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Thursday, Jan. 31, 2002 / 1:21 p.m. ~Damn, I sure can pound the keys first thing in the morning!~ First thing, Sabrina says she likes my sweater, and my eyes, the color of my eyes. I can barely hear her over our cubicle walls, she's standing, but she speaks so softly and I can't hear. "I'm sorry, what?", asking her to repeat her compliments over and over. She wants to know what this color is, this color in my eyes, they're so pretty, she says. Hazel, sort of green and brown, depending, and finally she asks if they're mine. Oh yes, it's all mine, everything you see here. Aha, but she didn't notice my hair. The 7 or 8 inches now lying in the trash bag, in the dumpster at home. I was afraid everyone would notice, would say things like "You cut your hair!", and I was preparing what to say, things like "I know", and "That's a declarative statement, does it require a response from me?", you know, nasty things, or like they used to have in MAD magazine, snappy responses to stupid questions, or in this case, declarative statements. But so far, 9:31 a.m., not a word. Rasta's radio is so fucking loud! I hear it over the airplane din of my fan pressed against the cubicle wall. I've been using Neutrogena's "Healthy Scalp Shampoo", and it's making my scalp itch. What's up with that shit? I asked him to turn it down. All he did was stare at me, and yes, turn it down. Loud ads blaring from the African American radio station, the "R&B" station, the "what the black kids are listening to now" station, and I hate that music, I'm so sick of Missy Elliot getting her freaking freak on. Yeah, it's catchy at first, it all is, well, some of it is, but commercial radio makes me want to vomit. When you're 16, driving around in your hot rod, cranking up the tunes you and your friends listen to, yeah, but at some point don't you graduate to college radio, PSAs instead of commercials, obscure "new" music instead of what the record labels want to force feed you? Okay, I'm one of few, but hey, this is a fucking call center, we need to ban this shit. I thought of some words to describe me, for you know, the next time someone says, "How would you describe yourself?", in case someone ever does say that, to me, ever again. Eccentric. Opinionated. Strong. Independent. Generous. Loyal. Passionate. Intense. Emotional. Eclectic. Brash. Diplomatic. Tactless. Cynical. Optimistic. Jaded. Neurotic. Anal-retentive. Obsessive-compulsive. Sensual. Querulous. There may be more, but that's what comes to mind now. I've got to remember to tell people I'm eccentric. That's the primary word. The primary adjective. Once you know that you don't need to know much else. That explains so much. I finally went to the Farmer's Market last night, after work. $94. I bought so much good stuff, but so much expensive stuff. I bought an Italian Chardonnay. Isn't that funny? Chardonnay is French. I mean, anyone can get the grape and grow it in their soil, like Californians, but Italy? Never heard of it. I asked the wine guy, who was very eager to assist me, for something "inexpensive", "white", "dry", "foreign". He was good. And bocconcini (not sure how to spell it), those little balls of fresh buffalo milk mozzarella, packed in water�oh, it's so good sliced thin, laid in between some fresh sliced tomatoes, drizzled with olive oil, herbs, garlic, salt and pepper. I bought tomatoes too, those kind that come on the vine. They're pretty good. And some fresh shiitakes, and button mushrooms, fresh spinach, a big orange bell pepper, celery, Yukon gold potatoes, shallots, garlic, grapefruits, lemons, oranges, some of that herbed cheese bread, oh wow, should I stop? I even bought some weird frozen stuff, like Pad Thai with tofu, shumai dumplings, organic corn, triple caramel chunk ice cream. And pre-made stuff like shrimp fried rice, and bow tie pasta with ham and mustard, and gourmet condiments (I am a condiment WHORE!) like mustard with parsley and garlic, Garlic spread�oh, and this fancy bacon, center cut, antibiotic free, ranch raised, Niman ranch, outrageously expensive, apple wood smoked�and pitted ripe olives, artichoke bottoms, white clam sauce, garlic parsley organic angel hair pasta. I tried to buy organic if I saw it, and I thought of Moby and how much he'd love our Farmer's Market, how much fun he'd have, how fun it would be to cook up some vegan meal with him. He wouldn't have the fancy bacon or the fancy cheese, I know, but he'd love so much of what I bought. Fun, fun, fun. Now I just have to cook it all, the fresh stuff anyway. I'm thinking of doing up some organic eggs with shiitakes, bacon, green onions and spinach tonight. Or maybe I'll do the potato salad, yeah, another kick ass one like I did last summer�wow, it's been that long. I haven't shopped, and cooked, in forever. I've considered it a creative block. D., the Supervisor, is not here yet. The gals are all standing around chit chatting, yakking, flapping gums, talking of celebrities, gossiping, they can never stop with the gossiping, and I suppose I used to be a part of that, I know I did, it used to be fun, now it disgusts me. They disgust me. I'd rather be home, cooking, eating, reading, writing, listening to music�another foggy day turning to a greenhouse-gas induced extra wrong warm day. The other day, Laverne was saying to someone how we should just enjoy it, why complain, "It's Mother Nature", but you see, she shows her ignorance here because it is NOT Mother Nature, it's humans fucking with Mother Nature. It's too much man-made crap in the atmosphere, it's ozone depletion, it's carbon dioxide emissions, it's the greenhouse effect, it's global warming, this is not natural. Nothing natural about me having to sleep with the fan on in my bedroom window in January. Not living here. If this were some island near the Equator, yeah, but not here. Oh well. I guess it's time to start reading now. Things have quieted a bit. I'm going to go to M (Manager) at some point to suggest a ban on radios without headphones. I went to D., but she's done nothing about it, per her usual. I'm a bitch, I know. Here's a smiley, :) (MS Word actually puts a smiley face there! Wow!). Oh, almost forgot, there's nothing I watch on TV on Wednesday nights. I'm a Tuesday and Thursday TV person, sometimes the "Fear Factor" thing on Mondays�the other nights I search for movies, or get online for hours. Last night I didn't log on to my computer (a NICE change), so I searched for movies. "Barbarella" was on again, but on the Oxygen channel, and they have this horrible black bar at the bottom of the screen! It's not like "letter box" formatting, it's just this annoying black space, with the word Oxygen on the right corner. Couldn't watch it. "Rushmore" was on Comedy Central, and I'd seen it once before, but I still don't see why people LOVE it like they do. Yeah, it's clever, it's fun, it's bittersweet, but that Jason Schwartzman guy is annoying after awhile, with his unibrow and deadpan expression throughout. I really paid attention to the music this time though, and it's wonderful! Lots of '60s folk, obscure early Stones (reminded me of how much I really, really enjoyed that little album promo/documentary on VH1 last weekend, "Being Mick"), some Cat Stevens, good, good stuff. I may look for the soundtrack to purchase. And then MTV, why, I have no clue, but I found myself watching Rebecca Romijn-Stamos' "Diary". Crazy. Even crazier is that MS Word seems to recognize the name Romijn-Stamos. Whoa. Cost of the War in Iraq
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