Thursday, July 29, 2004


I read this article this morning and it just pushes all my buttons.
It makes me sad, frustrated, desperate...

WebMD Medical News Article on Teen Pregnancy

There are so many people to reach. So many people to educate. So many people to hug - I'm only 24. I haven't done near enough of it. I feel that my years of reaching, and educating, and hugging ended largely when I left Indianapolis. It's funny, because I was thinking of my student Meagan as I was driving in to work this morning. My heart aches for her and I want to see her so badly. I hate that this guy took advantage of her. I hate that her father took his own life last year. I hate that her mother is struggling so much right now, desperately grasping for mental stability as she takes on the awkward role of mother and grandmother at the same time.

I find it perplexing that Meagan was raised with her set of circumstances while I was raised with mine.

This is life. This is the heartache and consequences. The tears, the joy, the scraped knees, the trips to dairy queen, the broken nail, the first kiss, the death of a loved one, the kindergarten graduation, the deep-sea fishing with dad, the lost pound puppy sneakers, the fender bender at the yield sign, the rebellious piercing, the divorce, the nine-year court battle, the imprisoned offender, the insomnia, the fear, the eating disorder, the spontanious trip to disney world, being your mom's hug therapist, the first daughter's wedding, the trip to the emergency room, the first grandchild, the first great-grandchild, the cancer, the secret affair, the mongolian sauce on your favorite dress, the victorious election night, the defeating election night, the black eye your brother gave you in the sandbox, your 8 pet turtles, ice-cream from polar cub, late night tv newscasts that you're too young to understand, your favorite gymnastics leotard, you first dance recital, the piano music played late at night, the drunken debauchery and the grotesque sickness that holds its hand, the morning after, your third place, your first apartment, the horrid roommate...

I don't hate this life at all.
I just hate that ugly things happen to beautiful people.
I hate that beautiful things happen and nobody notices them at all.

Wednesday, July 28, 2004

furrowed brows and broken vows

Good: found a dress that is just shy of amazing last night. It makes me look like Malibu Barbie. Is that amazing? Hmmm... not so sure. I do enjoy the dress a great deal though.

Bad: For a mere $6 I was able to score myself the brow equivalent to a bad buzz cut and am now suffering through some nasty ass eyebrow syndrome. They are hideous. There's no fixing them. Ah well - I'll just look like an ass for six weeks.

Note how nice my eyebrows look. Please disregard the frightening bandages. Look past them. Look into my eyes. Look into my soul. See how happy I am with these eyebrows? It's not that I'm with my cousin. It's not that I'm super duper magically tan. It's not that I'm on vacation in Peru. It's not even that I just had the wonderful experience of a dirty, low budget, gumball machine Lima emergency room. It's the eyebrows. I'm glowing because my brows look so damn great.

I'm going to try to work today. It's somewhat difficult when all I want to do is sit here and stare out the window. Perhaps drink some tea. Maybe even bang on some drums, should things get exciting enough.

Some crazy woman called the office this morning yelling at me and saying that we lied to her. We've known she was crazy for quite some time. She kept calling here asking about some $8 million, or $800 million that was coming from the state and going to inner-city police forces and whatnot. We kept telling her that no such thing existed and we're working on a program that would provide municipalities (including police forces) with extra money every year, but we told her numerous times that the program is not yet law and we would keep in touch with her. She proceeded to call several different chiefs of police to tell them that the state of New Jersey is going to be sending them $800 million (sometimes just $8 million). I guess someone told her this morning that she's nuts and there is no such money. She called here insisting that we've been lying to her and that she wants us all fired. She also wants to give an ear full to Bret.
The funny thing is, if Bret were here he would take her call in a second. But I won't let him. I have better ways for him to spend his time.

I love the crazies that I run into in this business. MAX POWERS!!!!

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

May I? Yes, please.

I just thought this wildly funny.

*** So it's shopping once again for me. Shopping could quite honestly be my least favorite thing to do. I love shopping for the holidays and I love shopping for cooking, but I hate clothes shopping for a special event like this. It is quite maddening. I'm all of a sudden six years old again, pitching fits in the middle of a department store because "mom" is making me try on something else that I don't want to try on. Alejandra is coming with me this time. She has to. If I don't bring someone along to supervise dress shopping, I will come home with one (or two, or three) of six items:

1. ribbed stretch tank tops in assorted colors
2. flip flops (usually with a wedge heel)
3. some sort of comfortable stretch pant or pajama pants with a funky pattern on them
4. socks with monkeys on them
5. jeans that I found for $14.99 that I just couldn't resist
6. CD's or books

The point is, if going dress shopping without supervision, I will not come home with a dress. I'm such a child.

The registration on the Foci is expired. I need a secretary. I hate paperwork and I never get around to doing things like this. Bah. Registering the car! Who needs it?! I can't be bothered with such mundane tasks as this! I have a Gubernatorial campaign to win!!
I just drove all the way across Jersey City to get to the DMV to actually do this horrid thing, this registering of the Foci. It's pouring rain and it took me 10 minutes to find parking. I finally arrived at 438 Summit Avenue at 4:45 PM only to find that they had closed at 4:30 PM. I could only laugh.
A man stood out front smoking a cigarette. I could see him staring at me from the corner of my eye (where exactly is the corner of one's eye??)

"What are you looking for young lady?"


I don't know. A pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? A free in-home physical trainer? A pair of jeans that fit right? An allergy medication that will actually kill these hives? whiter teeth in just 14 days without using Crest white strips? toenail polish that does not chip? A new Governor? A reason for why I look like a monchichi (no, Alejandra, I am NOT a monchichi)?

"I'm just checking the hours of the DMV. I'll come back tomorrow morning."

He turned to stare as I walked away, his eyes boring the proverbial holes into my back. Creepy man. Go away, weirdo.

Alejandra is going to kill me. I'm wearing my Joe Mamma t-shirt and I did it on purpose just because she hates it.

"Moe! You know you could be HOT if you didn't dress like Pinocchio all the time!"
Oh Nanda, I don't want to be hot. I just want to be loved for who I am!
I'm so cantankerous!

Monday, July 26, 2004

polyester bride

Someone around here is on glue. And it's not me (I gave up glue some time ago. Really now. I've since graduated to much, much more mature addictive matter).

Victories are spectacular. Even if they're smallish victories, they're victories just the same. And they make me happy.

I didn't drive home hating myself.
I didn't drive home feeling like I wanted to be defenestrated.
I didn't drive home en la manana.

Hoorah. I am the coolest rock star on the planet.

Saturday, July 24, 2004

:: caring is creepy ::

It really and truly is. I didn't used to think that relationships were complicated. I have always been a very black & white person. Things simply ARE and anything else is mish mosh and drama.

Relationships truly are unique, confusing, elating, enchanting, irritatingly wonderful, crazily complicated, maddeningly angering things. Be it familial, sexual, social, professional or otherwise.

The older I get the more drama I experience. Being homeschooled, I was saved most of the high school drama. I didn't fully understand what all the fuss was about. Now I look all around me and see so much of it that it's nearly overwhelming, but at the same time so wildly fascinating. It's times like this that I realize why I want to study sociology and anthropology.

I am simply mystified.

I watched it all unravel tonight. It collided. A 12 year friendship, with a one month fling, with a lifelong sisterly bond, with a protective, older, brotherly love. It all came together into this crazy spinning thing called a culmination of grand yet not-so-glorious events.
I watched.
I laughed.
I felt uncomfortable.
I smoked a cigarette.

Outside of being absolutely abhored by one of the creepy persons involved, my presence held zero relevence. This thing, this situation had positively nothing to do with me. Yet I was there. I witnessed everything and made mental notes all along the way. Is it fair that I treated this as a sociology project?

Oh, the drama! You can seldom find such fascinatingly fantastic entertainment. No, not even if you tried. Not even in an afternoon marathon of Lifetime movies.

This is life. This is fact and fable all at the same time. Real people being fake and fake sentiments all of a sudden becoming eerily real.

They write books about this stuff... except they're not near as good as the real deal.

Thursday, July 22, 2004

regal's queen is the central being of gallagher's precipice

"Don't eat anything with a face"

I'm glad for the warning. I was growing quite a bit ravenous and was on the brink of fully consuming, even ingesting my wrist watch. har har

I spied this clever little bumper sticker clinging for dear life to the rear-end of a white, early 90's Nissan Stanza earlier this afternoon. This bumper sticker was not alone, nay, it was one amongst perhaps a dozen other bumper stickers heralding similar messages (including, but certainly not limited to, the ever-popular "Beef: it's what's rotting in your colon").

I used to be a vegetarian many moons ago. I'm approximately 6 years into the rehabilitation process. My biggest beef (no pun intended) was with chicken, surprisingly. During my prime years as non-carnivore, I would eat a t-bone steak far before I would sit down to a bucket of KFC. I'm not quite certain of the logic behind it all - I'm just reporting the facts, folks.

But I will now digress from the entire vegetarian bit and move onto a much more important subject. Let's get serious now and talk about the Pet Shop Boys two doors down from this very office.
They are not actually called "The Pet Shop Boys" but I am using this nickname in place of their actual business name in order to protect the innocent. I believe they must be, however, the only pet shop in Jersey City. I see the trucks there nearly every day. Not just one or two trucks, but several. SEVERAL delivery trucks come and go from this tiny little pet shop no larger than the adult video section of blockbuster (not that I would know or anything). Day in and day out Amanda and I spy the delivery trucks stopping by, unloading, and then driving away only to return two days later. It has mystified us for quite some time. Who are these Pet Shop Boys that they can manage to conduct so much business in a shop as small as their's? I'm continuously amazed by not only the number of staff that works in such a small space, but also the vehicles that the staff drives. Mercedes, BMW, and Audi are three logos that we have become accustomed to seeing parked in front of the shop, emergency flashers keeping the rhythm of the night for fright that some bastardly officer will stop by and issue citation for illegal stopping or standing or anything in between. I'm simply mystified. That is all. Amanda asked the other day how much revenue they pull in each month (or perhaps the information was volunteered - I'm not quite sure) and I wish I could remember how much it is, for I know that it was a relatively substantial amount. Dammit. I'll report back. It's a lot. I would buy a new car. Or perhaps a dog. Maybe both. Who knows?

My eyes feel inside out today.

I recently lent out my new Muse CD and just got it back last night. I feel as though I've been without it for weeks when, in fact, it's been a mere four days or so. I was craving it last night, however, and was more than pleased to get it back. I rocked it on my commute into work this morning and nearly wept (not really). It did make me want to smash into things with my car though. Oh please, I beg, don't get the wrong idea. I wanted to smash into things not out of anger, but out of something happy. I wouldn't quite call it joy - that's a tad jovial - but most definitely something happy was causing the urge. Is there joy in smashing things with your car? I don't think I ever thought that there might be perhaps maybe.

Pero mi cabeza esta loco y no se la problema... pero mi corazon esta mas loco.

Hago las cosas que son estupidas. Yo no digo lo que quiero. Yo no cuido para este muchacho y este muchacho no cuida para mi, pero lo quiero a.

*** Just for the record, Stop 'n' Shop has some fabulous flavored seltzer water. My recommendation is Peaches & Cream. ***

I love my job today. Genuinely. I have been so incredibly self-absorbed the past few months and my deepest apologies and sympathies go out to those who have had to deal with me.

If you've met me within the past 6 months, you have not really met me. That's not me. That's the jaded, confused, weird, sometimes lonely, crabby, complaining, disenchanted, smelly version of me.

I laugh (often)
I cry (only over actual spilled milk)
I facilitate (random acts of destruction - all in love, mind you)
I instigate (all sorts of curiousness)
I pet (dogs and cats and even turtles if the occasion calls for it. Sometimes even people)
I read (everything)
I poke (fun of things)
I love (everyone and for my feet to be tickled)
I hate (you know what I hate)
I say (what I mean)
I do (what I say)

Meet me again. I'm back to normal (almost).

Monday, July 19, 2004

the leprous monkey butt

So my ear lobes (is that one word? Not sure) have been itching rather consistently for the past 24 hours. I have a neat little line of red bumps going up the back of my arm and my left ankle. My back is covered with them. My lips even itch this morning and it's driving me mad out of my skull. These allergy pills are not helping all that much.

I have leprosy. I'm sure of it. Stand clear my friend lest you yourself be infected.
Imagine if my ear fell off completely? I wouldn't be able to wear glasses ever again unless I have the ear surgically re-attached. Which would really be ridiculous. Why would I re-attach a leprous ear? It would look gross. It would look like I had my ear pierced numerous times. I don't even wear earrings. And if I had a leprous ear, I certainly wouldn't be able to wear dangly earrings or heavy earrings (should some event require such decoration). Forget it. I would never have the ear re-attached, hence I would never be able to wear glasses again. Pity. Sometimes I feel like rockin' the specs.

I'm not a hypochondriac, seriously. I do always think I have something (leprosy and appendicitis are both popular), but I don't necessarily care that I have it. Dig?
I think hypochondriacs care that they are ill. Does it count if I think I have leprosy, but don't really care that much?

Sunday, July 18, 2004

Gelukkige Verjaardag in Deutsch

Happy Birthday (in Dutch) to my loverly baby sister Cecilia.

Poor Cecilia - I feel like she's constantly getting the brush off. And not because it is intended that way! It simply happens!
She had such great plans for tonight, such simply marvelous plans. Well, the plans were mediocre at best, but she was really excited about them just the same.
See, my baby sister (now 22 years of age) had never been to the Stress Factory - a comedy club in New Brunswick - so she decided that she wanted to go see a show there for her birthday.

Slowly, however, the plans that were originally so intricately layed out sort of flaked away like filo dough in a texas sand storm and the large group that we had initially planned on going dwindled down to just Cecilia and myself. Dude, it would have been so loser for the two of us to go by ourselves. I'm not really quite certain why that is, but I feel quite strongly about it.
So anyhow, Cristina, Kelly and I discussed this beforehand and decided that, yes, Cecilia DOES in fact always get the short end of the stick. She is continuously dealt the "something-or-other" card (this is not an actual card, mind you, but I cannot right now remember the term used for a bad car. Simply "bad card" perhaps? Who knows).
How then should we approach this deliciate subject? How am I going to break the news to her and let her know that we're going to have to scale it down a bit?

So we came up with a game plan. We figured we had one of two options. We could get my baby brother a fake ID (he needs one anyway) and all go out to a cheap bar for lousy drinks and way-too-loud music -
OR we could buy roofies, take Cecilia out, buy her a cheap drink and slip her the roofies, take her home, put her to bed, and then fill her in tomorrow morning on what a wild party we had the night before. She wouldn't ever remember a thing anyhow.
And none of that generic brand roofies - we go for quality, name-brand shit only please. Thank you.
I'll have you all know as well that Roofies is the date rape drug of choice. Please make sure not to fall too terribly behind on the fashionable date rape drug of the moment.

Alright, enough of that. So what did we end up doing?

Well, I was coming back from Long Island through the city anyway so I stopped at a cuban bakery/tattoo shop in Newark and picked up some roofies.
Cecilia has been sleeping soundly for a solid 5 1/2 hours now. We have her going-out clothes hanging out on the line while we all smoke cigarettes in a circle around them to give them that "Garden State bar" smell. This plan is so incredibly glorious.

OK, so seriously? We ate ice-cream, made s'mores in the microwave (bad idea, by the way) and watched Matchstick Men (good idea, thoroughly).

As they say in Copenhagen: Gelukkige Verjaardag, Cecilia!

Thursday, July 15, 2004

scratch my back and I'll tickle your arse

I saw a car driving into work this morning, a well used (read: beaten up) late seventies dynasty with a license plate frame that read: "NY Lotto - It pays to dream"
Apparently it does not.

We had another fantastic storm here in Jersey City last night. I was elated, to say the least. The wind was extraordinary, sending the heavy rain across the pavement in sheets (sheets, I tell ya)!
I know my creator. Sweet.

Many fine things there are in this life, but few are finer than Thai noodles with friends. Thanks for the oodles o' noodles and post dinner streudels, the shots of strong spirits and fun 80's lyrics.
Cheers! we say, Cheers! to no work and fun times, to short days and long rhymes, to rainbows and butterflies, to cartoons and bow ties!
And after our cheering and good natured jeering, it's off now to soft beds for long rest is nearing. Goodnight my dear friends and lovers of mine - I like you plenty; my mom likes you just fine.

The Foci needs a good bath this weekend. I will be trekking off, before then even, for Long Island to visit good, good friends this weekend (and, coincidentally more cheers and silly rhymes). Good fun is to be had, I'm sure. I'm looking forward to it. Loving it. Living it.
My GW buddies are good to me. They love me plenty even though I'm conservative.
I've noticed lately that those who are very politically active and liberal have the ability to put politics aside and have a great time with me. Oh yes, there is the occasional banter, but nothing worthy of anything beyond a slap on the ass. We have a great time together, eat, drink, and get high with no worries of anything beyond our friendship. Those who are not so politically active (they may not even vote - who knows) and are liberal have a hard time getting past the whole conservative thing. Stop and figure that one out for me. Thanks ever so much, muah.

Saturday, July 10, 2004

muse and abuse me

Muse? Yeah, I'm totally feeling it right now. Loving it, in fact.
I'm in a major moment of self-deprication at the moment (I'm a doofus!) and won't be able to write anything that is even close to being worth readhing at this point.

I want to crawl out of my own skin and find a little, dark cove to live in. A tree perhaps. Yes, a big gnarly tree that some old owl would be found habitating. I'll throw the unoffending owl out on his ear and live in the tree. I will be monica the monkey owl tree liver inner.

I'm taking a nap. I don't want to think about anything right now. I'm tired of thinking instead of doing. It gets old after awhile, y'know?

Sunday, July 04, 2004

walking with scissors is better then??

There are one million two hundred fifty-eight thousand seven hundred and ninety-four things in my life that will be harder than anything that I think is hard right now.

There are forty-two billion two hundred seventy-four million six hundred eighty-seven thousand and fifty-five people on this earth who will live lives far more extraordinary and difficult than mine.

I have ten fingers, and ten toes (albeit weird looking little fuckers, but ten of them just the same), a nose that is not too big, family that lives overseas, tickets to a concert next weekend, a stack of books that I have yet to read, and a dog that I like to call 'pooper'.
I want to be extraordinary. I don't want to be like everyone else. I don't want to be driven by the same things. I want passion, but for passionate things only.

My life is good.

Saturday, July 03, 2004

empower this

It's fourth of July weekend and I just ditched my brother and camping at the shore. I'm such a miserable sister.

Thursday, July 01, 2004

Part II

We lost the suit, but it will go on to supreme court. It's a groovy thing that we have those 500 faxes into this blasted office supporting the lawsuit. Blech.

Amanda's shoe is missing and I'm not the one who swiped it. Who steals ONE stiletto heel? Not I.

HEADLINE: Judge sides with governor on borrowing plan

BYLINE: JOHN P. McALPIN, Associated Press Writer



Borrowing $2 billion to balance the state budget is legal because the New Jersey Constitution gives the governor broad powers to determine where the money should come from, a state judge ruled Thursday.

Gov. James E. McGreevey and Democratic lawmakers need the loan and about $2 billion more from higher taxes and fees to balance the $28 billion budget he signed Wednesday.

Republican lawmakers, without enough votes to scale back the record spending, filed a lawsuit claiming the loan violates state laws requiring a balanced budget. Proceeds from the loan will be used to cover state operating expenses in the coming year.

McGreevey raised taxes on cigarettes and boosted surcharges for bad drivers, guaranteeing that the money will be used to pay back the loan over the next 20 years.

Superior Court Judge Linda Feinberg said Thursday she struggled with the GOP argument but ultimately decided that it was permissible because the law broadly defines revenue.

Unlike an accountant or homeowner, the governor can label money coming in from a loan as revenue rather than a liability.

By adding the proceeds of the bond sale to the incoming taxes and fees, the state will have enough money to cover expenses for the year.

"There is no hole there," Feinberg said.

Republican lawyers said they planned to appeal immediately and expect it to go to the state Supreme Court.