28 July 2002

[Because He Dodges Bullets]

With another calm, fairly uneventful, summer weekend coming to an end, I've decided to take some initiative in looking for fall employment. I visited UC's website in search of fall positions. Unfortunately, the "Job Opportunities Update," though last updated July 26th, is meandering in the past: UCollege is seeking adjunct faculty for the Winter 2002 quarter and the College of Applied Science is seeking faculty for the 2001-2002 academic year. Raymond Walters College appears to be on the ball; their ad is up to date. In any case, I will send resumes and letters to all three colleges and contact those employees I happen to know at each. Perhaps I can beat the hoard of applications. In other news, I'm officially, seriously car hunting. If I do get a job at Raymond Walters -- though it's not my first choice by any means -- I'll need a more reliable car, namely one that doesn't stutter in between 55 and 65 miles an hour. I think I'll have to get in touch with Hammer -- as my credit is pretty crappy. What is that, the "get a yes" people?

25 July 2002

[Fish, Chips, Cup o' Tea]

I woke up this morning thinking it was friday, denying that the garbage trucks' drone was in fact real. Alas, it is thursday. I s'pose I was looking so forward to folding laundry, that I wished a day away. I normally do my laundry -- or at least fold baskets of clean clothes that have yet to make their way to the closets or dresser -- on friday, while watching Snatch along with my normal late night television favorites. Infomercials are rad. Today, I managed to make it to work on time and opted to leave work fifteen minutes early, only to hit some crappy traffic, which I spent an extra twenty minutes sitting in. My freshman year of college, I ditched a four pm friday calculus class to go home early and get ready to go out -- only to get in a car wreck minutes from school. I guess I'm just not allowed to leave anywhere early.

24 July 2002

[Done and *Done*]

"Sex and the City" rocks me, really. Tom recently bought me the complete third season, the episodes of which I humor myself with after my usual dose of evening television (consisting of such favorites as "Friends" and "American Idol") and before my "Late Night with Conan O'Brien." I don't bother watching the news; I'd rather listen to Samantha's "cock talk" or Charlotte's marital woes. Now if I could only get my hands on seasons one, two, and four, though the most latter of the three, is still quite pricey, as it just came out on DVD. I miss having cable. But I don't miss the bill.

23 July 2002

[Bombs Over Bagdhad]

I need to secure fall employment. I will send a resume and letter to UC this week. I will. In other news, the full moon was a nice touch to my obligatory late-night trip to Wal-Mart where I purchased two eight-dollar dresses, a nine-dollar skirt, and a pc game. While perusing the pc game section of Wal-Mart's electronic department, I espied a young boy -- 3 years old (maybe) -- with a dvd stuffed in his shirt, attempting to hide a computer game. I giggled, pointed it out to Tom. But the boy's mom didn't see the humor, as she swooped up on the young consumer, chastising him for straying -- not for his first attempt at shoplifting -- and slapping him 3 or 4 times on the leg. That bothered me, especially the fact that the stupid wench made her kid wail in Wal-Mart -- which I'm pretty sure, is another reason to get slapped in the white-trash household: Don't you dare make a scene while Mama's doin' her shopping! Hmmm, allowing a 2 or 3 year old to just stray away in an at-best sketchy store seems to be a bigger offense. Rented Mean Machine. Check it out if you like Snatch. I received my Columbia House order this afternoon -- a pleasant surprise after driving in rush hour traffic, my back drenched in sweat as I prayed for my car to somehow make it home as the gas gauge lingered dangerously to the left of "E." Selling CDs to make quick cash is one of the saddest, most regrettable human acts. I don't recommend it. But with this nice little shipment of various artists -- some not quite my thing (remember, the first time you order, the selection is kind of meager) -- I've slowly begun to build my collection of music. I was even feeling a bit zesty as I organized my CD collection alphabetically. Once I get a few more CDs, I might organize them by genre, but that's unlikely. The zaniest I ever get is when I separate the soundtracks and compilations. Monday down.

19 July 2002

[The Mamba Jamba of All Surveydom]

I started a huge survey, but halfway through it, the novelty had worn away. So I scrapped it. Bah. No attention span over in these parts.

17 July 2002

[Imagine, for a moment . . .]

that your power goes out, leaving you with nothing but absolute silence. Soak it up; before you know it, CG&E will have their asses in gear. Electricity will be restored, and again, your apartment will be plagued by that white noise you love so well: computer humming, air-conditioner panting, fan swirling, mini-fan-to-keep-computer-cool-because-the-one-in-the-box-isn't-worth-shit buzzing. I think I'll microwave a burrito.

14 July 2002

[Why]

Does he think he owns me?

11 July 2002

[My Books Keep Playing Tricks on Me.]

I recently gave my apartment a face lift of sorts. Over the past month or so, I've rearranged just about every piece of mobile furniture, taken up the rugs (they're at the cleaners now), and dusted like mad (though I'm sure dust and dirt residing here before I moved in still nestles comfortably in corners and crevices). Now there's a sense of order in my place. Every piece of furniture is being used -- there was an old desk which cluttered up the living room (and oddly enough was on its way out to the trash) which now serves a purpose in the back room. Clutter is to a minimum. Clothes are washed (I need more hangers, though as a small pile of clothing is sitting on a bench). And as happy as I am to be living in minimal mess, I can't help thinking that I mistakingly pitched an old notebook, one which had my reading list for the MA comprehensive exam scratched in it (this I can replace with a trip to the English department office). After realizing that this notebook -- for the time being, it just might show up -- was lost, I started to "freak" about a few books I hadn't seen around in a while. I have a library (scattered among many, disconnected shelves) of over 600 books (not counting textbooks and course packets), but somehow, I can tell if something is missing, despite the fact that the books are kept in no particular order -- I really ought to consider an organizational plan for my books. It's about time. But that's irrelevant. What is relevant is that, like I said, can I can tell even if the most diminutive of poetry books is missing (or hiding, which is generally the case 999 times out of 1000). While perusing my desk and shelves for the missing notebook, I ran across My Wicked, Wicked Ways by Sandra Cisneros, a poetry book I bought quite some time ago, yet I never had the chance to really read it. It's hard bound, and I have this "thing" about just throwing a hard bound book into my work bag. I guess the fact that I pay more for the hard bound makes me paranoid. Something is "bound" to happen to it. Okay, that wasn't funny. While thinking about the other books I have by Cisneros, I realized that I hadn't seen Loose Woman around, which is very odd because it's one of the few books I keep in one place. It never migrates. I read it often. I began my hunt through my library. Checked each shelf twice. No luck. In fact, I realized that I was missing another book, another poetry book at that. On the third look I found the other book, squeezed between The Mixquiahualia Letters by Ana Castilla and Women Reading Shakespeare, 1660-1900. But, Loose Woman was still missing. Just a few minutes ago, while accepting my loss and moving on with my life, I pulled the 4th edition of Doing Psychology Experiments for no real reason at all, to not only find the Cisneros' book, but also discover the missing page of my Oxford English Dictionary ("proctologist" to "proletarian"). Some days I think I'm crazy. Some days I think I'm blind. In any case I think I'm doomed to live in disarray.

09 July 2002

[Go Go Mozilla]

I dl Mozilla 1.0 last night. I'm very impressed. We're using it at work, too. I like that it's fast. Surfing is smooth. What I really like is that fact that it doesn't compensate for crappy design, like Internet Explorer does. IE is far too forgiving. There are too many crappy websites out there, created by people who claim to know design -- good design at that. Granted, Netscape 4.75 -- which I used at work until today -- was the model browser I used to design for quite some time: if it works in NS 4.75, it'll work in most browsers (except webtv or lynx -- I've thought about that, trust me. I am a perfectionist -- at times). I'll still used NS 4.75; but I'm thrilled that we're moving foward without sacrificing quality and forgiving sloppy design.

08 July 2002

[jeesh . . .]

People are dumb.

07 July 2002

[Bored]

I took down my guestbook. I'm not much of a guestbook signer, so how can I expect others to sign mine? This is such a tired friday night. I can't think of anything to stimulate my brain. I'm done with work. I should be thrilled, and I am. But I'm overwhelmed with the thoughts of peace and quiet and sanity. That makes no sense. What's wrong with me? I'm used to hell, having grown fond of perpetual madness and ugly children and inept administrators. I'll find something else to drive me crazy. I'm taking a writing workshop next week. That'll do it. Tomorrow, I think, I'll take my laptop to a coffee shop or library and sit and type for a few hours. I need to get some ideas down on "paper." A while back, I decided to write everyday. That never happened, except for the occasional blogging; that's not bad and all. Wait, I did pretty much write everyday during the spring semester of grad. school, so I s'pose I'm not too lame.

07 July 2002

[Rx Fantasies]

Around 10:30pm last night, I had to decide whether I was going to sleep -- as there was nothing on TV to keep me remotely amused -- or going out, sober that is. After all, I'm not swallowing those horse pills for nothing. Alcohol will not impede upon my healing process. I arrived at the Warehouse around 11:30 or so, and it was pretty damn dead. Mike and I sat up at the front bar; he debated whether he was going to work mini bar. It did end up picking up though; that is, after 1 am. As the sober onlooker, things were more warped than they had ever been. God, I felt old. Even the wasted bitch who, after throwing up in the bathroom, decided to continue binge drinking, wasn't amusing, but annoying as hell -- especially when she about fell on me, while I was moving away from her so that such a thing would not happen. She was like one of those huge balloons you see in parades: clumsy, unpredictable, possibly lethal. She easily drank over 20 Russian Roulette Shots and 10 Jello Shots -- though it could have been more; plus I saw her with beer at a couple points in the night. I love being stationary and just watching the stupid shit people do. My plan for this morning -- afternoon, whatever -- is to wash up and get some coffee and other sunday morning necessities: donuts, bagels, newspaper, mountain dew. Ta-Ta

06 July 2002

[I Have to Swallow What?]

It's almost 4pm and the hideous aftertaste of the horse pill I took around noon for my urinary tract infection –- yes, not a pleasant topic of conversation – still lingers in the back of my throat. No soda. No alcoholic beverages. No sun, as "[I] should avoid prolonged or excessive exposure to direct and/org artificial sunlight while taking [my] medication." Thank God, the treatment is only three days, but damn those pills are huge. And they have no coating; as soon as I pop one it begins to separate and go sour in my throat before any amount of liquid touches my lips. Not pleasant. Note to self: improve pill-swallowing skills. This whole UTI thing hasn't been all negative, I s'pose. Yesterday, rather than waiting until 6pm to see a doctor at the Urgent Care up the street, I called my primary care physician's office and scheduled two back-to back appointments: one for my UTI, one for the yearly physical that I should have had in March. One co-pay for two visits: works for me. Loaded up on antibiotics and Duradrin –- an air-conditioner mold-related headache was commencing while I nerded around Microcenter yesterday afternoon (I didn't take my anti-histamine that morning due to nausea caused by Uristat, which, by the way, makes your urine a scary shade of orange, a color which still graces my bathroom as it fucking stained my toilet bowl.), I crashed early last night, in some twisted, pretzel-like formation while watching TV. I didn't want to sleep, but I was victim to it as I didn't eat much yesterday, and that pain killer was having its way with me. Though feeling much better today I am still in sleepy mode. Eating would probably help. However, if I wanted to fix myself something, that would require washing dishes, and there are a lot of them. Eh, perhaps I should start my day; it is 4pm and all.

05 July 2002

[Black Lace Bra Kind of Woman*]

I'm enjoying the day off work and dreading the return tomorrow. But not so much the actual work or work environment. The commute is what kills me. More accurately, the commute in my not-running-so-well vehicle. Normally a twenty-minute drive, the drive from the Sharon Road exit to the Mitchell Ave exit took a sweaty hour and a half. I was very close to either driving on the shoulder or getting out of my car and walking -- at least I'd be moving. Upon arriving home, I had the most hellish time peeling out of my jeans, as they -- along with my shirt -- were soaked in sweat. Yesterday, I decided to avoid "rush" hour traffic by tooling around at Tri-county mall for a couple hours. I had no money to spend, but I popped into Hot Topic for a minute and looked at silly stickers and tried on a cheap, Lip Service knock-off dress, which, in my opinion, was not cheap enough; the Lip-Service "version" is the same price. In any case, it felt good to walk around for a bit, as I am cooped up at a computer all day at work. I really need to go running. But it's to damn hot. And it's not even the heat. It's the smog and humidity. Then, I went to Target, and ended up purchasing a pack of three baby bibs. My friend Melissa is expecting, and she's not thrilled about it. So, either my little gift will remind her that she's got friends to help her OR that she's going to have a messy, screaming, drooling, pooping baby this time next year. *I stole the title from a Sandra Cisneros Poem.

02 July 2002

[How do I get rid of this damn tendinitis?]

I've been having issues with my right index finger for almost a month now. I injured it during the last week at my old job and really injured it the following week at a writing workshop. I can't open jars or bottles. Hell, I've had to ask my boyfriend to open my mascara. Typing doesn't hurt, nor does using my mouse. But writing is a bear, which worries me only because I have the mother of all exams -- my MA comps -- in November. Hours of writing fun. Are there any herbal supplments that help with bone-joint heath and injury recovery that anyone recommends? Or should I just bandage up my hand and not use it for a certain period of time? That would impractical and unlikely, but I'm willing to do it if I have to.

02 July 2002

[Smile!]

I have a dentist appt. in about an hour. I'm thinking about shelling out the cash to get my teeth whitened. Has anyone tried those Crest Whitening Strips? I might try those out first -- if, in fact , they work (even just a little bit)