**************************************

happy halloween. i've been up all night checking the candy bars for razors; i don't want to be held responsible for some personal vendetta of the guy at the snickers' factory. you know how it is.

yeah, i'm talking to you.

i really don't want to go to work today, but aside from purposely breaking my ankle, there are few ways i can get out of it. i mean, i suppose i could call in sick, but that would be a little transparent. i'd have to prove i really couldn't come in to work. such as showing them the bill for my broken ankle.

i've always admired people who could break their own bones for the good of the bigger picture. like, you're stuck in handcuffs and the only way to get out is to break your wrist. so you do it. and now you have this great story to tell at bars for the rest of your natural life.

my dad came up to my store to buy glasses yesterday, and get an exam. he drove an hour just to come to *my* store. that's my dad, always going out of his way to see his darling daughter. we went to lunch on my piddly half hour lunch break, and he told me that sometimes he takes lunches that last as long as 3 1/2 hours. that once he drove 30 miles away on his lunch break just to have a certain kind of taco, and that he and this other guy normally frequent best buy on their lunch breaks. this is the kind of job i need. you go out for lunch and decide you also have time to get your hair highlighted, buy some authentic wisconsin cheese, and then sit down and reconsolidate your loans.

or something. i don't know. i wish i could snap my fingers and make a plate of french toast appear.

that's it. i'm fed up. you know why, you know exactly why.

in other news, supposedly they say you can't control who shows up in your dreams. this is a relief to know.

once falling asleep, i was everywhere, with everyone, for better or for worse. they tried to please me, but they only half-heartedly tried- as if vaguely trying only because i told them to try- and of course they failed miserably, and i was even less pleased than i had been to start with.

i was tired of telling them to try. so now i'm not going to try either.

something's missing in this coffee cup.

how about that for your cryptic blog entries?

if i had to choose one word to describe myself this morning, it would be "pukey." if i had to use two words, it would "pukey" and "headachy."

so last night this guy tim stopped by. he's jordan's friend, and unbeknownst to us, jordan's told this guy that he could possibly sublet his room. i guess it only makes sense; according to ocean's count, jordan's only been here 3 of the last 4,569 hours. or something like that. it might be kind of weird if this guy moves in, but i guess he seemed mild-mannered enough, which is always good. personally, i don't care as long as he can pay the rent and maybe do the dishes once in a while. but, you know, it's still a somewhat odd situation.

not to mention, it's been nice living with just chris and ocean. the three of us have a certain rhythm together that may or may not be upset by this guy. like, what if tim watches tv naked and listens to polka music until four in the morning? then again, maybe he'll enhance that rhythm by contributing a blender or something. we don't have a blender.

anyways.

my dad gave me a printer yesterday. that was nice of him, because it's now been five months that i've been printer-less. this is going to be a key step in my burgeoning career as a famous novelist. now all i need is a stapler. and an idea for a novel.

if had to pick a third word to describe myself this morning, it would be "ultra," as in "ultra pukey," and "ultra headachy."

oh how i manage to amuse myself. i'm at my parents' house right now, going through some more of my old stuff, and i found this file on one of my long lost floppy discs. this is from the archives, friends, circa 1997. and i like it.


dinner date

the potato, looking sexy,
wore her sour cream and chives.
the steak was truly captivated
by her many eyes.
he wanted so to taste her;
so he chased her ‘round the plate.
the potato was a tad turned off
by her pushy, beefy date.
she threw a little corn at him
and other bits of tiny food
as a subtle way of saying
that she wasn’t in the mood.
“besides,” she said, “i like the bread,”
“he really has nice buns.”
the steak got rather jealous
and he said the date was done.
“i wish i’d never met you,”
said the piece of bloody meat,
“i can’t believe you’d rather have
a lousy hunk of no good wheat!”
he was overheard, of course,
by the ear of corn
who told the bread, who promptly wished
that he never had been born.
“i’m on a roll,” the bread cried out,
“i will never get my break!”
secretly, the bread was gay
and really had it for the steak.
so all three were very sad,
each alone and feeling beaten.
it didn’t matter anyhow.
in they end, they all got eaten.

this article is great for a number of reasons. like two. the first reason it's great is this:

"You were drunk while cutting up Morris Black?" prosecutor Kurt Sistrunk asked.

"I hope so, yes, sir," Durst responded.

and the second reason is this:

Durst, who sometimes posed as a mute woman while living on Galveston Island...

he posed as a mute woman? for fun? to meet mute guys? because he was a transvestite but knew his own voice was much too masculine to pass as a lady's? and this is so random; it has next to nothing to do with the murder....

or does it? maybe this article should have been called,

"eccentric millionaire goes into alcohol induced killing spree after nobody believes he's a chick"

just something to think about, really.

this website told me that my ideal place to live is norfolk, virginia. this is a little upsetting considering i was trying to skew my answers towards seattle. who the fuck am i, though, to doubt what a website tells me? everything on the internet is true. anyhow, i've been doing some research on norfolk, virginia, and i think they might be on to something.





it's on the ocean. it has a big arts community. the weather is temperate. no snow, fellows! it's safe, with a low crime rate. the cost of living is lower than the national average. i checked out some apartments, and you wouldn't believe the finds i ... found. it's also home to a university, and i'd probably get to go sailing every once in a while.

i told chris that norfolk was where i was supposed to live. and he said, "guess we're moving to norfolk." i think i'm going to retake that quiz a few more times, though. i am still kind of thinking about seattle.

it would have been funny if the quiz results would have kept me squarely in the chicago suburbs. funny, but heartbreakingly sad.

well, that's it. i want to go to bogota. that's bogota, colombia, not bogota, new jersey. bogota, colombia appears to be a bustling metropolis full of great architecture and tall buildings. they also have a good shopping district, from what i understand. anyways, the cool thing to do is go to europe when you're traveling out of the country.... but i've decided, the new plan is bogota.

bogota or bust.

i found a dog year calculator on line. apparently, a dog that is 56 years old is actually, in dog years, 392 years old. could you imagine the benefits a dog this old would recieve? a human that's 56 still has to work. but a dog that was 56, being 392, would probably recieve not only a fat social security check every month, but also some kind of trophy.

i never understood dog years. what's the point? who came up with such an idea? an internet search yielded nothing except another cut and paste dog calculator that i tried desperately to add to my blog, but to no avail. how cool would my blog be if i had a dog year calculator?

anyways, i have to put something up. so here's a japanese comic book called "armpit care." those crazy japanese. i'll never understand them, at least not fully.

there are some dirty bloggers out there. i'm surprised this one isn't a blog of note.

today i did my laundry. i put a fabric sheet in the dryer. this is something i normally don't do, because, you know, i don't really care. but when i took my clothes out, i couldn't stop sniffing them, because, damn, they smelled fine! i'm so glad i get to wear those clothes now and spend all day long with myself. i smell terrific!

now to the job. i can only hope the fresh scent of my laundry has a direct correlation to my sales goals.

i feel so domestic. i'm making dinner, as we speak. this is what i'm doing. i'm making frozen french fries and boiling waters for the frozen pierogies. oh, how tasty it will be! i may have to open a restaurant. i can see the menu now:

appetizers:

toast $6.00
buttered toast $8.00
banana (peeled) $4.50
banana (grated) $4.75


main entrees:

ore ida french fries $9.80
served with your choice of ketchup or a lot of ketchup
pierogies $12.93
boiled and arranged on your plate in an abstract shape
hot dog $6.00
cooked hot dog $8.00
hot dog is cooked via intensive microwave, and then prodded with my finger to assure warmth
popcorn $5.78


dessert:

m&m's $5.00
i will pick out whichever color you do not like

i can see it now. i think i'm onto something with that grated banana idea.

several years ago, i went to the doctor because my lymph nodes were swollen. the only problem was that i, for some reason, would always confuse the words "lymph nodes" with the word "gonad." so i went to the doctor and said, "my gonads are swollen." he gave me a really wierd look and said, "your what are swollen?"

"my gonads," i repeated, gesturing towards my throat.

"oh," he said, relieved. "those are your lymph nodes." and when i realized my mistake, i was eternally embarrassed.

****************************************************************************

two days ago, there was one squirrel on the porch. yesterday, there were two. this morning, i saw three. i'm beginning to think that squirrels are further along in the cloning process than we are. and it makes me mad.

we have sim golf and sim city and sim theme park and sim coaster. i tried playing the sims, but had trouble getting my sims to find jobs and not want to spend all day trying to catch the other sims in the shower. what's nice about the sim set is that if you screw up a life or a landscape or an entire metropolis, then all you have to do is start over. really, this is the premise of all video games, and it's upsetting that in real life we don't get to do this. i've been searching for a reset button for about six years now.

although i wouldn't want to start completely over. like, if i pressed the reset button, i'd still want to wake up next to chris- but just have another opportunity to clean the shower before the mildew got so out of control. it's the little things that i'd want to change, not the whole picture. maybe last night i would have had a sandwich instead of pasta? maybe i'd have worn purple yesterday instead of black? how would i be different *today*?

oh lord. shut me up.

anyhow, my feeling about the sim games is that they're not realistic enough. if you play sim golf, there's no chance of chipping your tooth on a putter. if you play sim theme park, you don't get to lose your sandle on the roller coaster. if you play the sims, your mother doesn't call to yell at you.

which is nice. and i can't remember where i'm going with this entry.

i miss amelia bedelia. now that was a woman that i could identify with.

i saw "lost in translation" last night. it wasn't what i thought it would be, and at first i was disappointed in it. on further contemplation, though, i think i'd have to admit that it was a really, really good movie, mostly because it prompted the further contemplation. i think i was disappointed at first because of the lack of action- but that's just it. that's what most of life is, the sitting around in your underwear and sight-seeing while trying to "feel" something and looking out a window when you should be sleeping. meeting a stranger in a slow, random way, rather than a big, dramatic way. listening to motivational cds and doing bad karaoke.

my favorite part of the movie: "let's try 'mixed internal.'"

i've decided that i'd like to write an advice column. this is not because i feel like i'm knowledgeable and worldy and have so much wisdom i need to share. oh no, my friend, it's because i think it would be fun to read about other people's problems. also, i'd like to be in a position to dispense bad advice without ever having to deal with the outcome.

ah, but i jest. really, i'd like to write an advice column because i need a writing *prompt*, and having to respond to a question would give me that prompt. now i need a shtick. "savage love" is relatively brilliant, but, alas, it's also relatively taken. i know a lot about eyeglasses, but who's going to want to read a column full of questions from "nosepadless in north dakota" and "bifocal blues in biloxi?" certainly not anyone i'd care to talk to. there are way too many "family" advice columnists, and there are also way too many "i like this boy, what should i do?" advice columnists- although, if your target market is fifteen year olds, then there's really no other way to go. and etiquette? that would be laughable; my father has several times threatened to send me to finishing school due to too much burping, chomping with my mouth open, and picking at various pimples during fancy ceremonial dinners. to which i was probably wearing dirty tennis shoes and clown socks.

anyhow, i've been thinking about this all morning, and the only thing i have is a column on talking your way out of anything. like, you've done something wrong, and now you need a really good excuse. i think i can provide this excuse. i can help the wayward excuse themselves from messes of their own creation.... again, i'm not saying i'm necessarily qualified to do this, because i'm the first person to admit when i'm even 20% at fault, but it would be a fun endeavor. don't you think? so i'm going to call it "what you've done now," and officially invite questions and letters. please. i'm pretty hard up over here.

what you've done now
an advice column by ms. here's-what-you've-gotta-do-next

yet another "blog of note" has been added to blogger's list, and again it is not mine.

dan, it was really, really good to see you today.

how happy i am. i had an excellent visit with my parents this morning. i rather like the way our relationship is evolving. this is mostly due to the fact that i rarely see them, although i will admit that i miss my dad a lot and wish i could see him a little more. i got to make up with a good friend today, and i also got to see another good friend as well, and then be with the both of them and go to the thrift store. this is where i picked up a bowling trophy for chris. i am planning an elaborate ceremony in which to present him with it once he comes home. i sure hope he likes the live band that i ordered. they're tuning up in the kitchen now, which is where the caterer is putting together the cheese sculpture and chocolate milk fountain.

anyhow, what else can i say? i am very pleased so far with the way today has gone. although i am rather wishing i had gone to the patio for a sub sandwich. if you're ever in the south suburbs of chicago, the patio is the place to eat. i'm plugging them for free here, because this is an organization i truly believe in. if only the owner would build one up here, i'd promise to eat there everyday.

and that's what i've got. good day!

what we currently have going on in the laundry room is three people, from one family, using all eight washers.

oh, they get me every time.

how are you? i am fine. not much is going on here. i've been working a lot. i can't wait to not work. one day i hope to go out and do something besides work. but we shall see.

that's all i have for today. my boredom and frustration are seeping out into my blog entries.

attention anyone planning on getting an eye exam today:

please, i beg of you, please cancel your appointment. please. didn't you know it's game 7 tonight of the cubs and marlins? don't you want to stay at home and watch it? you don't need an eye exam! your vision is fine! i couldn't read that stop sign either; the letters were painted to look kind of blurry and misshapen. it's not you, it's the rest of the world that's gone mad. please don't come into the doctor's office. that throbbing in your eyelid is normal. and that contact you have stuck in the side of your eye? i'll tell you what you should do right now- deal with it! please spend today doing something else. maybe you should go shopping. when's the last time you went to a museum, you uncultured prick? oh, and the cubs game. this is the northside, don't you know. you'll be beaten if you don't watch the cubs.

please cancel. or just don't show. don't worry, i won't consider it bad manners. the truth is, i just don't want to put up with you today, you with all your needs and problems. you with your expired insurance card and your annoying questions like, "shouldn't you clean this off before you make me stick my face in it?" "shouldn't you be writing this stuff down that i'm telling you?" "shouldn't you be concerned that i appear to have no peripheral vision?" ah, maybe tomorrow i can deal with your requests and issues. but not today. oh please not today.

read an article about my favorite product.

another day, another half dollar.

i wrote a poem yesterday. i spent over four hours working on it only to get up today, reread it, and decide that i hate it. i am not a poet. this is probably a good thing, because poets get a bad rap. nobody likes a poet. they say to the poet, "oh, you must hug plants and overanalyze rainbows."

you must compare family members to objects made of synthetic materials. you must wet yourself when you discover you've accidentally created an internal rhyme.

chris' friend columbo, who you can link to through chris' blog, is promoting himself as a professional writer. he offers to write screenplays and "treatments." he charges an awful lot.

now, this is what i should get into. let me know if you need a screenplay. i won't charge quite as much, but i will charge something. like two sandwiches and a candy bar. three bagels and a cup of cocoa.

i could link to columbo's blog here, but that would require work beyond which i'm willing to put forth. i've already linked to the pez article- isn't that enough? how much do you expect from me anyhow? i was never able to please you, was i?

i'm mildly intoxicated and would rather like to do a cartwheel. instead i shall find something to untie.

i thought that i should write about politics. everybody's using their blogs to write about politics, and since i am one to so willingly jump onto the bandwagon, i thought that i too would give it a try.

i have decided to focus my attention on the politics of lincoln, nebraska. while searching for material, i found this helpful website for the lancaster county democratic party. apparently, the party's major political upcoming event is an outing for the wedding anniversary of mark and terry. no last names are given, because apparently lincoln is only home to one mark and one terry. but they've been together for 28 years, and lord knows that's cause for celebration. the celebration will include hot dogs. also "junk food." who lists "junk food" as a menu item? i'll tell you who- those wacky, liberal lincoln, nebraska democrats.

it's a very informative web site. they show pictures of their county party officers, and the chair is justin carlson, who, in his blue work shirt, looks like he was recently let out of a correctional institution. and then there's jim johnson, the treasurer, who looks like he's posing for his senior high school yearbook picture.

anyhow, the one thing about actual lincoln politics that i found is a link to join the immigrant right network of iowa and nebraska. lord knows the immigrants in iowa and nebraska need rights- they too should be allowed to eat hot dogs and junk food at the wedding anniversary of mark and terry.

i'm not trying to lead you to think that lincoln's not all that politically active. they are open minded to the thoughts and needs of the world at large. just ask steve, their swedish exchange student. again, no last name. this is because everyone knows steve, the kid from sweden with a major in u.s. politics who's surely kicking himself in the ass for deciding to take the internship in lincoln over the one in washingtion dc and the other one in new york.

so this is my first entry on politics. join me next week when i explore the inner workings of warren, indiana.

my dad fell asleep at the wheel and got into a car accident. this after i have a dream alluding to my dad not being able to pick me up. truly, i am psychic. anyways, my dad's okay, but the car's messed up.

this worries me, my dad falling asleep while driving. at his job, he operates heavy machinery that could easily catch fire if not watched. what if my dad falls asleep at work and millions die in the resulting catastrophe?

also, what if it happens again, and he's not so lucky?

sometimes chris falls asleep while watching tv. this worries me, too, as often while napping you can miss key plot twists.

they called me back into the dr.'s office to say that i would be needed there 2-3 days per week. uncle jesse, my general manager, tried to phrase it as "part of my development towards my advancement," but that's a load of garbage. the real reason they want me back there is because i'm so tactful at delivering the results of the depth perception test.

me: "0 out of 9. so, let me get this straight- they let you have a driver's license?!?!?"
patient: "wow. i really didn't get *any* of that right, huh?"
me: "nope."
i look down and realize that i have forgotten to press a key button during the test, therefore making the results completely innaccurate.
me: (not wanting to admit that i have done something wrong.) "yep, no depth perception. none. also, i think you're color blind."

to make a short story shorter, i agreed. what was i supposed to do? i could barely concentrate on our conversation anyhow; the whole doctor's office seemed to smell like soy sauce, and i was trying my damndest to figure out why. i looked at dr. w and tried to inspect her teeth for traces of rice that would indicate she'd been eating sushi. i discretely attempted to sniff my own fingers as to jog my memory for whether or not i'd been eating any sushi. i snuck another glance at uncle jesse, then thought, "nah, he's mexican. mexicans don't eat sushi."

at least not self-respecting mexicans.

i have come home early nearly every day in the past two weeks. my paycheck will soon reflect this. i will no longer be able to live the high life; i may have to start mixing my hair conditioner out of beer and mayonnaise as to save a few bucks at the walgreens.

patient: "what's that smell?"
me: "soy sauce."
patient: "no, that other smell."
me: "beer and mayonnaise."
patient: "coming from your hair?"
me: "hey, at least i can judge depth perception. stupid."

I read an article in the Chicago Tribune about how blogs are sources of new talent. It goes into detail to explain how it's possible to go from simply writing in your own blog to being hired as the editor of Vanity Fair. Now, this is what I'm in this blog stuff for- besides, of course, the personal satisfaction. If anyone would like to hire me to write for their publication, don't hesitate to contact me. Unless your publication is a church bulletin- I do draw certain lines.

I even wrote this entry with correct capitalization, just to prove that I can. See how serious I am about this?

an open letter to chuck palahniuk, author of "diary:"

why did you waste my time with this book? the only thing that i got out of reading your trite and overly-riddled-with-catch-phrases novel is that any author can be successful as long as they have one good book under their belt. yours was "fight club," and now you have this massive following that you no longer deserve. you should have stopped writing five years ago and committed your life to one of body-building and picking up girls at bars by pompously boasting, "ever hear of a little book called 'fight club?' yeah, that's mine." instead, you continue to make poor use of paper with your now predictable writing style and completely formulaic sentence structures.

you almost had a good plot this time. ideas of fate and reincarnation are often eaten up by the public like handfuls of pie by a secret bulemic at three in the morning. however, you failed by creating lifeless characters that nobody cared one way or the other about and the hokey fake letter at the end of the novel which attempted to make us feel that maybe your stupid story was true. ooh, scary. also, i'd like to add that the picture on the inside of the cover makes you look like a real asshole. where'd you get that sweater from, lands end?

i am never reading another book by you again. you are a disappoint to aspiring writers everywhere, because you have successfully proven that the authors who make a name for themselves are just recycling one idea over and over and over again. you are john grisham and danielle steele. you are the worst version of mary clark higgins and harlequin writers who are all working from a single brain cell.

you're lucky that i borrowed your book, instead of buying it. if i had spent cash on this pile of excrement, you could be assured that i'd be flying out to toolsville, or wherever the fuck you live, to personally kick you in the teeth and pee on your sofa.

thank you.

things that i have learned

1. neil diamond and neil young are two completely different neils. with different songs. so if you were to buy a neil diamond cd looking for a neil young song, you'd be somewhat of a retard.

2. a sandwich cut diagonally tastes three times better than a sandwich cut lengthwise down the middle.

3. i should not bring coffee into the grocery store for the following reasons:

a. it's impossible to push the cart while you're holding a cup, and i end up knocking into the elderly.
b. spills are inevitable, especially in the produce section. more accurately, *on* the produce section.
c. the caffeine rush promotes random giggles at the names of various pasta shapes, which in turn promotes raised eyebrows.

4. any guy that is hitting on me more than likely needs to borrow ten dollars.

5. every religion is wrong, except for mine. i know this is true because god has communicated with me through various hearty soup labels.

6. clogged toilets make for awkward social situations and shyly embarrassed inquiries about the nature of your diet.

7. the last thing you want to do is give your name and phone number to a representative of american express, because they will, i promise, call every four minutes. it's as if they know you're lying when you say, "no, i'm not here right now, may i please take a message?"

8. giving a kid a pet is a good way to teach them about life and death- especially if they're around to witness how you strangle it after it vomits on your lunch. it's also a good way to teach kids not to vomit on someone else's sandwich; there will always be consequences.

it's interesting how you can't see simon's other hand. then, when you think about where that hand might be and look at sosa's face, it creates a kind of nightmarish vision. also, i'm disturbed by simon's armpit hair. i mean, all guys and some of the girls (this is a shout out to eastern europe) have pits like that, but it is beyond me how this population sect copes with that.

the cubs won last night, and i actually cared. they say it's infectious, this baseball stuff.

in other news, the garbage strike means that the dumpster in our parking lot is both overfilled and surrounded with trash. this is indicative of dumpsters everywhere, and when our good trash-carriers get back to work, they're going to be up to their own hairy armpits in it. by "it," i mean everything from week-old poopy diapers to week old salami to week old non-flushable hygiene products to week old cheese to week old tissues. so let's all hope they get that raise as to make those first few awful days at least sort of worth it.

chapter seventeen

"don't tell me. let me guess."

"you're never going to get it," i replied, hanging up the telephone. "let me just tell you-"

"no, i want to guess!" javy's face was the color of insistence, which is a light maroon. "was that the test results?"

i sank into a chair and stuck a muffin into my mouth. "brrgh berr err bugh uhh," i replied, spraying crumbs into the air. javy, with a quick motion, caught the muffin bits before they hit the floor, and then pressed them into his cupped hands, managing to create a smaller muffin. watching him with raised eyebrows, i swallowed and stated, "it's amazing how you do that."

"i'm an amazing guy," javy replied, sculpting the muffin into a detailed model of a 1997 honda civic coupe, with a spoiler and a little yellow leaf hanging from the rearview mirror. "so the test results. let me guess."

"fine. they were the test results. so guess already. i do have things to do, you know." i glanced over to table, upon which was heaped six years worth of laundry, nine months worth of dishes, and three pets that i'd been meaning to bury.

javy's face crinkled into the shape of a question mark. he began to pace back and forth, rubbing his nose thoughtfully and muttering aloud, "malignant. benign. pregnant. barren. going to live forever. going to die in three days. high i.q. stupid as a stapler. going to an ivy league school. going to work at a drive-thru. need medication. need alcohol and social drugs. positive. negative. tumor. doctor's fingerprint on the x-ray."

"you're driving me nuts!" i cried, throwing back my head. "if you're not going to guess, then i'm going to have to tell you." this was serious business, and javy was making a mockery of it. i had been waiting for these test results since first taking the test back in the beginning of chapter two. "the result was that i'm-"

javy stopped in his tracks. "shut your talk hole. i said i was going to guess, and i'm going to guess, okay?"

i jumped to my feet and shook my finger at him, so exasperated that i began to wish i had never agreed to becoming his legal guardian. "well you know what? guess away. because i'm never going to tell you. that's it. i'm leaving."

"you're leaving?"

"yes, are you deaf? now book me a flight and take me to the airport."

javy got out his credit card and sat down at his computer, sighing audibly. "i wish you would you change your mind," he muttered as he logged on and paid for a one way ticket to lima, peru. "but if you won't, i suppose i'll just have to pack your bags."

"fine. you do that." i began to cry, fat tears sliding down my face. javy shot out his hands and let the tears drop into them so he could reconstruct smaller, skinnier tears. "i am going to miss you," i said.

"yeah. and i still don't even know what the results were."

"i'll send you a postcard," i stated. "or maybe in chapter eighteen, we'll make up and i won't even go."

"oh, you're going," javy quickly replied. "that ticket wasn't cheap."