this is wolf blitzer, from cnn. now, when i think of the name "wolf blitzer," i think of some ultra cool, leather jacket wearing, mystery solving, babe-getting superhero. the name "wolf blitzer" is just.... awesome. and this guy, sadly enough, doesn't do his name even an ounce of the justice that it deserves.

yesterday, chris and i went over to my manager's grace's house to look at her computer, which she's been having problems with. grace is from poland, and she sometimes has problems understanding english and speaking to tech support on the telephone, so she enlisted our help. basically, we were there for an hour and a half only to discover that she had simply just forgotten her passwords. actually, the one password she was typing in wasn't working because she was using the numeric key pad without the num lock on and the other password was one that she had created a few months ago and simply forgotten, until our gentle coaxing led her to remember. we were there for an hour and a half "working" on it. in that hour and a half, chris uninstalled one of the programs for which the password would unlock. then, eventually, she recalled her password.

we left, and she thanked us profusely for helping, even going as far as to offer us money. we refused, of course, and then once outside, chris said, "christ, we didn't even do anything. except, of course, for deleting her firewall- something, mind you, that she paid for." now, maybe it's just me, but i find that rather humorous.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

today i worked in the dr's office. usually, i work on the retail side of things, selling glasses and whatnot. contacts, you see, are totally foreign to me, despite the fact that i wear them. so today i had to work with two new wearers, and i have to give myself points for being honest.

"they say you're only supposed to wear these contacts for twelve hours at a time, but you could probably go days on end with them in. that twelve hour thing is kind of an old wives' tale, like not swimming after eating."

"these are two week contacts. mine are two week contacts, too- but let me tell you something, sir. i don't throw mine out until a solid three months have gone by, at least. like, if you buy a year supply today, it could possibly last you for the better part of a decade."

ah, i'm such a model for good eye health. if the doctor ever hears me.... also, if a lifeguard ever hears me.... i hear the not swimming after eating thing is still debatable.

chris and i went to a french restaurant last night. our appetizer was a crab cake that we shared that was no larger than the size of my palm. this lone crab cake cost eight dollars.

my entree was steak.... and shoe string french fries. only i can go to a nice restaurant and end up with fries. of course, they were french, but after my food came, i felt like i might as well have ordered a hot dog. not that the steak wasn't good- but it wasn't something that you should go to a french restaurant for. from now on, i decree that when i go out to eat, i will only order the most ethnic, bizarre, never-even-heard-of-it-before entrees that i can find.

or i'll get that hot dog.

halloween party. here. november 1. all hallow's day, actually. will be dressed up as....

shit, what do people dress up for as halloween these days? when i was a kid, my mom was really cheap about costumes, so i had to be the same thing for about three years in a row. i can remember two three year series. the first three years, i was a punk rocker. this involved star shaped glasses, a glitter gold wig, and heeled shoes. not really anything that had to do with being a punk, or rocking- basically, i was a badly dressed grade school whore. the next three years i was a clown. i think i may have recycled the old star-shaped glasses. one year, my mother made me a sandwich board that looked like a playing card- and so i was the ace of diamonds. the ace of diamonds, in her sandwich board, had a hard time sitting down that year.

sigh. i think this year i'll just pick one of my alter egos and go as her. sylvia's quite sweethearted, but toby's a nympho, mary-lou's a klepto, and then there's babs, who has a strange powdered cheese fetish. we've got rita the prescription drug housewife and angela, whose voice gets high and screechy when she talks about communicable diseases.

it's a fun bunch.

i've got chuck p's "diary" sitting on my table. i have another book, "strong motion" by jonathan franzen, to read before i get to "diary," but i'm ashamed to admit that i'm not necessarily looking forward to it. chuck's got this thing where he latches onto one formula phrase and repeats it for about 200 pages. and while some formula phrases, like the ones in "mystery men," are kind of neat, others are just extraordinarily obnoxious.

speaking of which, i need a formula phrase.

still drunk. thinking of people i'm never going to see again. gee, how sad it gets. i tried calling heather today at her new store. she wasn't there. and then they said, "but kevin's here," and i said, "kevin caldwell?" and they said, "no, kevin ryan." and i don't know anyone named kevin ryan. so i hung up.

i thought of my old friend chrissy lately, co-creator of the "bizarro movies" we used to film. i wonder what ever happened to her. i swear to god if she goes public with our bizarro movies and doesn't seek me out to give me a cut of the profits, i'll sue every last pink strand of hair on her head. and then i'll beat her with her own lonely towel.

still listening to liz phair. i should take up guitar.

i'm drunk. sometimes, during the day when i'm not drunk, i'll come up with all these great ideas. like, i can almost remember one now. but then when i drink massive liquid quantities, i try to remember my good ideas, and they just seem dumb. everything seems dumb. except for liz phair, because she's always great.

i got blue contacts today. so i am blue-eyed. i think it makes me 15% sexier. i've got this down to a science. now i just need to get those hot pants.

a relevant quote from chris: "hot pants are only as hot as the ass that they're on." truly, he's a man beyond his times.

i've been doing a lot of crossword puzzles lately, and i think i'm ready to write one. now i don't know any crossword writers personally, but i imagine they must be a ton of fun at parties, what with knowing all those useless facts. imagine, everyone's sitting around discussing the boring things that people discuss, such as who's dying of what and where you got those shoes, when the crossword writer cuts in and mixes things up a little.

"do you know a six letter word for the last half foot of your large intestine? it's rectum."

at which point the crossword writer's sidekick can yell, "rectum? it nearly killed him!!"

you have to be very smart to write a crossword puzzle, or else have a lot of time and reference material at your disposal. i once read a fluff piece in the newspaper about a crossword writer who proposed to his girlfriend by mixing the words "LOVE YOU FOREVER NICOLE MARRY ME STEVE" into the puzzle. this really could have backfired. what if nicole didn't do the crossword that morning? or what if she did it and just didn't notice the hidden message? worse, what if her name was barbara, and not nicole? schemes like that can go horribly wrong.

my heaving bosom, your throbbing manhood

- a romance novel by ferclyn jarrucci

table of contents

chapter one: our accidental meeting, which i happened to arrange

chapter two: i wouldn't even use the toilet, for fear that i would miss your call

chapter three: our first date and my lack of panties

chapter four: please tell me that was your sister i saw you out with last night

chapter five: the possibility that you may be tonguing your sister kind of disturbs me

chapter six: you confess to having a wife, which you can't leave due to the fact that you share a buick

chapter seven: i befriend your wife and encourage her to take up smoking, which, as we all know, will eventually kill her

chapter eight: i wait

chapter nine: i wait

chapter ten: i wait

chapter eleven: i meet your brother, who also has a penis

chapter twelve: your jealousy of me, your brother, and various imagined positions drives you over the edge, and you have to take up macrame just to get your mind off of everything

chapter thirteen: a detailed chapter on macrame projects for the beginner

chapter fourteen: i apply my eyeliner in a slightly different fashion, which makes me even more desirable

chapter fifteen: you replace your wife's cigarettes with thin, white vials of cyanide, as to speed up the process and get that buick

chapter sixteen: i dump your brother, who, being fat, understands

chapter seventeen: we're inside a buick and into the sunset

epilogue: colon cancer, the mysterious villain within

chris and i just saw a squirrel hanging on to the side of the building, near the roof. "how's he doing that?" chris wanted to know. we watched his little paws grasping and scraping against the brick and the gutters in what seemed to be desperation. we were enraptured by this show. then, at the last second, the poor thing slipped and fell right off, hitting the boards of the porch with an almighty *thump*.

silence followed. "do you hear scurrying?" i asked chris, "because i don't hear scurrying."

chris went to investigate. the squirrel wasn't moving, but his eyes were blinking. his life was probably flashing before his eyes. he was seeing trees and flowers, female squirrels and big bowls of clusters cereal.

in memorandum: stanley squirrel, ????- 2003.

christmas decorations are up in the mall. may i remind you that, technically, it's still summer. this irks me to no end. i don't want to hear about christmas until it's officially december. and then i want to hear about it in only in vague passing.

my dad asked last night what our plans were for thanksgiving. again, technically it is still summer.

why such a rush to get through the seasons? why do the department stores start stocking winter coats in august? why do the 2004 calendars start showing up in april of 2003? has the whole world gone mad?

anyhow, i have to go. i'm meeting with some friends this morning to plan my party for new years.... 2010.

never been stung and so i run
away from out and, quick, indoors
(through parking lots and into stores)
avoiding flowers, bushes, trees-
my arms will scream if i see bees

i've
never been touched by yellow and black
and fear i'm allergic to one such attack
my body ballooning as big as a truck
to die young and dumbly-
this would be my luck

the buzzing of stories
has hastened my worries
a kid in ohio was stung once and fell
not breathing, not able to call me and tell
of the moment he knew
what that one sting would do
oh lord, how i'm fearing
i'm one of those few

to break out in hives
and roll back my eyes
hitting the floor
flailing-choking-wheezing
no more

be reasonable
can't you see
why this r.s.v.p.
is NO-
i won't attend your picnic.

besides, i'm busy.

my parents are coming to dinner tomorrow. first thing i need to do is get rid of all of the cigarette butts on the porch. second thing i need to do is make chris bury all the dead hookers. not just because my parents are coming- but i think, overall, the bodies are disrupting the flow of chi.

chris joked that we should have both of our sets of parents over tomorrow. he has a point; they will have to meet eventually. here's the thing, though. i am wildly embarrassed of my mother. she's like my dirty little secret. if chris' mother meets her, she will no doubt pull chris aside and say, "run like hell, boy. the acorn can't possibly fall that far from the tree."

either that, or she'll grow to like me more, because i am an obviously a strong individual for having overcome such horrid adversity. my mother doesn't have any tact. cosmo kramer has more tact. so does an a-bomb. she's crass; she thinks inappropriate things, and then she just spits them out. there's no filter.

either way, just my parents are coming tomorrow. cigarette butts. dead hookers. i'm sure there's something else i'm forgetting, but i'm sure i'll remember just after it's almost too late. if you're following me.

so it seems that this dark eyed girl with a penchant for good cheese and elvis costello records dating pre- burt bacharach is going to do this. after looking for other jobs, after getting a degree, she's going to simply take a promotion at her current optical. the money will be good, at least. not to mention, she knows what she's doing when it comes to optics. and as far as being a good manager? she knows what it's like to be under a *bad* manager, so it would seem to add up that she'd know what not to do, therefore knowing *exactly* what to do.

huh. that's the same logic she applies to her mother. her mother was a bad mother- therefore our eyeball connouisseur heroine will one day be a GREAT mother.

anyhow, after my job hunt, after waiting over a year after graduating, what i'm simply doing is moving ahead at lenscrafters. funny, huh? originally, it was supposed to just be a part time job to have while in college in order to make some going-to-the-movies, need-some-new-sneakers cash. now, it seems it may be a... career.

oh well. it really is good money. and i get free eyewear. i got my fourth set of free glasses yesterday; they're plastic, and boy do i look intellectual in them.

:::newsflash:::

friday is "talk like a pirate day." to prepare for this event, visit talklikeapirate.com.

i put a counter on my website (that only i can see) and i realized:

i have a readership of about four.

truly depressing. now back to drinking.

i'm reading a book by isaac asimov. this is the second isaac asimov book i've read, and once again the universe is in great peril. this book concerns energy. when i was in third or fourth grade, i learned that the universe only contains a limited amount of energy, and one day we would run out of it. this kept me awake at night. during the day, as well, i would try to sit as absolutely still as i could, just to not waste any energy.

i think i was a little paranoid.

anyhow, i'm really hoping that there's some time travel in this book, because i perk up at the thought of traveling through time. along with time travel, i'm a big fan of mars. any book that involves time traveling while on mars would automatically get the thumbs up from me. really, it doesn't take much.

so i have a job interview on tuesday, and yesterday i recieved a phone call about another job. however, since i was working, i had to play a very unprofessional game of phone tag with the gentleman who called me and, alas, never did get to actually speak to him. hopefully, we'll talk on monday. however, i have been thinking, and a plan has formed itself within my head.

i just now got done completing a survey that may win me 25,000. there's an abundance of surveys like this, and raffles, and contests. if i enter every single one of them, i'm bound to win something. in fact, my twpy (total winnings per year) will probably average about 32,500. i could easily live off of 32,500, thus solving my problem of having to work.

i am one smart cookie.

now i have to get ready for work. it's sunday. who works on sunday? me. it's the sabbath, i really should be at a prayer service of some sort. or watching the "three's company" marathon on tvland.

me. monday. job interview. job would give me free cell phone and palm pilot. i may accept job, phone, and palm pilot, then run like hell wth the phone in my right hand and the pilot in my left.

john ritter is dead. this is awful news, because john ritter, as jack tripper, was rather like a second father to me. "three's company" shaped me into who i am; come to think of it, i don't know if that's good or bad. my mom had all the episodes on tape, and, as a kid, i used to watch them on continuous loop during days when my own dad was sleeping and the only activities i could engage in were quiieeet ones. of course my uproarious laughter at the hilarity that often ensued with jack, janet, and the blonde wasn't always quiet, but then we'd just pause the tape and i'd take up coloring for a while. as you can see, my childhood was rich with...... anyways, john ritter is dead, and what this says about the delicate balance of life and not life is downright bone-chilling.

shit, now i feel like i have to color. but i'm not coloring the berenstein bears, because i could never figure out where their fur ended. before you knew it, the whole page was brown.

dating tips and techniques for men in search of women like me:

tip number 423: make stuffed mushrooms for dinner, and she'll fall in love with you again and again. then, maybe later on, she'll let you stuff *her* mushroom.... ew, i don't know where i'm going with that.

join me next week for more dating tips and techniques for men in search of women like me.

build a radio out of only 3 pennies!!!!!!!!.... and a whole bunch of other shit.

well, it's 9/11 again. last year's 9/11 made me rather hate everybody; i remember in particular one woman in an american flag t-shirt, fdny hat, and star-spangled pin who deliberately cut in front of me in line at the movies. the thing about today- and i do have yet to leave the house- is that everybody's going to be so proud of themselves for being so fucking patriotic and compassionate- when the truth is, they're still the same assholes they always were, only now they feel they have a "cause." 9/11 is not a holiday like fucking independence day. it's a time of grieving, and, in my opinion, it's a time of grieving only for those who lost somebody. the rest of everyone else can go fuck themselves.



i do add: it's one thing to have respect and reverence; it's another thing to be some jerk who tries to flaunt it.

however, i am going to punch anyone wearing an american flag t-shirt today.

i did leave the doctor's office with pills on tuesday; the very nice dr. walker was quick to prescribe xanax and then give me a three week supply of paxil, of which i will more than likely get a refill. now i know that there are a lot of stigmas associated with these drugs, but i've been doing a lot of thinking. here are the facts. i have terrible bouts of insomnia. i get overemotional at times and cry about the smallest things. occasionally, i have panic attacks, and also i have recurring feelings that there isn't a point to anything i try to do. i can be very anti-social. basically, i've known for quite a while (like, eight years) that i do, at times, exhibit the key signs of depression.

not all the time, granted. i do want to give myself some credit. the moods come and go, and i could be fine for months at a time until it all suddenly hits me again. but after staying up all night on tuesday- and, on monday, being so ridiculously wound up that i couldn't even keep my food down- i realized that i can't live for those months when i'm fine, because the times when i'm not are awful.

so i'm willing to try these pills. the xanax is a temporary solution to relax me if i can't sleep at night, and the paxil- if it works, i could be on it for years. and i wouldn't mind being on it for years, if it actually helps. i just need my brain to start being nice to me, and if there's something that this little chemical could do for me, then at this point in my life, i fully embrace it. what it boils down to is that i'm great. no, i mean really. i'm fun, funny, smart, good with people... the only catch is when i get into one of my moods, then i'm nothing. a blob of wasted flesh. but if one little pill helps with these moods, then i'll be super jackie all the time. imagine all the things i could get done!

i don't know anyone else who takes paxil, so i have no one to talk to about this. i remember when i was little, the doctor wanted to prescribe anti-depressants for my mother. i got so upset when i found this out; i thought that it would turn her into some bizarro zombie. in the end, she decided against it, and, looking back, maybe if she had taken something, then she would have been a little more human to her family. because, as she was (and is), she's about the bizarro-est zombie you shall ever meet, if you're that unlucky to ever have to come in contact with her.

what it comes down to is that sometimes you need a little help. that's nothing to be ashamed of. and i want to do something to help myself now, before another six months roll around and i have a sleepless, down-and-out week or two that actually does push me over the edge. the edge is not my friend.

so, this extremely personal entry that i just wrote is a toast to good times. to feeling better. and, speaking of toasts and things that make me feel better, i believe i'm going to go now and pour myself a drink.

i found this orange in our refrigerator.

this is only 76% as disgusting as the cheese we found in july.


note: in real life, the orange is not this blurry.

i am still not one of blogger's "blogs of notes."

today i called in sick to work. really, i probably could have gone. i was supposed to go to the west dundee store to help out there, so at least i screwed over people i didn't know as opposed to people i have to see all the time. i've been vomiting, i can't sleep, i haven't eaten, and although i don't know which drugs i'd like to try, i'm sure i'd like to leave the dr's office today with *some* kind of bottle of pills. even if they're tic tacs.

i've never been to this dr. before, because this is the first time since living in this area that i've needed to go and see one. i rejected one woman doctor based on the fact that her last name sounded "funny." now i'm going to see dr. walker. it's kind of like a blind date. i already feel comfortable with him, though, since there's an off-chance he could be related to alice walker, acclaimed author of "the color purple" and "possessing the secret of joy," two must reads for anyone even remotely literate.

sigh. this should be good.

today i want to be pleasantly surprised.

i delight in hearing person a call person b a "douche bag."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

i had my first kosher hot dog the other day. it was tasty with a capital t, capital t not shown. from now on, i'm having all my food blessed by rabbis.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

boo-yeah.

at miller stadium last night, there were more cub fans than brewers fans. of course, i wore my brewers hat because i'm such a richie sexson fan.

sidenote: until last night, i thought he was black.

anyhow, back to miller stadium. it's great. you don't have to be a baseball nut to enjoy racing sausages, FUNNEL CAKE, and the fact that the beer guy offered me lemon wedges. lemon wedges. i think that's rather fancy (pinky UP). miller park has a beer garden with a live band playing before and after the game. it has a mascot that goes down a twisty slide. a tgi friday's. a hot tub where four lucky fans get to soak in during the game. a retractable roof. fireworks. racing sausages.

it took us an hour, probably an hour fifteen, to get out of the parking lot. what poor planning on somebody's part to have six lanes of traffic merging into one lane of traffic that apparently led into a solid brick wall.

i like going to brewers' games. i like seeing chris' face light up at the thought of bratwurst. i'm liking planning next year's outings- going to the game, hanging out in milwaukee, driving to the dells or - one of my top ten- the house on the rock. this place is great. apparently the creator, alex jordan, smoked four packs of cigarettes a day until he eventually keeled over. i know this much is true.

the infinity room is awesome.

let me tell you about the tubmans.

now that's not their real name, but it's the name that i've given them in my head. i think it fits, but only because "tubman" seems to conjure images of dumpy fat-asses, at least for me. these are the people who live above us. mr. and mrs. tubman are quite large, and the floor squeaks with their every movement. their bedroom is right above us; sometimes i can hear the bed squeaking, rhythmically, and every morning i am awakened with the sounds of the tubmans getting *out* of bed- it sounds like quite an ordeal. then i hear them walk across the room towards the bathroom. pound, pound, pound, go their feet.

the tubmans also have a dog. the dog runs around all day, and i'm convinced that they feed it nothing but pixie sticks and red bull. ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum goes the dog.

the tubmans have a daughter who's about 16, and while she's not fat now, you can kind of see it in her. the future holds awful things for the teenaged tubman. this tubman jumps around her bedroom a lot, listening to alanis morissette, because she's also fed nothing but pixie sticks and red bulls. when she comes downstairs, she always stops to talk to us. she doesn't have much to say, and yet the yakking is incessant. yak yak yak, goes the teenaged tubman.

the creaking of the ceiling alarms me. i fear one day, the ceiling may cave and we may be stuck with mr. and mrs. tubman (who weigh no less than six hundred pounds together), the hyper dog, and the yakkity yakkity teenaged tubman- all on top of us. and you know what they would do, after the dust from the plaster settled? laugh. mrs. tubman has a horridly obnoxious laugh. the dog would lick our faces, and the teenaged tubman? she'd belt out, "i want you to know... that i'm happy for you... i wish nothing but... the best for you both....." a la alanis m.

oh, just thinking about it is both scary and painful.

new obsession: the travel channel.

yesterday was san francisco. today, london. i can't watch shows on these places without aching to go.

i wonder if the travel channel is hiring. i could travel abroad and interview the locals from thousands of locations and also act as food/theater/shopping critic. i could go to every tourist attraction and museum and castle and natural wonder and make witty comments about all of my findings for various aired specials. while i'm not willing to learn new languages, i am willing to use a flex spending account to accumulate lots of key chains, souvenirs, and "somebody in (budapest) loves me t-shirts." i'm willing to make new friends all over the usa and especially abroad, and then proceed to get my new friends completely shit-faced. i'll interview anybody. i'll handle the crown jewels and stand dangerously close to geysers and volcano tops. oh, how i want to go to pittsburgh and try that cheesesteak sandwich that includes the fries and the coleslaw *between* the bread. i'd also like to do research on how long it takes for water balloons to hit the ground when thrown from the roofs of various famous landmarks....i want to smuggle exotic birds back into the country from places like brazil and new guinea. yes, this is a job i feel i can do.

if anybody from the travel channel is reading this, contact me and i'll fax you my resume.

dear blogger,

i love you, but you're frustrating.

jackie

and gosh-darn it, people like me.

today a letter was recieved at my store. "after several frustrating attempts to correct my eyewear, i finally decided to come in one last time before giving up and returning my glasses. your associate jackie was quickly able to pinpoint my problem and make me a new set of lenses that worked well after several of your other associates were unable to help. i feel that jackie is one of the most competent employees your company has and also would like to add that working with her was an enjoyable experience due to her upbeat personality and the manner in which she handled my problem and was able to put me at ease."

i have to record this, because it's ... awesome. more people should write letters to companies, especially when they concern me. unless they have something bad to say. like, if a letter said, "your associate jackie seemed to have no idea what i was talking about and, on several occasions, managed to insult both my taste in clothing and the manner in which i combed over my hair," then i could probably do without.

i urge you. as a consumer, be an active letter writer. you just may be the bright spot in an otherwise dimly lit afternoon.

today is my one year blogging anniversary. oh, how different things were one year ago. i shall not take you down memory lane, but instead i shall invite you over for some cake.

byoc-- bring your own cake.

this is the greatest idea ever.

we went to the cubs game today. now, originally, i thought that there were only 7 innings in a baseball game, but it turns out there's 9. this, quite frankly, seems like an awful lot on its own- *but,* in today's game, there ended up being 15 innings. now i'm no baseball girl, but, damn, don't you think that's a bit insane? if i were playing on a baseball team, and we were in, say, inning 10, i'd intentionally throw the game just so that i could get the hell out of there and maybe shower and have a hoagie. you just don't want a game to have to go into double digit innings.... especially since they don't sell beer after the 7th.

gee, maybe that's why i thought the game was over after 7.

this is the 3rd cubs game i've been to in my entire life. i went to 3 *white sox* games last summer alone. now, i was raised on the south side and therefore am supposed to root for the sox, yet here i've been transplanted to the north side. my father's threatened to give me up for adoption if i start liking the cubs, but i'm torn because of my location and the fact that my boyfriend's a die-hard cubs fan....

wait, who am i kidding? oh, i'm so funny. i'm not a fan of any baseball team, except maybe the brewers since i look so good in their baseball cap. (also, chris has taught me several richie sexson facts so that when people comment on my hat, i can say, "yeah. the brewers. that richie sexson is one hell of a [look at notecards] first basemen.") the bottom line is that i don't get most of baseball, only enjoy going to the games for the hotdogs, and the fact that i'm thinking about which team i need to like is absolutely laughable. it's like mitsubishi sitting down and trying to decide which flavor of hot sauce they should start selling. because mitsubishi sells cars. not hot sauce. come on, i thought you knew that.

oh, baseball. i do like going to the games, but for all the wrong reasons, like my aforementioned hot dog. friday, chris and i are going to milwaukee to watch the cubs/brewers. we have seats in bernie's terrace, which is near where the mascot hangs out. did you know that the mascot has a slide he gets to go down? i'm hoping that if i'm really good, they'll let me go down it, too.