today

how many rounds of "I'm so sorry" can they absorb, can they tolerate before it sounds like someone is screaming in their ears? before it becomes fingernails being scratched down a chalkboard?

how many tears can possibly be shed, or prayers offered, or hugs given? how many tablets of valium must you consume to maintain this demeanor? how many times can you vomit from the illness of it all before there's absolutely nothing left to vomit?

the sound of wailing over a child lost is absolutely unprecedented.

his mother gains her composure just for another person to face her in line. she throws herself into their open arms - there are nothing but open arms everywhere to be thrown into.
"yes! this person, they understand. they know. yes, this person will feel my pain, will absorb this incredible sadness..."
until she realizes that she must compose herself yet again for the next pair of open arms. the next kiss on the forehead. the next "I'm so sorry".

the framed prints on the west wall are hung out of alignment and the mixed cd coming from the sound system is regurgitating instrumental arrangements of cheesy, early 90's easy listening hits. the wind beneath my wings didn't send barbara hershey to a happy grave and it doesn't seem to be helping much now either.

my uncle grabbed my hand and wouldn't let go. tears soaked his entire face and continued to flow, but he didn't really seem to care who saw.
"you kids need to slow down. you all just need to slow down."
it's the sort of comment that you would expect to hear in a condescending voice and half-joking. but he was not joking. and his words were not condescending. this was a warning, and from a man who knew the pain of losing someone who didn't slow down, who didn't listen to his body (or his friends that night), and who didn't live to tell about it.
i turned away, not wanting him to see me cry and not really knowing what to say in response.

I only saw Skylee on my way out. she hugged me and all i can remember thinking about was the feeling of her tears - so many of them - on my arm and shoulder. she showed me a framed picture of her and alex.
"this was our last picture. it was taken saturday night, about two hours before..."
and i was thinking that two hours later everything in her life changed. how could this picture, with the huge smiles and affectionate touch have been taken only two hours before his life was extinguished? it's amazing to me.
while i was reading, and on the phone, and while cecilia was playing pool, and while jc was at the diner, while my parents were sleeping, and while his parents were enjoying one of their last nights in cozumel... while we were living, he was dying.

and i think about these sorts of things, and they drive me crazy.

i am a fool.
i am careless.
i am... deeply saddened right now.
and i think it takes a lot for me to admit that.

in honor of the sun that shone so brightly

Current mood: bliss bliss bliss

And if the snow buries my,
my neighborhood.
And if my parents are crying
then I’ll dig a tunnel
from my window to yours,
yeah a tunnel from my window to yours.
You climb out the chimney
and meet me in the middle,
the middle of town.
And since there’s no one else around,
we let our hair grow long
and forget all we used to know,
then our skin gets thicker
from living out in the snow.

You change all the lead
sleepin’ in my head,
as the day grows dim
I hear you sing a golden hymn.

Then we tried to name our babies,
but we forgot all the names that,
the names we used to know.
But sometimes, we remember our bedrooms,
and our parent’s bedrooms,
and the bedrooms of our friends.
Then we think of our parents,
well what ever happened to them?!

You change all the lead
sleepin’ in my head to gold,
as the day grows dim,
I hear you sing a golden hymn,
the song I’ve been trying to say.

Purify the colors, purify my mind.
Purify the colors, purify my mind,
and spread the ashes of the colors
over this heart of mine!

instant [spanish] immersion

the fortress of security (known as my own, personal office) was nearly breached this past week as my boss, in a genuine effort to help me out a little, tried to move someone into my office with me to assist me in accomplishing my objectives.

oh my. the end was near.

"smarty", our computer networking guy showed up about 10 minutes into lunch and told me he was going to poke around back in my office and figure out the wiring for a new work station. I had a hard time finishing my meal with that unsettling news on the brain.
being the clever and resourceful individual that I am, however, I quickly intercepted this pass and before smarty knew what was going on, 100% control was regained by moi.
physiologic alterations in heart rate and blood pressure soon normalized.
I'm back to my own office again. this was a big scare - bigger than those in the past, but I've managed to escape it, once again, unscathed.

wow. that was a close one will robinson.

Currently listening : The John Byrd EP By Death Cab for Cutie Release date: By 22 October, 2002

oh, and by the way

Just for the record: things have been really great with me lately. I've been elated for the most part. My own internal, personal struggles are not to say that I have not been great overall. I'm the stinking happiest person on earth! Can you believe that? Someone stop me, I'm so happy.

The funny thing is - it's not sarcasm. It's for real. I really and truly am happy. People get so used to me never wavering that when I do every now and again feel a little left to the wayside, they can't handle it. I'm ok with that.

And I'm still happy.
And I'm still here.
And I'm still full of love and wildfire.

awakening (more sudden than rude); asleep (more restless than deep).

** The beginning portion of this was originally posted on May 25, 2004

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.


***

I'm not certain that I've ever re-posted a blog entry/title. Somehow, this seems far more appropriate now than it did nearly a year ago.

For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. (Ephesians 6:12)

For I know the plans I have for you, says the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. (Jeremiah 29:11)

I'm not one to typically walk around quoting scripture - but I do frequently state what's on my mind. If that happens to be scripture, then we're all in for a treat, now aren't we?

My life does equal something. My words and actions are always taken into account, but the bottom line is that I don't want my faith to be mediocre. I don't want my faith to be average. I am desperate for my faith to be extraordinary - and I'm somewhat unsure of how to express that. This is typical moe behavior.

I love people with such intensity that it postively aches - it's just that sometimes people don't know that. Many times people don't know that. I could maybe muster up the courage to say it - but what's to say that people would even believe me?

I often hate feeling introspective. It makes me feel vulnerable, even to myself.

When I think, I write.
When I write, I mostly feel the insatiable urge to post it on websites such as this (even against my better judgement)
It's been scientifically proven that when a person like me makes the decision to post their personal thoughts and musings on a public domain such as this, it is inevitable that at some point in time, it will be posted on a political site with the intention of embarassing, mocking, and/or destroying someone that I care about; I should probably be a little more careful, eh?
Moral of the story: politics suck.

except... well, that's not really the moral of the story at all.

Currently reading : Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality By Donald Miller Release date: By 17 July, 2003

veruca salt & sergeant pepper my palate

Headlines read today that the very line which threatened the death of me, is indeed itself DEAD. Finished. Kaput. Over.
Bliss, bliss, bliss...

It's nice to finally get back to normal working hours. Y'know - 12 hour days instead of the ridiculous 16 and 17 hours that I have been working lately.

I've had a lot of doctors appointments lately. Who knew it was so complicated to set up a primary care physician?

It's difficult for me to conceive that my family has been away nearly two weeks (and another week to go)! At first, it was something of a task for me to even think of Peru without my eyes tearing up. Ridiculously sappy? Perhaps. But true nonetheless. My grandfather is getting older and while I plan on moving down there next year, I still want to spend as much time as possible with them all now. I'd be lying if I said I didn't resent not being able to go just a little bit. The salt in my wounds is going home to three noisy dogs every night and stopping off at Kelly's every so often to check on her crazy cats. Speaking of which... if I forget to stop by there again tonight, I might be finding dead (not crazy) cats at Kelly's house.

And this stings. And this hurts just a wee bit.

***

And now, in the news:

McDonald's May Outsource Drive Thrus
In case Americans weren't getting fatter at a rate swift enough to please McDonald's corporate hogs, the monster cow killers have now decided to move the cattle line a little more quickly through the trough by outsourcing their pick-up window. In a similar article, the AP reports that all U.S. flights to europe are now being heavily scrutinized in fear that americans could begin to bring their disease with them on vacation and business travel, spreading obesity and dimpled fat syndrome across Italy and France. Travelers are currently being quarantined.


Ex-Worker Sues Madonna, Claims Harassment
This is similar to the class action lawsuit that America filed against the pop diva shortly after the 1992 release of her book: "SEX"
Regardless of how the trial ended, Madonna still won seeing as how you can now purchase her nudie book for a mere $145 on Amazon.com. Brava!


Shorter, Less Bloody, 'Passion' Opens This Friday
I really don't have much to say about this (but I'm sure many of you do), but I find it interesting that someone would try to make a human being's execution "more palatable to a wider audience". It just sort of struck my funny bone.

Carry on, Mr. Gibson. Can we hope to maybe see second cuts to Braveheart any time soon, in which several scottish patriots perform slapstick comedy for their oppresors while warriors don ballet tutus and dance about to the sounds of Tchaikovsky? Or perhaps a newer, friendlier version of the Patriot in which the redcoats fall subject to unkindly spoken words and much glove slapping? Inquiring minds...

Currently listening : Good News For People Who Love Bad News By Modest Mouse Release date: By 06 April, 2004

Be-fu-fu-fu-fuddlement

I used to have an instructor in my counseling courses, Jerry Benjamin, who constantly addressed us, the entire class, as "Beloved". He could be looking all around the room, eyes focused on nothing, but focused on me, locked on my eyes, all at once. He had the amazing ability to speak to a room full of people (all 52 of us in this instance), but still speak to just me, only me.

He was a Messianic Jew (we can all discuss the complexities and questions about this at another time), and had the most amazing stories to tell. He captured my attention then and the mere memory of his classes continues to do so now.

Admittedly, I had the hugest crush on him... not in the sort of way that you would think though. It wasn't THAT kind of crush; it was more of an intellectual crush, admiration really. I admired him a great deal.

His method of referring to us as "Beloved" added such a graceful and innocent intimacy to the entire experience... I can't really describe it, but it was a great feeling; the best week of concentrated study that I had during the entire eight week course, for certain.

I believe it's the little things that drive us, that motivate us to do our finest and be our best. The random day-to-day, smallish words, phrases, and gestures cause us to want to be the best person we can possibly be. Right? Yes? No? I don't know what I'm talking about (?).

No... I do know what I'm talking about. Sort of.

"You're the greatest!" makes me want to actually BE the greatest. That is truth.

***

There's a back room here at the office that we use mainly for storage - not many venture back there for much more than taking out the trash. My boss was giving a tour this afternoon to a visitor, an old friend of both the candidate and staff who stopped in today to say hello. I heard a commotion outside my office door during this tour and stepped out to see what the hustle and bustle was all about. There they were: five or six staff people, plus our guest, standing at the entrance to the storage room. All of them had a look on their faces... disbelief? astonishment? confusion? worry? fear? Don't know. They all had a look though. I asked sal what the problem was.

"There's some guy sleeping in our storage room. Some homeless guy perhaps? I don't know who this person is!"

All of them exchanged glances as if to say "Will Bret Schundler be considered a jerk if we kick a homeless guy out of our storage room?"

I peeked in the room.

"Ummm... that's Josh. You know, your Central NJ Field director's 17 year-old son?"

My job could be more difficult, but I kind of like it just where it is, you know?

Currently listening : Dial M for Monkey By Bonobo Release date: By 17 June, 2003

postage paid

I can feel the light heat reaching up from my neck to my face, and eventually to my hairline... the itching, insatiable as it is, buckles most of the time to my stubborness, but not today. Today the hives are back in full force, and although it could be blamed partially upon the fact that I did not take my magic pill last night, I happen to have 827 million things on my brain right now, outside of work, and I think that this time, these hives just might be stress related.

Every now and again I feel the need to be human (some have suggested that I'm part robot, others that I'm part primate... it's all still up for debate); I get the urge to FEEL, and to DO, and to cry if that's what the situation calls for - even if it's really not what the situation calls for at all.

Crying for the sheer sake of remembering what tears feel like.

Every now and again I don't like wanting what I can't have, or, more accurately, not having what I want.

Every now and again, something begins to consume my mind and there's no shaking it into resolve. There's no releasing it from my mind... at least, not easily. It's quite stuck, in fact, and part of me doesn't want to shake it into resolve anyway.

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

I say it over and over again to myself, as I argue with God for what I want and struggle with the very nature of my humanity. Oh (sometimes) to actually be a robot and just be able to accomplish without feeling. Curse free will and its irrational behavior!

But then, I don't really mean that... no, not at all.
Not even a little bit.

matlock's clue (and speciality part II)

Again, I have failed to realize the importance of having a significant other on a specific holiday.

Everyone needs to chill out -Valentine's Day is merely an excuse to wear red and spend lots of money. I hold no cynicism toward valentine's day - simple neutrality at best. It's ok if you don't have someone. Really. you're great on your own (or with a side of grilled vegetables).

Admittedly, I completely forgot about Valentine's Day this morning until Greg came into the office with caramel apples for Amanda and I, bidding us a festive holiday.

Oh! oh... ummm, yes. Happy Valentimes Day to you as well. When do we get to drink green beer again??

In honor of St. Valentine's Day, Gregory made the keen observation that ours is most likely the most under-sexed staff in all of history. This has nothing to do with being Republican, I assure you. Simply something to do with everyone being over-worked and slightly crazy - which one might be lead to believe would equal more sex... I'm no scientist, but somehow it simply does not work out that way. I'm going to skip the remainder of conversation involving my co-workers and sex. I don't assume that anyone really wanted to hear about it anyhow.

There really is no specialty, Part II. I totally made it up. I went to DC, had a killer birthday, ate lots of gourmet food, slept in, went to brunch, searched for an hour for my beloved flip flops at Alejandra's apartment (only to find out later that they had been stolen by a party guest the night before) and then drove back up to New Jersey. There was nothing particularly special about it - certainly not sequel quality. Of course, spending time with the GWU crowd always turns out to be special. I don't know many 21 year-olds that would pull off a party quite like that.
There were high heels and cigarette holders,
there were dozens of fine wines and a rather expensive birthday toast,
the guys wore their good shoes
Will baked a cake
and Nathan got the urge to do all the dishes somewhere around 2AM...
It was nice.

So that was then, and this is now. Now is Valentine's Day. A day when St. Valentine rolls over in his grave as he watches millions of dollars being spent to say what could an should be said with a hug, a kiss, a note, a phone call.
We're so silly, eh? For as lazy as humans are, we're often taking on far more responsibility than is actually necessary. I know my brother just spent $100+ for dinner with some chick that he proclaims to be "a nice girl".

Give me a choice and I'll choose a hug over $100 comestibles anyday.

Currently listening : Funeral By Arcade Fire Release date: By 14 September, 2004

as forrester me, and as forrester you

Doug Forrester for Statehouse Janitor: Because the politicians in Trenton have been messing up the statehouse bathroom for far too long.

Someone just fired their marketing team... and rightfully so.
Truly, I am mystified.

Please pay special attention to the guy with the cigar. He got his acting debut on the Sopranos, which eventually lead to him landing this fine role.

Click here for the most recent rubbish from Conservative Businessman Doug Forrester!

reasonability

*** a weekly counter ***

97: hours spent at work

4: number of times I've eaten out

25: years amanda has been alive

16,487: dollars raised and collected... beh

23: times i've listened to abbey road on repeat in this blasted office over the past 24 hours

5: number of times today I told my mom that I love her

1: foozeball table donated to the campaign (?!)

159: tissues used on my poor, sore nose

287: times that someone else genuinely made me laugh

Currently listening : Abbey Road By The Beatles Release date: By 25 October, 1990

one flu over the monkey's nest

I've not been myself this week; perhaps a little more frank than moe with everyone. By nature, I am not a cantankerous person. I'd even say that I'm irritatingly upbeat, flexible to a fault.

Every now and again, however, ill's cloud rolls my way and rains it's shameful mess of tissues and vicks vapo-rub all over me as I then approach the mighty rubicon: do I utilize the force (and my lightsaber) to slay the wicked giant, or in my weakened state, do I sit down and take one for the teamsters?

This week, my friends, I chose the latter.
Argh.

Sickness is an illness.
Don't spend too much time thinking about that.

Amazingly, despite the heavy doses of DayQuil, the monkey buttloads of vitamin C, the seemingly endless amounts of water and/or other hydrating fluids, and the collective 40 hours of sleep this week, I managed to get some work done. With the ominous shadow of a deadline looming over my head, it has been absolutely necessary to spend as much time as possible here at good ol' campaign headquarters. New Jersey will thank me later.

In the meantime, I dance with the devil in these beautiful buildings. I find affirmative action as a useful reunion. I would change his name if it made any difference, as I wait in line for a lasting confession.

** I have a really funny story involving several neckties from the salvation army and a home depot advertisement, but I don't have the energy right now to type it out. Remind me to tell you later. It's worth it. Really. Truly. Trust me. **

Find your way out of this one, lovelies...

Currently listening : Meadowlands By Wrens Release date: By 09 September, 2003

duressed to kill

call me naive, but I was completely unaware of the phenomenon. I had no idea it was a big deal. I've lived my entire life not realizing the importance of having someone to kiss on New Years Eve.

Really. I was unaware. Is this really a big deal? Forget however dorky I said I was yesterday. My levels may have just escalated.

Currently listening : Transatlanticism By Death Cab for Cutie Release date: By 07 October, 2003

litmus pest

Oh simpletons and friends (simple friends... friends simply), hear me!

I decided quite some time ago, most likely when I was in 4th grade and found myself perpendicular to a fanny pack, that I am just really not cool.
I also, however, came to the conclusion that no one really is.

I can recall being confused by the actions of my uncle some years ago. He is my mother's youngest brother, 10 years my senior. I always thought he was pretty cool, mostly with it (whatever "it" is). His hair, his clothes, his car changing with whatever fashion and style had to offer, he was fairly hip. I guess. I thought. Maybe. Perhaps (what the hell am I talking about? I was 10. I thought he was sooo kewl).
My confusions arose a few times over the years however; my confusion over his coolness (kewlness). Not just with his decision to perm his hair sometime around 1984, nor only with his sudden use of eye-liner around 1987, but also (mostly) with his blatant hate for technology all through the nineties.

Email! What a cool, new thing! Right? WRONG. Email is the devil.
Cell phones! Awesome, just like Zak Morris, right?! WRONG AGAIN.
Oh.
So, Email... it's the devil, right? BING!
And cell phones, they're pretty much the bain of society, right? BING AGAIN!
What about Dave Matthews Band? Too Trendy.
New Beetles? Too new.
Ace Ventura? Overrated.
Argyle Socks? Nerds are "in". No thanks.
Although I've fallen prey to it on more than one occasion, I have more often than not been completely mystified by the fact that it is indeed hip to be square. In fact, hipper to be square than to be hip, if that makes any sense at all.

Sooo... I'm pretty square.
But in the not hip way.
On most things anyway.
On some things I'm square because it's actually square, which in turn makes it hip.
On other things I'm hip, which makes it square because it's not hip to be hip.

** I'm fairly certain that I've never said hip so frequently in such a short period of time. **

I gave up a long time ago.

I like my cell phone and hate to be unreachable (but I really hate blackberries, PDA's and anyone who talks loudly on their phones in public places).

I admittedly am a huge advocate of email (but I know very much the special quality that snail mail holds and write more letters than anyone else I know. Honest to goodness, personal letters).

I occasionally fall prey to internet jargon such as btw and brb (however, I absolutely abhor the use of "lol" or "lmao").

I listen to Dave Matthews Band, own 10 Things I Hate About You on DVD, travel with a neck pillow, shop at Wal*Mart, don't drink coffee, enjoy Maroon 5 (it's a guilty pleasure... whatever that means), and am not taking any sort of medication.

How can I survive (you might ask)?!

I've come to terms with the fact that I am a dork.
But wait... oh shit. Dorks are in right now, aren't they?

Currently listening : How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb By U2 Release date: By 23 November, 2004

blessed to smitherines

OK Computer: finally found in foci's glovebox. egads!


Foxyboxer tee: hand delivered and a $2 beer to boot. super!


The Cheech: departed for now, but I will be in his groovy company again come Thursday. Neato!


iPod: now fully equipped to plug in to my car stereo. fantastic!


New Years: jet set for Nashville with the usual suspects. woohoo!


Summer Buddy: friendship restored, and beyond. makes me smile!


Wes Anderson: brand spanking new and a double trouble feature too. shivery delicious!


Pens: All full of ink. not one has run dry. Yesssss!



All in all, I feel like it's thanksgiving all over again. My prayers reach up eternally for those who are a mite confused right now; a tad discouraged; a pinch misguided. My heart aches for your highs and lows and knowing that, spiritually, I have so often depended on you for guidance and clarity and that now you seem positively vacant from wanting that role whatsoever. Chin up dear soul... my love is still real and strong, so is God's.

Currently listening : Pinkerton By Weezer Release date: By 24 September, 1996

and lavishly so

Oh hypocrisy! That beast of a thing, hated by all; but when tried on for size, seems to fit so well!

***

Today's soundtrack:

Evening of the Day, Supergrass
Saint Simon, The Shins
Evil, Interpol
Cemetry Gates, The Smiths
Here it Comes, The Doves
Love Will Come Through, Travis
Loose Translation, The New Pornographers
All God's Children, Finn Brothers
Entire, The Spinanes
Let Go, Frou Frou

Currently listening : Life on Other Planets By Supergrass Release date: By 11 February, 2003

It's just like Loverboy said

Current mood: boisterously brilliant!

How do I continue to breathe? How do I walk away from my bed every morning knowing? How does my heart not throb in aching pain from the mere realization? But, I do just that: I breathe, I wake, I fulfill everyday rituals without ever once acknowledging the very center of my existence.

eh... I am prideful, and extraordinarily so.

It is now that I wonder, and try to count how many times in my life I have earnestly prayed for humility -- I should be careful of what I pray for.

I can recall sitting in my Biblical counseling classes, 7 years ago, and listening intently to Dr. Jerry Benjamin. What an incredible man of passion, for both God and others. He made a habit to address us as "beloved" and challenged each of us to take a long, hard stare at our own lives, our own spiritual fractures, our own outrageous pride before ever attempting to consult another person's needs. I had never realized how much of a challenge that actually is until I sat weeping, three days later, faced with a list of prideful motivations and infidelities to my God that stretched to infinity (or, at least through several pages of a lined notebook).

I will never conquer pride, I realize that. For as soon as I have, I will develop a new pride for my altruistic attitude.

This is what I do while working on the weekend... I sit here, and I cook my books. I punch in my figures and pour over the election law manuals. I balance my calendar with my event requests, and I build new fundraising goals based on past performance. I work... and I think about my ever prideful nature. Is it entirely unacceptable to talk to myself?

* * * * * * *

In other items of fairly uninteresting news, I have gone and reached the pinacle. I have been to the mountaintop. I have experienced elation, and this feeling far exceeds it. Folks, I have reached blue-star status on ebay. I should just quit now, because life doesn't get much better than this

my high horse choked quite some time ago

I'm not 100% certain what's going on in the country right now--what's going on in people's hearts--that there is an absolute epidemic of absurdly large coffe/tea mugs. No more shall we drink 12 or even 16 ounces of coffee at a time. We must now and forevermore consume legal addictive stimluants at the rate of 18 to 22 ounces a clip.

I speak this all with the same breath that I now use to cool the tea lurking in my 18 ounce porcelain treasure (mind you, not a miniature toilet, but a coffee mug. Ease your mind for heaven's sake).

Admittedly, I drink tea only to keep my hands warm in this Siberian hideaway of mine - also known as my office. The heater still does not work. It's a double whammy for me. The heat at work does not function, nor does the heat at home. Call me cold-hearted if you must. It's most likely accurate and for reasons entirely outside my control.
I will now type even faster (because I type so much faster than you for sure) in an attempt to warm these frigid and fragile fingers of mine.

Philadelphia vs. Milwaukee. Good stuff yesterday. Kelly and I managed to score club box seats to the game (thanks, dad) and scurried ourselves out to the Wachovia center for an afternoon of crass yelling and general harassment of the players. I like to harass the players. Granted, they don't hear a word that I scream, but I enjoy the harassment just the same. One of the Sixers is the spitting image of Ashton Kutcher.



Pretty boy couldn't land a basket if his face depended on it. He managed to pull out the fun stuff and save the game in the end though, so he was forgiven.
I could go on a multi-paragraph tyrade about the ridiculousness of the corporate run sports world these days, but that would require far too much energy. Instead, I will highlight my disappointement in not being one of the first 5000 fans to arrive at the game, hence denying me a Fat Albert bobble head doll. Oh, how I wanted one of those bobble heads. The tearing portion of this is that the sentiment is completely honest. I really did want one. I managed to convince Kelly to walk the bleachers with me in hopes that some sad and whiny 10 year-old had accidentally left their's behind. No such luck. Everyone was on their toes yesterday. But with a Fat Albert bobble head at stake, who wouldn't be?
Bill Cosby and Keenan Thompson attended the game for approximately 8.4 minutes--just long enough for Mr. Cosby to accept a Good Neighbor Award, thanking him for his continued service to the city of Philadelphia. He then proceeded to kiss and joke with four members of the press before exiting past the Sixers Dancers (who didn't really know how to dance. It was all pretend. They all operate on grants from the Government. That pesky "Get a girl who has no skills a job" grant. 'This young lady needs a job, real bad man.' 'Well, does she have any skills?' 'errr... well, see it's like this... Um... well, she can move her hips!' 'Great! That squeaks her right in for the "Get a girl who has no skills a job" grant!'). I digress.

I've been strangely silent the past two weeks. This is simply an excuse to end the silence. Furthermore, it will act as my once every two months "I'm sort of a bitch" commentary. Thanks.

I love you, heater

I happened to notice tonight that my toes are blue. I saw them and thought to myself: "If only my bedroom heaters worked, my toes might be a friendlier shade right now."

I sleep at night in my big, lonely bed with a heated hot/cold pack to fight the chill. The mysterious daggers forming along the inside of my windowpane are no cause for fear; they are simpy icicles settling down for the winter.
If you hear a strange sound, don't be alarmed. That sound is not the castanets being played loudly at the Copa Cabana, it is merely my teeth chattering to the rhythm of the night.

All I want for Christmas is heat, glorious heat.

french

toast