the unbearable lightness of being a twinkie

** Matt Morris makes me swoon. **

I stared, and for quite some time. An elderly couple sat to my right and seemed bothered by the fact that I did not have a traditional way of sitting in my airplane seat - wait, is there a traditional way? Not sure.
Is it all that un-traditional to sit with one's knees curled up next to one's chest while sitting in an airplane seat? They thought so. I will call them Melba and Hank, for I would hate to continue to reference them as "the elderly couple".
So Melba sent many wondering gazes my way. She smiled sweetly when I returned her quick glance, but otherwise was not friendly per se. Hank slept. He slept hard-core with his head tilted back and his mouth open. I wanted to drop a nickle in his mouth just to see what would happen, but I figured the outcome would be nothing on the helpful side. I wouldn't want to be un-helpful to Hank. No, not I.
So I'm convinced that Melba did not enjoy the way that I was sitting on the plane. I don't guess that it was necessarily disturbing her, although it did take some maneuvering to contort my body into the proper position in such a small space.
She didn't like what I was reading, or, at least she seemed to be curious. The cover too bright, the title too large, the tagline too unorthodox. I was not reading fine literature, nay, I was reading Nick Hornby. How intelligent could I possibly be?
Eh, I delight in shirking Melba and Hank's expectations. I am a monkey, afterall.

So I stared and worked my best to ignore Melba and Hank and their outrageously high expectations for my entire generation and especially for me.

Another wedding.
Another friend (2 friends!) married.
Another empty champagne flute.
Another sexual advance from Scott.
Another dance with a ridiculously drunk Tiedeman.
Another 1200 airline miles.

I love flying through the clouds. I watch closely, waiting because I know what's coming. I know that we're right on the edge (of reason, perhaps?) and I know that the sun is shining on the other side.
So I stare and watch and wait. The cloud's darkness completely envelopes the aircraft and if I look closely out my window, I can see the mist that makes up the entire cloud. I can see it passing rapidly by my window quicker than... well, quicker than something really, really fast.
Even though I'm expecting it at any moment, I am surprised when suddenly, in an instant, in a moment, in less than a moment, we are out of the cloud and the sun is shining so brightly I have to turn away from the window. I smile. I think what it must look like from the cockpit. What it must be like to head straight into it like that. You're flying through a cloud for one moment, two moments, a lifetime, when suddenly, out of nowhere, you are surrounded by bright sunlight and the darkness of the cloud is nowhere to be found. I wonder if the pilots watch this still, if it makes them smile. I wonder if they love it as much as I think they do.

The wedding was good, good, good. I've never seen Manny and Meg so happy.
And this is the last time that I know I'll see the merry CRNCsters. I've been seeing them all rather consistently since I moved from DC and everytime I've seen them there's always been a "next time" that we were getting together in the near future. Convention, CPAC, Parker's wedding, Meghan's wedding... now, there's nothing set and I'm not sure when I'll see them again. I know I'll see them - I just don't know when. That makes me somewhat sad.

I need to stop cracking my knuckles.

I have a rather long story I want to tell about a family I saw in the airport, but I don't have the time to type it right now. Later... I shall save it for later. But for right now it's going to be warm showers and quick breakfast and then my hour commute into Jersey City for a day at the Bret2005 headquarters.

I can't wait to get into my car. I can't wait to drive. I can't wait to be surrounded by the sound of "Origin of Symmetry" and to feel empowered all over again.

122%

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.

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!!!!

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?"

*sigh*

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!

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.

:: 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.

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).

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?

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.
http://www.emergency.com/roofies.htm

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!

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.

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?

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.

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.

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

DATELINE: TRENTON, N.J.

BODY:
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.

... as i slip into my best suit

McGreevey has a lawsuit on his hands and we're to blame. nyah, nyah!
So far we have about 350 participants since Monday and the fax machine is still ringing...

I am pro-active (sometimes)
I love my job (most of the time)
I was late this morning (as always)

fair fare is fairly rough fare to find

I'm flying to Minneapolis in a few weeks (woohoo! minnesota! land of 10,000 lakes and 20,000 mosquitos!) for manny and megh's wedding. I've been eyeing airfare like the nasty little air-fare eye-er that I am and happened to notice when the price had dropped by sixty (60!) dollars the other week. I was all over that fare like a fat kid on a donut, like scott on a cute intern, like the GOP on propaganda... I was on it.

exactly one week later that same fare dropped an additional $114. Can you believe that?! So I'm flying to Minnesota for $114 more than I really ought to be. At least I'm going to be in good company.
Manny will sport a monacle with his tux, the Grey Goose Society will be out in full force, everyone will be faded like bourbon street, and the [mariachi] band will play on like the good, wholesome patriots that they are. Cha cha cha... it's going to be a good time and well worth the superfluous $114. I've been busying myself with their website, their save-the-dates, yes folks - even their campaign-like wedding favor buttons that proudly announce the "candidacy" of Thein/Espinoza 2004 (you like that idea? yeah, I thought that was just nifty).

Anyways... NeWaYz...haha

Alright, seriously. For real now. Let's get down to brass tax and talk about the $6.31 tuna sandwich I just purchased across the street at Lombardi's. Where do we live? Beverly Hills?! Nay, this is Jersey City folks. JERSEY CITY. Most people have no busines in line at McDonald's ordering off the dollar menu, let alone spending a whole $6 and 30/100 of another dollar on a tuna sandwich. Oh. they threw in some lays chips as well. so I guess that covers most of it, right? heh.
Y'well the sandwich was mediocre at best. It tasted like tuna (amazingly), nothing else. Just plain old tuna. I was expecting something really special - perhaps some dill - but, not so much. Oh well. I know now why I stopped going to lombardi's.

I'm picking up Alejandra from the PATH station in approximately 10 minutes and I'm itching to fly free from this office. It's been a good day, but it's been a day just the same and I want to head over to Nanda's house and make brownies. Enough of this work business.

I love to hate it.

This is stupid. I'm leaving.

A carefully sorted assortment of sorts

a car has been named after me. i feel so honored! my buddy just finished up with round 1 at police academy (is there a round two? not sure) and has just informed me that once he gets his police cruiser, he's going to name it "monica". impressive, eh??

I'll finish this later. I'm out the door for a huge ass meeting.

work. blech.

my (musical) theory (on life)

nearly two years later, i rummage through her things as though she's just in the next room. Garage sale price tags all over everything, it felt normal. this felt like the day-to-day mundane.
the kids wanted everything gone. all of her furniture, her cd collection, her kitchen appliances, her music. boxes and boxes and BOXES of music. there was tons of it. Cristina told dan that we would take all of it home with us, sort it out later.

walking up the front walk to the house felt strange. i had not been there in 5 years or more. dr. K was happy, pleasant, jovial even. he smiled and waved, let us into the house, showed us where everything was being stored. "it all has to go girls. take what you want."
i felt dazed; and so strongly so that i thought i would pass-out. emotionally, i was already dealing with my own issues and this was overload, just a bit.
seeing some of jan's things that i had completely forgotten about - it brought her back to life for a minute. everything was out of place though. that table was supposed to be in the front hall, with those photographs on top. that figurine was on the end of the piano, along with her coffee mug of diet coke. that couch was in the piano room, that other couch in her bedroom. it was like a virtual tour of jan's home in helter skelter disarray.
after cristina decided it would just be easier to pack up ALL the music and take it home rather than sorting through it all in their living room, dr. k brought us a collander and told us that the blueberries needed to be picked (this was not a metaphor). he is moving in about two weeks down to florida and apparently hasn't had time to pick the blueberries off all the bushes out back and offered us as many blueberries as we could carry home with us.
cristina and i stomped through the high grass to the blueberry bushes and began picking. the sun was perfect today. i could feel it soaking into my skin and for a brief moment today it actually felt good to be alive. jan is dead. we are alive picking blueberries in her back yard.
i haven't had really any time alone with my sister since she came into town. alex, for once, was with someone else. we picked in silence and even the silence felt good. i felt like passing out for a moment, but pushed past it. i was wearing my black skirt. she was wearing her perfect white trousers. gosh, she's gotten skinny. she looks good though.
we began to talk. we talked about jan and the kids. they look good. beth has lost some weight. boo looks so much like her mom now. where's brooke? why is she not here on father's day?
i asked her a series of really personal questions for no reason at all. they came out of nowhere. i had just been curious. she averted her eyes, but surprisingly answered. short, one syllable answers.
the blueberries were so perfect! perriwinkle and beautiful. they don't look like this when you buy them in the store. i wanted to take pictures of them they were so perfect. i couldn't shut up about the blueberries. for reasons unclear, it was so amazing to me. cristina thought so too.
we picked again in silence and it was nearly therapeutic. therapeutic berry picking.
for some reason, i felt the overwhelming urge to cry. i didn't.
the baby laughed inside and from somewhere, debussy was playing; wafting out the window, through the air, and to our ears over by the blueberry patch. i missed jan immensely right at that moment. i wanted her to know that cristina was married, and had a son. i wanted her to know that i had lived in washington and moved back. i wanted her to know that her daughters were doing well. i wanted her to know that dan hadn't given up on writing.

i took two things from the house today. cecilia took several things. tons of stuff that i have no idea what she's going to do with. lenox pieces that i'm sure were originally very expensive, mirrors, figurines, anything that reminded her of jan, for they wanted it all gone.
cristina, of course, took all the music, several cd's and books, a table.
i took her bible. i poked around quite a bit and saw several things that reminded me of jan, but for some reason this was HER. her notes, her outlines and highlights. the thought of reading the bible accompanied by her insight was great. it wasn't so much of a nostalgic selection as it was a... i'm not sure what kind of selection it was. i'm just trying to avoid making this sound overly nostalgic and cliche. i just really wanted her bible, simple as that.
i also took the wooden magazine rack that she used to keep by the piano for extra piano music. it looked so well used and broken in. it's heavier than it looks.

i came home and lied down. i was absolutely exhausted, not having gotten much sleep the two previous nights. i (finally) took out my contact lenses. they've been in for three days straight.
i felt like i should cry. it felt appropriate. i contemplated forcing tears. i was sick of being emotionally void. with the collaboration of everything this weekend, i ought to feel SOMETHING, but i sort of felt like i felt nothing, which made me sad, which made me cry. i fell asleep that way: feeling nothing and crying about it.

it's interesting. sometimes it's good to be a crying girl.

and i'll use punctuation when i feel like it, dammit.

I'm gonna sex you up(state)

The city is dirty today. The humidity is seeping from the cracks in the concrete. I don't want to touch anything because everything seems moist (shiver. I hate that word. its sound is incredibly grotesque) with something unpleasant. Moist with hot dog water perhaps (something equally gross, if you could think of it, would also suffice).

I walked to the bank earlier and had a hard time breathing. It wasn't the "I'm out of breath because I've been sweatin' to the oldies" type can't breathe. It was the asthmatic type can't breathe. Strange.

No, moe, you don't have asthma.
And quit talking to yourself for pete's sake.

truth (half truth)

I once had lunch with Dan Quayle (and taught him how to spell potato)

I've been in the West Wing of the White House on numberous occasions (and caught Prez Bush reading UN delegate flashcards in the Oval Office)

I once witnessed a state arrival by the President of Poland 30 feet away from the President of the United States (and crossed the velvet rope)

My recently former roommate is a special agent for the State Department (and she's a he)

I've been on CNN, MTV, and various web based news sites (and had something intelligent to say on all of them)

I have interviewed the FBI and been interviewed by the FBI (I didn't inhale)

I turned down a date with the heir to the Nordstrom throne, Adam Nordstrom (and did it again three months later)

I bumped into Julianne Moore, Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins at a hip NYC restaurant a few months ago (and made them weep with my "Shawshank Redemption" monologue)

My boss will be Governor of NJ next year (if I have anything to do with it)

My brother has had beers with Willie Nelson and the boys in their trailer, watched Beyonce and her dancers change out of their stage clothing while watching 'The Simpsons' on their dressing room television, told Ricky Martin to "Fuck off", and discussed stock values with Martha Stewart (and knew who every single one of those people were when he did it)

I wear a size 10 shoe and my natural hair color is dark blonde (I wish this weren't true)

apparently my blog titles are misleading

I live with air conditioning. This may not sound like much, but it really really is. The house I grew up in - this groovy little place in this funky little town in... new jersey - has never been air conditioned. Having no basement and little attic space to speak of, it never seemed very conducive to conditioned air.
Somehow
Miraculously
amazingly
spectacularly
wonderfully
my father managed to pull it off. The Cool Air Boys (moniker by moe) showed up last week and crawled about our upper regions for three days in the boiling heat in order to install a state of the art central air system.
It was stuffy, the temperatures soaring to 90* (I think) and one of the dudes flat out fainted up in our attic. His foot went through the ceiling and we now have a nice sized hole in the dining room. They're patching it up for us.
As fate would have it, at the height of my father's excitement and bliss over an actual (gasp) air conditioning system, the temperatures dropped to about 70* the day the installation was finished. Bah!
He was so antsy to use the damn thing, that he used it anyway. I slept in my ski parka that night. The ice-blue one with the faux fir around the hood and a Molson's Canadian patch covering a rip on the left pocket. I wore my socks with toes (all twelve of them).

It was warm-ish last night. I got home from work around half past nine. The air was dripping with the remnants of... something wet and gross. It was muggy enough to make my glasses fog up anyhow.
I walked in the front door and... and... AND - it was cool. Wow. Pretty groovy. Something I've never experienced before. Quite literally.
I slept comfortably last night, without any ice packs to keep me company in my large, lonely bed. It was nice. I like air conditioning just fine.

Professor Coldheart was a fascist pig

I seldom remember my dreams these days. I don’t know if it’s that I have so many other things on my mind that I simply don’t care to remember or if it’s that I never quite get the proper combination of sleep and rest (there IS a difference, see), causing me to wake abruptly every morning. This is the case most of the time and my first thoughts are not typically about whatever I had been dreaming throughout my (minimal) hours of dormancy; my first thoughts are to curse the day from the very start.
Involuntary exclamations usually occur. Among them, “shit!”, “dammit!” and “good grief!” are most popular (and yes, I’m aware that the latter most does not necessarily fit in with the two former, thank you very much).

At any rate, I happened to remember my dream this morning, even though I was waking with an abrupt start. It was strange. Weird. Different. Again, weird.

I wanted a tattoo (I’ve wanted one for years and years), so I went on a quest to acquire one. I found this tattoo artist who ran his five-star operation out of a trailer or mobile home. The “front” door of the mobile home was rusty and protested angrily when I pulled it open to walk inside. The racket of the door caught the ear of a snoozing boxer nearby. Luckily, I didn’t seem to spark his interest quite enough to abandon his mid-day snooze. The pooch twitched his ear back and then forth and then returned his eyes to the closed position.

The artist was found inside, in the back, near the over-glorified port-a-potty. The lighting was dark, yellow-ish, reminiscent of Fight Club. The tattoo guy was big, but not scary. Almost laughable actually.
I blinked and he was finished. I don’t even remember telling him what I wanted on my arm. In fact, I don’t remember telling him that I wanted it on my arm. But that’s where he put it. And before I knew it, there was a band-aid (yes, I know) on my arm and he was finished.
I woke the next morning (still in the dream) and found that I had a stained glass (ish) design of a tiger on my arm. The tiger was lashing out at… at, well… not sure. I guess whatever unsuspecting victim happened to be looking at the tattoo. It was huge. It covered my entire upper arm. Underneath the tiger the words “Made in the Philippines” had been etched into my skin. This part is interesting because Firstly, I was not made in the Philippines. Secondly... well, there is no secondly. That's it. I was not made in the Philippines.
It was so hideously ugly but so incredibly fascinating. I felt regret immediately though. A tiger?! MADE IN THE PHILLIPINES?! WTF?!!
So yeah, this is what I woke up remembering this morning.

I know that dreams are connected to whatever experiences we have during the day, but as I thought about it this morning on my drive into work (yes, it mystified me THAT much. I thought of it on my drive into work. I analyzed it even! Ha!), I realized that I had never made such strong connections to previous day’s activities. Let’s see the comparisons, shall we? Oh yes, I know you want me to list them here. Hoo-rah.

1. The Tattoo: A friend was over last night and we all discussed our long-felt desires to get tattoos. In an effort to be oh-so-pious and non-defiant (for my parents’ sake) I stated that I would not get a tattoo until I was married and away from their rule. I'm so clever, eh?

2. The Mobile Home: I was discussing yesterday morning with a friend my father's latest and greatest idea to sell his house and travel the country in a mobile home, spending his final days roaming about with my mother and a schnauzer. I do not support this idea.

3. The Tiger: I happened to be messaging a friend last night and called him "Tiger" and then I roared (as best one can roar on instant messenger. I believe it goes something like this: "ROWR!") *ahem*

4. Made in the Philippines: I was noticing yesterday and was quite mystified by the fact that there are so many people from the philippines on both Myspace and Friendster. The contrast really is quite stark (philippines dwellers vs. non-philippines dwellers). This might call for a chart of some sort, be it pie, bar, line, or otherwise.

Anything else mentioned in my dream synopsis has no bearing whatsoever on any other activity that I took part in throughout the course of my day. In fact, much of it was fabricated right here and right now (go jesus jones, go!).

This is far more fun than work, but really lends no assistance in accomplishing my professional goals. Hence, I should get back to the proverbial grind.

Haha. Who am I kidding?

stop government regulation in cyberspace

I really have a lot to say, but I'm not quite sure how to say it.
Moe is at a loss for words. Unbelievable.
Moe is referring to herself in the third person.
Moe is clearly an ass.

I hate when things just plain suck. But does anyone really like it all that much?
Life is good (grand, in fact).
I am happy (bordering ecstatic).
Work is fine (doing pretty well these days).
I've met some really cool people (the coolest, in fact).
This particular thing sucks though (I don't like not having what I want).

That is all.

Sar-chasm

Today my skin doesn't fit. I don't fit. I'm stretching, nay, pouring out of my skin. I'm too big for this frame. My mind is reaching out beyond my physical existence and touching everything outside of the self that I have known for quite some time.

And it feels great to stretch.

When I do not fit in my own skin, it can feel terribly awkward. A spotlight shines brightly and shouts my deepest secrets to the whole world. The light uncovers me and exposes every crevice, every mark, every blemish. My body shakes and quivers with a nervousness resembling 3rd grade humiliation. Times ten.

Vulnerability unmasks my egotistical motivations. It forces me through a process that I would otherwise never force myself through. Shockingly, amazingly, fantastically I come out clean, unfettered, whole.

This past weekend was good for me. Awkward. Vulnerable. Terribly humiliating even, but good. Sargeant Pepper good. Tootsie Roll good. Various 90's pop culture trends good. I'm glad that I went. I'm glad that I evolved into this new thing that I am.

Who am I kidding? I'm just a kid, who watches cartoons and eats too much ice-cream in one sitting (enough to give me a belly-ache even). I will resort to biting if I am losing a wrestling match. I will wear two unmatching socks if the washer ate one. I will eat pudding with a fork if there are no clean dishes. I will give the camera my middle finger if I think it will be funny. I will flip my eyelids inside out if provoked.

I am not deep.
But I'm really not shallow either.

opalescence

If I can't live, I can at least dream, right?

I love people watching. This office of mine, on the corner of 2nd and Monmouth is so incredibly conducive to people watching and this makes me glad. Happy even.There's a very large picture window in front, and just beside that a heavy glass door. I sit inside, not such a long distance from either the window or the door, but almost completely clear from eye-shot for anyone walking past. It's not the direction they would think to look. It is one among many picture windows. One of several heavy glass doors entering dozens of poorly-lit offices.

This office is poorly lit, but is redeemed by the ever so jovial spirits that work inside.

There is a woman who walks by several times every day. Her short, spikey hair is chartreuse. It is brilliant. She is always wearing funky tights under a short skirt or dress. Black and white Dr. Seuss stripes are a popular choice as are fishnets. She has a dog. I don't know what kind. A cute little mix. She sometimes stops next door at the Pet Shop Boys (not their actual name, just a moniker that Amanda and I bestowed on them) to pick up tasty comestibles for her precious little pooch. She's fun to watch though. I want to bump into her one of these days. I don't think she smokes. Smoking is always a good way to meet strangers.

There is also a picture window directly behind me. In fact, it is so close behind me that if I, mid-day, decide to perform a full-body stretch (the double arch back in your seat, arms completely behind you type of stretch) I will hit the shades with my arms and make a big ruckus. haha. ruckus... anyway,there is this picture window behind me and it is at street level. There is a traffic light. So if I so choose, I can look at all the cars all day that stop at the traffic light, or at the very least, listen to whatever tunes they have selected on the hifi.
Just now, there was a large, red SUV parked at the light. Two gentlemen controlled the vehicle as (I'm assuming) pilot and co-pilot. They had those nifty spinning rims on tires that were roughly the size of a fourth grader. Their music was loud. L-O-U-D. The window was rattling it was so loud. This garnered the attention of Amanda, who came to survey the obtrusive vehicle and its obnoxiously loud sound system. We beat our heads back and forth to the rhythm of whatever indecipherable hip-hop track was playing. And then we laughed as a police cruiser pulled up behind the truck at the light and the driver promptly turned down his music.

"What music, officer?"

Sometimes I really like Jersey City. Other times it is just a city, that is in Jersey.

cultivating seeds of lightning

I'm ready. I'm ready for it. Waiting even. HA!Not quite waiting, but I think I'm at least ready.

This weekend I will drive up to Saratoga Springs, New York for Parker's wedding. I went to the dinner party five weeks ago celebrating her and Todd's pending nuptials, and it turned out great. Much merriment. Many much fun and merriment indeed. Is that how you spell merriment? I have no idea. At any rate, I will drive up to Saratoga Springs and attend Parker's wedding. The entire weekend is going to be like one, big College Republican (old school) reunion. I don't know if I can deal with all the politics. I'm carpooling with HPG and his girlfriend Karen. Now, see, THIS should be interesting. As I stated earlier, however, I feel ready. HPG and Karen are staying at my house in NJ Sunday night. I don't even know where yet. We're pretty much at full capacity right now and HPG is a big guy. He's somewhat likened to the stay-puff marshmallow man, I'd say.

Amanda and I have been working hard, trying to empower as many people as possible lately. Sometimes though, we feel like sticking up a big, middle finger and saying "EMPOWER THIS!"The B-Dawg went and spoke to a group of young home-school students yesterday afternoon. Damn, those kids are so well behaved. My sibs and I didn't fall under the 'well-behaved, quiet, meek and obedient home schooled type children', if there is such a category. We were more the 'obnoxiously loud, annoying, ADHD, disobedient home schooled type children'. A stark contrast, I believe. We turned out pretty OK though, I think. There's always room for improvement, mind you, but we're OK as far as home schooled rejects go. We don't collapse under the pressure of relatively new social scenarios, none of us are terribly unattractive (at least, I'd like to hope so), we're familiar with a plethora of pop-culture references that most fundamentalist, home schooled children would never absorb. I'm incredibly impressed with our ability to function outside of our homestead bubble and interact with society and culture as a whole. Oh, and we're not all that bright. A lot of home schooled children are really smart. We're not. So you see, we've really beat every angle there is. I'm pretty proud. I DID graduate valedictorian. I really abuse my whole "I was home-schooled" crutch. I abuse it entirely. I use it for everything.

Cut someone off on the interstate? "Sorry! I was home-schooled!"
Misspell a word? "Oh! My bad. Yeah, I was home-schooled."
Jab someone in the gut with my cue stick while playing a round of pool? "Oh man. Dude, sorry 'bout that. I was, you know, home-schooled."
Pulled over for doing 85 in a 65? "Officer, I didn't know any better... I was home-schooled."

This blog is really amounting to nothing much. I apologize, you know, I was home-schooled.

***Lying, smiling in the darkshooting stars around your heartdreams are bouncing in your headPure and simple all the timeNow you're crying in your sleepI wish you'd never learned to weepselling dreams you should be keepingPure and simple all the time***

statistics show, overwhelmingly, that you SUCK

I'm a brunette! Yes, that's right folks - Moe has altered science and nature yet again and has come out a brunette (with blonde skunky stripes in front). It's very fun, I must say.

Happy memorial day.

The district was fine, fine, fine this past weekend. It was nice to see familiar faces again and trip about my old stomping grounds. Part of this included turning my hair a new color.

I had brunch with Jeremy on Saturday morning at Eastern Market. I feel like everyone in DC is perpetually having brunch (dahling). It's crazy, but that's just what you do in DC on the weekends. You have brunch. And if you can't seem to beat off all the brunch invitations even with a rather large and obtrusive stick, you might end up eating brunch numerous times both Saturday and Sunday. This is fine, just be certain to order the never-ending mimosa at each stop and you won't even remember if you had pleasant or unpleasant interactions with each of your brunch dates. In fact, you might not recall brunch at all. Depending how long or arduous your Friday night out was, this might be best.

I'm scraping wallpaper glue off of my walls right now and the chemicals are making me slightly retarded. It's sort of good, but not quite. I mean, the buzz could be phenomenal if not for the fact that I can no longer breathe and feel as though I might asphyxiate myself in the process. I did make a rather groovy discovery in the meantime, however, and that is that these walls, many moons ago (probably 25 years or more) were painted yellow. Still are, I suppose - just under all the layers of spackle and wallpaper. I've only gotten one wall scraped and i've been doing it all day. And that wall is the one featuring the doorway and the closet - so I can see how long it's going to take me to do the rest of this bedroom. Approximately 728 years or so. How many dog years is that?

Speaking of designer shoes: I got a killer pair of heels for the wedding this weekend. Hoo-Rah. I'll be that girl with a short skirt and a looooooong jacket.

I wish I had an MG to trade for a white Chrysler LeBaron.

I'm back to glue-scraping and asphyxiation. I know it seems like the stereo-typical Memorial Day activity, but I thrive on being terribly cliche, what can I say?

Loverly

Sunday morning, rain is falling
Steal some covers, share some skin
Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable
As you twist to fit the mold that I am in.
Fingers trace your every outline
I paint a picture with my hands
Back and forth we sway like branches in a storm
A change in weather, still together when it ends.

February made me shiver

FEBRUARY: Abstract thoughts. Loves reality and abstract. Intelligent and clever. Changing personality. Attractive. Sexy. Temperamental. Quiet, shy and humble. Honest and loyal. Determined to reach goals. Loves freedom. Rebellious when restricted. Loves aggressiveness. Too sensitive and easily hurt. Gets angry really easily but thoes not show it. Dislike unnecessary things. Loves making friends but rarely shows it. Daring and stubborn. Ambitious. Realizing dreams and hopes. Sharp. Loves entertainment and leisure. Romantic on the inside not outside.Superstitious and ludicrous. Spendthrift. Tries to learn to show emotions

Awakening (more sudden than rude), Asleep (more restless than deep)

All for comfort and worry. COMFORT. WORRY. Do they both exist on parallel planes? CAN they both exist on parallel planes?I'm hitting a brick wall. I'm running straight into it, through it, with energy unsurpassed. I was sitting, listening hard. There was noise all around, but it was not noise. It was confusion. It was empty sound. It meant nothing. As the world spun around me, I was 100% focused, narrowed even.

Things change. Attitudes, actions - they all change.

I came to such a stark, candid realization yesterday. This is something that has been so incredibly long in the works, but I came to my end yesterday realizing all of my actions, my words, my thoughts, my motivations, my attitudes... they've all been so fettered - that is, fettered to this crazy idea that I have to please everyone, that I can't say no, that... well, sometimes to no idea at all. Sometimes they are blank, empty, hollow. Sometimes it's as though it's not even me.

God still bothers with me, and why? I strive to be a servant of Christ but I seldom strive with any great vigor. I strive to strive. I want to want. I desire to desire.

My life must mean something. It has to in the end. What will my life count for? More importantly, what will my earthly end count for? I don't know why I do some of the things that I do. I ruin my testimony. I speak from both sides of my mouth. I love my savior, but not enough to quit pushing him away. I'm like a 2 year-old. It's amazing.

Fearing the most, dodging the least

Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself,
and covered with a perfect shell,
such a charming beautiful exterior.
Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes
and perfect posture, but you're barely scraping by.

This is one time
that you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone or anyone at all.
And the grave that you refuse to leave,
the refuge that you've built to flee,
the places you have come to fear the most.

Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself,
and hidden in the public eye.
Such a stellar monument to loneliness.
Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes
and perfect makeup but you're barely scraping by.
And you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone or anyone at all.
And the grave that you refuse to leave,
the refuge that you've built to flee,
the places you have come to fear the most.

*** I was singing this en la manana. I'm continuously fascinated by how quickly things change. In an instant, the blinking of an eye, the flipping of a switch, the... the... something else that's really, really fast. I dunno. This isn't going to make sense today. I almost don't want it to make sense. In my life, right now, when everything else (almost) seems to be making sense, I don't want this to make sense because I don't necessarily feel like putting the effort into making it make sense. Does that make sense?*sigh*

Tomorrow is Friday. FRIDAY. VERDES. Wow. This week has gone by rather swiftly

Spread your seed, use Viagra

I have been receiving spam mail at an increasingly rapid rate these days. All of them declare stunning promises of a larger penis, a prolonged erection, a stronger sexual drive... or sometimes just a lower mortgage rate. I received a message in my inbox with this subject title (Spread your see, use Viagra) and I think it has become my favorite. It made me, quite literally, laugh out loud. So it's sticking around for awhile. I wish that they knew I don't have a penis.

It was a glorious weekend in and about the District. I got to see KHart on Saturday night as he was finishing up his double shift at Tunni's. It's great to have a third place, let me say. Tunni's was my third place while I was living in DC and that comes with residual benefits. Knowing the owners, the managers, most of the wait and bar staff... conclusion? I go and hang out for several hours, gourging myself on delicious food and endless drinks and only pay $4. It was grand, indeed.

Sunday, I met Church boy Nathan for breakfast and church. It was a good time. A really good time, in fact. I think we got a lot of issues cleared up which is always nice. I'm looking forward to the direction that our friendship will take from here. It's good not to suffer anxiety about these sorts of things.

This is an incredibly dull blog. I'm ending it now. Cheerio.

My other ride is your mom

We had a fantastic storm here in Jersey City last night. Absolutely fantastic. I was walking back to the office from the bank and was wearing my favorite black skirt that I live in these days (black circle skirt with black flip flops, tank top, and a braid - it's the best ensemble on the planet) and had to hold on to it for dear life as the gusts of wind tickled my knees and threatened to relieve me of the skirt entirely. I laughed. The guy sitting in his car at the light gawked, hoping for a show, I'm sure.

I want to go fishing. I haven't been since I was about 7 years old. Dad used to take JC and I out on his friend's boat. Deep-sea, baby. His friend was an ass. His name was Mr. Prekosky, or Peroski, or something I don't remember. He was definitely an ass though. I left my brand-new sneakers at the dock one time that we went. They were pound puppy sneakers. They were the bright and shining item in my life at the moment - they DEFINED my life at that very moment and I went ahead and left them on the dock. I'm not sure how I got home like that, my shoelessness escaping the notice of my father. It wouldn't have happened if Mom were there. Moms notice that sort of thing. They notice when your pound puppy sneakers are missing. At any rate, my buddy Rob has been taking out the boat recently and fishing for striper bass. Apparently this is very good fish. I wouldn't know. I've been wanting to go out on the boat all week but it hasn't panned out. I'm so clueless when it comes to these things. I'm no fisherman. I don't know my ass from my elbow when it comes to these things, but it just seems like the appropriate time to fish. And seems sort of pleasant. Fish guts and Pabst blue ribbon - so nice.

I'm ready for Friday. I long for Friday. I'm definitely going to DC this weekend. Can't get out of this one. It's Brandon's birthday and he is aching to get out of town. So we're going to DC. Not sure what we're doing, not even sure where we'll stay - but we'll have a raging good time, I'm certain of it. Perhaps see Dr. Brian and his pooch, Isaac again.

Help me out - I'm trying to think up a joke involving a toothbrush and non-dairy creamer. It's near impossible.

Bumbie's Mom

I killed Bumbie’s mom last night. Well, I didn’t kill her with my own two hands or anything quite that grotesque. Actually, I didn’t really kill her at all. It was my brother, JC. He didn’t do it on purpose, it was all an accident. A big, fat, juicy, horrible accident. Coterminously, he killed Bumbie as well. Alright – enough with the Bumbie bit. If you have never been hooked on Animaniacs like I was, then you won’t get it. So forgive me.

JC somehow convinced Kelly and I to go out with him last night and look at a car that he planned on purchasing. A real “fixer-upper” and a steal at $500. we looked at the car, it was fine. A ton of work had already been done on it. The interior was mint and the outside was all prepped for a new paintjob. The body was immaculate. JC was jazzed. Pretty jazzed, if I do say so myself. We floated most of the way home in good spirits. JC was playing his favorite song on the hi-fi.

As we motored home, a deer (bumbie’s mom) ventured out into the dangerous road as JC was veering through each curve like a skilled driver, one of those guys who drives for the Acura commercials, on a closed course and whatnot. Anyway, he was maneuvering the Volkswagen through each curve when the deer decided to cross his path. Squealing of tires, screaming, the car turned this way sharply, then that way even more sharply and then we made contact. The deer flew, flew hard. She flew FAR. She could have made the cut for one of Santa’s 8 the way she was flying. Goo and other not-so-pleasant-deer-innards sprayed everywhere. Our windows were open. All of them. Poor JC. His car is pretty banged up. Bumbie and his mom were dead and quite dead (respectively) on the side of the road. I couldn’t open my door. So I waited. I waited while JC kicked the side of the car and screamed in frustration as (I’m sure) he thought of how he had just planned to sell this car and now he couldn’t. I waited as one, no two cars stopped and offered help (?). One man offered to call the police. JC yelled at him. Kelly made him apologize and say thanks for stopping. All this excitement going on and all I could was sit there in the car and WAIT. Pretty irritating if you ask me.

So we finished the rest of our journey home where we dug up a flashlight. We took a few minutes to inspect the damage, all of us crouched down on the ground, squinting, waving the smoke from our eyes (yes, the car was smoking. It was amazing). We had to pry the hood open with a crow bar. It was fascinating. I finally grew tired of inspecting the damage and went inside to blow my nose. Damn allergy season.

I feel really bad for JC, but there’s not a thing that I can do for him at this point except price parts on ebay and see if I can find him a real steal. Hopefully, he’ll be able to repair the damage for just around $1K. He can do all the labor himself, it’s just about finding parts. *sigh*

Poor Bumbie. Poor Bumbie’s mom.

I loved me madly, deeply even

Sunshine on my shoulder makes me happy… and I think I might go for a walk outside now, the summer sun – he’s calling my name…you are the sunshine of my life…my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey

Ok, enough of that. A bit cheesy? Perhaps. But it’s been keeping me entertained. I’m in my car constantly, forever, until the end of time it seems and I sing. Oh, do I sing! I sing unabashedly and as loud as my lungs can voluminate! The sunshine pouring through the sunroof, touching my face, my ear – entering my ear, shining straight through my brain and burning the imprint of its presence into my very being – I’ve been singing ever since!

This has been a good, strong week weather-wise; plenty of strong contrasts and imaginative imagery. God is good for that sort of thing, and for this I’m grateful. The days have been warm with titan sunbeams and wispy breezes that tickle every fringe of greenery along their way. All this highlighted by midnight storms featuring the rumbling thunder of Thor and huge, fat raindrops – strong winds and lightning that is not too harsh… the thunder strikes, shakes, trembles the grounds and the lightning follows (or precedes?), laughing gently on the clouds, illuminating tree tops and hillsides in the pitch, dark night. I missed such a storm last night – I was sleeping (ba! What a waste)!

I’m at work today. I had thoughts of (once again) tripping down to DC and spending some time in the sun, on the national mall, perhaps then heading out to the Eastern Shore to visit Dr. Brian and his pooch Isaac. I then remembered: this Sunday is Mother’s Day. Hmmm… she would have been crushed.

So what am I doing for my special lady? I’m not sure yet. I should probably get to work on that relatively soon though, eh? Thank goodness it’s Friday. For real.

Vitamin L

I had such great plans this weekend, yes such great plans. I'm slightly disappointed, but not completely. I still had such a great weekend. It's difficult to decide whether or not I would trade it for the weekend I originally had planned. Circumstances come and go, things happen that we don't expect, and who can really trade that? This is life. This is experience. This is the story that I'll tell my grandchildren later (bless the grandchildren, bless their hearts). Who can exchange this? Not I. So that settles it then. I wouldn't exchange it. DC will come another weekend. Dr. Brian will be another time.

So yes, that is the weekend I originally had planned. I was going to head down to the District Saturday morning and help Rinnie fix the computer at the old office and then trip around the DC metropolitain area for the rest of the day -- hello, how are you? Good to see you again. Gracious, your hair is getting long! Want to grab a drink? Let's eat Thai for dinner, etc. -- then I was going to spend the night in my old apartment or on campus, whichever was available, and head out to the Eastern Shore on Sunday afternoon, post church activities. It didn't quite happen this way, oh no, it did not.

Friday evening I was to be in the city for an engagement dinner - something I really had no desire to miss. It was for a good friend, former roommate, future lifelong pal (I can hope so anyway) and although I would be attending her wedding in about five weeks, I wanted to see her and her fiance - it had been awhile. That, and I had never really been invited to a dinner party. My evening to feel posh, jaded, protected, privileged. I would drink decent champagne, eat shrimp cocktail the size of my head, sit on the sofa and discuss things that I didn't understand or ever cared to understand. The appeal? eh, not quite sure. But I wanted to do it just the same. Mainly, I was going to see PB. I won't hilight the journey home I had from Manhattan or the difficulties thereof, even though they are oh so interesting.

Fast forward to 8:30 Saturday morning and fast forward the contents of my stomach, up my esophagus, and out my mouth (damn that shrimp cocktail). No need for further dilineation.

I remained in bed most of the day and I realized sometime around 2PM that I would most definitely NOT be driving anywhere, and most certainly not DC. Sadness, indeed. At 2PM I was doing a bit better, nausea wise, but was feeling quite stale and had no desire (or at least no great desire) to sit in the car for four hours to arrive in the district by 6PM. So I made the best of the situation. I took the dog out in the lawn along with my current read and enjoyed the sunshine that was. I went out to dinner with Bonny at 9PM. I accomplished little, but oh so much. It was glorious.

Yesterday Kelly came over and we busted out the maps and my Weird NJ book. We decided to go for a drive. It took us nearly an hour to get there. Where were we going? Nowhere, really. But it took us an hour to get there just the same. We cruised down Clinton Road. My leg was shaking. I wasn't stopping, no, not for anything. I didn't travel below 35 mph the entire road. Up, down, left, right - the curves and bends were extraordinary, rivaling Marilyn Monroe during her best years. Kelly grabbed the side handle for dear life and laughed in nervousness as I nearly went off the road. We had conquered Clinton Road. It was exactly 9 miles from end to end and we had conquered it. I needed a cigarette. I needed Chicago. Yes, you ARE my inspiration, Clinton Road - you're my bitch.

We then decided what needed to be done. We stopped at a local grocery store and bought the goods for making pizza. Oh, and chocolate syrup. That's always key for some reason. We went home and made pizza and drank beer and had ice-cream with fresh strawberries (and the fore-mentioned chocolate syrup). We watched Latino stand-up comedy and stayed up later than we should have.

It was a good weekend. It was a great weekend.

Miles Davis day

I stepped outside this morning and felt sharp, warm raindrops against my bare skin. I was merely running out to start my car and was still donning a tank top, boxer shorts and flip flops. My hair was wet and only getting wetter as I ran frantically down the driveway to my car in an effort to get out of the rain. I don't know why it bothers me so - I mean, I do shower regularly.

Morning commute is typically not fun. It is typically even less fun in weather such as this. The sky is shouting down obsenities as it grumbles and churns, all grey and white (which, in this context is really only a lighter shade of grey) - I had on the radio, strangely, and decided quite promptly that this was no morning to tolerate the rantings and ravings of call-in radio shows. I opted for Miles Davis. Let me say one thing (I'll say more than one thing, mind you, but please... allow me this one): Miles Davis makes even the most grueling commute a somewhat pleasurable experience. So here I was, sitting in my Ford Foci in bumper to bumper traffic.

I gazed out at the landscape surrounding me and was amazed at the transformation. All these cars, zipping along and kicking up water like miniature popcorn kernels... even that Dodge Aries over there, the color of rusty water - the kind you would find collecting in an old metal wheelbarrel - looks so sleek and sexy now.

Everyone played a part in the music. This Volvo in front of me is cutting me off, but with STYLE; his blinker flashing in perfect rhythm...rhythm...rhythm...

It was a great commute and it's turning out to be a damn terrific Miles Davis day.

Ba da be bob skiddly do ah!

You know you've lost your corporate sheen when...

What a blissful weekend. I had thoughts of skipping down to DC this weekend but then backtracked when I realized that I had not been home really all week and I was completely exhausted. I really needed to just spend some time doing nothing and seeing no one. Talking to not a single soul. I've changed quite a bit in that manner. I remember when I was 15, my Aunt Martha - my father's sister - bought me a t-shirt that said "Help! I'm talking and I can't shut-up!" (remember all those t-shirts that were so terribly popular in the mid-nineties. Perhaps I'm remembering incorrectly, but it seems to me that everyone was constantly running around with all these t-shirts and their incredibly witty yet irritatingly stupid messages: 'My husband said that if I didn't quit shopping he would leave me... I will miss that man', or 'Why drink and drive when you can smoke and fly?', or 'I suffer from CRS: can't remember shit')?I digress...I did it again - I bought a few more new books. Lolita (which I've been wanting for a long time anyway) and Speaking with the Angel - a collection of short stories. I justified buying this because I figured I never have time to read entire books and short stories would fit a little better into my hectic schedule.I'm going to go down to DC next weekend I think. Apparently there is some sort of party at the Helix. Of course, any party seems like a pretty meager excuse to spend all the time and energy driving down to the District, but this particular party comes at Dr. Brian's suggestion and is being held at the Helix, which really balances out the hideousness of it all. Don't you agree? Good. Agreed upon then. I just finished a blowpop and again, as always, spit out the gum. What is it about that sickeningly sweet, powerpuff pink gum that I just have never been able to tolerate? Not quite sure. Most likely the sickening sweetness and powerpuff pinkness of it. Logic. LOGIC!I'm cracking up at the seams and I'm ashamed to say that I almost enjoy it. It's a new phase of life, something more to observe, learn from, live by... my co-workers don't appreciate it in this way though and why the hell should they? I have a job to do. I've decided though (as recently as TODAY) that I"m going to do that job to the best of my ability. I'm going to do it. Enough with my whining and complaining and overly complacent attitudes. Enough with apathy and general laziness. Enough with being such a damned baby. I am strong even in my weakness. I am bold and tenacious. I am a lover, not a hater. I am a rock, or an island, or other good things that Art Garfunkel said (or any other strangely big-haired music artist). That felt good. I needed that. I'm going to sit down and read for a bit and most likely fall asleep in the process. The sky is a steel-grey today and big fat rain drops have been descending from the heavens for quite a great deal of time. The earth is sloppy and moist with celestial tears and it is making me crave warmth and soft light, and fuzzy socks and even Bigelow French Vanilla tea. I am craving Miles Davis... yes, it is a Miles Davis day. I need Kind of Blue right now - that would make everything complete. Gracious, I love this - mind you, when it comes at the right moment. Today, it has arrived at the right moment. God bless America.

Velocitize (yep, I'm doing it again - making it a word)

Just started another new book (I know! I know! I promised I wouldn't do it. I promised myself!) I have an entirely too huge stack of books that I've not yet read and I promised myself that I wouldn't buy any new books until I finished what I had already. I bought another Dave Eggers installment and began reading it on a drive back from Atlantic City this morning. I'm so excited for mi libro nuevo!!! Yes, I'm a huge dork. But I've really come to accept my dorkiness - embrace it even. Embracing the dorkiness, the dorkdom really. Tis a wonderfully fantabulous thing...It was once said that there is a lid for every pot. True, true... but what if you're tupperware? *sigh* Some of life's questions may NEVER be answered.

Gravity Sucks

And so it has come to this. The point where everything is questioned. Why am I doing what I'm doing? If this is not IT then why am I here to begin with? Argh - so incredibly and disgustingly cliche. It's funny how you despise something your entire life and then finally arrive at the point where it is simply inevitable, you MUST become what you hate because everyone else on the planet is and for a damn good reason too. Shit. I hate it. I hate feeling this way. I hate feeling trapped by something that used to be such a huge part of me. Well, technically it is STILL such a huge part of me, just not as voluntary as before. I'd say that before it was a huge part of who I was - now it is simply everything that I do. I eat, breathe, sleep campaign and I don't want to. I don't want it to consume me. Quite frankly my dear, I just don't give a damn anymore and I hate that too. This is not my life's work. It is not to take control over every ounce of my being. Life is to be pleasant and commodious, not bogged down and hindered. My life's work has GOT to be something other than this. Something beyond all this bullshit. Bush will lose, Bret will win, la-di-da.It sort of sucks that it's come to this. Hmmm.... yeah, it sort of sucks.

the black hills, the blue skies!

The subject is a remnant of my childhood. There was an old Disney movie called "The One and Only, Genuine, Original Family Band". It actually had Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn in it - I think that's the first film they ever did together and how they first met. Goldie Hawn's role was so minimal she was cast merely as "Giggly Girl". Anyway, the movie is a musical and that is a line from one of the songs as all the menly men dance about the place and sing of their beloved Dakota (at the time, a single state).

Speaking of Dakota though, I got a double dose (quite randomly) tonight of Dakota. A call first from Mr. H. Paul which lasted roughly a half hour - it was good to talk to him again. Really good. We've (once again) reached a new level of friendship. It's something between semi-grownup and hopelessly childish. I can't quite decide. He's setting out clear boundaries though by flirting with me, waiting for me to flirt back and then casually mentioning that he and his girlfriend are getting serious. It's very interesting - and then an even more random call from Jozzy. Yes, that's right. You heard correctly... I received a call from Jozzy! I could hardly believe it myself. Who would've thunk? We talked for a good length of time and had a really good conversation. REALLY good. It was... different. Different from any other time that we've spoken anyway. It was like a breath of fresh air. No need for either one of us to talk really, it was just good that we were on the phone, at the same time, and with one another. It connected us, melted us together. It was... good. Pure goodness in the form of a telephone conversation (if such a thing exists). It really was just that: good. I'm glad that we got the chance to catch up a little. It's amazing that we're both in the SAME EXACT SPOT politically and professionally speaking. It's actually almost creepy how similar we are right now. I told him that we're basically the same exact person. Or we might as well be. The same complaints. the same worries. The same desires. Everything is the same. Everything! DAMMIT. I can't get over it. It's great though. And I'm glad that we seemed to bond on this level. I think he'll be calling me a lot more now. I told him to. I told him to feel free to call me anytime he needs to bitch. He said that we should get married. That I should moved out to Iowa, marry him, and then I can work at Wal-Mart and he can work as a cabana boy somewhere serving drinks. I laughed a lot thinking of Jozzy as a cabana boy. It made me smile. It made me smile even more that we're in the same exact spot. At the same stop sign. We have the same rip in our jeans. We're painting our house the same exact color as one another. It's disgusting but creepily pleasant.

I'm getting old. I'm going to bed. I'm talking too much. I'm feeling pretty good about whiter teeth in just 14 days, thanks to Crest White Strips. Ping!

Yenta was a fat, crack ho but I'll take her advice anyway

Alejandra called me this afternoon on my cell phone (again) although she swears that I'm not being charged for the calls because she's making them from her cell phone I'm nearly certain that I'm being charged for SOMETHING because my phone bills have been outrageous lately. Just the same, I miss her something terrible and am always glad when she calls. Her Italian is getting fantastically good and I'm happy that she's getting this experience overseas. For now, I can live vicariously through her. She's having boy troubles, as always. Apparently this Italian boy Dominico, or Francesco, or Sergio, or whatever the hell his name is being a bitch and a total woman. Why is it that Alejandra and I manage to find every womanly man on the planet? We are not high-maintenance. We do not want to talk on the phone to you every night. In fact, if you called us every night we would start to feel smothered. It's the little things, folks. The little things that count. We want to know every once in awhile that someone is thinking of us, but that's it. A quick phone call once or twice a week to say howdy and see how things are. An email or text message letting us know that you're thinking of us. This is it. Wow - that's it. That's all it takes. Pretty amazing, eh? Anyway, we always seem to find these guys that are complete women and insist on calling to have one hour conversations every night or seeing us every night of the week - taking up every second of any spare time that we have. Gosh. I don't want a new life, I just want a new friend. OK OK OK - I'm falling off message here. I did want to type up my lovely little conversation with Alejandra (or make mention of it, anyhow) but I did not purpose to make it the focus of my entire entry. So I digress.

I just talked to Elisabeth moments ago and it looks as thought my little plans for her and Mr. PG might actually work. I've been eyeing to set the two of them up ever since we ran into PG in the Venetian last May. C'mon! After 6 years of never hearing from or about PG and then bumping into him quite randomly in the middle of Las Vegas... it had to happen for a reason. Elisabeth is one of my dearest buddies in the world. I think I would be quite picky about who she ended up with and I must say: I approve of PG. They've been chatting quite a bit lately via instant messenger, email, and cellular telephonic device - every other day or so. I'm glad to hear this. We all made plans to drive to Pittsburgh this summer to spend the weekend with PG and I think that's why they've been talking lately. Of course, I encouraged both of them to call one another. *sigh* it's so exciting. I've already resolved myself to the fact that this is going to be an incredibly girly entry. Ah well... c'est la vie, eh? I'm just sort of excited for ELR and PG, and also a little bored at work. I oughtn't be though - there's a ton of work to do. I have events that need to be scheduled and emails that need to be responded to on top of half a million other things, but here I am, still, motionless, thoughtless, giddy almost, typing in my journal. Because I want to; it's what I want to do right now. I'm looking out for ME this afternoon (and just about every other afternoon, these days). I'm also eating insane amounts of unnecessary sugar in the form of "sour night crawlers" also known as sour gummy worms. These things are the best.

I'll spare you all the rest of this chitter chatter. Perhaps I'll even get back to work.

An astonishing work of fantastic brilliance!

I just finished "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" by Dave Eggers. Loved it. LOVED IT. I want to write like him. I want to write my memoirs. Truth be it told, I want to be nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. Bah. It's in the works, it's in the works. On to the next masterpiece!

mi familia es mi vida

Mom's side of the family is such a train wreck. It makes me sad - and as sad as it makes me, I know it makes her much sadder. She's tried for so many years to be the peacemaker, but they've never taken her seriously. They make fun of her and criticize everything she does. She's the fool, the clueless one, she's naive...

quite frankly, it pisses me off. I hate the way my mom's family is - like distant acquaintences rather than brothers and sisters. My cousins don't know me; don't know that I want to go to art school, barely know that I've been working in politics for the past 6 years, didn't even know that I lived in Indianapolis for two years. And even worse, they don't care. Lord knows that we try. We all try to break past all the awkward conversation at holiday times. We try to give hugs and sometimes even go as far as to throw out an "I love you" only to be met with cold and half-heartedly open arms and a weak, even semi-schocked "love ya too" in return (if they respond verbally at all). I know that they think we're weird, that we're freaks. We are freaks who are freakishly close to one another. We hug eachother, and even kiss eachother. We snuggle on the couch and watch movies or go for long car rides together. We spend time with one another and hang out on the weekends. My siblings are my built-in friends. When the going gets tough, thank God I have family.

Mom said the meanest thing this morning and I think part of it was said out of hurt for her own family and they way that they treat us and respond to us. But she said that the same thing would happen to all of us as we get older. How dare she?! How dare she say such a thing! WHY would she say such a thing?! I think it's important that all five of us make a commitment that this thing, this hideously unbearable thing of growing apart and not knowing one another, this thing of the bitterness, resentment, jealousy, hate WILL never happen to us. We have latin roots. We will be strong and vigilant forever! Our lives will inter-mingle as long as we walk the face of this Earth. Our children will be best-friends with one another. We will love one another. And even if we are someday living at the five points of the earth, we will anxiously anticipate the next coming together that we will all have because in between, we will miss one another so desperately that thoughts of eachother will bring a tear to the eye, a quick sob, a sleepless night...

I can't bear the thought of us growing apart. I would rather one of my siblings dead than estranged. We will all be GREAT! We will make our parents so proud. We will be George Washington, Bill Gates, The Beatles, Mother Theresa!!! We will be the greatest people to ever walk the Earth. We will change the world, we will end terrorism, we will revolutionize science, we will shake and challenge the legislative powers that be, we will be presidents, and astronauts, and surgeons, scientists, and really cool moms. And while doing all this, we will still love eachother madly, and deeply, and get together for cokes and smiles every chance that we get. No, this terrible thing will not happen to us. We are Navarro's.

Bette Midler sings Outkast

I've eaten so much today that I can nearly FEEL myself getting fatter. Bah.
Tony is sitting here right now shining a flashlight in my face and pretending to be a police officer. He's making Kelly lick his nipples. Hoorah.

We were going to go to Clinton Road tonight up in West Milford to drive around and scare ourselves silly, but JC didn't want to go and we didn't necessarily want to go with just Tony. For some unknown reason JUST TONY doesn't sound all that safe or reassuring. He's a nice kid and all, but...

I don't know why we feel it necessary to constantly be scaring ourselves. We've sat around all afternoon reading from Weird NJ and entertaining our sick minds. What sorts of ghosts or goblins inhabit Clinton Road? Satan Worshippers? KKK members? Crazy old women with shoes tied around their necks? Who knows. We were hoping to go there and find it all, to be frightened by it all. We wanted to run, and scream, and peel out with our tires screeching. We wanted to drive out of there like a bat out of hell, screaming as loud as our lungs can voluminate, hearts beating wildly. Or, we just wanted to cruise down the road with tunes blasting to say that WE DID IT. We conquered Clinton Road and without a scratch on us to boot.
I'm 24 years old... why does this stuff still fascinate me so?

Meager efforts

I had a long talk with Amanda yesterday about my wavering emotional status with my job. She seemed to understand but I had a hard time getting past all of the political bullshit to know if she is REALLY talking to me as a friend or as future deputy campaign manager of SFG2005. It's hard to know sometimes. It's sad when you feel like you can't really trust anyone. I hate the fact that I would ever feel that way about Amanda, especially since we've been friends for so damn long, but it's true. I think I'm getting stronger though now. I know that MB is really worried about me - worried that I'll fail them. I'm worried too. How can I accomplish this when I don't even really care about it anymore? That sounds horrible, that I don't care. I hate saying that I don't care. It sounds so empty, so selfish. Like saying "I'm bored". I don't think I've said that since I was about 8 years old. I remember being at summer camp when I was 8 years old and there was a speaker there at one of our chapel sessions. I don't remember much of the things that we learned throughout those many chapel sessions at the three summers I spent at camp, but I do remember this one guy saying that "I'm bored" is the same as "I'm selfish". That stuck with me and I haven't uttered those words since. Ahhhh... the wisdom that I've picked up over the years. :)

At any rate - I have the day off today and it's like I don't quite know what to do with myself. I feel completely out of place with my family's day to day routine. The maintenance guy is here fixing the gaping hole in our kitchen ceiling and he's at home with the rest of my family. He's himself. I have no idea who this man is
- I've never met him. Mom introduced me to him this morning.

Mom: "Jimmy, this is our OTHER daughter, Monica. She works 24/7".
Jimmy: "Yeah. I've never met HER before. Wow. 24/7, huh?"
Mom: "Yeah. She's a real work-a-holic."
Me: (thinking) I'm the farthest thing from a work-a-holic, but that's just fine. *smile, nod, shake his hand*

Time for lunch. I just got back from my "run" (walk just sounds like I'm not really exercising). It's a gorgeous day though and I'm sure glad that I don't have to work.

Spike Lee Major Tom Dick and Harry Connick, Jr. Mints

I'm collecting my senses about work and such. I'm really taking time to think about this decision that I've made. I don't want anything to be knee-jerk. There are times of true bliss at this job - well, true bliss is a bit over-the-top, but there are times of true goodness and I would be dishonest and kidding myself to deny that. However, those times of true goodness are truly few and far between. Most of the time I'm irritated because the big man is late (AGAIN) to an important event and I have to make embarrassing excuses for him, or I'm frustrated because I'm out of gas and out of resources to purchase gas and out of patience waiting for the resources to purchase gas, etc. Mostly I'm simply a huge baby who just doesn't feel like hacking it anymore (most of the time). There are those few moments when I feel like I can conquer the world, I'm on top of my game, I am king of the hill, I AM SPARTACUS! Oh, those moments are so wonderful! I was having one this morning and it was great. I was listening to Maroon 5, Songs About Jane (an album that is very un-typically me in that it gets quite a bit of top 40 radio play) but I was thoroughly enjoying it and feeling like I could turn the Titanic around. It was a good way to be coming into work. Today and yesterday have been my most productive days in quite a while. It makes me sad to think that I've become so lethargic.


I'm almost finished with Dave Eggers' "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius". I'm very pleased with it so far - I want to write like him. I want my books to be Pulitzer Prize finalists... someday.


Alejandra and I are busily making plans to take NYC by storm this summer for the Republican National Convention. Hoo Rah. We're hoping that one Mr. Paul Erickson will be able to assist us in this matter. I just got an email from him this morning - gosh, he's so terribly witty and SEXY. Ugly/sexy that is (did anyone ever see "Kissing Jessica Stein"? Rent it. Watch it. Know what ugly/sexy is all about).


Los dias se estan convirtiendo en mas largos y el brillo del sol mas brillante. Es hora para el resorte DE ESTAR AQUI, no justo "supuesta para estar aqui".

Enchantingly disenchanted

Yes, I'm that annoying type person who is seemingly ALWAYS in a good mood. No matter what happens, no matter what goes down, I am there smiling. If I'm not smiling, I'm carefully contemplating how the situation can be turned into a smiling type situation. I know, I know - it's irratating. But that's just who I am. The Peacemaker. The Problem Solver. The Annoying Happy Girl (I don't giggle though. I will always maintain that I DON'T GIGGLE).
At any rate... Today I'm feeling rather disenchanted and I'm not quite certain why. I guess it's a good thing that I'm confused that I'm pissed off. It's nice that I'm in the position to actually be confused when I'm pissed off.

I'm not entirely certain what the purpose in this entry was...
I'm supposed to talk to Sal today to make a game plan for my departure from ETP. I don't know what to say. Out of all the people I'll have to talk to though, I'm looking forward to talking to the big man the least. He get's back from Korea today and I just really don't want to tell him about me leaving. It makes me almost with that he was the ever-absent boss. The un-reachable CEO. ALMOST.

Everyone is getting married. What am I doing? I'm lowering property taxes. For some reason, I just don't care anymore. It could just be my mood though. :)

I've got my Orange CRUSH

I'm feeling rather verbose today - rather, rather, rather (not so similar to "rabbit, rabbit, rabbit"). haha

Anyway - not very many people would understand that reference I don't think. Anyway - it's a near-perfectly dreary day here in Jersey City and I'm working hard on trying to work hard at my job. It's growing increasingly difficult, unfortunately. :( Amanda and I are scheduling County Kick-off days down in South Jersey and I'm finding it not only boring, but incredibly useless at the moment. Now, I realize that this exercise is not entirely useless - actually, it's probably not even remotely useless... it just FEELS useless.
Ba! I prayed this morning that I wouldn't be like this all day, but here I am feeling not so productive and being lazy.
In other not-so-interesting news, I had a flat tire last night and am now driving around on the funniest looking little donut. haha - only me. The tire needs to be replaced as well as the rim, which is really too bad for me, but, as the French would say: c'est la vie.

Perhaps I really SHOULD have said, "rabbit, rabbit, rabbit" yesterday. Blast.

The Lord, that rose the sun, that woke Dr. Brian, who sent the message that made me smile

What a hideously dreary day! The rain is pouring down from the steel-grey skies and had successfully managed to rinse away all of the empowerment I felt last night while I was running and breathing hard and aching to Daft Punk.

I was beginning to feel on my ride into work this morning that I was going to be disgruntled by choice. I was choosing to be in a bad mood; well, not quite choosing to do so at this point, I was more contemplating. At any rate, the thought and possibility was on the horizon until a little message popped up on my computer screen this morning. It was Dr. Brian wishing me well and extending an open invitation for the next time I should visit ("presuming that you would even want to visit again") how ridiculous, no? :)

I grinned like a fool for the few minutes that we chatted while he informed me that Dawn and Judd, his lovely neighbors, "approve" of me. I felt loved.

I am no choosing to have a good and productive day. Brava!

Kineticity (if this isn't a word, I'm making it a word)

I'm feeling rather tortured right now because Dr. Brian is on call all this week at the hospital and I have not much in the way of communication with him. Of course, I may never hear from him again - who knows? I don't think I've ever quite felt as much like a girl as I do right now. I'm realizing that I've simply never connected with someone in this way before. I think Paul is the only guy that has even come close and that was three years ago. It's always the little things that get you and it's the little things that make me unable to quit thinking of Sunday night. The fact that he was completely uninhibited and 100% himself. The fact that he appreciated me using the word tepid because he's as geeky as I am about words. The fact that he knew exactly what I was thinking and responded appropriately - that part was actually kind of creepy.

I think I'm just over excited to have such a cool, new buddy. He kissed me goodnight and I wonder if it was also goodbye - I certainly hope not. Although, strangely (as incredible a time as we both had) we made absolutely 0 plans to meet again. Absurd? Perhaps. Argh - I really want this week to be over. I want him to call or email me. I want him to feed me a word of the day or tell me that he went kayaking with Isaac. I'm turning into a ridiculously sentimental chick. Argh.