By Proxy

Idle

2008-08-20T13:34:00.000-07:00

When I don't have anything interesting to do, i doodle.

I will miss nothing about this job except the access to fun office supplies, and all the pens I took home with me.

Changing ADDY

2007-12-25T21:07:00.000-08:00

I'm moving on over to http://seedleaf.blogspot.com/

Cotyledon: It's Not Just a Pretentious Title. It's a Cuter Layout.

Jesus B-Day!!!

2007-12-25T20:45:00.000-08:00

Happy xmas, reader-san. Thanks for the comments (well, the non-passive-aggressive and/or bitchy ones) and for reading my incredibly pointless ramble-fest. If I've called you mean or stupid or fat in the past, I'm sure I didn't really mean it...

Unless you're that-one-person, in which case I meant it all, and only my respect of the law and future prospects keep me from feeding your mangled corpse to the dog.

Ok, merry christmas and lots of love, people! Hooray for warm fuzzies and the end of quite a crazy year!

Dinner?

2007-12-20T12:13:00.000-08:00

Sister: Mom wants to know if you're ok with prime rib for Christmas dinner
Me: Ham! I want ham. and we're still having crab, right?
Sister: that's Christmas eve. You're the only one who ever eats the ham.
Me: oh. right. Eve dinner is good, I'm fine with prime rib.
Sister: are you sure you don't want us to kill a pig and give it to you?
Me: Well, I don't know...do you want to die?
Sister: That was mean. You hurt my feelings. A Lot.
Me: Oh no! I didn't mean to call you a pig!
Sister: I don't think you care!
Me: of course I do
Sister: Do not!
Me: Honey, I love you. You're sweet and pink and delicious...
Sister: Gross. Am not. shaddup.

Total 180

2007-12-12T11:43:00.001-08:00

Today is my last day at the Bookstore. I'm writing in quick sentences between showering and shaving and dressing and kissing my puppy and kitten. Glee!!!

After nearly a year of fighting for a career-starting job, I was offered the position of image coordinator at Publisher, a development company that writes books and chapters for k-12 education. I'm excited and very, very nervous, since this job is what I want to be doing at twice the salary of my retail gig. I'm starting out in a freelance, by-project position for the next few months, so i must make an instant great impression and prove to them I'm worth keeping. Eee!!!

I start on the 17th, this coming Monday, and iun the meantime I have a puppy and kitten to find care for over my trip home for xmas, and The Mist to watch while it's still in theaters, and an aprtment to clean, and work-awesome outfits to assemble. Tonight, however, when I get home from work at about midnight, I'll be celebrating with unhealthy food and drink and Lost, Season 2....4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42eeee!!!

Publisher has no idea how lucky they are to be hiring a ready-made nerd in her prime, eh?

Three Day Weekend!

2007-11-24T11:28:00.001-08:00

I know, I should have a four-day weekend like the rest of you, but I work on Sunday, so this is about the longest I've been away from the Bookstore since I started. I wonder if she misses me, that ol' whore. I'm guessing her calendar and card sections could use some serious attention.

Dating Cute Boyfriend gave me an excuse to let myself go, apartment-wise. I was messy and didn't do dishes, and frankly if you've seen HIS apartment (omg, buy a freakin couch), I wasn't worried about the competition. Now that we've parted ways, I've actually made my place look nice, clean, and otherwise worth the 800 dollars I pay a month. I wish you could see it, reader-san, the whole place looks fantastic. I can walk unobstructed to the bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, windows, everything!

(Cute Boyf's things are on a windowsil. Ocassionally I toss them to the puppy, but he won't touch them. Good dog.)

Still, cleaning and lifting and mopping must have done something, because last night I felt a distinct 'twang' in my neck while typing, and I think I spasmed something. I tried to sleep on a heated rice pillow, I tried yoga, but my neck just keeps twisting back on itself. It's in worse shape than a handful of pipe cleaners after craft hour in kindergarten. Blogging probably isn't helping. Hmm.

OHH! I had a great thanksgiving, thanks to Jason Chin and his good taste in friends. It was delightful. He rocks. Pass it on.

I think I should wear a turtleneck. Heat helps neck pain, right? Or I could bring up commitment...that got rid of Cute Boyf, and he's a pain in the neck BURN!!! Snap!!!

Ouch...sassing hurts my neck too. I'm doomed.

At least it's over

2007-11-14T08:47:00.000-08:00

Well, my job interview lasted a solid 40 minutes, and we ended up giggling at several points. I'll know if I got the job (which would be freelance thru Feb-March-ish) at the beginning of next week.

Mom is coming to visit today, so I wheedled Work into scheduling me from 12-7, rather than 2:45-11. We're going to dinner after, she will probably say some well-intentioned things to cheer me up, we'll go to a movie or back the her hotel to hang out, and she won't be allowed near my VERY messy apartment.

I'm amazed at how relieved I am that tomorrow is Thursday, the 'Friday' of my work week. It's been a long 7 days, and I'm looking forward to a big rest; Dante and Cormac and occassional emails keeping me company.

Totally Week.

2007-11-12T06:03:00.000-08:00

Mon- Work 8:45-5:00
Tues- Work 8:45-5:00
Weds- Appt 9:30-10:30?, Work 2:45-11:00, Mom Visiting
Thurs- Work 8:45-5:00, Mom
Friday- Mom? Laundry, clean up and sort out apartment

-get refill of meds
-cash paycheck
-walk puppy 2x a day
-clean dishes and fridge
-buy rubber boots (for puppy walking in winter weather)
-if time allows, reconcile quantum/non-quantum physics*

*Free time unlikely

Hate the Game?

2007-11-07T22:52:00.000-08:00

I've been out of the improv loop for at least 6 months now...and I'm not sure that I hate it. I love performing so much, but I can't stand the average improvisor: preening, scowling, high-school-cliquing around. Cute Boyfriend does one show a week (well, two including his sketch show, which just closed a run at the Apollo), a pub quiz and poker on Tuesdays, and avoids all other contact with 'imps. I dropped off my former all-lady team (too much estrogen in one group) and haven't auditioned or performed since.

I took a few classes at a different theater and an internship to pay for them, but it wasn't fun. The shows were soft-edged, Urban-Outfitter faux edgy, and the people running around backstage were unpleasant.

Maybe it's my job, maybe it's just a side effect of living in a big city, but I'm so damn tired of thoughtless people. I've done my share of bitching on this blog about...um...everything; perhaps it all boils down to manners. I cannot stress enough how much manners matter to me. at some point, shouldn't people outgrow the narsissim of their youth? Stop gossiping and start appreciating each other? I can't say I'm the best example...meh.

The fact is, I miss being on stage with people I adore, and doing shows without chatterboxing after. Just enjoying good work, making each other laugh, and being content. If I had the balls, maybe stand-up would be more my game. At this point, I'd be happy just to watch a show with all strangers in the audience...

Calm...?

2007-11-01T12:42:00.000-07:00

I'm not, by nature, a calm and collected girl. Nothing skitters me out more than changes in my life, and nothing skitters me even MORE than feeling stagnant. Cute Boyfriend has been admirably good at handling this:

Me: So I'm really happy with everything right now except my job and I really like you cute boyfriend like I like you and puppy and kattin and apartment and look I cleaned the bathroom and did laundry too!

Cute Boyf: That's great, Jady

Me: ohmygod but if you're not happy I'm sorry I said i was and you know you don't have to come hang out as much if you have things to do but i love you coming over here and I love you but that's not the issue you should just let me know if you need anything and I'll help or if you like need space or something that's cool too ok ok just let me know

Cute Boyf: Love you too. I'm good

Me: ok ok good just let me know and I love you too and are you sure you're happy because i could go do something like change the lights to a nice yellow glowing bulb or maybe you want to go to a movie or we could rent one if you're bored OMG k but I'm happy so we don't have to

Cute Boyf: Jady. I'm good. Calm down.

*kisses*

Me: but if anything changes you just let me *breathing at the speed of crazy*

Cute Boyf: Calm down.

Me: *squeak* k....

You really must give him kudos. I'm getting better at handling things...better by comparison to my biz-zonkers mindset of every problem automatically triggering the 'good lord I'm going to die and fail and everyone hates me' neon lobe of my brain. My brain screams at me less...it's closer to a flourescent glowing-hum now.

Book of Job (omg, have I used this title before? hmm.)

2007-10-24T00:05:00.000-07:00

Hey, kendra...: Shall.

I'm still looking for a job. It's been a YEAR, reader-san. It's been a year and the best I've gotten is a gig at a bookstore and a 'you're nearly over-qualified' note.

For the record...fuck THAT. I'm over-qualified? Then why are you wasting time writing this note instead of hiring me, huh? Unless said note is the beginning of a job offer, I don't really give a damn. If I had every job for which I am overqualified i wouldn't be cruising careerbuilder.com like a sad mid-forties-and-still-eating-pop-tarts vegas trick, would I?

*sigh*

My current job is deeply frustrating, because although it's books, it's also retail. On a street highly traffiked by tourists and rich mens' wives. With no hope of advancement, because the company doesn't promote from within. Why would they? Apparently nearly over-qualified people are a dime a freakin dozen.

I'm going bonkers.

It's not the job, even, or the searching for a career-starter. It's the fact that my life outside of work is going so well...then I worry about professional atrophy and money. I've been worried about underachieving since I was 3, so I'm used to that. I hate, however, worrying about money. Hate it so much.

Bah.

Meme

2007-10-15T18:55:00.000-07:00

Biddle made me do this. Bah. I is nerd.

List 5 things that certain people (who are not deserving of being your friend anyway) may consider to be "totally lame," but you are, despite the possible stigma, totally proud of. Own it. Tag 5 others:

1.Jack

I am absolutely in love with the name Jack. Love it. I only spared my puppy from the name because I can't name my son the same name as my dog and yet I totally would. I would name you all Jack. All of you.

2. Allergen

I'm allergic to cold. To fast temperature changes, actually. I break out into hives if I get too cold, and I went into seizures as a child when I had a MINOR fever. It's a pain in the ass...but see, I have a superpower.

Not a hepful one, as everyone seems to assume theirs will be, but a superpower nevertheless.

3. Serial of Champions

I know more about serial killers than the nerdiest of nerdprovisors. Try me. JUUUUUST try me.

4. I. Adore. Ted. Raimi.

And on the off chance you ever read this, Ted, I adore your talent. Not just your good good looks.

Yes, please.

(oh, and Nathan Fillion, please don't be hurt...I'll totally take you as a silver metal.)

5. As a child, I would have killed to be in a Muppet movie. They seemed like the best, sweetest friends you could ever hope to have. Still woud probably main...at least....to be in Muppet Horror Show.

(Mrs.Piggy as Magenta...can you freakin' imagine!)

5 things that YOU might think are lame (and I might secretly think are lame too), but ostensibly might be proud of.

Now, apparently, "I tag 5 other bloggers who can fill out this meme for themselves."

Kendra Jason Jess Marc Heather

October 10th

2007-10-10T23:19:00.001-07:00

Missus Ashley Ma'am-

Happy birthday, beautiful sister. Yesterday, October 10th, you would have been 25 years old. I would have flown home to see you, bought you something cute and something smart. You were a genius, and a beauty, though I don't think you knew it. You were (and are) so loved, babe.

Dante is a wonderful cat, and happy as I can make him. Jake is still a puppy at heart and misses you so much, babe. He'll always miss you...I think he still runs up to the gate when I get home hoping you'll be the one pulling into the driveway. He and Cassie live together now, rediculous as ever. They run side by side, and jake will jump over Cassie as they do. It's pretty damn impressive, actually. When I go visit this weekend, Jake will sleep in my bed, ok? I'll spoil the hell out of your baby.

Because of you, I am taking care of myself. I went to Dr. G and got the medicine and encouragement I need to help myself. Because of your love and dedication to organ donation, a boy who was blind can see now, with your eyes. Mom and David went to place flowers at the organ donor wall. I hope you know that, and I hope you realize how much good you did.

It's hard to live sometimes without you here. I want so much to talk with you, to tell you about my life, all the silly details, and make you laugh. I love you, Ashley. I'm so proud of who you were, and how hard you fought for your life. I hope I'm making you proud, too.

Happy Birthday.

~Jady

Honestly, it's effing quitting time.

2007-10-05T11:00:00.001-07:00

I'm quitting smoking and drinking.

I will have a martini with ted this weekend, or possible something pomegranate-flavored. I will not, however, have beers and cigarettes after work and excuse myself because I'm stressed out.

Smoking is not ok because my job is unsatisfying, nor because I will totally quit when I get a new job/have a good day/want to.

Beer is delicious, yes. It's also the reason why I'm still 15 pounds over my happy-weight and feel like crap some mornings.

My sister and my dad are not proof of the inability to avoid addiction. My genes are retarded, but my brain is stronger.

I will honor my sister's memory by living a life healthy and happy. I will honor myself by taking care of my body and dealing with my pain in a positive way.

Depression is a bitch. But I have meds for that. No need to self-medicate.

Nicotine is poison. I wouldn't eat tobacco. So I will not be supertarded and smoke it.

I'll smell and feel better. Food will taste better. My lungs will start to heal. My body will begin to flush out toxins. I will help with water and fruits and veggies and excersize.

I love my family and my friends, my boyf and puppy and kittzen. They love me too and want me to be healthy.

affirmations are silly and yet I feel better after writing this.

because now, dear reader, you can cheer me on and remind me to do the walkin' that accompanies this talkin'. Y'heard.

SummerEnd

2007-09-26T11:22:00.000-07:00

I've been prodded into writing my blog once again, and I'm sorry for the delay. My life has just been going, uh...well. Smoothly, even. Apart from having a crappy 8.00-an-hour job, I'm better off that I can remember being ever before. Weird, no?

sidenews: C broke up with his babymamma cus he's a slave to his (non-monogomous)nature, Sage is moving away from the city (um, why. It's Chicago, hon! You can get no better), Jess is buying a theater maybe and hiring me even maybe-er, Roomie's in Cleveland, and the family is holding it together, although October 10th is never a good day.

In my apartment, Dante is cuddling next to Cute Boyfriend's printer, and Cormac is chillaxing on the rug. They look over occasionally to make sure I'm not smuggling food. Dante is beautiful as ever, and Cormac has grown from a teeny puppling into an adorable young puppkins. He's redder, tall as my knee and uses his black-rimmed brown irises to give me emo-eyes and pout.

Cute Boyfriend is working at his coffee shoppe, and I have bookstore duty in about an hour. I have work until 11 tonight, and at 8:45am tomorrow morning, so I can only hope to kiss CB in his sleep after I get home tonight. Sigh.
I'm still seeking a non-retail job, wherein I can sit and type and even spend an entire day without directing bitchy tourists to the bathroom, or "paperbacks", or cafe where they leave piles of litter and magazines.

More later. Have to get ready for work. Hopefully, with my newly stable schedule, I'll be able to blog at least a few times a week. I'll certainly try.

.....

Paperback, for the record, is a method of binding, NOT a genre. Tourrrrrists!!!!

New Monday

2007-06-17T10:50:00.000-07:00

This friday, my adorable and tall sister turned 19 years old. I find this terrifying, considering I'm pretty sure she was about 13 a week ago.

This saturday, Kendra (the roomie) and I graduated. She walked, I didn't...still, we won't know who WON college until all the graduation cards roll in. C'mon, people, this is a matter of my poverty and my pride!

Today, Kendra moved out and drove off to Ohio, to live with her family for a bit. I can't really comment, it hasn't quite hit me yet. But I must say I'm sorry they headed out before we could hug this morning, and I miss her. More later.

Tomorrow, I start my new, full-time, booktastic job at Bookstore, thus psudonymed to avoid doocing (look it up). Very, very excited/ nervous/ planning cute and booksmart outfits to dazzle customers and self.

oh, and I need to call RCN. I hope they are not, in fact, terrible terrible people, and will bring me cable, internet and phone services with minimal agony on my part.

Idlewild

2007-06-11T10:49:00.001-07:00

Despite many, many things to do, I'm bored as hell today.

I must remind myself that this is no-one's fault but my own...I just happen to prefer madness.

Cancel-ed!

2007-06-05T09:43:00.000-07:00

For about six months, my dad's been planning on coming down, bringing his friend Rick and Rick's truck, to help me move my furniture to my new apartment. Dad tells me, today (with the assumed arrival date of tomorrow)that Rick's truck broke down and Dale, who was going to drive my dad down to Chicago, bailed on him.

So.

I have a full apartment, no truck, no heavy-lifters, and arms the size of pipe-cleaners. Yes. Yes. So much stuff I can't lift or transport myself. balls. balls balls crap.

Now would be as good a time as any for the zombie apocolypse.

The Golden Mean

2007-06-02T21:55:00.000-07:00

I've been a good girl for a very long time.

I have not, however, been watching my ass. Since the only thing I hate more than people who say they love things more than air (you LOVE air? really. REALLY. you love it. Like one may love, what, shelter? Not...say, require it. Or appreciate it. Or simply need it to live. Love it, huh? Freaking idiot.) is people who let themselves go, I'll be doing sit-ups this evening. My belly is NOT at optimal flatness.

Ah, and for the record, 'Mr.Brooks' is all sorts of fantastic, and just begging for a sequel. Much more worthy of continuation than, for example, Shrek. Just saying.

Hmm. I miss Guy. I miss him more than clean drinking water.

Excerpt from My Book

2007-05-18T10:40:00.000-07:00

One unremarkable night, after cutting even rows into my thighs for six months, I strayed to my wrist. Two small hesitation marks that still won’t fully heal, and, taking in my breath and pushing the razor with a steady thumb, a deep slice into the flesh. More of a pull than a digging motion, breaking the tension; cutting water. My wrist opened, pale skin wreathing a dark red valley with rivers of veins at the bottom. It bled irrationally slow. I stood and gasped like a caught fish, I ran to the bathroom, I wrapped my wrist in a light green towel and secured it with a hair elastic.
My body pulsed out of rhythm as I dressed in a bra and sweatshirt, pulling on old jeans, flexing my arm, considering the harm of leaving it till morning. Some mental process forced me downstairs, to the ATM on the corner, to get cash and take a cab to the hospital. I walked into the emergency room. There was the usual 3am traffic, a crying baby with two young parents, a few old women huddled on the hard chairs, and me; The paradigm of wasted academia, cliché depression-struck twenty-something. I spoke calmly with the nurse at the desk and sat to wait my turn.
I sent a text message to a friend (who either never got it, or never bothered to respond), I jackknifed myself into a chair and held the towel to my wrist, sobbing quietly, swallowing gallons of air. I could actually taste hate, how I loathed myself. I was selfish, I was mean, I was unforgivable.
I could feel my pulse, but the towel was dry to the touch; thank god for the smooth subtle cut of a razor blade. No jagged edges to mend. No torn veins or detached tendons. When the triage nurse inspected the wound, it opened like an eye, the veins and deep muscle immerging from a slit of skin, bleeding from the edges. It was deeper than I can imagine cutting. More naked than I’d ever been before, without clothes or epidermis, staring.
Some nights I can hear the razor, the single cut that pushed me into three days in the psych ward and twice-a-week counseling since. Not a fleshy sound, but something green and new…the firm snap of an apple stem, or celery splinted, capillaries bursting, a taut firecracker. More insidious, even; breaking open an oyster shell, cracking an egg on stainless steel; Branches snapping in the morning, scraping the bedroom window as they fall, when the streets are paved in ice.

Trading Post

2007-05-07T08:30:00.000-07:00

I've been offline for the least few weeks...it's much easier to keep up my blog when I'm miserable and lonesome. It's more difficult when I have much, much better things to do with my time. So, let's update...I'm sure you're all dying to know where I've been.

WELL.

I'm taken. off the market. Completely and utterly head over heels crazy wonderful fantastic terrifyingly hopefully and brilliantly dating this Guy. Guy has, as Randy would observe whilst giving notes on his singing, the Wow-Factor. we've been seeing each other for about a month, and it's damn hard to sit at a computer and blog when I could be Guy-hugging. Reader-san, the only downside is that I feel like a dingus for living here for 4 years before asking him out. What was I thinking? He was HERRE the whole TIME. I have so much time to make up for....

The tradeoff of being T-t-taken, however, is that my friendly relationships with other gentlemens have to change. I don't really feel comfortable with casual flirting anymore. Several boys have taken this change without an ounce of grace. Although I care deeply for these men, um, they can't handle the friendship thing. The one person who I was actually worried about, Sage, ironically made this shift very easy for me.

He told me I was ruining my dog.

Now is the time to applaud me for holding back from kicking his ass.

Yes, he told me, during a brief conversation on the sidewalk, that I was ruining my dog. With poor training. Or not enough love for the puppy. I don't remember exactly. I DO remember thinking that he should die, die slowly. Sage has never cared for another living creature, by choice, in his life. He doesn't LIKE unnecessary interaction with society or nature. I've taken care of crazy people, dying loved ones, and multiple sweet pets whom I LOVE. I've eased pain and dried tears and chosen, yes, chosen, to remain close when it was freakin' painful to do so.

And, for the record, my Cormac is very happy, healthy, and taking to training like a pro. Ask anyone, mutherfucker.

Yeah, it sucks to give up the gents I used to hang out with in mutually single days. For a second or two, at least. Then I remeber, of course, I have Dante and Cormac and Guy in my house! Guy!!!! Guy!!!!!!! Y'all have no IDEA how much I adore that man! Imagine a lovely asian garden adorned with kittens and puppys in 1890 Londoners' formalwear, having tea and singing showtunes. That's *nearly* as wonderful as Guy.

Gross, right? Sorry, reader-san. I'll try, despite the sdorableness. to regain my sass and cynicism. Wish me luck.

Reveiws

2007-04-17T11:31:00.000-07:00

"Proxy's a different story entirely. I get the feeling she basically wrote me off as a jerk and a liar after we broke up. And I haven't heard from her, but get second-hand vibes about what she thinks of me here and there. And, of course, it's that I'm a jerk and a liar."

"I'm not certain whether Proxy has clocked out on me or if I am giving up, but the end result is the same. I'm not going to keep fighting to prove that I am worth her time and attention.

I'm done.
I'm out.

Being alone is better than being ignored."

There's nothing stranger than reading the blogs of x-somebodys. For the record, I could point out these men were not worth the trouble of cuddling to my mighty bosom whenever they had a bout of the 'wanna-attentions'. Or how unappetizingly martyr-bent, self obsessed and generally trainwrecked these men are/were. But I won't....

I'll agree. I am worse than, like, ten thousand dead babies. And, like, twice as mean. I can't linger, reader-san, not with hundreds of Chicago puppies and orphans to skewer.

No..words...should have sent a...poet...

2007-04-11T18:14:00.000-07:00

My puppy Cormac is too cute for words.

TOO CUTE.

Woolf and Puppies

2007-04-06T08:54:00.000-07:00

Last night, T and I went to the Tony Award-winning "Who's Afraid of Viginia Woolf" as guests of Bill Irwin (on the left...he's the one who's NOT Kathleen Turner). I saw Bill at IO earlier in the week, and got to chatting about the theater workshop he taught during my first year at DePaul. He invited me to come see the show, and emailed later to ask me and my guest to dinner afterward.

T, for the record, is a huge-gantuan Bill Irwin fan...he was thrilled. I am a huge Albee fan, so I was, too. I think we both held our sh*t together fairly well, despite the walk from the theater to the resturant littered with autograph-hungry fans. Now, if Mrs.Turner had joined us, I might have fainted...I mean, holy god...I just loved her in Nip/Tuck.

The question is, how do I top this? wrangle a week-long cruise with Bruce Campbell and Nathan Fillion?

My god...that would be so, so sexy...pardon me, readers, I have some Firefly/Evil Dead fan fic to write...

Punches Unpulled.

2007-03-29T14:55:00.000-07:00

Early this week, due to reformatting, a perviously-hidden section of my favorite message board was readable for about an hour. This section was the Locker Room message board of ten or so men, with a series of conversations about people in the improv community. There was, in fact, a brief discussion about me. I'll try to make it...less horrible:

A: Proxy is annoying me at the moment. What a paradigm of promiscuity.

B: I agree. Let's 300 her Xerxean ass (Proxy-altered to show pop culture allusive skills and highlight general comic-tardation of group)

C: Huzzah. Additional biting commentary.

D: Or perhaps we might fornicate her to the point of silence, what say you all?

Now, I'm actually not bothered by the lion's share of this. It wouldn't be the first time...and frankly, if the worst thing you can think of is 'she's a slut! haHA!", well, yay. So no-one thinks I'm fat or stupid. Just sexually active. Awesome.

All joking aside, I cried (still crying, actually), I'm hurt, and I'm incredibly pissed that I can't be as nice as I want to be at the theater; apparently my manners and friendly conversation translates to "Beware: Working Girl". I like being nice. But not when this shit happens.

....as a final note, if I were less moral, I'd probably let Audi and Jess fly out here and meet the men in question. But the fewer assault charges (however justified) the better. Which is why, Jess/Audi, if you're reading, I didn't mention this to you.

Saints

2007-03-28T10:01:00.000-07:00

St.Patricks Day in Chicago was a night to remember. Roomie and I intentionally walked up Clark, not to wedge ourselves into an overpacked bar, but to see just how batsh*t the city had become. I like this picture not only because no-one is passing out, but see that shiny man in the center? That poor city employee spending the night wrangling drunkins? He. Is a hero. To us all.

This week, however, Chicago is a ghost town. I'm sure there are just as many people as before, but they're not hanging out with me. Boo. Lonesome sucks.

Robertvisit!!

2007-03-23T17:46:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in Robert's over-sized dorm room, eating the candy she brought from germany. She also stole me a nice beer mug from some german bar (klepo's also got a piece of glossy white ceramic on her bookshelf...because she's not above stealing from ROADS) and bought a cute blue sweatshirt that I will LIVE in. Great Ceasar's Ghost, it's comfy.

Now, Robert is awesome. Not only because she's a blood-relative (anything related to me is usually awesome), but because she's grown into this adorable lady-type person with "Three Roads to Quantum Gravity" and "The Music of Primes: Searching to Solve the Greatest Mystery in Mathematics" on the shelf right next to "Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights".

We're going out to dinner in a few minutes, then back to campus to celebrate drinking. Or, rather, to celebrate the soccer team's trip to Germany with the very alcohol they brought back with them. They're a wicked efficient team, reader-san. They're doing a half-asses costume theme, with a few wearing their german-bough garb, a few with beer steins...Robert, being blonde and blue-eyed, is dressing as an Aryan. The party is at a sorority house affectionately known as 'The Brothel*'. Don't worry, gentlemen readers, I'll bring my camera.

*Robert says this name is derived from a texas ordinance that dubs any household with more than 7 female occupants a brothel. I think the name is derived from sorority girls being big ol' sluts. potato.,..potato.

Trials of Yuck

2007-03-20T11:30:00.000-07:00

The goal with this particular poem was to write a love poem that didn't inspire 'yuck's or cynical underpinnings. I hope I've suceeded where Atwood and Rosetti failed. Don't get me wrong, ladies, you're fantastic writers...but love poems are supposed to impart,um, love rather than distaste for mens.

Whoso list to touch
Oak to water
Watch the hue
And taste of gales
Follow him with
Folded granite wing

He who may
Pale darkened water

Bind the cloth
Knot the winds unkempt
Beware beneath
White crest of brine

I sing to sate
The pulling tide
Coax milky shells to smooth

He is stone
And I corrode
Could pull each boat asunder

These firey seas
Wet-spark to breech, to score
The slate grey sky
And rise, and rise ink-stained
Mariner be wise, aye,
And fix an eye to shore.

Is this love?

2007-03-18T21:48:00.000-07:00

I've been looking for the last 6 months or so for the perfect dog to join me in my apartment when I move after our lease expires (at the beginning of June). This saturday, at an adoption event, I feel head-over-heels for G.G.; this little nerdball:

And looking on the chicagopitbulls.org website, Frieda caught my eye:

I admit, G.G. looks like a mean little bat-dog who's been pred to fight, but she's delightful and eager to please. I sat down with her foster father for the last half of the event. I was happy to hear that she's JUST been put up for adoption. She's 1.5 years old, great with the two other dogs she's living with, and Foster Guy even suggested taking her to his friend's 4-cat household to get her real-life cat adjustment-ing.

So I applied online, I emailed the specific adoption coordinator for advice and info, and I've been reading up on the breed. Aparently, they're the Grendel of dogs. Sweet darlings with bad raps....as so described on the well named www.badrap.org. who knows? Perhaps I will adopt a social pariah of a puppy. We can go hang out together and talk about missing prom.

edited to add: I honestly don't understand the question (on the adoption application) 'what would you do if you had to move?'...it seems like a no-brainer. I'd take my pets. The only reason I'd ever give up Dante is if I had a terminal disease and wanted him to move to a better home. In my opinion, you simply don't give up a pet. they're closer than many family members. I'd give up a lover, a job, and a home for my pets. They're my babies, and they come first.

I remember when Saphire, our first cat, died. Mom actually postponed telling Ashley until she went to Cali to take her home after finals at her freshman year of college. When she told her, Ashley collapsed, sobbing, in the parking lot of a bookstore. I remember holding her head one night, on the back porch, as she said that the only people she KNEW who loved her was her cat Figaro and her puppy Jake, and me. Figs got a home with a friend of the family, and Jake stays with us. I know it sounds crazy, but his heart is broken...he'll never love anyone the way he loved Ashley. You can see it in his eyes. Whenever I'm home, I let him sleep in my bed and we miss her together.

I'm terrified of how I'll react when Dante dies...I better be with safe, loving friends. Cassie and Jake, our two husky-mutt dogs, are so in love with me that every time I go home, I wear an outfit on the plane that is easy to clean, since the moment I get to the house, they'll jump on me, wiggling like caterpillars on coke. And G.G.? Her initials stand for 'good girl'.

I want that darling dog. Thank God that, despite my self-loathing brain, I know I want her.

Schedule

2007-03-14T23:08:00.000-07:00

So my day will be as follows:

10:00 Guy – Marketing Director
11:00 Fellow–Executive Editor
11:30 Sir – Executive Editor
12:00 Lunch with Lady & Chick
1:30 Dude –Executive Editor
2:00 Lad– VP of Marketing
2:30/2:45 – Lady/Chick again.

The funny thing is, I'm most worried about lunch....who has an hour for lunch??? What the hell do people talk about for an hour? I mean, I can stare at the menu for a good 15 minutes, but after that....

I won't dwell on it. I'll just continue to remind myself that my suit is damn hot.

...I Want to be Sedated.

2007-03-14T09:12:00.000-07:00

Woke up late this morning, and jumped out of bed in a jolting, jittery mood. The next 36 hours are pretty damn important...and if I wasn't been ignored by all my Chicago friends, I'd be stocking up on hugs this afternoon.

So...I'm leaving in a few moments to get breakfast, and read my lit. theory textbook. As I'm eating, I need to call Dr.G and cancel our appointment for this afternoon, since I have to take my lit final early. I'll grab a bus over to campus and read more, and hopefully write another solid page in my grammar and style final essay. I take the Lit final at 2. After, I'll run over to Howie's house to pick up his car keys and remember where he parked his car.

Then I'll probably go back to campus and finish my Grammar essay (once again, early due to a full day of interviews tomorrow), turn it in with the thank-you note I wrote my professor last night. I'll print out my interview schedule and directions from my neighborhood to the company headquarters, and the phone numbers of my interviewers. Hop a bus back home, lay out my interview suit and blouse, pick shoes, make certain I have nylons that work with the outfit, set out my purse with everything I need for thursday. I'll eat dinner from somewhere delicious, take my pills and drink a good glass of water.

I'll take a shower, shave and exfoliate. I'll put on lotion after and dry my hair straight, so it's easier to put up in the morning. I'll put on my pajamas and set out my underroos for the interview outfit, as well as the my makeup (for the morning and to take with my in case I need touch ups)and contacts. I'll use astringent and lotion on my face, gently, brush my teeth and rinse, and put on neosporin lip treatment to heal the last little edge of my split lip.

I will check everything, keys, directions, schedule, outfit, etc. I'll set my phone and clock-radio alarms and possibly set up an additional alarm on my computer. I'll go to bed and hug my kitten while he lays on my chest and purrs hard enough to give me a heart murmur.

Hopefully, I'll fall asleep and wake up on time.

Freaking Hell, this is a scary week.

Sister!!!

2007-03-13T10:25:00.000-07:00

This is Ayumi, a jpop singer I discovered by accident a few years ago. She's adorable as all get-out, and her music is just perfect for a montage of busy-Proxy this week...

1. Grammar Final
2. Lit Final
3. Borrow Car
4. Reschedule Dr.appt
5. Borrow car
6. day of 7 interviews
7. gas bill
8. thank you notes
9. clean apartment
10. VH rehearsal
11. Screenplay first draft/ final
12. Teaching English final
13. TE and SW final classes
14. Wait for email reply
15. cry over pointless commercial in stressful anticipation of interviews
16. Lisa's b-day evening on friday

Robert's in Germany for 9 days of spring break. I miss her, and I wish we could talk before I go to the Publishing Company. Still, even if we did talk, I'm sure she's drunk right now....

And if you're reading this, mom, I mean that there's no WAY Robyn would ever go out and drink in a country where she can legally party with all her soccer friends. No, no, she's probably reading ahead in her textbooks and writing up chapter outlines in a german library. I promise.

Just to Mention...

2007-03-12T22:54:00.000-07:00

"don't stess us too much, you're too sexy to stress a dumb guy"

did I mention I love Peeters forever and ever?

Roberttalk

2007-03-08T10:04:00.000-08:00

After Robert gets back from her spring break in Germany (what! I know, right? crazy rich parents) I'm going to visit her, sleep in her hammock, and drag her butt three hours down to the Texas beaches. I demand ocean. and sunlight. and hopefully corona with lime.

I'm wicked excited to see her. But, as you can see from our texttalk this morning, I still have to bust her chops at every oppertunity:

Robert: Shmessica, I get to see you in two weeks!
Me: I know! That's gross.
Robert: Umm, the proper response is "I know! I will make you cookies!"
Me: You need cookies to feed your face? Gross, I say. Ew.
Robert: What! cookies are good!
Me: Like I have time to bake cookies. You wish, little sister, you wish.
Robert: Whatever, enemy.

Hee. Hilarious. Oh, and before I forget, Quixote is being adorable. He deserves a day stress-free, and I may drag him off to funness on the 17th.

(I'm also having fun making up names for mens. For the record, Sage is not called as such because he's wise (like I'd admit to that), but rather because he reminds me of blackberry-sage tea. I thought it would just taste terrible, and be a waste of my time, but it turned out to be delicious so I bought a whole tin and enjoyed the hell out of it....and now I can't find it anywhere and I'm out of tea! It's a stupid metaphor...*sigh*)

Band-Ouch

2007-03-07T15:24:00.000-08:00

My skin is pale and delicate as you'd expect from an irish/swedish/native american girl. (well, not the NA part...but what I lack in darker skin tone, I make up for in my nice strong jaw and...um...freckles. I have Cherokee freckles.) In thw winter, my feet break open and my skin dries and my lips split. Then, to make sure it still hurts, I bite my lip, and to make sure the skin is painfully dry, I lick my lip. I am the smartest person in the world.

Today I went to find a liquid bandage to paste over the large sore cut on my bottom lip (which actually gives me a very sexy street-fighter-by-night-model-by-day look, meOW). Let me tell you something, dear reader:

I have 8 tattoos, 7 peircings, I trip over level ground all the time, I used to CUT for gods sake, keep that in mind....

Liquid bandages work great, BUT, painting them an open cut on the fragile skin of your lips will make you cry in the bathroom. Cry like a girl. Consider yourself warned.

The Battle Begins....

2007-03-06T14:24:00.000-08:00

Dante is the best creature in the world, and I don't need ANYTHING to prove that...our love is beyond the scorn of petty strangers. I will always love you, even if you weren't adores' as all get-out, bunnyface. You will go to this war a gay kitten and return a gay cat.

(But seriously, babydoll, fight bravely in the Kitten Wars or Mummy will have to buy a replacement-you. Kidding...kidding...)

Alternatives

2007-03-06T11:09:00.000-08:00

My sister, Robert, is a math major. She gets her kick off String Theory and plans to dive into investment banking after school. I would normally object to such an obviously silly job (um, hello, who even uses banks? she should be sensible and write poetry with me. it's lucrative and respectable) But she's a 6'1" blonde hotthing, so I can't fight her, and I admit she'll look shiny in a power suit.

still, even math majors get the blues (if they still comprehend color outside of pie charts, nerds)....

Me: School is a monster.
Robert: I know! I want to go live in the montain somewhere.
Me: Me too...i know! Let's move to amsterdam!
Robert: oh, yes, ok!
Me: We'll live in the mountains and sell grapefruits!
Robert: There's no grapefruits in Amsterdam.
me: that's the joy of it! we'll built a grapefruit greenhouse and sell them on the black market.
Robert: ok, and everyone will wonder where they came from...
Me: we'll have to inject them with Delicious. Your job is to make a chemical named Delicious that makes everything delicious. Delicious!
Robert: We could inject them with citric acid!
me: Uh...I'm pretty sure grapefruits already have that.

Then she explained to me how she had a sore brain from having to study and math majors have to think and english majors don't and then i told her I was going to punch her brain in the face and nevermind the whole damn grapefruit idea because she is a total jerk and maybe she should go eat a dividend and tell me its better than the real WORLD because thats what english majors have to know, bitch.

Focus

2007-03-05T09:49:00.000-08:00

"the right dreams for a man in peril were dreams of peril and all else was the call of languor and death"-Cormack McCarthy

See? Isn't that the best picture of zoo-wolves that you've ever seen? Aren't you jealous as all get-out?

I dried the roses in the oven, I'm finishing my fantastic reversible quilt, I'm reading 'The Road', I helped my neighbors move, and by this level of productivity you can tell it's nearly finals week.

On top of that:

I haven't heard back from the graduation office nor the hermitage of Sage.*

I spent Saturday night at a party so deeply self-loathing and uncomfortable that the only reprieve was to act totally at ease --which is exhausting--

and I look forward to ten days of papers due, dr. appts far off in the Downtown, my screenwriting teacher dropping names like a NameDrop Tree, writing that long-overdue soccer/zombie thriller screenplay, typing up 5 more papers before coaxing an early final out my Lit Theory teacher, finalizing arrangments to borrow a car for my Dream interview, cleaning house, washing clothes, eating maybe if free time allows, going to rehearsal, and did I mention the self loathing, the feeling of being so uncomfortable in my skin that I want to shed myself like a mud-soaked sweatshirt? Oh, and breathing, I should probably breathe.

*Sage...such a sweetheart:

Me: So is your hand broken?
Sage: Why?
Me: You never emailed back.
Sage: Actually, I may have broken a bone in the palm
Me: You may have? Shouldn't hospitals and doctors help you figure that out?
Sage: Yeah, I wouldn't wear a cast to work.
Me: you're not allowed to wear a cast to work? Really?
Sage: I didn't say couldn't, I said I wouldn't. It's fine.

(Later)

Me: So everything working out ok?
Sage: I can't talk about it until it's done.
Me: When can you hang out?
Sage: Never. I don't know. (picks up beer with hurt hand, grimaces, switches hands)
Me: I think I hate you.
Sage: everyone does.
Me: (although I'm glad he didn't hear this) Try acting less proud of that.

Yeah. He's not the shiniest. And doesn't seem to like...people. Which I can relate to. However, I know, I KNOW he enjoys my company. (<--forced inner monologue of positivity kicking in) The fundamental problem is that he wants to be alone, and I can't understand that. Hours of solitude are nice at times; but I grew up alone. I was always alone. In my mind, it's not a situation you long for. It's status quo. But clearly I don't know Sage well enough to help out. To even know if he's serious half the time. Who knows, maybe my childhood would have been paradise to him.

Or maybe he's in a place/of a mind where being cheered up is a luxury and a waste of time. Maybe, pardon the archaic term, he's in peril. Maybe I want an excuse beyond simply disliking me.

Maybe I should stop drying flowers and hunting caged wolves and be happy that (despite his apathy and lack of affection) the man has spectacular eyes. For F-ing serious. Damn.

edited to add:

(at some point in the evening)

Sage: Whatebs.

Me: No, I won't stand for this. No, I was ok with adding an 's' to whatev, but a 'b'? That's not even reasonable.

Sage: (Pause) whatebbbbbs.

Hedonismbot?

2007-03-04T17:55:00.000-08:00

Observe:

Hedonismbot (futurama):

and weird sculpture outside of Lincoln Park Zoo:

strangely similar, no? Hmmm.

This post is purely to amuse John and Kendra. F-ing nerds.

Two Weeks

2007-03-01T10:53:00.000-08:00

In exactly 2 weeks, I have my last day of finals, and hopefully a trip to Publishing Company to have a second, face-to-face interview. I'm already in love with this job,l so I'm trying hard to keep from planning, say, the arrangment of clever-yet-work-safe items on my desk, my away-from-the-office memo, and first-job cocktails (and unicorn rides) with my friends.

I get carried away sometimes, with the planning. In fact, if you come to my place and notice a wedding magazine or two, don't be scared. First of all, I probably won't marry you. The statistics are in favor of marrying someone that isn't YOU. Second of all, keep in mind that I scout apartments and furniture and decor and puppies for my apartment in June, and I haven't gotten those yet.

It's more a matter of loving pretty dresses and getting hints on 'fun bachelorette parties on a budget!' for...uh....common knowledge. And whenever Ken Watanabe gets off his adorable ass and wisks me away to a darling B'n'B in the grassy green splendor of a moutainside outside of Amsterdam.

Remembrancer

2007-02-27T14:36:00.000-08:00

(This is the most common picture to pop up after typing 'incompatable' into Google image search)

Blogs are still the strangest little inventions in the last century ('glass house' isn't the right word, but it's the first one that comes to mind) But they're also dead useful, especially when you want to check up on people who you simultaneously want to avoid. For example, i ocassionally get lonesome, with lingering and totally irrational regret for my small collection of X's. Wasn't it better to have some company, some companionship, without expecting anything else? But then, when I look them up, they're writing about:

Onesies

Independant Film Roles

Slam Poetry

That Girl They Dated (for 6 weeks in the 90's) With Whom No One Could Ever Compare

Stopping to Check Out Furniture on the Street

How they are Lazy, Unemployed, but Fantastic, thankyouverymuch

and

Perspective

...and it turns out that not only am i glad to be in a different life-place, but if i really loved them, these quirks and flaws wouldn't bother me so much.

or maybe I just like knowing that statistically, I have higher earning potential, less debt, and a much better chance to have children. Whatevs.

growing up grouchy

2007-02-26T08:58:00.000-08:00

Me: There worst part is, now I'm all angry. I hate those people. They F'ed up my grades. It's very hard to keep from screaming at them. I'm trying to mantain maturity.

Mom: Oh, hon, that is maturity. I think the same things about people I have to deal with.

Me: So you're not calmer or nicer...?

Mom: Nope. I've just learned to fake it better.

Me: Huh. Well...that's refreshing. I guess.

Zoo!!!

2007-02-24T17:38:00.000-08:00

Since my school has royally F---ed my transcript and possibly delayed my graduation for 3 months, I've been prowling around the apartment, crying with frustration and angrier than I've been for at least 2 years. I can't talk with anyone about this until at least Monday...so I opted to take my camera for a spin at the Lincoln Park Zoo. It was chilly getting there, but warm in the buildings, and barely a child in sight. You finally did something right, winter weather.

This was actually amazing...a mum and baby gorilla hanging out right by the side of the cage. I took the pic after watching the mother lovingly lick her baby's butt clean for 5 mintues. After a bit, the kid jumped up and turned away, giving his mom a look that clearly meant 'Mom, could you not was my ass in public? it's embarrassing! Jeeze!'

I remember someone telling me that flamingos are not naturally pink, but take on the color from eating shrimp with lotsa pigment. In the wild, they always look like they're on vacation, in cheap shirts, giggling their way over to the magarita bar. These poor pale guys were just trying to avoid the terrifying geese at the other end of a half-frozen pond.

This picture really doesn't do justice to the giraffe's hair (fur?) it was incredibly rich and made me think maaaaybe the zookeepers have been guilting into extra feedings by the harsh weather.

The big cat cages are pretty hard to photograph through, since they're some of the few truly dangerous animals (as in, will attack rather than ignore/run away) kept in cages without a cement ditch. I am, however, happy with the accidentally mystical appearance of this guy:

The polar bears were loving, LOVING the weather. They also happen to me the most cartoonish animals at the zoo. I imagine this one, (the man? definetly bigger and chubbier than the others) would be voiced by Michael Clarke Duncan.

I actually managed to get a good picture of a wolf, the least photogenic animals, but it'll take some editing. Oh, and let me just say...homeless people LOVE free zoos.

Kitty Therapy.

2007-02-23T10:01:00.000-08:00

It took me more than 2 years to get the Study Abroad department to get off thier asses and record my grades in full. Now it looks as if the last lingering credit, which I taslked to them about two freakin' months ago, may not got through as planned. Which means I may not be able to graduate early. Which means my job search and 6-month plans are in danger of being screwed to the wall.

So here's a picture of trip to the Sanrio store. If I post anything else, it will be a SA professor starring in a snuff film.

2007-02-22T11:04:00.000-08:00

Oh, and for the record, I'm missing DePaul's Winter Job/Internship Fair. It was damn clever of them to schedule a job fair in the middle of a school-day when nearly every class in this Uni is a attend-all or fail course. Apparently I must choose between getting my degree or getting a job after. Makes sense.

I'll take a few pictures of my camera has juice to spare...but no photo could express just how cologne-ish it is in the Student Center. I just hope I can buy enough Axe to fully immerse myself before my next interview. They may not hire me, but with God as my witness, they will smell me for hours.

Real Horrorshow

2007-02-22T10:24:00.000-08:00

When I was younger, scary movies were the bane of my existance. I had to watch them....Teenages are notorious gore hounds, and avoiding the newest, bloodiest film was a sure way to feel like a jerk in conversation. F, no, I haven't seen that one...rips off his head with a shotgun, you say? smushed in a garage door, eh? Dies from eating too much spagetti-O's? How many corpses piled in the crawlspace? My goodness. That is a large number of crawlspace corpses.

Now I LOVE them. Maybe it's my facination with serial killers, maybe it's the fact that I've seen seizures and self-mutilation to the point where a little corn syrup carnage doesn't phase me. All I know for sure is that The Host is SO on the top of my list. It's a monster movie. with archery.

It'd take diamond kittens dipped in chocolate to beat that.

Churchy

2007-02-20T14:19:00.000-08:00

I took this picture originally to illustrate the incompetence of the snow removal technicians in Chicago. But now it looks more like a buddist sand prayer, so let's pretend I'm wicked spiritual.

F it. This picture came out way too cool to validate.

Chicago Cold

2007-02-19T23:29:00.000-08:00

Chicago Cold is a strange breed; a mix of big-city thermal drafts pulling in wind and lake effect sopping up moisture, littered with jet stream leftovers from the twin cities. The mutt winter is cold, dry, wind, snowy, and a perfect reason to wear fuzzy socks to bed.

It's 1:41 am. I have a paper due at 10:10 for my grammar class, and I'm going to sit up in bed, sew another patch on my quilt before I sleep, and ignore the staggering probability that I'll wake up with a stiff neck from the drafting seeping through the huge, uninsulated window at the head of my bedframe.

two days to lent...I'll have to convince myself that God wants me to suffer with Jesus, not frostbite.