not-so-daily pic

We got the afternoon
You got this room for two
One thing I've left to do
Discover me
Discovering you

One mile to every inch of
Your skin like porcelain
One pair of candy lips and
Your bubblegum tongue

Cause if you want love
We'll make it
Swimming a deep sea
Of blankets
Take all your big plans
And break 'em
This is bound to be a while

Your body is a wonderland
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)
Your body is a wonderland

Something 'bout the way your hair falls in your face
I love the shape you take when crawling towards the pillowcase
You tell me where to go and
Though I might leave to find it
I'll never let your head hit the bed
Without my hand behind it

you want love?
We'll make it
Swimming a deep sea
Of blankets
Take all your big plans
And break 'em
This is bound to be a while

Your body is a wonderland
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)
Your body is a wonderland

Damn baby
You frustrate me
I know you're mine all mine all mine
But you look so good it hurts sometimes

Your body is a wonderland
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)
Your body is a wonderland

-John Mayer, "Your Body is a Wonderland"

Validate its existence.

Sites Outside the Site

His name is not Victor.
Tuesday, September 10, 2002
07:21 p.m.
"His name is not Victor. It is Jean Baptiste Poquelin Moliere."

Maybe the funniest line from the Worst Paper Ever, by far the coolest item to be found on in some time. Don't take that as a light statement, because it isn't. Every day I find at least one something there that stuns, amazes or shocks the shit out of me. I laugh out loud as often too. Droll one-line comments from users are responsible for most those chuckles. And the music they got there isn't crappy either.

So, for all of you who did not go through the intricate series of blow jobs required to acquire a coveted filepile account (also for those who could give a fuck), I present the recent winner of my new, entirely improvised contest, Best Pile in a While:

The Miser
by Victor Molliere

Discuss | 9 comments

kitten breath
Saturday, September 7, 2002
10:08 p.m.
Here I sit, moments before going out for a cocktail, still with the rankest of breath, defeated by the top to a bottle of Listerine.

Discuss | 1 comment

i wanna know
Saturday, September 7, 2002
09:28 p.m.
Where's Zannah?

Do you know? | 2 comments

there should be another 's'
Friday, September 6, 2002
12:36 p.m.
Suspicion is a word that never looks right to me. Nearly every time I write it, I look it up, to be extra-sure of the proper spelling, and still I doubt that it is correct.

Suspiscion. Isn't that better? When I am queen, the word will be spelled s-u-s-p-i-s-c-i-o-n and peanut butter will only come in crunchy.

Discuss | 3 comments

"war on terrorism"
Thursday, September 5, 2002
10:40 p.m.
This AP photo at yahoo has a curious caption (permanent) that looks to be taken from this story.

Accidental? Probably not. Professional? Absolutely no. Cool as shit? Hell yes.

[all this brought to you by MetaFilter, and its fine investigative community.]

Discuss | 2 comments

not that there is anything wrong with that
Thursday, September 5, 2002
08:06 p.m.
Below my downtown apartment is a salon, and just around the corner are small shops and such. I always have one window open in the evening and catch pieces of conversation from those passing by. Just now two women were leaving the salon, and this is what I heard:

Woman One: "How long ago was that?"
Woman Two: "Too long."
Woman One: "And what is she now? 30 years later?"
Woman One: "She's a whore with herpes."

Discuss | no comments

That is talent.
Thursday, September 5, 2002
05:08 p.m.
I just got spam from Kelly Clarkson. Good to know she has been able to take some time out of her idol schedule to tempt me to buy printer toner.

Discuss | 3 comments

bigger means better than you
Wednesday, September 4, 2002
08:06 p.m.
A photo of a neighbor's home.  Their big ass SUV is parked on the side.

Land of the free, home of the people who think an enormous flag means they are contributing something.

Discuss | 6 comments

The Onion makes me laugh. Hard.
Monday, September 2, 2002
09:33 p.m.
Movie Works Out Exactly As Audience Hoped

ALTOONA, PA—Moviegoers at Clearview Cinema's 9:30 p.m. showing of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" expressed delight Saturday, when the romantic comedy worked out exactly as they had hoped. "It was heartwarming enough to see the two young lovers get married after all they'd been through," said Janet Garlin, exiting the multiplex. "But to see the bride reconcile her feelings toward her crazy family? That was like a special bonus." Garlin said she hadn't been this satisfied by a movie's ending since the last movie she saw.

In case you quit going, The Onion is still good.

Discuss | 5 comments

Who told you that was a good idea?
Monday, September 2, 2002
08:39 p.m.
A note to all men: Stop highlighting your hair. It looks downright laughable.

Discuss | 6 comments

It's sort of like home.
Monday, September 2, 2002
01:46 a.m.
When I moved I didn't get cable in an effort to save money and up the number of films I've seen to better equip myself as a (potential) film critic. Also, cable is for pussies.

However, I'm going through withdrawls. Tonight I positioned myself in such a way that I could watch some show on ESPN, soundless, through the window of my neighbor's apartment. Only half of it, actually, since the top portion of the set was obscured by blinds. Oh, and I don't like sports. One bit.

Rather than call to see if you could order premuim cable after midnight, I put in Episode 2 (okay, one and two) of Twin Peaks and settled in. I've watched nearly 30 hours of Twin Peaks since moving in my new place one month ago (season one, the pilot and the film) which, admit it, is sort of twisted. I put it on before bed to lull me to sleep, or sit down with pen in hand to note obscure details I haven't yet noticed. Like, how in episode one does Coop get that cherry pie at the Double R when he just ordered it from Shelly? Norma didn't bring it, did she? A continuity error, or does it mean the one-armed man found the Log Lady in the White Lodge? I'll never fully understand why I love that show so fucking much, but I love that I love it. It's sick, and I know it.

I've determined in this time that episode two is my favorite (excluding, of course, the pilot, which is a seperate and nearly perfect entity which cannot be compared. It just can't.). It's directed by Lynch and features such goodies as:

-Ben and Jerry's bit with the baguettes
-Albert Rosenfield's arrival (!)
-silent drape runners
-Audrey's dance in the diner
-"Damn fine coffee...and HOT!"
-Our first peak at the Black Lodge where we meet the Little Man from Another Place and Laura's cousin. [Note, you may have seen this segment tacked onto the end of the original pilot--it's the European version--the scene with the zigzagged floors and red curtains. The part the Simpsons parodied. Well, when it aired in 1990 that scene wasn't shown until episode two. Just so you know.]

It's ultra-lame, but in my head, when people ask me where I'm from, I have to bite my tongue.

Discuss | 7 comments

If they'd only asked about the coat hangers...
Sunday, September 1, 2002
04:50 p.m.
I am 44% pure.

Discuss | 4 comments

okay, so i lied
Sunday, September 1, 2002
02:42 p.m.
Stupid shit people asked or said to me last night at work:

-Is your sweetened tea sweet?
-Will you bring me a to-go cup for my beer? (as he was leaving)
-This dressing tastes wangy-tangy. (A man said this.)
-How big is the 12 oz. prime rib?
-This soup is too soupy.
-I'd like a sirloin, medium--no pink, no blood.

Me: House or Caesar salad?
Him: (look of utter bewildrement, as if he were searching for the square root of 3,671) Hell, I ain't sure. What's a seasoned salad?

Discuss | 2 comments

a story relayed
Sunday, September 1, 2002
03:46 a.m.
My freckle-faced friend Amanda works at a video store that features a large porn section, and while in the porno room was approached by a young, black male.

Him: I see you are wearing a blue bandana.
Her: Mmhmm.
Him: Are you a Crip?
Her: (noticing he was also wearing a blue bandana) No. Are you?
Him: Yeah. You want to go out?

* * *

Edgeling's Equally Fine Quotes of the Evening:

"The fact that there are asshole guys at rock concerts--it's like gravity, it's just there."

"I think she's become a whore for an apartment full of Mexicans."

"Somehow, I identify with Meatwad."

Discuss | 1 comment

Favorite tracks from MetaFilter Mix CD swap:
Saturday, August 31, 2002
11:34 a.m.
"A Life of Possibilities" - The Dismemberment Plan
"Toys in the Attic" - R.E.M.
"Independence Day" - Elliot Smith
"Suzanne" - Leonard Cohen
"Space Oddity" - David Bowie
"Music to Watch Space Girls By" - Leonard Nimoy
an addition: "Starlight" - Superman Lovers

Discuss | 4 comments

hot water bottles and ice cubes and candles, oh my
Wednesday, August 28, 2002
10:53 p.m.
A humorous article from Details magazine circa 1998 featuring David Cross and Janeane Garafalo discussing the woes of dating.

Discuss | 3 comments

She's driving.
Tuesday, August 27, 2002
05:29 p.m.
Happy birthday, sister girl!

We're both off to get wasted.

Discuss | 3 comments

gossamer walls
Tuesday, August 27, 2002
11:36 a.m.
The alarm clock belonging to the guy who lives next door has been going off for two hours and 15 minutes. I have yet to meet this neighbor, but when I do I'll tell him I hate him very, very much.

[Addendum: Now, on the street below my window, someone's car alarm is sounding, ad nauseum, undoubtedly attatched to a '76 El Camino.]

Discuss | 1 comment

while i was gone
Monday, August 26, 2002
01:55 p.m.
I passed by the university for the first time today while class was in session since fall semester started back without me. I'd almost forgotten school had begun again and was startled, almost, to see kids trudging across campus in that forward, not-so-erect, cro-magnum stance that comes with 80 lbs. (and $400 worth) of text books strapped to your back.

Well, I saw naked, nubile limbs mostly. Long, impeccably tanned, 18-year-old legs covered by a swatch of khaki and bare arms stuck through filmy tank tops, clingy due to the swimming heat of August. I saw sweaty brows and girls lugging guitars, and a boy and his easel. I saw an intricate game of chicken between an Explorer and a Volvo for a coveted front door parking spot. I saw a white guy fro in a Whalers t-shirt and a little girl lost, sitting defeated before a map. The buildings all stood the same, mockingly almost, and it all seemed so long, long ago.

I feel old at 24.

Discuss | 4 comments

Google knows best.
Sunday, August 25, 2002
01:53 p.m.
It makes me sort of proud that when ego surfing, Google says I'm #1.

Discuss | 5 comments

I need a new job and quick.
Sunday, August 25, 2002
02:06 a.m.
A few things I desperately wanted to say to some of my customers tonight, but didn't, and am instead telling you:

-"I asked if you'd like another margarita. Any number of responses would have been acceptable, but pointing at the table and repeating the word "food" isn't one of them. You jerk."

-"Happy Birthday, but you must be on drugs if you think I'm singing."

-"Hey! How 'bout you go fuck yourself!"

-"Your enormous fake tits look ridiculous in that undersized Aerosmith tank top."

-"Look, don't make him order for himself. He's two. He's too involved in smearing ketchup on the walls to say 'chicken'."

-"Keep that two dollars and buy yourself a toothbrush."

-"You shouldn't be allowed outdoors."

-"Your boyfriend has been checking out the ass of every woman who's been by this table and when you left to go to the bathroom he winked at me twice."

-"You have Tangy Tomato dressing on your chin and cheek."

[I promise, no more bitching about work for a while.]

Discuss | 9 comments

Hooping is kind of like hugging.
Saturday, August 24, 2002
01:22 p.m.
Ariel has done gone and made me wanna start hooping. An intestinal massage sounds delightful.

Be sure to watch her hoopin' it up in her house.

Discuss | 3 comments

I went red--sort of.
Friday, August 23, 2002
06:02 p.m.

Be nice. | 9 comments

"Darwin was a pussy."
Friday, August 23, 2002
04:48 p.m.
Six months or so ago I was promoted to bartender, a position I had long been considered for, I think, but never given since I refused to campaign for the job. I kiss enough ass doing my daily work to not resort to it in order to move up, no matter the benefits.

Management changed hands and the staff sort of dismantled and the restaurant was left with only 4 male bartenders. They needed one or two more and made the sensible decision to choose females. Suddenly, finally, I'm in.

Whatever. It isn't me. I don't enjoy jawing away about mindless bullshit to utter stangers. I'm not good at it. While I do possess the ability to blather on and on at times to those I feel comfortable around, the last thing you'd ever see me doing is asking my aislemate at the grocery what she thinks of that particular eyebrow wax or chatting up the video clerk--and I both wax my brows and rent movies a lot. It takes a talent, an ease with yourself that I can't seem to muster.

But I'm doing better. I'm acquiring regulars now, which makes things easier, but I still feel like I am putting on a show. I work behind a three-sided bar--the only area with which I can turn my back and not be seen directly is about 6 feet wide and holds a cooler with glass doors that projects my reflection to everyone behind me. When I was waiting tables I would run into the kitchen to make fun of how the hillbilly said "filet" or to cuss and cry or joke around with my co-workers. But behind the bar it is me vs. them with no corner to retreat to for a big man to wipe up my brow and squirt water from a sports bottle straight into my mouth. When I retire from a bartending shift I'm beat. Thoroughly tired, weary of mind and body.

But last night I had four bar guests take over the duties of entertaining. Three drunk men were discussing not the latest sports scores or Anna Kournikova's ass, but reincarnation, creationism v. evolution and the Middle East. They happened to know next to nothing about what they were discussing, and while I tuned them out, happily washing dishes, the man to their left could not. So ensued a two-hour debate over God, the Bible, all the Hindus and the Muslims and the "mud people," and angels. I believe the direct quote was, "Do you believe in angels, motherfucker? Do you? Because I do!"

Other guests began making comments, some funny like "You can all go to hell!" and I was asked repeatedly to summarize today's lesson.

I am giving the gold star to the Jack Daniel's drinking redneck in the center for his best comment of the night:
"The Bible says, 'Fuck Israel'."

Well, awwwright! Sounds straight from the Holy Scripture to me.

Would you look at that, time for work. Perhaps tonight I'll be back with the solution to the AIDS crisis in Africa.

Discuss | 1 comment

rejection: a meme
Friday, August 23, 2002
01:44 p.m.
"I am not stealing what I've already bought."

Discuss | 5 comments

It's about what you want.
Thursday, August 22, 2002
02:40 p.m.
I've got a hair appointment tomorrow and I am wondering: should I go red?

yay or nay? or, who gives a shit? | 12 comments

at my most fearless
Thursday, August 22, 2002
02:32 p.m.
In sixth grade I was a skinny, sullen sort of kid who's family had just a very little bit of money. I was a nervous child who participated in class, but kept few friends or extracirricular hobbies, besides reading or dancing. I rode the bus to school, which, as any former bus-rider knows, is a separate but equally intimidating social microcosm of its own. The bus picked my sister and I up last on its route and there was never room for us to have a seat.

Rayanne Heath was bigger and broader than me, with a full-grown set of girly parts and half a dozen gold necklaces and just as many gold rings. She traveled with a pack of similar girls--I remember them being called "hoods"--all fully developed and pissed the fuck off about it, apparently.

Rayanne made it a habit to make fun of me or threaten to “beat my chipmunk face into the locker.” She spread a rumor to my classmates that I had lice, which I did not, a lie that did little for my scant friendship prospects nonetheless. She’d glare at me in the lunchroom and accidentally fall into me whenever we lined up for whatever it was we lined up for.

I always made sure to take the route that she and her mean cronies less likely traveled, but I couldn’t avoid her on the bus. She’d sit behind where I stood, laughing at my hand-me-down jeans and trying to pull my sneakers off by stepping down hard and repeatedly on the back of the soles. I always stood still as I could, trying hard not to even move from breathing. And took it.

One evening I was lying in bed considering the day that awaited me. I was unhappy at school and at home and decided that I was going to begin to make changes in my life. I clearly remember deciding to take more initiative with housework in order to gain approval from my family. I remember mapping out varied hair styles for each day of the week in order to be considered more attractive to my peers. And I remember making the choice to not be intimidated by Rayanne Heath.

I climbed aboard the bus the next day scared shitless. I knew she’d laugh to her seatmate about my supposed lice infestation. Or she’d tell the guys how some boy I barely knew told her I was a bad kisser. (Little did she know I wasn’t a kisser at all.) And I knew I had to say something to her about it, I just hadn’t planned on what to say.

I started up the stairs and onto the bus and made a move toward her that was pure gut and impulse. I walked directly down the aisle to her seat, or one seat behind her, wrapped my hand around her moussed-up, crunchy ponytail and yanked it back with surprising force. I may never forget her face--at first a smirk, then a pained, distorted look of genuine fear magnified by the bulging of her eyes as I pulled back and down on her scalp.

“Today, and from now on, I suggest you not bother me,” I said in a low growl, turned on my heels and stood, heart thumping wildly about, in the aisle of the school bus. Then I started to cry quietly, but managed to scurry out the sliding doors before she noticed. Before long, everyone forgot all about the lice.

Discuss | 8 comments


shutter to think: photos
currently reading
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aim: miscetcmiscetc (often)
icq: 125288105 (rarely)

webcam status: off

somewhat daily reading
metafilter | myfi
sweat flavored gummi
deep blue day
anil dash
britney blog
i must...
mighty girl
edgeling's infinite ocean
rabbit blog
neil gaiman's journal
little. yellow. different.
cockeyed absurdist
bottom dwelling

et alterum
twin peaks gazette
apt. 121 | aireline
rotten tomatoes
mr. cranky
mass transit
filepile | mypile

get around much: