Intranets Plea

Special Request time: Can everyone take a moment to think of my friend, a dear girl who I love with all my heart because she's an extension of myself. She and her family are going through a Very Hard Time right now, and without going into too much detail, they can use and deserve all the good karma they can get right now.

Thanks, you guys. I 'preciate you, and I know she does too.

Suck it/Rock it

SUCK IT

Suck it, Angela. Get off my television screen with your ugly bubble skirts and obnoxious behavior. It is beyond my fucking comprehension how you managed to scrape by another week, while a more talented and far less irritating designer is forced to go home. I hope Tim Gunn busts your ass next week and you're the one that's kicked off, even though my rational side is saying that it's probably Keith because he's also a pompous dick and the most likely to cheat. Blech.

Suck it, Albus. Yes, I know that you're overdue for an oil change. And I promise to get it done first thing next week, so stop flashing the oil light at me on a day where I am wearing a flimsy white shirt and therefore not checking my oil. All right, FINE, I'll check it, and put more in as needed, but if you get any oil, dirt, or grit on me, I will hate you forever.

Suck it, work. You're boring.

ROCK IT

Rock it, iMovie. I somehow got suckered into not only assistant directing this year's editorial conference video, but also directing one of the segments -- a very ambitious animation piece alá South Park. This, when I know NOTHING about, uh, direction, animation, or editing. Fun! But, iMovie, you're SO EASY to use that yesterday I managed to piece together two test clips of characters, one with walking and one with mouth movements! It was cool and now that I have some sort of idea about what the hell I am doing, I am really excited to make the whole thing.

Rock it, weekend. I am heading to an undisclosed location to GET AWAY and I am really looking forward to it.

Rock it, Mom. [Edited out, for internets protection of my dignity, but suffice to say, my mom is awesome.]


ETA: I am currently in Virginia (my undisclosed location) and I wanted to blog to say, tipsily, I love you all, and I'm not just saying that because I'm drunk.

Carrie Bradshaw, I want your life

Ways I wish my life was like an episode of Sex in the City:

• I would get to have lunch with my girlfriends everyday, in a restaurant.
  
  
• I could spend $485 on one pair of sling back shoes and not worry about it.
  
  
• I would be constantly going on dates and having lots of sex.
  
  
• My "job" would be to write self-indulgent pieces about my love life and friends and never have to deal with editors or proofers or having to go into an office. A.K.A. - I would be blogging and getting paid.
  
  
• Sex, sex, sex.
  
  
• On evenings that I don't have dates, I would attend hip night clubs and restaurant openings with my girlfriends.
  
  
• Did I mention that those sling back shoes up there cost more than my current monthly rent? $485 for motherfucking shoes, and NO SHAME, GUILT, OR WORRY.
  
  
• Did I mention the sex?
  
  
• I could wear the most crazy outfit combinations (green 70's boy shorts, peasant blouse, stiletto heals, big silk flower in hair, wicker grandma purse) and everyone would think I was cutting edge.
  
  
• I would never wear the same outfit twice.

Recipes for Awesome Sundays

To make an Awesome Sunday you need:

1 Haven-Girl
6 hours of the Anne of Green Gables series (shut up. You love it and you know you want a Gilbert of your own)
1 Mediterranean Chicken Salad Sandwich from Trader Joe's
1 package of Fiesta Dip, also from Trader Joe's
6 Awesome friends
1 Amazing, cutthroat, hysterical, and unbelievably tiring game of Kickball
A trip to Rita's for ices and gelatos

It was a gorgeous day on Sunday, warm and sunny, but not humid and sticky like the past week. So I felt sort of guilty that I was spending most of the day cooped up indoors, but really, what's better than a lazy Sunday with Anne? Both Haven and I are suffering from the "I have money, but I really shouldn't spend it since it needs to tide me over for two weeks and we have Fun Plans that require money coming up next weekend" syndrome and were looking for something fun and cheap to do. Kelly and Chris went to see Lady in the Water, and invited us to come along, but I had a sneaking suspicion that I would regret spending $9 to see it.* Haven and I opted for a back to back viewing of Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea instead, since it was free and we could feel free to yell such things at the screen as, "NO! You love Gilbert!" and "Kiss off, Pringle bitches." And also? To CRY without shame at the part with Matthew.

Trader Joe's makes a delicious Mediterranean Chicken Salad Sandwich, complete with figs and almonds and I recommend it highly. Their Fiesta dip, on the other hand, is as addictive as heroin and trust me as I say that you will inhale the entire contents after your first dip.

After Anne of Avonlea ended, Haven and I had a choice: Move onto Anne: The Continuing Story, which no longer follows L.M. Montgomery's storyline and in comparison to the others kind of sucks, or take advantage of the last of the day's good weather. Haven suggested Ultimate Frisbee, but after a few phone calls the plan shifted to Kickball. Soon, Kelly, Chris, Haven, and I were joined by Luke, Leslie, Phil, and Seth. We walked to the local park, which happens to have a baseball diamond and took teams: Kelly, Chris, Phil and I (Team DOMINATE) against Luke, Leslie, Seth and Haven (Team Don't Fuck It Up). I am proud to announce that Team DOMINATE lived up to its name and, well, dominated with our Power Knuckles of Doom and won the game 20-8.

Tired, sweaty, dirty, and achy (for real. We're old.) we headed to Rita's for ices and gelato just as it got dark.

And that, my friends, is how you make an Awesome Sunday.



*M. Night Shyamalan, I really want to like your films. I feel the need to since you're a Philly boy and always film in the Philadelphia area and use local actors and I think that's really really cool. So I'm always rooting for you, but man. You gotta wrangle those stories in a bit. Keep it simple, kay? Also, you owe Kelly two hours of her life and $9, because she really hated Lady in the Water.

Infestation!

Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my duty to inform you that there is a battle occurring deep within Apt 9B. A battle that is fierce and deadly, of which there will be one victor, and one victor only. A battle between Homosapien and Scarabaeidae.

People, we have bugs.

Now, everyone gets bugs from time to time, and with the exception of roaches and those creepy furry centipedes, I'm not really squeamish about bugs. Whatever, I'm bigger than you and I can squish you. And it's summer time now, so more buggies are out and about so it's only natural that a few find their way indoors. We've had a few bugs in the past weeks and normally, we don't even kill them, because Dill enjoys hunting them and he's sort of amusing when he's in stalking mode, all tiger-like but still dumb as a post. We usually let him kill them and then there's a mad rush to get the bug away from him, lest he eat it. Which he has done, on at least one occasion.

But last night, the little fuckers got out of hand.

I was settling down for bed and had just turned out the light when I heard a buzzing noise and saw two insects fly in front of the bluish hue of the TV. Now, if it had been a fly or whatever, I wouldn't have cared. But it was...these things. I don't know what to call them, and I want to say it's a beetle except that these things are large and can fly and make an audible noise and given that it's cicada season, and that we can hear them in the trees around our apartment, it very well may be a cicada of some sort. I looked bugs up on wikipedia and the bugs we have are larger than a beetle, but have a smaller wingspan than a cicada, so you figure it out. It sort of looks like this, but with wings:



Yuck, right? So I turn on the light and I discover that there's not two, but FOUR of these bugs flying around my room. I grab a trusty sneaker and start hunting. Ffffwapp! Fffwwapp! Two down. I started looking around for the other two, but they had gone into stealth mode. You know where I found them? One had landed on a pile of clothes that I had intended to take to Good Will about 3 months ago. And the other? Had landed on my pillow. Oh, hell no. I shooed him away and Fwwwapped him once he got onto my nightstand. OK, so four dead bugs. I was out of tissues, so I did what any ingenious girl would. I grabbed an old card that once held a variety of cheap earrings and an empty water bottle and scooped the bugs into the bottle and placed the bottle into my trash can making a mental note to empty it in the morning.

I had just laid down again, and was settling into pre-sleep land when I heard the distinct buzzing sound again. I bolted up, thinking that one of the bugs was in fact not dead, and had escaped the water bottle. But no. It was another bug.

"Bastard!" I mumbled, reaching down to grab my weapon, trusty old sneaker. Ffffwwapp! "And let that be a lesson to you bitches." I said, scooping him into the bottle to join his fallen brethren.

But a gauntlet had been thrown. Just as I settled down into bed again, another bug flew overhead. "The HELL?! Where are you guys coming from. GOD. Go away, and DIE!" Fffwwapp!

Friends, the above scene repeated itself no less than four more times. A grand total of 10 bugs in as many minutes. I finally clued into the fact that they were coming in through the old fashioned window in my room, which is missing, um, a window part of some kind, that leaves a small but crucial opening. But even after I closed it, I was still killing bugs. Finally, I gave up and decided to sleep downstairs.

As I was exiting my room, I ran into Mike. "I have bugs in my room," I pitifully told him. "Oooh, they're going to crawl into your ear while you sleep and lay eggs in you brain," he teased me. I then gave him a look of DOOM because while in theory bugs don't bother me, notions such as bugs crawling into orifices while I sleep and making babies seriously wigs me the hell out.

"Can you just come into my room and help me kill any that are left?" It is in Mike's lease agreement that as the male in the apartment he is responsible for killing bugs. Mike came into my room and looked at the ones that I had killed and collected. "I have no idea what kind of bugs these are." He then took a millisecond glance around the room. "It doesn't look like you have any more. Goodnight."

"Gee, my hero," I deadpanned. I think secretly Mike is all ooked out by bugs like Kelly and I are, but tries to be all manly about it.

I grabbed my pillow and went downstairs. I settled myself on the couch when...buzzzz. Fuckers were following me. I got up, killed two bugs with an old Entertainment Weekly that was sitting nearby (Confidential to Redhead: I swear I am not making this part up, but the EW I picked up had Jessica Alba on the cover. It's a sign!). Bugs were every-goddamned-where. After careful inspection of the windows downstairs, I discovered that they were the same type as the one in my room, and missing that same thingymabob -- so really maybe it's a style of window really and not a missing part. At any rate, I decided that I wasn't going to be able to close all the downstairs windows because I would suffocate and besides, it's my bedroom and I'll be damned if I'd be chased out of it by some freaky cicada beetle hybrid. I went upstairs and I could see bugs flying up against my window pane. Be brave, I told myself. I entered my bedroom and did a close inspection. Just as I was satisfied that all the bugs were gone, I found one, lying sneakily on the edge of my bed. Friends, I dropped my basket, as they say. I went wild. Trusty old sneaker was back in my hand and I nudged the bug until he flew away and landed on my door. And then I Fffwwwapped. I Fffwwwapped and Fffwwwapped and Fffwwwapped with a wild gleam in my eye. "And [Fffwwwapp] let [Fffwwwapp] that [Fffwwwapp] be [Fffwwwapp] a [Fffwwwapp] lesson [Fffwwwapp] to [Fffwwwapp] you [Fffwwwapp] ALL [Fffwwwapp]!!!!"

Grand total bugs killed in a period of 20 minutes: 13
Number of bugs that crawled into my brain and laid eggs: O (to my knowledge)
Victor: Me.

The story isn't over though friends, no. Because while I won last night's battle, my foe is a determined one. Guess what was waiting to greet me this morning, crawling on the linoleum of the kitchen when I went to feed Dill?



Of course you know this means war.

Happy!

I was kind of half joking when I wrote it, fully expecting him to put up a fight, but:

INTERNET REQUEST + PICTURE POSTED = HAPPY 8K

There. Now who said I couldn't do math?

I hearby promise to cheer up

I just reread my entries from the past 2 weeks and I’ve written about the following depressing things:

• My cousin pulling out on our visit and the melancholy longing for days past
  
  
• Death
  
  
• Funerals (granted, my family can put the “fun” in funeral, but still)
  
  
• Scary dreams
  
  
• The melancholy longing for the way things used to be
  
  
• A disturbing story of a dog getting shot
  
  
• Becoming a grown up, wah!

Man, I’m just a barrel of fun, aren’t I? Despite all writings to the contrary, I’m not really unhappy right now, just...those things are the most writeable things that are happening to me lately. I mean, I could write entries about how I’m a retard and can’t figure out my FAFSA form because heaven forbid I should ever understand anything with “numbers” and “math” or the language that pertains to it. Or I could write about Project Runway and oh my god, I can’t believe the eliminated Malan last night when Angela — who needs to shut up and sing because bitch is annoying and didn’t even make a design sketch and as much as I think Vincent is 17 different types of crazy, she was totally sponging off of him — should have gotten booted. I could also write about how fun it is to have a Haven living with us for a month and how I kind of secretly wish we could keep her for good. Most of the good things in my life are smaller and more contained right now, and I’m cool with that. I promise to write about more cheerful, funny things in the future, though.


P.S. - You know what would make me really happy though? If Stouff posted a picture of himself from the wedding in his kilt! Hee!

I'm two steps away from a pair of sensible shoes and a mini van

How I know I am a grown-up:

When presented with a surprise day off from work due to a mass power outage at my place of employment, I spend my time off cleaning the toilet.

Let them eat Tastykake!

Yet another reason I love Philadelphia: We apparently celebrate Bastille Day. How is it that I didn't know about this? Love!

Somewhat related to previous entry

When Chris came to visit me, we were walking through Philly and talking about nothing in particular, when out of nowhere, Chris tells me, “When I was in Iraq and we were patrolling one day and this dog comes up to us, yapping and barking and my commanding officer took aim and POW! Right in the stomach. Dog goes flying back in the air and lands about two feet back. And it’s laying there still alive, but my unit is just walking by, so I went over and took aim, and shot one right through it’s head.”

I stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk. “But…why do the good guys shoot the dog?”

“We had to. Dogs there aren’t like dogs here. They’re mean, diseased and trained to attack people. I was doing the humane thing by putting it out of its misery so it wouldn’t bleed to death for hours.”

“Yeah, I got that part, but...” Long, long pause as I look at the guy who I used to pass notes to during assemblies, who is most definitely not that person anymore. “...why did you tell me that story?”

Chris just shrugged and kept walking.

In dreams begin responsibilities

When I dream, I dream very vividly. My dreams are so real that often when I wake up I am confused as to whether or not they actually happened. The emotions attached to them, in turn, are so strong that I usually need to lay in bed for a few minutes and mentally talk myself down from them, so I don’t go into my day mad at someone for something they did in my subconscious. I also believe, strongly, in precognitive dreams, or dreams that foretell the future somehow. Don’t laugh. I swear it happens. Usually it’s something mundane and I wake up thinking, “ That was weird,” and then two months later it will flash back to me in a strange sense of déjà vu. Like yesterday, in Maria’s pool, as we were getting ready to play water volleyball and were dividing up into teams, a moment, a short one, Nirm on my right and Luke right in front of me, water lapping gently on our midriffs, sun filtering through the trees onto our backs, and the sound of Maria laughing. I had dreamt that. I remember being confused when I woke from that dream, all, who do I know that has a pool? Duh. Maria has a pool, but up until yesterday, I had never been there. When these moments happen, it’s both disarming and comforting. It freaks me out for a second and I feel like I’m living in a cheesy sci-fi flick, but in the end makes me feel as though I am exactly where I’m supposed to be in life.

Therefore, when I have nightmares, which isn’t very often, they scare the shit out of me and stick with me for a long, long time.

Last night, I had a dream that I guess could qualify as a nightmare. I certainly woke up freaked out. It was a long dream, which is unusual because my dreams typically are pretty short. Because it was so long, bits and pieces have gone missing, but here’s what I remember:

The war with Iraq/Terror/Bush’s blunder/whatever-you-want-to-call-it had turned into World War III. And we were not winning. America had been invaded at this point, and I was living in this huge house hiding out from…I don’t know exactly who. And the house and people who lived in it with us, I want to say they were Amish because of how plainly they dressed. Then again, I was dressed plainly as well, so perhaps I was posing as Amish or the plain dress was a result of the direction of the people who had invaded us. At any rate, the house was really ginormous, filled with secret passageways and hidden back closets. One closet, in particular, I hid in quite often (Another weird thing about my dreams – often I feel they all connect somehow and often when I’m dreaming I as a person or character in my dreams I have my own separate set of memories. It’s weird, I know) and at one point when I was hiding in this closet and I discovered this whole other sub-closet within it. And hanging there, in the sub-closet among other garments, was a burqa. It was a beautiful burqa, made of fine material, golden in color with metallic threads weaving in the fabric. Seeing the burqa both scared me and comforted me, somehow. I think the fear came from the thought that, truly, we as a nation had reached a turning point in the war, that we were officially losing, and life as we all knew it would never be the same again. That things would never go back to “normal.” Also, the fear that I would in the future forced to wear a burqa.

(Please do not email me or comment about this. I have no prejudice against Islamic women who believe in their faith and choose to wear a burqa, because I’ve heard and understand that instead of being oppressive, it is, in fact quite liberating. That instead of being judged on appearance, it allows women to be judged on her intellect, faith, and personality. Which, as a girl who has never felt thin or beautiful, that’s quite a thrilling concept. However. I do take issue with women being forced to wear it by the Taliban or extremists when they don’t believe, or don’t want to. Public beatings for not wearing a burqa is not cool, you know? Also – it was a DREAM, so I can’t exactly control it. I’m not trying to be bigoted or offensive in anyway though.)

I was sort of comforted by the burqa, because I thought to myself, Ah, now I have a secret weapon when I need it. I can wear this and pose as a believer (sorry…again a DREAM, can’t control it exactly) and stay safe.

The dream continued with me doing mundane tasks – taking care of the vegetable garden (stores had all been closed or bombed out so we had to grow our own food), cleaning, cooking, trying to keep a low profile, and in my spare time, exploring this huge house. On one such occasion, I discovered a whole new set of rooms which contained beautiful ornate furniture and paintings. Here’s where the dream kind of gets weird. I looked into the drawer of this magnificent chest of drawers, and inside was all of this Nazi paraphernalia – photos, documents, flags, which really freaked me out. I quickly shut the drawer and didn’t want to open it again, or any others for that matter, for fear of seeing more.

A few days later (I told you, long dream) the owner of the house, the woman who was hiding us, started screaming to hide, find a secret passageway out of the house, that they knew we were there. And then I ran to my closet and began a frantic search for the sub closet, and trying to find the burqa and put it on so they would think I was one of them. But I was too sloppy and rushed and I couldn’t find it, and instead got lost in this maze of rooms that I had never been in before. I went to open this one door and inside found this meeting room where hundreds and hundreds of Nazis were holding a slave trade of some sort and then they noticed me and all started chasing me. I ran off through yet another secret passageway, and managed to make my way outside of the house, into the back yard.

Once outside in the back yard, I ran into Renee who, I believe, was living next door to me throughout this whole ordeal.

“Hide me!” I frantically asked her.

“There’s no point,” she told me, tears dripping down her dirt-stained face. “The war is over. We’re done. We lost. They just announced it on the news. They’re coming for all of us.”

At that point, the reality of it hit both of us as we realized that there was no hope and we would never see our families again, or many of our friends, or possibly each other. We hugged each other trying to hold back our tears and looked up into the sky were planes were skywriting messages of doom. We broke our hug, and men in gas masks were running towards us as we raised our hands in surrender…

I think I sat in bed for a full ten minutes whispering to myself, “Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream, just a dream, just a dream, just a dream…”

While I don’t think this was a precognitive dream ala the pool dream, I don’t think I should ignore it either. Interesting fact: since the start of the Iraq War, I’ve had a whopping 4 nightmares of this type: apocalyptic war doom/backward slide into fascism/scares the fucking shit out of you for days.

And given what’s going on in the world right now…maybe I’m not too far off. You know, I don’t understand all of foreign policy, and I don’t understand everything about politics, and I certainly am not an expert on all things Middle East. But I know this:

• Terrorism works both ways. You don’t need to have a stick of dynamite strapped to your chest in order to be a terrorist. You can be one just as easily while wearing a suit and sitting behind a desk.
  
  
• Violence begets violence, begets violence, begets violence…Violence is not the answer. Ever.

The G8 summit is going on right now, and as much as I feel as though there’s a chance for a lot of change, my cynical and worried side doesn’t believe the opportunity will be seized.

I am very confused. I am very worried, also.

WAKE

In my family, we know how to say goodbye. We spend the morning sad, crying, wrecked. In the afternoon, we eat. In the evening, we drink.

The wake for Aunt Sis began today at 2:30pm. I am just getting home now, 12:30am. I blame Carl, who kept putting Molsons in my hand. I also blame Carl for the fact that I now weigh approximately 3,000 pounds. It wasn't enough that we had the lunch at Rut's where we all ate stuffed cabbage until we needed to loosen our belts a notch, no. Carl needed to go ahead and make ribs, seasoned wings, and cream of crab soup. And blinies. Jeezus.

So, here's to you, Aunt Sis. Nurse, care-giver, selfless aunt extrodinare.

And here's to the rest of your brothers and sisters, who you're now joining. May the party you're having in the afterlife be as awesome as the one we're having here remembering you all.

The greatest round of pinochle is about to begin in heaven

My grandmother's last surriving sibling has just passed away.

To my cousin

I'm utterly disappointed. Bummed, bummed, bummed. We were supposed to have this awesome visit, this amazing time together where we, like, reconnected after years of geography and growing up separating us. But you canceled on me.

Part of me wants to be angry with you. Dude, you picked these dates yourself. We set it up more than a month ago, deal binding handshakes were had, Monopoly trash talking began, I spent $100 on train tickets. And now you're stuck working in Virginia for an extra 2 days. Couldn't you just have said no? Couldn't you have told them, look, family comes first? Couldn't you have pointed out to them that you're not even supposed to be down there, that you're supposed to be doing the management training? Ugh. And then, as I'm trying to fix our visit by proposing you swing over to Philly on your way up and we hang for a day or two, you're not returning my phone calls. AGAIN. Probably because you think I'm angry at you. And also because you like to withdraw.

But then you send me texts messages that say, "55 hours a week plus travel. My life sucks." And, "I'm sorry, cuz. I love you. You were always the smart one." And then another part of me wants to shake you by the shoulders and scream, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself! If you don't like your life, then CHANGE it!"

But the biggest part of me isn't angry with you at all. The biggest part of me is worried. Because I know that you are severely unhappy. Because I know you feel stuck and don't know how to change it. Because I want to hug you and help you figure out how to fix it all. Because I wish we could go back to when you were "Micheal Seeeeeeeger!" (or if I was excited "MichealSeeeegerMichaelSeeeeeger!"). To when we would do flying leaps off of Aunt Mary R's porch, pretending we were jumping off mountain tops. To when we would play nerf football in Mom-Mom's development parking lot even though I hated football and would always loose. To when we would have weekend-long Monopoly tournaments because it was the only game Mom-Mom had besides Don't Talk To Strangers! and admit it, Crime Dog McGruff lost his appeal before you got through the first block. To when you and I would hide in the closet hoping that your parents wouldn't find us and would forget you in Lebanon when they went back to Pittsburgh, thus leaving you with me forever. To when we would build forts around Aunt Mary R.'s 70's furry chocolate brown couch and sneak Jello pudding pops and Cheeze Balls down there. To when Uncle Butch and Aunt Mary had those parties and we would climb the willow tree in the front yard and take big glasses of birch beer from the 1/4 keg and drink them down all cold and sweet before dashing off for more hours of running around the yard pretending we were having wild adventures and catching fire flies.

I want all of that back and I know you do too.

Aunt Janet says she thinks you're embarrassed for not finishing college and for being "behind" in life, whatever that means, it's not like it's a race or anything. I guess that may be part of it. But I also think that so much of it has to do with when Mom-Mom died. That's when you stopped coming to Thanksgiving. You haven't been back to Lebanon since. Oh sure, you've visited Aunt Mary and Uncle Kevin's a couple of times, but they lived in Carlise and now Camp Hill. Not Lebanon. Not since she died. I miss her too.

I really miss her, too.

Other people in our family have written you off for never being around and for flaking out of family events. And I gotta say, you make it easy for them. Hell, you're making it easy for me now. But I will never do that. I can never do that. Because you're my Michael Seeeeeeeger and you always will be. I refuse to give up on you. And I'm stubborn, man. You're not going to shake me. Because you're a close link to my past, and I believe you're going to be important to my future. Because we're cousins, first cousins and as we used to say, first is the best kind there is. Because I feel a bond and connection with you and I refuse to sever it.

Because I love you. Please be happy. I want you to be happy.







P.S. -- Nice shorts, man.

Note From a Happy Hour: The One That Got Away

Dear Indian Boy in the Orange and White Shirt,

You're kinda cute. And what's more, you looked interesting and intelligent. Like, it seems like you might read and that I could have a conversation with you and enjoy it. I know I’m not too subtle with my flirting techniques and I apologize. But what’s interesting to me, is that Miss J swears you were pointing in my direction and may or may not have given me the once over. And you and I made eye contact a couple of times. I really hope you were getting the vibes I was sending you. Anyway, I’m bummed that you and I never managed to get away from our respective groups and have a chance to converse. And more than that, I hope you work in the corporate park and that you come to the Boathouse again.

Kicking myself for not going over to play pool with you guys,

8K

Streaming

I've tried to start 5 different entries in the past 2 days and nothing is coming out properly. All disjointed and weird. So I'm just going to type as I think.

Stanley iBook is still sick, prognosis is that his video card crapped out and that we'll need to take him to the Apple Genius Desk to get him fixed up. I'm typing this on Kelly's Mac. Kelly's in San Diego and it's very hard not having her around to bounce ideas and thoughts off of. I gave Kelly full disclosure to tell all handsome male stars she meets on Friday when she rents a car and drives the California coast to L.A. (I know. Can you believe her life? I want her luck) my phone number and to CALL ME. I'm supposed to leave this weekend for Pittsburgh and visit my cousin who is currently not returning my phone calls because he is a punk. I'm worried that he might flake out on me because he has a tendency to do that. It would disappoint me more than I can possibly explain because when we were little he was my best friend in the universe and we shared secrets and adventures. Then our grandmother died and he didn't know how to handle it. His luck took a sharp turn downward and he's retreated into his shell ever since. But he and I still have this thread that I refuse to give up on. Our great Aunt Sis (real name: Efthemia. Now you know why we call her "Sis"), the last living sibling of our grandmother is not doing well and is in the hospital. Her heart is beating so fast and hard that they're afraid it will give out on her. Some days I think I know the feeling. That last sentence was so emo, I need to go style my hair now so that it hangs over one eye and apply ridiculous amounts of eyeliner. Excuse me.

[Edited out because after posting I realized that this is the internet, and hey, I might want to censor myself slightly just in case the wrong people find this and you know, I don't want to get fired. Oops. Sad, too because it was probably the one coherent part of this entry. Also, I motherfucking hate you, Blogger, for not having a password/privacy protection option] Tonight, I am going to pink bubble a new job. And a new digital camera. And a big box of money. And possibly Richard Coyle. If the Doc were around (I think he's in Portugal or some other fabulous place) he would say, "Miss [EightK]? Father will send you a job when you are ready. He's an on-time type of Father. Visualize and it will materialize! PEACE!" Considering the Peace Mission is 100% positive that Father Divine is responsible for getting me this job, I don't really feel like I have an argument against anything the Doc says. I can't argue with the Doc period, because the man is brilliant and has 2 doctorates.

I've had "Nothing Better" by The Postal Service running through my head all day (Yes, Redhead, I KNOW). I'm bummed because the amazing mix CD that Dave's super cool roommate Jeff made for me didn't burn correctly and doesn't work. It would have been an awesome mix because it featured, among other things, a techno song featuring sounds from Transformers and a punk band covering Madonna's "Like a Prayer." Sucky. To make up for it, Jam gave me a neat-o mix and I've been jamming to that for several days. I need to step away from BBC America because Waterloo Road is my new crack. I can't believe that Tom's being such a man-child about Izzie, even if his wife Lorna is all bony and obsequious. Hey, you know? I think I am changing my pink bubble order to Richard Coyle with a side of Jason Done. Dammit. Another reason I need to step away from BBC America: I am far too susceptible to developing school-girl like crushes on men with accents.

As I am writing this, I am also on Flickr and uploading a whole bunch of pictures from last summer when we went to Pride in New York. I didn't get to go to Pride this year because that was the weekend of craziness with everyone and their mother coming to visit me and seeing random people who I never thought I would ever see again. I feel I have so much to write about that weekend but I don't know where to begin and I'm not sure I'm going to even try. I feel the same about this past weekend. QK came to stay for a couple of days last week and we spent a day in the city walking everywhere. It was amazing. We went thrift store shopping and walked Old City and ran into Renee and went to Farmacia for dessert and wine. I had the warm flaky apple and sun dried cherry galette and I swear to God, I wanted to lick the plate after I was done, it was so good. I feel fatter than normal this week and I think I've gained weight. Kelly just got an offer from a local gym that will be opening at the end of the summer that gives you membership for only $15 a month and no start-up or annual fee, and that is what I'm talking about. I think that's the main reason (well, one of them) that I haven't joined a gym is because they slap your ass right away with a $100-$200 start-up fee in addition to all the monthly fees. I hate that shit. So I'll be joining a gym next week after I get back from Pittsburgh (presuming the cousin CALLS ME BACK, GOD).

I wish we had a bottle of rum in the house, because if we did I would make Mike and I daiquiris. He and I spent the 4th together and grilled out and then went to see fireworks in Radnor. Nothing tops last year in D.C. I almost wish we could have gone back there again this year. Last year we were lucky enough to stumble onto the best possible spot on the Mall to see the fireworks. We were Right There. Big booms. It was amazing.

Wait. What? Flickr only lets you have 3 sets with a free account? That's shitty. OK, so the start of the Pride photos are in the "College Friends and Fun" set. I don't have time to finish them tonight, I have a jillion of them from the actual parade and it's now after 10pm, and Jeezus I didn't even get to start my laundry like I wanted to. I have nothing to wear to work tomorrow, except a skirt, and I'm too lazy to be all lady-like and in heels. I'll have to upgrade my Flickr account to Pro later this week when I have money again -- Damn you, holiday that pushes our paycheck back one day! I have so many photos to show you guys, a bunch from June, or The Month of a Thousand Graduations, as I like to call it. I have old school pics from when me and my cousins were wee ones and it occurs to me that I promised an entry on family and cousins and never got around to it. Sorry about that.

I will leave you with this, though:


CALL ME, MICHAEL, YOU PUNK-ASS.

And with that, I am off and going to pink bubble my way to sleep. And tomorrow? I'll probably delete all of this because it's weird and disjointed, just like me. Aaaaannnndd there's the emo again. Christ.