|
Tuesday, Oct. 14, 2003 / 9:21 p.m. ~Second Entry, Only Because I Feel Like Writing (And I'm Still In Love With Moby)~ It's really windy, like gusty windy, like stormy windy without the storm, like tornado's coming windy, without the fear of damage, or loss of life. Therefore, it's glorious. I keep hearing it, even after I closed the window in here. Whhhoooossssshhhhhhhh...... G-cat is rolling around on the rug, sort of one side to the other, taking long cat stretches, like I like to do some mornings, or when I sit for hours at a time in my cube at work, big big stretches. Only she's batting at her toys as she turns, each turn has an accompanying bat, and now she's massaging her face on the little rolling massager thing, the wooden thing with the balls on it that you're supposed to use to massage... someone. Sometimes I use it on her, massage her head and down her spine, and she loves it. I suppose she's reliving that experience. She looks damned sensual all roly-poly like that on the rug. Oh, a sneeze. Cats and dogs sneezing are always funny. Perhaps because it's something we do too? Speaking of dogs, Moby's been writing in his journal about wanting to adopt a dog in Manhattan, and he's having problems with the kill-shelters around there. He says there's too much red tape, too much paperwork, and as I read about his experience, I'm thinking the reason for that may be that people come to take animals for unsavory purposes, like animal experimentation or ritual killings, or other weird stuff (most shelters won't adopt out black cats in the month of October), so maybe they're just being extra protective. But that seems weird if the animals will be killed if they're not adopted. A bit Catch-22-y. But I feel sympathy for the Mo. I want him to get a dog, now that he's not touring and everything. I love his journal. I really think it's my favorite online journal, really. It has a great mix of liberal politics, animals, music and Scrabble. And he loves words as much as I do. I just wish I could teach him that the possessive "its" is not spelled "it's". Insert a big sigh right here. I really still have my crush you know. I really still feel like I love him. I know it's crazy, but it's the words, it's what he writes, and his music, and his compassion, and he's kinda hot too. Ah well. I went to the Farmer's Market after work, dropped a quick cool $40something, and only got a few things. I like their egg salad with parsley, even though I'm pretty sure it was the cause of some diarrhea I had the last time I ate it. I didn't care if I repeated that experience, which is weird, but I like it. So far so good. And I got some bowtie pasta salad, with portabellos. Which might be portobellas, I'm never sure. Either way, yeah, good. Oh, and I made a regular salad which I've yet to eat. I'm stuffed. I think yesterday's Double Whopper With Cheese is still stuck in my gut. Lovely, eh? It's one of my main PMS symptoms, the appetite for all that is animal, and salt, and the consequent expansion of said gut. I wear big shirts untucked, pants with top buttons opened. At work. At home, it's loose, no underwear, no shoes. That's the usual. The wind, did I mention the wind? Whhhhhoooooossssshhhhhhh... I called my bank about the check I wrote for the bus, and it has yet to be cashed. Still no email response. I'm kind of worried. I have a week and a half, so I'll give it more time. Imagine that, me being patient! Thrashers are playing the Islanders, which I like to pronounce "Ilanders", as opposed to "Ilinders", you know? I like to say the land part, all "land", just to be stupid. This is why I have no friends. But Mark was so taken with me, and Brent always wanted me. My mother had tons of suitors. And I have all their pictures! Well, I do remember her burning a huge stack of love letters when I was about 11, and me saying, "No, keep them!!!" because I thought it was cool she had so much attention from men. I am almost positive that she died 24 years ago today. But maybe it's 24 years ago on Saturday. I really can't remember exactly, because I think I didn't really want to think about it, commit it to memory. I'd prefer to remember her birthday. Which I do, to the day, the year, the whole works. My father's too. And I couldn't tell you what day my uncle died either. Or my grandmother, only the year. Or my cats. Well, the one who was killed by David's dogs, yeah, November, the day, no. Can't go there, nope, nope, nope. But really, I don't have death days memorized. Is this normal? The only one in my memory is my sister's death, but that's because that was always 'the tragedy', and my mom sort of memorialized that day. She got all Catholic about it. (Oh, here's something off track, but I was wondering if a person can have Catholic guilt by association?) The Site Manager came over to my cube to ask me how my day was today, end of day, and I told him about the calls at lunch, how it was "...like a REAL CALL CENTER!", all back to back to back, and he wasn't as impressed as he needed to be. He mentioned something about me not having time to forge relationships with the customers, but I said I never do that anyway, I get 'em in, get 'em out. He also asked about my little waterfall on my desk, the one that's been without water for months because I don't want to replace the batteries, and because the sound makes me have to pee, and I told him that the sound makes me 'want to have to pee', and I thought how maybe I shouldn't be talking to the Site Manager like that, but he just seemed like a guy, so I didn't worry about it. Funny that. I should go check the Thrashers score... uh oh, 2-2 tie, 7 minutes left in the third. I should watch, probably. We have a new announcer this season, and I'm not used to him yet. I don't like his voice much. Dammit, I have Greek pastries left. They must be eaten, is all. Not that I should complain, but I ate the gas station beef and cheese on onion roll sandwich at lunch, after the Double Whopper With Cheese last night, and then the egg salad (still feeling okay) and the pasta with portAbellOs, or portObellAs (wait, I own a Portobello cookbook, and it spells them Portobello), and I barely have room for one more spice cookie and one more baklava-like shredded filo dough pastry thing. And I bought fookin' blueberry cream cheese croissants at the Farmer's Market! Oy. I got some more garlic Brie too. And everything to make guacamole, after what I wrote the other day about the Doritos and guac, everything but CILANTRO! How could I forget? I remembered as I drove away from the parking lot, and didn't want to turn around, as I had chicken brats in the bag too. So, tomorrow, cilantro? I mean, I have limes, avocados, some really nice tomatoes, a big Hungarian wax pepper, some green onions, that's all I need, right? I have garlic too, I think. I am SO rambling. I'll go watch the end of the game, and stuff pastries into my big Buddha belly, maybe rub it for good luck, and hope I win the Lottery tonight. Please, please, please. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |