at which point i said, "you take your color copiers and your fancy shmancy sales pitch and shove them up your-"

uh oh. ever notice that you often light up in front of giant tanks of propane gas labeled "highly flammable?" they should really make those signs more visible. also, they should include illustrations of surprised italian girls being engulfed by the kinds of flames that only get bigger as you try to put them out. as to make the warnings a little bit clearer.

our walls are bare. i'm thinking of taping up some mustard labels, a la warhol. i think we only have one container of mustard, though. so i guess by "some," i meant "a."

my birthday is wednesday. i'm scheduled to work. i have a wedding to go to next saturday. again, scheduled to work. this after specifically requesting both days off. what's the deal here? it's like i'm writing my requests in sanskrit. laughable, man. just laughable.

i got three bills in the mail today, a day after paying rent. speaking of laughable.... i hope that pyramid scheme pays off sometime soon.

have you seen this guy?? check out his adventures.

this entry sponsored by minolta

i interviewed with them today. they want me to sell copiers. color copiers, black and white copiers... copiers that copy in both color and black and white... everybody needs a copier, right? how hard could this be?

"hi, my name is jackie, and i'm here to simplify your copying needs. now, sir or madam, do you prefer color or black and white?"

"this is a private residence."

short silence. "everybody needs a copier. especially if you're running a scam of some sort, say, out of your basement. a scam that requires copying foreign currency and social security cards for uses of forgery and maybe identity theft. sign here."

i don't think this is for me. not the selling part, because i bet i could be good at it, but the part where you work 11 hours a day, five days a week, in your first six months in order to train. you heard me. that's a shitload of hours.

24 hours per day
- 11 hours per day at work
- 6.5 hours per night sleeping
--------------------------------------
6.5 hours of jackie time

most of that time being taken up by bodily functions and traffic and choosing between the black pants or the grey ones. i don't want the kind of job that becomes your entire life. what's the point of making money if you've no time to spend it? that's my motto. also, "he who smelt it may not have necessarily dealt it."

but we'll see. my mind is rarely *completely* made up. it's like that big wheel in "the price is right." you think it's on the 80 cent mark, and then it slowly ticks back over to the 30 cent mark. you don't know whether to laugh or cry. and why the hell did you price the can of peas at sixteen dollars to begin with? sixteen dollars!! that's exorbitant for peas.

minolta. brent lent me a minolta camera, and i am oh so anxious to persue my dreams of becoming a wildly successful photo-journalist, hopefully overnight. my artistic dreams have been rekindled- i just hope i don't break it on him. or lose it. or trade it for a handful of gum.

ah, but i jest. i'm sure it's worth at least *two* handfuls of gum.

seriously, brent- thanks for entrusting your camera in me.

i'm tired. i didn't sleep at all last nigt, and every time i woke up, i felt it was necessary for me to roll over and whack chris across the chest with my arm. and ask him what time it was. and demand him to pass me my bottle of water. and complain to his half-listening ear, "i can't sleep at all! hey, wake up. i said i can't sleep!"

girlfriend of the year. first i threaten to leave him behind at gencon, and then we get back and i don't let him sleep. somebody should photo-copy me a medal.

this is what carole sees me as:

eye half an udder jab inner few too marrow. which may lock.

and i'm back. there were highlights and lowlights, all of which you can ask me about, but, in the end, i'm glad i went.

i didn't get the job. instead, i got a letter. my qualifications did not meet their needs.

qualify this, buddy.

some entries are long. some are short.

chris and i are spending the night in lafayette, indiana, which sounds, quite frankly, like a horrible place to spend the night. i don't know about you, but when i think of indiana i think of trucks on cylinder blocks in every other front lawn, less teeth per capita than the national average, and while i know that they say there's "more than corn" over here, it's often very hard to believe. like, if there is more than corn, surely what they mean by that is, "we also have wheat." or cows or your what-have-you's. i don't know, i'm not some backwards ass farmer, stop asking me already. my point is that chris and i just got back a bit ago from downtown lafayette, and it's gorgeous. it's obviously not chicago or even houston or montreal (i'm assuming), but it's pretty. clean. nice. since i don't have a camera due to the unfortunate i-dropped-my-camera-into-24-ounces-of-orange-juice incident of 2003, i must resort to stealing pictures off the internet. do forgive me.

i'm such a snob when it comes to smaller towns. i wasn't born and raised *in* chicago- i have lived my entire life thus far in the suburbs- but i have a difficult time appreciating anything that isn't within an hour of some bustling metropolis. i guess indianapolis is about an hour away, but, again, i can't picture that indianapolis is exactly bustling. i do hear they have a speedway. that's about all i've heard. maybe tomorrow i'll fall in love with indianapolis and decide to move there in order to take up a career in teaching ballet to illiterate orphans. it's possible. anyhow, what i'm getting at is that i like *this* small town, and i wanted to remember it with an appropriate blog entry.

everywhere i go, i have access to a computer. such a convenient life i lead.

wjaf, all jackie all the time.

we played a game last night. by we, i mean, myself, chris, cassie, and ocean. the game was called "settlers of catan," and when chris began to explain it to us, i immediately felt sick. games with overcomplicated strategies usually give me this feeling; i'll take a nice, rousingly simple game of "jenga" or "sorry!" any day. but i caught on, and then last night my dreams were fused with grain and ore and wood and all of the other what-have-you's that building a settlement, and eventually a city, would require.

today we leave for four long days of game playing. i'm in this trip for the scrabble tournament, and, also, the men. i mean, just the scrabble tournament. chris keeps calling this "our vacation," but i find several things wrong with this phrasing. one, this is "his" vacation, because i had no part in planning it and am basically just going along for the ride. and, two, the word "vacation" makes me think of strange cities and sight-seeing. not indianapolis and walking back and forth between one hotel and the adjoining convention center. really, this is less a vacation and more of an outing. a trip. there *are* differences, i swear.

nonetheless, i'm looking forward to it. there's going to be six of us in one hotel room- do i hear pillow fight?

also, do i hear, "someone in indianopolis loves me?" there's the money shot; aside from the scrabble, i'm in it for the t-shirt.

i should pack. i'm waiting for chris to snap at me; i've been putting it off all morning long in favor of the computer and the tv. also, ben folds five. everyone should own a copy of "naked baby pictures."

and here i am.

the interview today went good, if by good i mean bad. badly, that would be the correct adverb. i suppose i still have a shot, but my outlook is dim. this interview was with the big boss man, and he wanted to see some of my portfolio pieces. i couldn't very well tell him that i had long since destroyed my portfolio in favor of using the binder as a poem and story holder, so when i got home, i had to throw some shit together to email him. shit, that's the operative word.

so, i'm kind of down. i could still have a chance, but it seemed like every question he asked me, i had to answer, "no, i'm not familiar with that."

what a downer. maybe i should get a government job. sitting in a tollbooth all day sounds like it would be fun, right? and lucrative. one toll for illinois, one for jackie. one for illinois, one for jackie. one for.... bleh. i need cheese.

i went to a baseball game last night; god bless the minor leagues and their seven dollar tickets. tom brought his son, debbie brought hers (plus saida's son as well), and heather brought her kid, too. if there's one child in this world that will make me want to remove all of my inner tubing and replace it with pipe cleaners, it would be heather's brat cameron. this kid is a bigger asshole at the age of nine than most established assholes are at the age of, say, 26. 34. whatever. he threw popcorn in my beer. he threw chicken wings out onto the baseball field. when the players came up to the wall, cameron unloaded an armful of stuff onto the closest one and demanded, "sign my stuff." how had he acquired this stuff? he'd said to debbie's husband, "buy me stuff." there was no please, there was no thank you, and did i mention that he dropped popcorn into my beer?

there were fireworks at the end; this was my personal favorite part of the night. that and hanging out with tom, who has perfected every imaginable wordplay there could possibly be on the word "ball." heh heh, ball.

how i miss these people. how good it was to see kevin, how nice it felt to complain about store 11 to my family at 280.

i got a baseball and had everyone sign it. "miss you," wrote debbie. "come back," wrote curtis. they didn't get the game; they were supposed to pretend to be baseball players signing for a kid- but, hell, i'll take the sentiment. i miss them, too. and maybe i will come back, once a month, if i get this other job and remain a casual part timer at good old l.c. if i'm going to work once a month, right, i might as well work with who i want to, at the store i like, even if it is an hour drive. what's an hour? technically, what's two hours- an hour there and an hour back.... damn, that's a lot of driving. maybe i'll need to reconsider that.

what a day!! my job interview went rather well; you never know how much you have to brag about in terms of work and educational experience until you start blathering. the guy who was interviewing me was wearing jeans; if i get hired, do i get to wear jeans too? please say yes. so, i had that interview and then brent called and said a position at the college might be opening up soon.... i'm getting it from all angles, like that video i saw once of a girl getting "rogered" in six different places, including the backs of her knees. talk about your graphic videos. not that i rented this; it was playing on continuous loop at the museum of sex. but i digress. so, i have two potential job offers, PLUS, my good friend mitch is driving up tonight to hang out. see, lebowskifest fell through for a number of reasons i would rather not list, so mitch, who is now also not going to lebowskifest, planned a spur of the moment trip to chicagoland. good old mitch. i just hope his car doesn't get towed tonight from our lot.

monday, my final interview. tuesday, indianapolis. tonight, mitch. tomorrow, hanging out with the old southside gang, and sunday's dinner with my parents. it's so nice to say "dinner with my parents-" because it's *only* dinner. only pleasantries, only eating, and then i go home. to my own home. what a life.

"well, jaclyn, i'd like to meet you. how does 9:30 on friday sound?"

"don't you think that's kind of early?"

i always manage to put my foot in my mouth somehow.

overall, i think the phone interview went well. tomorrow's the face-to-face dance.

*****

there was almost a fist fight in the store last night. my customer called another customer a "clown," and then there was shouting back and forth, and then the two men tossed down the stuff they'd been holding and made moves towards each other like a punch was about to be thrown. i was sitting on my stool right next to them, and i jumped out of it and scurried behind another desk, getting ready to crawl beneath it. luckily, my manager stepped in and prevented whatever may have taken place. trying to act like i had not been prepared to scream, i calmly strode back to my computer and continued the sale.

"clown." who calls someone else a "clown?" i rather like it.

*****

my favorite board game is scrabble. i think i'm getting better at it. one day, i hope to make a career out of it. the key is knowing the two-letter words, the ones that no one else has ever even heard of. the other key is being able to get up in the middle of the game and go online to look up words. last night, i was really hoping "unpaint" was a word. like, i've just painted this garage, but i made a mistake by choosing lime and goldenrod, so now i need to unpaint it. hand me my unpainter. a really good word i wish was a word is from saturday scrabble with julie and brent- blinkery. i just got a job down at the blinkery. i make blinkers. one day i will not make blinkers. then i may report to duty at the unblinkery.

we played last night. the players were me, chris, jordan, and cassie and ocean playing on a single team. because there are only four racks. chris and i came to the conclusion we could never be on the same team. the whole thrill of the game is the competition between us. on a team? no competition. just fighting over which words are real words and who came up with which ones. it would be awful. one of us would end up sleeping outside. it probably wouldn't be me. what kind of sick man makes a woman sleep outside? poor chris would have to deal with the elements. i just hope that if it were to rain, it would only be a mist, as to not get him *too* soaked.

ha. ha. ha.

*****

time to go to work. then no work for ten days.

i was reading my old blog last night. i have two old blogs, both of which i keep hidden from the public. this is for reasons that i cannot quite explain except to say that, whenever there's some emotional change in my life, i like to get rid of the evidence leading up to that emotional change. this is why, before the blogging age, i started and stopped over a dozen journals (even more than a baker's dozen)- it was too painful to write in the same notebooks and be reminded of any unfair travesty that i had recently suffered.

i'm still reading the old blog, the first one, now, while i wait for my phone interview for this job to begin. i love that it's a phone interview, that i can impress this dude first with my wit rather than having him see how profusely i'm sweating and that i have a pimple on my forehead. also, that i can look at the company's website while chatting with him, as to cheat and make it seem, as i'm madly clicking away, that i am totally familiar and interested in this company. the name of which i will not yet disclose in my blog.

i read this in my old blog and started laughing...

10.23.2002

... leaving thousands badly bloated.

...but that story in a moment. first we proceed with today's jackie update. she's gimping along quite badly, limping and lurching like she's 82 and not 22. she wants to cry out, as she did in the sort-of-mean streets of nyc right after bumbling across an intersection and spilling her orange juice, "this is not me!" she hopes her knee heals- without, of course, seeing a doctor. it really fucking hurts.


despite being physically injured, she did manage to make it today to volunteer work, giving "the gift of sight" to upwards of one hundred chicago public school students badly in need of eye exams, eye wear, and lots of standing around and waiting. it did make her feel kind of good, and the children were very happy to be getting eye exams and glasses; this is a marked difference from the kids who sulk in the orland square shop and whine about needing an eye exam and glasses. these kids today knew that they were lucky, and felt privileged- they deserved it. also, the attending doctors were very, very hot. both were just out of optometry school, and they were no older than 27 or so; the one touched jackie's back, and she nearly fell over from joy. that and her bum knees.


played pool with gail and a bunch of filipino-ites last evening. did think it would be a good idea to write a dialogue occurring between players of pool. what with "lining my shit up," "i did that on purpose," and "that wouldn't have fucking happened if you'd have fucking used some chalk," jackie is going on record as believing that the possibilities are endless.


well, kind of. it seemed a good idea at the time. she wanted to do the "big lebowski" of pool.


and next up, tips on how to turn one can of tuna into the rest of your life.
1 Shout Out jaclyn 5:58 PM

why did i start laughing? because now that i've transferred stores, i'm now working with that hot doctor, the one who touched my back. and because now i, obviously, am not remotely interested anymore. obviously.

this is how my last blog entry begins:

beware the self-fulfilling prophecies indeed.

chris keeps asking to read my second blog, the one in which i go on and on about this great guy that i've just met (yeah, that would be chris). but i think that may remain hidden permanently; i was writing that stuff before he knew i had a blog, and it just makes me seem overly anxious, kind of insecure, and over-all nutty. all i do is write about how afraid i am, afraid that it will end.

this may be my favorite entry, though, from my personal ad days:

11.21.2002

this is great. i was just logged onto nerve checking responses to my profile (tee hee) when i decided to check out the ads of other girls in my area, just for competition's sake. i came across this GREAT ad; the girl's nickname was from a u2 song, her title was from an elvis costello song, and her answer to the question "what's in your room" was "a lot of relics and artifacts from ancient civilizations dating back to about the time my vacuum cleaner broke." and i thought to myself, "hell, she sounds like someone i wouldn't mind dating, heterosexuality be damned."

then i noticed that one of the items she couldn't live without was her pez dispenser, noticed that she was also a leo, and saw that, under profession, she'd put "professional origami artist-" which, as we all know, is always my fall-back.

i realized then that this girl who was so damn wonderful was me, from a profile put up sometime in march, when jason had told me about the onion's personals, which he had just posted on.

(i defy anyone to diagram that sentence.)

anyhow, i guess what i wanted to say was that i just fell in love with myself. and isn't that just the funniest thing we've all ever heard of? yes, i agree.
Shout Out jaclyn 2:27 PM

i guess, no matter what happens, i'll always have myself.

i wish this dude would call already. my palms are so moist; the keyboard's practically soaked.

here's a personal ad i wrote last year for my good friend tom.

here.

READ THIS POEM ALOUD, LIKE WHEN BABYING IN THE SHOWER OR WHILE DRYING IN YOUR SCAR.

remember me?

that's what blogger asks when i log in. of course i remember you, blogger. i write in my blog five to six times a week. at least.

sunday, chris and i met up with shane and leslie and two of leslie's friends for a night at the green mill. it was the uptown poetry slam, and every time i go to a poetry slam, i inevitably end up thinking a couple of things. like, a, what a bunch of wankers. and, b, if these wankers are getting applause, then i should go up there because surely i, who am not a wanker, would recieve so much applause that farmers in iowa would be turning to each other quizzically and saying, "jeb, did you hear that? some sort of thunderous applause-like sound/vibration just knocked over the cow." then the two farmers would have to go and pick the cow up, placing it squarely on it's four legs. ever try to upright a cow? it ain't easy.

i always say that when i go to the green mill. i always say a lot of things. that's me- boastful mcgee who always remains seated.

sunday, when chris came home from work and saw me with my short, straight hair, we had the following conversation.

chris: i think i'll have sausage for dinner.... (sheepishly) do *you* like sausage?
me: no, dammit, you know i hate sausage.
chris: oh. you're just like my last girlfriend.

maybe you had to be there. his delivery was great. it. was. hysterical.

i have an interview scheduled in the near future for, get this, a job. it's quite exciting. see, i say i want a new job, and, next thing you know, i've got someone calling me saying, "we've found your resume on monster...." too bad there are quite a few factual errors in that resume. it's like, i want to tell prospective employers that i'm detail oriented, but how can i when i have to say, "by the way, i made a few mistakes on my resume."

like i got the location of my current job wrong. for a while, i had my year of graduation wrong. my year of graduation, for crying out loud. i was trying to find a job in 2002 with a resume that proclaimed i wouldn't be out of college until 2003. what a dipshit, eh? oh well. now i'm going to my current job. the one that i got the location of wrong. i hope i can get there and back alright- please, say a little prayer.

i'm watching the "three's company" movie on vh1. who would have known that suzanne somers was such a brat?!? no wonder they had to replace her, like, nine times. remember when lucille ball did the "best of 'three's company'" episode? now there's a star- lucille ball. i'll bet she never postponed the start of her network season without letting jack and janet... ricky and ethel.... whoever... know.... lucille ball and i share the same birthday. of course, the year is different.

you know what i liked about "pirates of the caribbean?" johnny depp. the rest of the movie, too, but that johnny depp... you can tell he'd be fun to hang out with. especially if he wore that eyeliner all the time.

i got a haircut today. i can't tell for sure right now because of the way she styled it, but it's quite possibly uneven. the girl who did my hair looked like she was 15. on top of that, she kept calling me sweetie. like, i am clearly about seven years her elder, and she's calling *me* sweetie? anyhow, i don't know what to do. i'm not the type to go back and complain, so maybe i'll just walk around for the next few months with my head cocked to the right.

i love getting hair cuts because they blow dry my hair straight afterwards. i have obnoxiously curly hair, so the straight look is somewhat novel and very welcome. i hate getting my hair cut because they put that stupid cape on you. i know it's so they won't get hair on your shirt, but it makes me feel like i'm all dressed up for halloween- as a volcano with a head sticking out of it. creepy. and who knows who else has been wearing that thing? i suppose *that* doesn't matter so much- it's not like i'm eating dinner off of it. i can just use my shirt for that, especially since it's so hair-free.

i think the girl knows the cut's uneven- as she was blowdrying it, she stepped back, squinted, and then cut more off... this happened three times. then i got home and had to experiment with the head-cocking look in front of the mirror. i also had to ask myself- at what point, should i be paying more for a hair cut than i do for jeans? because that point's been crossed- and i feel like such a tool. a tool without jeans. and a lopsided head.

i called in sick to work yesterday. i really was sick, but not sick enough to require a day off. today, however, i'm sick enough to need to stay at home- but, because i called in yesterday, i'm dragging myself there today. i'd much prefer to stick my head into a bucket of worms.

so i'm looking for a new job. the thing is, i don't know what i want to do. i'm a certified optician, and i have a bachelor's degree in marketing. i don't want to be an optician anymore, and i despise the field of marketing. so what does that leave me with? the bucket of worms.

exotic dancers can make about $500 a night. i'd be the worst exotic dancer alive. especially if it were topless dancing. there'd be men demanding their cover back. and that i get my cover back as well. ba-dum-ching. i hold the record for smallest chest worldwide. i have trophies and everything. it's kind of neat.

i don't think the exotic dancing place gives health insurance. so that's out.

i hate working. i don't want to do it. i want to win the lotto or marry into money. i want to find out that my rich uncle cornelius, who i didn't know i had, has passed away peacefully in his sleep, leaving me, his only heir above the age of 21 and below the age of 24, with his entire fortune. his entire massive fortune. i want my rich uncle cornelius to leave me a jeweled staff. and a lot of electronics.

sigh. i have to get ready for work now.

i threw everything out. ever regret doing that? i throw eveyrthing out all the time. then, when i was moving, i threw the rest of everything out. and then my mom put the rest in boxes, so she could have my room to put HER boxes in. and now i'm forgetting everything. kind of.

i started writing a story last summer, a story that would be my novel if i ever got around to finishing it and writing it correctly. and now i'm restarting it. i'm at such a different place in my life, and i think that's a good thing. plus, i've got it. got what? got it. i rule. kind of. i just wish i had my stuff. i liked my stuff.

i'm glad i don't have to build a nest. the birds who live in the "rafters" of our terrace have built themselves what appears to be a three bedroom, two-bath famiy home/nest, and the most amazing thing about this construction is that it's entirely twig and mud. i mean, i'm sure there's your random twizzlers wrapper or what have you, but this set-up is mostly forest bits, and, when you consider that these powerhouse little birdies are using their beaks and not their hands (which i'm told they don't have), this end result is ultra-impressive. when i was in fourth grade, for a project, i attempted to make my own nest. it sucked. i had to get my dad to finish it for me, and even his nest rather blew, despite his usage of adhesives. so what i'm saying is that i'm thrilled to pieces that my survival in this cold, harsh world is not dependent on having to create a nest. also, i'm happy to say that i don't have to live in one, either. i shudder to think of the plumbing problems.

i may complain about my mother's emails, but i love them. tonight's opened up with, "i saw sheryl crowe at the taste. i thought she was taller. oh well."

easily disappointed, that woman.

i need to have my parents over sometime before we leave for vacation. this will require massive amounts of cleaning. the whole apartment is starting to look like my bedroom at home did, which is to say that my shoes are everywhere and any drawer or cabinet that i open- well, that usually will remain open until a couple of hours have passed and i look around, confused, and have to ask myself, "who the hell left all the cabinets open?" also, i tend to notice that i leave a trail, be it napkins, books, the aforementioned shoes, whatever. but, hey. pobody's nerfect.

my favorite email from mom said, "hope everything went okay with the more." two paragraphs later, she writes, "the word more should have been moved." she's new to this whole computing thing; the delete key and/or backspacing key remains a mystery.

last evening, my good friend shane and i saw "28 days later," which gave me quite the descriptive, horrifying, and oddly scientific nightmare. we walked into the theater not knowing anything about the movie; i was kind of fearful that it was possibly a sequel to sandra bullock's "28 days," which also would have resulted in a horrifying nightmare. thankfully, these fears were unfounded, as sandra bullock didn't make even the slightest cameo appearance.

i don't recommend many movies, but i do recommend this one, because it's scary and gross and filmed in london. so go see it and let me know what you think of it.

shane just got back from sweden, and he's got a baker's dozen worth of developed film rolls. he's the kind of guy who takes a picture of everything. for example, there's a picture of a folding chair that he really liked. there was also a picture of a trash can that he thought was kind of neat. whenever i hang out with him, i feel motivated to grab my own camera and attempted to capture all of the beauty in the world, or at least in the chicagoland area. however, there are several problems with this. one, i don't have a camera anymore as i dropped mine into a vat of orange juice, and, two, once i get my film back from the drug store, all the "beauty" that i've captured ends up being slightly marred by the fact that i have no concept of good photography. composition. technique. shutter speed. whether of not it's a good idea to have your thumb in the way of the lens. all still a mystery.

that brings me back to sweden. i think i'd like to go there, but i can't necessarily give you a good reason why. oh, i've got a good reason: how cool would a "someone in stockholm loves me" t-shirt be? pretty cool. so there's your reason.

don't you hate pants?

i spent friday afternoon with my best friend carole, who flew in this weekend from new york city, which is a place where they sell roasted, sugary peanuts right there on the street. there is a secret life that i have when i am with carole, and while i understand that may sound like i'm trying to tell you i'm a lesbian, what i mean is that a different side of me is always brought out when i'm in her company. this is a side that most people don't see, and since it is secret, i'm going to leave it at that and not bother to explain.

friday evening, christopher and i watched the fireworks from the race track. i like fireworks, and you know i'm really missing these days? sparklers. also those things you throw on the sidewalk that snap. another association with fourth of july that i miss? water balloons. but back to the fireworks; they were big and pretty.

after the fireworks, or just before they were about to end since we wanted to beat traffic, we headed into the city where it would no longer be just us, as we were meeting up with carole and some of her silly little friends- the ones that i can't talk to about anything except "elimidate" or the guess? store at the mall. this is the part in the story where things go sour. i drank and drank, and while i was fine at the bar, the second i got home was bad news, bears. i can count the number of times i've thrown up due to alcohol on one hand, without using all of my fingers, and, unfortunately, friday night was one of those times. in between spews, i remember crying, "i'm so bad! i'm SOO bad!!" and "i'm so fucked! i'm SOO fucked!!" then i passed out, woke up, and went to work. i handled myself surprisingly well considering that i felt so sick i could barely stand.

then last night was eric & emily's fifth of july party, which had a fiesta theme. pretty refreshing after all of that american patriotism crap. although i was not completely recovered from what the spanish refer to as a "hangover" (the spanish who speak english), i had a blast. and i left there feeling really happy. here i am with a boyfriend whose friends- whose extremely funny and smart friends- i totally like and get along with. i believe they, as well, totally like and get along with me. that gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling, like the kind of feeling induced by care bears, especially because i am, as the spanish say, without a group of close, tight-knit friends like that. so if i can continue to infiltrate my way into this group of friends, all will be good.

and now it's sunday. elvis costello is playing at the taste today, and while i know my sweet little sister probably wants to go, i am without motivation to drive into the city and attempt to find parking. so instead i will just remind myself, repeatedly, how absolutely horrible his concert was in october. how absolutely horrible. horrible. absolutely.

the best thing about the fourth of july is the fifth of july, when you get to read about all of the horrible firework accidents from the night before.

the second best thing about the fourth of july is that it's not the fourth of january. because the fourth of january is usually much colder.

the third best thing about the fourth of july is that i finally get a chance to wear my red, white, and blue tank top and matching red, white, and blue capris. along with my red, white, and blue sun hat and star-spangled flip-flops. no, wait, that's not me. that's some annoying asshole in front of me at the gas station. who i will hopefully read about the next day, the fifth, in the chicago tribune's yearly special issue "how all you stupid fucks messed up and are now without eyebrows. and the family dog."

yeah, i hate my job. oh god, how horrible it is. i think i've been spoiled for too long- now i'm paying for it. my job used to be 80% fooling around, and now... well, i don't know the exact percentage, but it's something like, oh, ZERO? no fun, at all. i'm miserable!! it's like having a real job, only, well, i still don't consider it a real job. like, i make enough money for it to be a real job, but since i'm a college graduate, i feel that a real job entails business cards and a desk. i have neither, unless i white-out my manager's name on *his* business cards and write in my own. and then start putting my stuff on his desk. but there are several problems with this scenario, all of which i will outline below.


Real Job "Requirements" and Why I Can't Fake Them

I. Business Cards and Whiting-Out My Manager's Name and Writing In My Own

A. People can always tell these things.
B. I'd have to buy white-out.
C. Customers might, having been duped into believing that I'm in charge, start complaing to *me* instead of him.
D. How embarrassing would it be if I got *caught*?
E. I'm physically incapable of writing that small, as small as an 8 point computer font. Physically. Incapable.
F. That's a lot of fucking business cards to go through.

II. Putting My Stuff on My Boss' Desk

A. I don't have any stuff.
B. What would I do with *his* stuff? Burn them? Where would I start the fire? And how would I safely extinguish it?
C. After I found some shit to put on his desk, I'd feel obligated to sit there. Once I sat there, I'd have no idea what to do, and I'd probably fall asleep. This would greatly endanger my chances of getting home on time.
D. I'd probably use his desk as a place to apply white-out to my new business cards. This would result in white-out spills. Which I'd have to clean.


as you can clearly see, this would never work.

but i don't care about a desk and business cards. what i care about is enjoying my time, and, at this store, i'm simply not enjoying my time. what's a girl to do? i guess not every aspect of my life can be perfect. i should just deal with this, or maybe find another job, and revel in the fact that i love who i come home to after the day's worth of work is done. i should. i'll probably, however, just keep complaining about how much i hate my job.