, i sure had a big head about myself.

that's august 6th, for anyone out there buying presents. and, yes, there will be hot dogs as well... plus maybe any surplus fireworks left over from independence day.... or at least a sparkler or two. right?

last night, we went to see "bruce almighty." this is a story about what would happen if jim carrey were god. thus, it was bone-chillingly blasphemous and somewhat annoying.

i should train myself not to look forward to movies. the more i look forward to a movie, the more likely it is to disappoint me. let's refer to the 1997 case of "jackie vs. bean, the movie." i'd always been a big fan of mr. bean. when i heard that he was coming to the big screen, i believe i wet myself with excitement. repeatedly. i started down the countdown about half a year before the movie's release, marking my calendar in red ink and smiley faces. the night "bean" came out was going to be the biggest night of my life- surely bigger than that year's prom or graduation, probably bigger than my future wedding or any award reception parties that would be maybe held in my honor one day. i got a bunch of us to go see it that night- and when the lights came up after the film's conclusion, i considered going home to drown myself. it was a cinematic disaster, and one that let me down so hard that my physician recommended a regular regiment of anti-depressants and a two week period in which i was forced to beat myself, nightly, over the head with a wooden baseball bat. he even made me carve the bat myself, by hand, as part of the "treatment."

fall of 1997. bean came out in maybe november, or was it october, and this was about the same time that my friend chrissy and i vowed to never wear the same outfit twice in a single year. we figured that since we bought most of our clothes at the thrift store, it wouldn't be too expensive to have... 365... different outfits... for... 365... different days. i don't remember whose idea this was, but i will admit that neither of us thought it out too well. i was the first to cave. i didn't think chrissy would notice, but notice she did. i walked up to her locker one morning, and the first thing she did was widen her eyes and point at my sweater. "you wore that in early september!" she shrieked. "what happened to our deal?"

i tried to tell her that it was a different sweater. she didn't believe me. the next day, she came to school in a t-shirt i recognized from mid-october... and that was the end of that.

"bruce almighty" wasn't terrible. in fact, i'd rate it as highly as "okay." but for all of you movie-goers out there- wait until it's at the dollar show.

i look forward all year to the panera bread chain's "tomato and mozzerella salad." see, i find it quite delicious. in late may, it arrives, every year like clockwork, and this is what i eat on my lunch breaks. however, i do need to clarify a few things. i eat all the mozzerella. mm. then i eat two of the tomato wedges, two out of about twenty-four. i barely touch the bread it comes with, and i scrape off all the basil on top of these said tomatoes and cheese. i put the vinegarette sauce it comes with in the refrigerator (as if i'm saving all this dressing to give away as xmas gifts or something), and then my break is over. this is how i eat my delicious lunch, and, every day in late may and throughout the whole summer, i find myself absolutely starving about two hours later.

so what do i do? i think to myself, "hmm. i should go buy another tomato and mozzerella salad." have i stressed how much i looovvvve this stuff?

i really think my parents should have been stricter with me when i was younger. they should have enforced the whole "no leaving the table until your plate is clean" thing, because look at me now- i'm more wasteful than, say, johnny waste-a-lot. mr. johnny waste-a-lot, from down the block. if they'd said that to me, maybe i'd have learned to eat all of my food, at every meal. hey, maybe i'd be four hundred pounds instead of one hundred. or, maybe, i'd still be sitting at the kitchen table wearing my strawberry shortcake t-shirt and wondering when the hell i was going to be able to get up and maybe go finish the second grade.

last night, i went to the improv olympics. i love going to improvistational shows- oh, i don't go to them nearly as often as i'd like, but my heart gets a-pounding whenever i do. this is because i am a strong supporter of the comedic arts. you should see the ribbons i hang around my trees.

anyways. last night, i was struck by an incredible idea. i want to do improv. i want to take the classes, try out for the troupes, and then perform- oh, if i'm up there, imagine the hilarity that would inevitably ensue. there was one girl up there last night who absolutely blew. now, i don't mean to sound sexist, and let's remind everyone here that i too am female, but i always notice that the girls are never quite as funny as the guys. and since i believe i am funnIER than the guys (or some of the guys)- i'd have to be a shoo-in. no, really.

my only problem would be that i can be incredibly shy in front of groups of, say, three or more people. even if i know them. but everyone has their obstacles; jerry seinfeld, for instance, was jewish. also, while i may consider myself rousingly funny, i have to admit that it's altogether possible that i couldn't *act* my way out of a paper bag. altogether likely, if i may say so myself. but, hell. i think it's possible that i may have just what it takes, once i multiply my confidence by about a thousand, to be an incredible improvistational success.

watch for me. i'm gonna be big.

to be sung to "the farmer in the dell."

i'm cleaning out my room!
i'm cleaning out my room!
before i even know
it will be barren as a tomb!

i'm packing all my shit!
i'm packing all my shit!
if i were a drummer,
i'd be packing my drum kit!

i forwarded my mail!
i forwarded my mail!
i told the tinley post office,
"june 6, i'm gonna bail!"

so heavy is my stuff!
so heavy is my stuff!
i guess i'm pretty lucky
that i am so freakin' tough!

but i'm taking my time!
but i'm taking my time!
i keep diverting from my tasks,
i keep going on-line!

i'm throwing out my junk!
i'm throwing out my junk!
soon i'll be the equal
of those no-worldly-good monks!

except for what i'm taking!
except for what i'm taking!
like my hundred cookie-cutters
in case i take up baking!

i'm moving sometime soon!
i'm moving sometime soon!
someone check the calendar
and tell me- when is june?

i just read an article on cnn.com about a home-schooled boy winning a geography bee. his parents are quoted as saying that they had decided before having kids that they would home-school all their children. upon reading this, i instantly pictured what my own kids, if i were to have any, would be like should i decide to home school them.

for some reason, in this little vision of mine, they're wearing potato sacks. i guess without the pressure of having to leave for school, there's also no pressure with having to look presentable. their hair is all tangled and sticking straight-up, and there are crazed looks in their eyes. the oldest boy is missing teeth, probably because they keep getting chipped due to all the time he spends gnawing on the leg of the dining room table.

they don't know any math. at all. history, forget it. i mean, i tried with history, but it was all very vague and no exact dates were ever, ever given out. "the civil war," i explained, "took place some time ago. everyone who fought in the civil war had a handlebar mustache and was either a scorpio or a capricorn." i've spent time reading them a lot of stories, but i've never exactly explained what fiction is. this is why they look for jertains behind the curtains, cats wearing hats, and platefuls of ham served with sides of green eggs. my kids will never win a geography bee. in fact, i've neglected to tell them what their own damn zip code is.

i've possibly taken them on field trips. such visited locations included sears, the pool hall, and the waiting room at the emergency room when we had to take my daughter in because she got her hand caught in the mouth of a badger during a biology lesson gone horribly, horribly wrong.

home school. psh. having kids. psh.

attention, i have only six more days of work left in orland park.

here's what everyone is saying about my novel:

"this exploration of the soul is not only rich with adjectives but also sparks heated, passionate debates on the correct usage of the semi-colon. a must read for anyone who has ever questioned not only their existence but also which font style accurately reflects their personality type."

- richard spears, the new york times

"rousingly funny! hip and quirky- a coming of age tale that runs rampant with symbolism and references more brands of shoes than one can count. if you read only one book this year, read this one. if you read only two books this year, then read this one twice."

- jane underwells, chicago tribune

"ferclyn jarrucci has created a page turner like no other. from the first sentence, on through the middle sentences, and then up until the last sentence, she keeps you turning those pages, one after the other, in the correct order, with every sentence in every chapter being exponentially more interesting than the previous sentences in the previous chapters. she'll have you, by the very last words, being so excited by this tour-de-force of a novel that, more than likely, you'll end up exploding, gleeful little bits of you plastering the walls behind the sofa in your living room. or your bedroom, depending on where you like to read. conveniently, most hardcover copies of this novel come with not only a mop, but also a bucket."

- larry childs, the washington post

"i hated it. but the mop worked nicely."

- yolanda salizar, the miami herald

"poetic and heartwrenchingly beautiful, this book- no, this work of ART- made me weep so hard that my eyeballs fell out. yet that didn't stop me from reading the whole thing. the ending was such a surprise that it kept me awake for months afterwards; i lay on my futon and just kept repeating, 'how the fuck was that possible?' i mean, really, how the fuck was that possible? out of nowhere, this team of super-brilliant roller skating monkeys just kind of appear in their spacecraft, no warning, no foreshadowing, nothing, and they save the day, just like that. i suppose it takes a brilliant author such as ms. jarrucci to make that happen without having everyone question how the fuck it was possible. wait a minute. anyways, it was great."

- "ferclyn's" dad, the ferclyn's dad tribune

"it took me nine years to write this book, and i think it's the most humorous piece of crap that $12.99 will afford you. and, no, my dad does not sleep on a futon."

- ferclyn jarrucci

and now i know that there are at least two things to do in the city of milwaukee- go to the milwaukee art museum and go to a brewers' game. i enjoyed the milwaukee art museum although of course it was no art institute or, of course, no met. (sidenote: since i've been to the met, i can't stop making references to the fact that i have and that having spent three hours there last october, i am now way cooler than anyone who hasn't. or who has spent only two hours or one. so bear with me.) the thing i did like was that they had a "chair park," all sorts of different styles of chairs arranged around an area. you're welcome to sit in these chairs; on the way home that evening, i told chris that the chair park should have been called the "chair garden" and that their slogan should have been "plant your ass!" now that's clever.

the brewers game was fun; it's weird how i can enjoy sitting at a baseball game but feel like tearing my hair out if i have to watch it on tv. must be the alcohol.

the milwaukee art museum:

i can't use a public toilet without covering the entire seat with 3 to 4 layers of toilet paper. i don't know what sort of disease i'm afraid of getting, but i fear that if i don't take those protective measures, i'm going to end up one evening in a compromising position with my lover looking at the backs of my upper thighs and ass, saying, "how did you get this green and purple rash?" and, he'll also remark, "i think your left butt cheek has fallen off- no wonder you looked so strange in your jeans."

i can't touch the flusher, i need to kick it with my shoe. and i always take note of who's washing their hands and, more importantly, who isn't.

i went for coffee tonight with shane and took home the coffee mug. i stuck it in my purse and everything and almost took offense when shane compared me to grandmothers worldwide. almost. but let me just reiterate how nice this mug is. and how overpriced my drink was. i did the math and came up with one mug, my favor. bam.

oh, the klepto in me can't wait for mini-golf season. i'm going to have a crapload of putters lying around the bedroom, and more colored golf balls than i'll be able to count. i'll be able to set up my own mini-golf place, call it "windmills and shit." i'll just have to watch and make sure that no one steals my putters. or my golf balls. now that would be a bitch, probably wreck my day so much that i'd find myself on a public toilet without the aforementioned requisite covering of toilet paper. and my scenario of the rash and lost left butt cheek? a vivid reality, and one much too scary to continue to write about.

it's probably a good thing i'm transferring stores because i think that, if i weren't, i'd probably be getting written up left and right. let's take today for instance.

* i was 81 minutes late for work. through no fault of my own- because, no, it's not my fault i read the schedule wrong. damn thing should be more... legible... or the font should be bigger.

* i forgot to place 3 orders before leaving work on tuesday, of which i was bruskly reminded today.

* once again, i violated the dress code. i tend to wear shirts that show my belly, and not on purpose- it's just one of those things. i think i have an abnormally long torso.

* i was exceptionally rude to a woman who annoyed the piss out of me. of her husband's lenses, she butted in, "you know, i have such and such lens, and when i bought them last week, they didn't cost nearly so much." to which i responded, "oh, i doubt that. hey, we're sitting in front of the computer, why don't we just pull your file up right now?" then she was asking me which frames looked better on her husband, who had the kind of homely face that glasses weren't exactly going to make or break. i replied, "i don't care, i'm not going home with him." then there was more haggling on the price; bitch wanted to bargain. to which i used my old fallback, "hey, this isn't swap-a-rama here."

(to those of you not from the southside, swap-a-rama's the flea market. and, frankly, it's a damn good flea market. best place around to get nintendo games.)

* excessive breaks.

* swearing within earshot of customers. not that i'm the only one guilty of this; my favorite was when erika came to ask me for help once. she was walking away from the customer and was no more than 1.5 yards away when she, obviously frustrated, said, quite clearly, "jackie help me out because i don't know what to do with this fucking guy."

ah, good times. although, like i said, i do deserve to be written up- and yet, i seem untouchable, much like that tv show, "the untouchables." instead, i get everyone saying, "gee, we're going to miss you." it's like my departure overshadows my crummy work ethics somehow. if i weren't going anywhere, i bet they'd say, "gee, you're really starting to toe the line here."

anyhow, speaking of erika, she invited me to go downtown clubbing tonight. and i'm going- so that i can go to work hungover tomorrow. didn't i tell you i deserved to be written up? man oh man.

i love writing blog entries. i told chris last night, i'd write six a day if i didn't think that would make me look like a gigantic loser. i just can't help that i have so much to say. even if what i have to say is oftentimes the same stuff i've had to say for weeks and weeks and weeks. but, hey, you choose to read it. not me.

we signed the lease, ladies and germs. our leasing consultant scares the crap out of me because she seems about as mentally stable as, oh, i don't know- something that's not very mentally stable at all. sorry, it's early, and i'm just not feeling clever right now. and not that there's anything wrong with lacking mental stability. i myself have been known to be bawling one moment over some huge, heart-breaking situation (which, most of the time, i've made up) and then, the next moment, be laughing my ass off over the pronunciation of some random three syllable word. like toboggan. but the kind of mental stability this woman lacks? she's going to forget who we are and then, in a fit of confusion, attempt to stab us with a twizzler.

but i jest. she's just the kind of woman who gets extremely frazzled because the phone rings every once in a while.

yes, though, the lease is signed.

it all still amazes me, every moment. i'm so damn lucky to have found someone that i love so much that, at this rate, maybe i should also buy more lotto tickets.

did i also mention we bought a queen sized bed?

i grew up on a small farm in nebraska. i had nine brothers and sisters, but unfortunately six of them perished due to an unfortunate incident regarding the ingestion of some topical cream. that left me and my three sisters mabel, loretta "the nautical ninja" sue, and bernice. we were very competitive, the four of us, and often had to be separated due to the kind of fights that resulted in entire handfuls of hair being yanked, and then torn, from our respective scalps. i was the oldest, so i was told that i should have known better. to this, i would respond, maturely, with my well-thought out response of "na-na-na-na-na-boo-boo."

i knew i had to get away from my sisters, who were wont to steal my prom dates, sabotage the many drafts of my novel, cut the brake lines of my chevy nova, and stir hearty dollops of topical cream into my morning cocoa while i was indisposed in the next room sticking needles into their lipsticks. i talked to my parents, simple nebraska farm folks who didn't understand why the four of us felt the need to sleep with steak knives underneath our pillows. "i need to leave," i told them. "i cannot live this way!"

my father would look at me over the tops of his glasses, shake his head, and reply, "na-na-na-na-na-boo-boo. now bale some hay."

i decided to make my get-away one night after loretta sue set my dog on fire. i beat the flames out of rover with bernice's autographed copy of "the white album," and then turned to my three sisters and declared, "i'm afraid your fun is about to become 25% less... fun. by morning, i'll be gone."

"empty threat," mabel scoffed as she spat in my hair.

but while they slept, i packed up my few belongings into one of those bundles tied to a stick, slung the stick over my shoulder, and headed, barefoot, towards the highway. i was picked up by a truck driver who asked, "where ya headed?"

"new york, sir. i'm trying to pursue my dreams of regentrifying harlem."

"hop in," he said. i hopped in. we drove all night, and i told him about my sisters. he told me about his love of the anagram game. "tipper gore," he said, "can be rearranged to spell 'ego tripper.'"

"or," i said, "'pee grip rot.''

"that's a good one."

we were in new york by morning. he knew shortcuts like you wouldn't believe, and he dropped me off in front of a motel six (anagram: me slit ox), where i had to perform numerous sexual favors in order to secure a room. i also had to promise to make the coffee in the morning, but it was worth it- i was in new york! i was finally away from my sisters, and i could use the bathroom without having to worry about somebody having laced the toilet seat with strains of syphilis. yes, i had truly arrived... and i became bored as fuck.

it's the old, sad tale: without the constant threat of pranks and torture, my mind went feeble with inactivity. sure, it wasn't easy to regentrify harlem, but i still felt like i needed a hobby of some sort. and that, my friends, is why this small-town girl from nebraska decided to start a career in fashion design.

i made red the new pink. and it wasn't easy.

last night- after finishing my blog entry, in fact- jason picked me up and we headed into the city for some mediterranean cuisine. two syllables for y'all: hum-mus. also cous-cous, which is actually just a lot of fun to say and really no fun to eat.

i felt like i haven't been downtown in years. i felt like a dog hanging its head out the window as we headed up lake shore drive, tongue panting with excitement as i took in the familiar, yet missed view. it's been so long since i headed north into the city; the view from the south as you're arriving is really one of the best that chi-town has to offer. when you're coming down from the north, you just kind of slip your way in, and you don't really notice the change. but when you're on 90/94 heading up to 55 and lsd, the city looms magestically, unfolding like some kick-ass pop-up book. it's enough to make somebody re-fall in love with chicago. i myself fall in and out of love with chicago about four times a year, so fickle i am.

although i really do think my heart belongs to seattle, depression-inducing weather and all. and vancouver? ohh, just you wait.

i'm obsessed with cities. i need to visit every single one before i die. which sounds like it would be undoable, but maybe you haven't read my blog entry about living until 5494. vancouver. boston. london. sydney. tokyo. biloxi, for crying out loud. i'm sure i'll see l.a. sometime in the next few years because of chris, although i must admit that the idea of l.a. does not seem to hold the magic that, say, san francisco did. does. i don't know. like suddenly i'm an expert on california just because i spent four days in s.f.? jeez, louise.

it's all that "full house" i used to watch. and the fact that there's so many asians in san francisco. there's also a lot of gays. in fact, i've referred to the population as "gaysian," which, i'm sure, makes me as politically correct as they come. but i love asian people. and homosexuals, i like them, too- but, let me assure you, in a very straight, heterosexual kind of way.

should i delete that paragraph or just go with it? hmm.

all in all, i'm feeling better. the bad mood's subsiding, and today i'm happy. i'm having one of those days where i feel like i'm in rare form, cracking jokes left and right, striking up conversations with perfect strangers, running around with endless amounts of energy, thinking up brilliant new designs for various candy dispensers, etc, etc. although i did make a nasty phone call to my doctor, but i think, after all i've been through (sniff, sniff), she deserved it.

i woke up late this morning, approximately ten minutes before i had to be at work. i ran into the kitchen, where my dad was doing dad things such as alphabetizing his mail, and cried, "i'm late, i'm late!" immediately, he sprang into action. "okay," he said, all serious-like and standing up so fast i thought he'd knock over his chair, "you take your shower and when you come out, i'll have your breakfast and coffee all ready." which he did.

then, after said breakfast and coffee were consumed, i was heading out the door when he cried, "wait! i made you a lunch," and then handed me a bag complete with sandwich, chilli, soda, banana, and cookies.

god love that man. one generalization i think that's fair to make- when you have an italian parent, you'll never go hungry. never!

tickets for bob dylan went on sale today. i think that's one concert i would have liked to gone to this summer, but alas the opportunity has come and gone. sure, i could get tickets from a scalper, but who really has six hundred dollars these days to just throw around? certainly not i, even with the hefty 4% raise i just recieved. 4%. i haven't recieved a raise this low in the past two decades, at least, and the sad thing is that i actually got the second highest raise in the store. maybe i should persuade my patients to buy their eyewear elsewhere. ... elsewhere eyewear... now that would be a good name for a store.

jeff had told me what seemed like years ago that tickets would be going on sale may 10. and i said, "may 10? christ, that's like forever and a day away." and now may 10 is almost over. i like to tell myself that time, it goes so slowly by, but when i stop to consider the facts, it really does seem to be exceeding its own speed limit. and before i know it, i'll look at the calendar and say, "how the hell did it get to be august 13th... in the year 5494? and how did i happen to live this long?"

then somebody will pop my hip back into its socket, remind me of that ridiculous deal i'd signed with the devil exchanging the completion of a few unholy quests for my own miserable, eternal immorality, and then position my head so that i can at least look out the window as to see the very last moments of galaxy war XII with the aliens from planet hollywood. you know, the last moments in which everyone and everything else but me is destroyed, leaving me not only bitterly and painfully alone (and cold) but also with a hip that perpetually slips from its own damn socket and requires fingers NOT arthritic with which to replace it. my own fingers, as you will imagine, will be extremely arthritic. but i digress. how did it get to be may 10? and why didn't i just lay down the bucks and get me some bob dylan tickets? because unless he signs some horrible deal with some horrible demon, he probably won't be around for that much longer, thus making it ever so important to see him now.

yeah, whatever. i just want to go to a concert.

time.com, in what the journalistic world would call a "fluff piece," states that what mom really wants this year for mother's day is a little time for herself.

done and done. and i mean done. hell, i'll even try to leave the house that morning without interrupting her "time" with so much as a "see ya!"

with mother's day approaching, i'm reminded of those tender mother/daugher scenes you often see on made-for-tv movies and commercials for wal-mart. these clips that run through my head are in sharp contrast to the actual mother/daughter moments experienced in this here household. even though, generally speaking, she's a pretty big wal-mart shopper.

so here comes the philosophical dilemma. should even a token hallmark gift be deserved or just annually issued? hell, despite the quandry, i know i'm going to end up getting her something, but this is a purchase that, every year, kills a little bit more of me. and one may, there's going to be nothing left of me, and i'm going to hand her whatever knick-knack piece of crap i got her for those last few moments of my life as i have known it, and i'm going to choke out, "the last bit of my soul is in there, you heartless bitch," and she's going to say, "well, the least you could have done is wrap it."

breathe in, then out. in that order. repeat.

i suppose we do have our moments, my mother and i. like that time in 1980 when she squeezed me out of her, that was nice to finally get some air. and she's made me countless tuna sandwiches, although she refuses to make me any kind of sandwich with cheese in it. hey, she bought me a beer for my birthday last year, that was kind of cool. most importantly, she's provided me with an extremely unique perspective of humanity- at the very least i can say and be relatively happy with that. and the problems that i don't hide from her? after her eight days of nagging have come and gone, she'll usually try, in her own horrible way, to help.

so to the wal-mart i will go- to buy her some crap. although i wish, instead, we could just celebrate father's day twice. now there's a gift that's always deserved.

blaine relates of his adventures in mount carroll- a town, he will tell you, that is located 15 miles southeast of galena. the basic gist of the story is that a pack of 7 guys at the neighborhood bar wanted to kick his ass. so he's running from the bar, with 7 guys running after him, and as he's running he falls and tumbles into some bushes, where he promptly blacks out for a period of about six hours.

i find this beyond humorous. maybe you need to know blaine to get it. maybe not. this story was retold to me last night, and i laughed so hard that i spit out my drink and then nearly choked on some nachos. maybe it's just the image of 7 mean, burly dudes chasing blaine- well-dressed, pretty-boy, i-spend-forty-minutes-gelling-my-hair, my-parents-own-half-of-new-lenox blaine... or maybe it's just the general idea of what it would be like to black out in some bushes.

either way. i gotta go to work.

so mitch and i are chatting, and he says, 'i'm getting bloody excited about lebowski-fest.' who isn't?! i've already requested off work- at a store, mind you, that i have yet to begin working at.

it may be the best weekend of my life. or, if my car breaks down and we all get eaten alive by bears, the worst.

nobody likes a poet. it's true. but everyone loves a clown. even more people love a smart ass. a smart ass clown would win lots of points in a popularity contest.

nobody likes an artist, the kind of artist that is deeply brooding and needs to mention the inherent beauty in, say, a broken tree branch or a bag of half eaten corn chips. nobody likes that girl, even if her clothes are really fucking cool.

nobody likes a musician. well, that's not true. most people love musicians. studies have been done proving that guys who play instruments get all the babes, and the guys who can't play any instruments are usually left with what's left over, which, if we're following, isn't much, because all the babes have already been taken. although i myself would rather date a smart ass clown than a musician, although i suppose it wouldn't hurt if he could bang out a good rhythm. as far as being a musician myself, girls who rock are cool. but no one would like me as a musician if (a) i played an un-sexy instrument such as the tuba or (b) i used my knowledge of music to sing along my poems. because, remember, no one likes a poet.

nobody likes a devout christian. except other devout christians. but even they don't really get along; you can see it in their eyes. devoutness can be as annoying as the statement, "isn't there so much beauty in that broken tree branch?"

nobody likes a person who writes pointless blog entries. except for the blogger herself.

everybody likes the person who buys the drinks. at least for the duration of the drink. nobody likes the perfume lady at marshall fields.

the nice thing about returning home after spending a few days at chris' is that i'll usually find that somebody's done my laundry for me.

i have 3 1/2 weeks of work left before the move. wait for it, wait for it....

today i recieved an email from whole foods, where i suppose i had applied for a position. the chick writing the email wanted to know if i was still interested in said position. now if only i could remember what that job had entailed, then my response could have sounded a little more intelligent. this situation already seems much like my interview for heartland blood centers. the lady asked me, "why are you interested in this job?" i replied, "to be honest, i've been applying for so many jobs that i can't remember what this one was."

sigh.

last night i dreamt that i was a character in a harry potter book. my power was collecting, and mailing, greeting cards. if i mailed you a greeting card, even if it was a nice one such as one that wished you and yours a happy anniversary or a festive cinco de mayo, you would inevitably die. your internal organs would shrivel up, your eyeballs would fall from their sockets, and the blood in your veins would become a form of mango juice. i only mailed out one greeting card in my dream, and that one was an innocent mistake. innocent. no, really.

yesterday, i spent one dollar on an instant win lotto ticket. i won four dollars. i spent the four dollars on four more tickets. i won six dollars. i spent the six dollars on six more tickets. i won two free tickets. i said to the guy behind the counter, "at this rate, i could be here all day." he was not amused, and on the last two tickets, i did not win a thing. all i had done was managed to waste that poor cashier's time- and, in the end, isn't that truly what it's all about?

it was worth a buck. but next time i'll have the foresight to stop when i'm ahead, take my five dollars, and celebrate with a whopper or something.

i had this killer cupcake recipe in mind for my upcoming "bring your own cupcakes" party, but i couldn't make them because i was unable to find the requisite 9 1/2 caterpillars. and the donkey blood, the grocery store was out of that as well.

so no cupcake party. i'd really like to go to a party sometime soon, or possibly have one thrown in my honor. gail just bought a picnic basket, because lord knows you can't go on a picnic without first spending fifty bucks on a goddamn basket. so maybe we'll go on a picnic sometime, and that will be *like* a party, only quite possibly no fun at all. bugs tend to ruin picnics. and rain, too. also, other picnic-goers. although if i do spend some time sitting on a blanket in the grass, i may come across my 9.5 caterpillars. in which case, the cupcake party is on.

the kitchen is full of shit. no, literally. i opened up the freezer a little bit ago in search of food, and i came across a stool sample in a clear and precisely labeled container. immediately, i freaked out. "who took a dump in the freezer?" i screamed. then i looked up; on top of the refrigerator, there were three more containers. of crap.

my sister's been having infections and stomach problems, so the doctor requested these samples. this alone freaks me out; doctors wouldn't make you collect your own feces just for the hell of it, would they? unless they feared something major? my sister said that, among other things, they're going to test for stomach cancer. dear holy god. dear. holy. god.

so i'm trying to make light of this despite being a little worried. what's the punchline here? oh man. when there's poop in the freezer right next to the frozen pizzas, what *isn't* the punchline? this stuff writes itself.

everything's going to be fine.

if you read this, jason- happy birthday.

the other night, jason and i met up for coffee after i got off work, and he said, "sorry, jackie, but my birthday plans include dan's brother and dan, so we didn't invite you, and..." and then he let it trail off like that. it's funny that it even had to be said. i thought some things were just too obvious to talk about. in a lot of ways, i have assumed, without mentioning it, that i don't even exist to that group anymore- like most of them have buried me, said their last words (both nice and not-so-nice), and have then happily gotten on with it.

anyhow, it did kind of bothered me that he even brought that up, because i wouldn't have thought twice about it otherwise. but once it was spoken, then i had to actually ingest it, think about it.

well, either way.

i won the illinois state lottery. it was truly against all odds, because not only did i pick my favorite numbers, but also my favorite letters and a few of my favorite colors. i'll be on tv tomorrow night accepting the giant check, and hopefully the television station will let me say a few words. maybe they'll ask, "what do you plan to do with all of this money?" and i can answer, "i was thinking about giving it to charity. but i'll probably just buy a car."

wow, what am i going to do with all this money? it's 64 million, to be paid in one lump sum. i'm sure i'll invest at least $100 of it, but then what? obviously, i buy a house. i get a couple of cars, take a few year's worth of fancy shmancy vacations (the kind that include cabana boys), acquire a whole shit load of toys and shoes. i buy my gentleman caller every single piece of crap he could possibly want and then some. like a go-kart track and six go-karts, all to be kept out by the pool. i never work again. i study art under famous artists, play sports with famous athletes, wine and dine with sexy celebrities, and become politically active, but only so i can have access to the button maker. jackie for president or bust! oh, the things that money will buy!

so, this is a nice turn of events. i was going to make some hot dogs for lunch, but since we're talking about 64 million- i think i'm going to order out some hot dogs for lunch. ah, this is the life.