I just don't know what I'm after... ain't that the truth...
The boys are away and the cats will play... no really.. not really...
Out tonight. L and I caught some drinks at the Piano Bar and wandered around Oakland with Ron (Righteous Omniscient Neurotic) and that was fun. So then we came home and acted like it was a slumber party.
Who can blame us? The boys are fishing. They are gone. Tomorrow night we are going into the City to go dancing. That should be fun. Maybe sublounge, maybe luna lounge, maybe somewhere completely different.
I'm so glad that in all of these years L & I have remained friends. She said, put that in your poetry and smoke it and I have ever since then... years now... and I love it. As much as I complain, I'm not sure I would change my life. Maybe my house, but not my life.
97%.
Here is a poem. For all the non existent audiences of the world...
I am 16 going on 17…
before, when things were simpler, I was
unaware that change really meant different
and things really were scintillating
beyond whatever it was I really believed.
Before,
when things were
littler
in scope and specter
I watched what meant truth like
fair was a reality you could finger and jerk
I try and explain things three ways.
This is what I see of me.
What you see, this is what you have.
What you take.
Which, by take, I mean carry
way into the deepest substratum
beyond
and before
and within
and holding
and scolding
and smoldering
until every glance is clear.
02/18/2005
Friday, February 18, 2005
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
I am the LAMEST person ALIVE.
Or at least the clumsiest.
So far today I've spilled on myself or otherwise dirtied my clothes, oh, five times. No, three times.
First, I dropped a banana. The banana landed in the pot. The pot was full of soapy water and old spaghetti. The water splashed all over my shirt. Luckily none of the spaghetti found its way onto my white shirt, but the water was s-t-i-n-k-y for sure. And so I had to febreeze myself once I arrived at work.
The banana was just the beginning. I've lived with myself for twenty four years and still don't recognize the signs of impending klutz-o-matic behavior.
Once at work, I spilled coffee all over the front of my nice white shirt (which smelled quite delicious, thanks to the febreeze) and onto my pants. Fearing for my white shirt, as it is the only long-sleeved white shirt I even own, I rinsed the sleeves and front under water. Lucky for me I had a tank top underneath the shirt or else I would have been walking around with coffee spots. So as I'm trying to save this shirt, which I don't really like in the first place because it is a little too big and a little old, I splash bleach onto my pants.
The pants are a different story. I like the pants. The pants are nice. They are gray with a lilac pinstripe. They are from Gap. (Go figure. I love my GapCard a little too much.) They are one of the few pairs of pants I own that I can wear to work, especially after losing 40+ lbs and having to replace almost my whole wardrobe with a few measly dollars. (Hence, the love of the GapCard. A little too much.)
So now I've ruined my pants, defrocked myself of the shirt, and dropped a banana.
Not to mention the banging of the forehead on the shelf in the bathroom prior to all of this activity... another thing I dislike about the apartment... but... of course... it's a lengthy list...
Some days I take the cake.
I just want to go home.
Or shopping.
Terrible, terrible.
And LAME!!!
Word.
So far today I've spilled on myself or otherwise dirtied my clothes, oh, five times. No, three times.
First, I dropped a banana. The banana landed in the pot. The pot was full of soapy water and old spaghetti. The water splashed all over my shirt. Luckily none of the spaghetti found its way onto my white shirt, but the water was s-t-i-n-k-y for sure. And so I had to febreeze myself once I arrived at work.
The banana was just the beginning. I've lived with myself for twenty four years and still don't recognize the signs of impending klutz-o-matic behavior.
Once at work, I spilled coffee all over the front of my nice white shirt (which smelled quite delicious, thanks to the febreeze) and onto my pants. Fearing for my white shirt, as it is the only long-sleeved white shirt I even own, I rinsed the sleeves and front under water. Lucky for me I had a tank top underneath the shirt or else I would have been walking around with coffee spots. So as I'm trying to save this shirt, which I don't really like in the first place because it is a little too big and a little old, I splash bleach onto my pants.
The pants are a different story. I like the pants. The pants are nice. They are gray with a lilac pinstripe. They are from Gap. (Go figure. I love my GapCard a little too much.) They are one of the few pairs of pants I own that I can wear to work, especially after losing 40+ lbs and having to replace almost my whole wardrobe with a few measly dollars. (Hence, the love of the GapCard. A little too much.)
So now I've ruined my pants, defrocked myself of the shirt, and dropped a banana.
Not to mention the banging of the forehead on the shelf in the bathroom prior to all of this activity... another thing I dislike about the apartment... but... of course... it's a lengthy list...
Some days I take the cake.
I just want to go home.
Or shopping.
Terrible, terrible.
And LAME!!!
Word.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
The same day, over again...
That's what DA should stand for. Dumb Asses. Because they pretty much run around with thier heads up thier asses, it seems.
Okay, okay, maybe that's a little harsh. Not all of them are idiots, semi-useless, or overpaid litagators. Some of them-- many of them-- do the job and do it well. But man... those few stupidheads really make me want to scream.
Take, for example, someone I'll call Prima. As in, Prima Donna. Because she is. But. Back to the example. The office she "habitates" is, well... messier than the room I kept when I was sixteen. And since only my family knows how that looked... disaster area is a nice term. While not quite on the level of the tsunami disaster... well... it's pretty damn close. Files, papers, stacks of shit, decomposing orange peels, empty soda cans, half-filled coffee cups developing mold, used tissues, stale chips, bowls, plates, forks, knives, big garbage bags full of clothes, boxes full of shit she'll never need again, stacks of old newspapers, muffin wrappers...
Two weeks ago I slipped and nearly killed myself because of the shit all over the floor. So none of us here in the office venture into HER office very often. Mainly because we value our lives and it is not safe in there. I've twisted my ankle in her office, bruised my leg, smacked my knee, hit my funny bone, and cracked my forehead-- and I'm clumsy, but I'm not THAT clumsy. I know how to balance, at least, and I swear the magnetic field of crap in her office effects the gravitational pull. Obviously I'm no scientist but good lord... danger! danger will robinson!
If that isn't bad enough, she loses files and referrals CONSTANTLY and expects me to find them-- and acts like shes organized!! Arg.
Enough about the dumb asses... I'm tired on thinking about them. I'm tired of working for them. I wish there was a transfer here soon. Our other office seems to get all of the new blood while we are stuck with all the rejects. The head of the office has taken over the library and made it his office, leaving us poor secretaries with no where to eat lunch or (in my case) do homework. And then there's Brandon, who acts like he is in third grade, hiding my keys and messing with my desk. Sometimes I expect him to dip my pigtails into an inkwell... But I was supposed to stop being annoyed by them. It is quite difficult...
I've realized that lately I am just angry and mean almost all the time. I don't know if it is stress from holding in all my life annoyances, my money issues, or what... I get annoyed quite easily and want to smack many upside thier little beady heads. I think some of it comes from my annoyance with N--
Here's the thing. I've got no one to complain to but the bandwidth of the internet, so here goes... and even if he did happen upon it... well... it's truth so whatever. Complaining to empty air is probably more appreciated than complaining in his ear... that never goes over very well.
So. Here goes for real:
Reasons I Wish We'd Never Moved... or... Things I Miss About My Old Apartment
1. The Shower.
See, here's the thing. Our new shower is one of those that encircle rather than have full spray action. I hate those kind. When I was a kid, I loved them. They had one at our local swimming pool (we called it the Ditch Pool because it was at the end of a gravel road, next to this huge ditch that we played Cowboys and Indians in... anyway). When I was a kid I'd stand in the middle of the circle, pretending I was being held hostage by aliens or some kind of Libyan army (blame Back to the Future for that one) and that was my prison. If I hit any of the waterspray I was dead. This was also around the same era of pulling on the swimsuit so that it filled with a pocket of air. Not exactly the most discerning when it came to showers, at least, not at that age. Now-- little pickier. Our old shower head was brand new, and the bathtub had just been replaced. The bathtub in our new apartment was black when we looked at the place the first time, and only with hours of scrubbing and bleaching did it return to white. It's one of the tin sounding, enamel covered tubs that sucks in mold like a vacuum sucks in dirt. And the tracks of the shower door are a little, well... worn would be a nice way to put it.
2. The Water Heater
Oh, jeez. Feel like I'm living in Colorado again. Mostly the water change is gradual from cold to hot and back again... unless someone is doing laundry. In our old apartment we shared a water heater with one other apartment... not eleven.
3. The Laundry Room
I admit it, we were spoiled with our $1.25 laundry... but $2.50!! That's practically a crime. And there are eleven people/ 7 units trying to use one machine versus three other units/ 4 people at the old house. And our landlord almost never gets her laundry out on time. I'm a snot, and I'll take that shit right out. Laundry is NOT to be clogged!
4. The Windows, the windows, the second story windows...
Okay, so this is a biggie. We had these great windows in our old apartment-- double pane, energy efficient-- you know, the works. They were put in right before we moved there. They kept sound in and out, and better than that-- they kept heat and cool in and out. Now we've got these rickety slat windows on half the house, and on the other half are single pane, unopenable windows. They let everything into the house-- noise, air, sound, smoke, pollen-- you name it, it's on my floor or in my livingroom.
5. Living room/ bar
Another biggie-- arg. Our living room is the width of my pinky now, and the length is about the same as the width of the old apartment. The bugger I love and live with STILL hasn't set up the stereo and so I am forced to listen to music using the DVD player and the TV. Trust me. This does not sound good. In fact, it sounds, um, bad. And I miss my bar. Someplace to eat, to drink, to throw mail on and then forget about it... Yeah. I miss it.
6. Oh, my kitchen. My beautiful, beautiful kitchen that is no longer mine.
A) Counterspace
B) Big refrigarator
C) Ice maker
D) Dishwasher
E) Big self-cleaning oven W/ a lovely stove-range that is large, large, large
7. Oh, the list goes on and on...
I'm tired of complaining. I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of work, I'm tired of incompetence, I'm tired of feeling... I'm just freaking DONE with it all... until, of course, tomorrow when I wake up and start the same day over again.
Okay, okay, maybe that's a little harsh. Not all of them are idiots, semi-useless, or overpaid litagators. Some of them-- many of them-- do the job and do it well. But man... those few stupidheads really make me want to scream.
Take, for example, someone I'll call Prima. As in, Prima Donna. Because she is. But. Back to the example. The office she "habitates" is, well... messier than the room I kept when I was sixteen. And since only my family knows how that looked... disaster area is a nice term. While not quite on the level of the tsunami disaster... well... it's pretty damn close. Files, papers, stacks of shit, decomposing orange peels, empty soda cans, half-filled coffee cups developing mold, used tissues, stale chips, bowls, plates, forks, knives, big garbage bags full of clothes, boxes full of shit she'll never need again, stacks of old newspapers, muffin wrappers...
Two weeks ago I slipped and nearly killed myself because of the shit all over the floor. So none of us here in the office venture into HER office very often. Mainly because we value our lives and it is not safe in there. I've twisted my ankle in her office, bruised my leg, smacked my knee, hit my funny bone, and cracked my forehead-- and I'm clumsy, but I'm not THAT clumsy. I know how to balance, at least, and I swear the magnetic field of crap in her office effects the gravitational pull. Obviously I'm no scientist but good lord... danger! danger will robinson!
If that isn't bad enough, she loses files and referrals CONSTANTLY and expects me to find them-- and acts like shes organized!! Arg.
Enough about the dumb asses... I'm tired on thinking about them. I'm tired of working for them. I wish there was a transfer here soon. Our other office seems to get all of the new blood while we are stuck with all the rejects. The head of the office has taken over the library and made it his office, leaving us poor secretaries with no where to eat lunch or (in my case) do homework. And then there's Brandon, who acts like he is in third grade, hiding my keys and messing with my desk. Sometimes I expect him to dip my pigtails into an inkwell... But I was supposed to stop being annoyed by them. It is quite difficult...
I've realized that lately I am just angry and mean almost all the time. I don't know if it is stress from holding in all my life annoyances, my money issues, or what... I get annoyed quite easily and want to smack many upside thier little beady heads. I think some of it comes from my annoyance with N--
Here's the thing. I've got no one to complain to but the bandwidth of the internet, so here goes... and even if he did happen upon it... well... it's truth so whatever. Complaining to empty air is probably more appreciated than complaining in his ear... that never goes over very well.
So. Here goes for real:
Reasons I Wish We'd Never Moved... or... Things I Miss About My Old Apartment
1. The Shower.
See, here's the thing. Our new shower is one of those that encircle rather than have full spray action. I hate those kind. When I was a kid, I loved them. They had one at our local swimming pool (we called it the Ditch Pool because it was at the end of a gravel road, next to this huge ditch that we played Cowboys and Indians in... anyway). When I was a kid I'd stand in the middle of the circle, pretending I was being held hostage by aliens or some kind of Libyan army (blame Back to the Future for that one) and that was my prison. If I hit any of the waterspray I was dead. This was also around the same era of pulling on the swimsuit so that it filled with a pocket of air. Not exactly the most discerning when it came to showers, at least, not at that age. Now-- little pickier. Our old shower head was brand new, and the bathtub had just been replaced. The bathtub in our new apartment was black when we looked at the place the first time, and only with hours of scrubbing and bleaching did it return to white. It's one of the tin sounding, enamel covered tubs that sucks in mold like a vacuum sucks in dirt. And the tracks of the shower door are a little, well... worn would be a nice way to put it.
2. The Water Heater
Oh, jeez. Feel like I'm living in Colorado again. Mostly the water change is gradual from cold to hot and back again... unless someone is doing laundry. In our old apartment we shared a water heater with one other apartment... not eleven.
3. The Laundry Room
I admit it, we were spoiled with our $1.25 laundry... but $2.50!! That's practically a crime. And there are eleven people/ 7 units trying to use one machine versus three other units/ 4 people at the old house. And our landlord almost never gets her laundry out on time. I'm a snot, and I'll take that shit right out. Laundry is NOT to be clogged!
4. The Windows, the windows, the second story windows...
Okay, so this is a biggie. We had these great windows in our old apartment-- double pane, energy efficient-- you know, the works. They were put in right before we moved there. They kept sound in and out, and better than that-- they kept heat and cool in and out. Now we've got these rickety slat windows on half the house, and on the other half are single pane, unopenable windows. They let everything into the house-- noise, air, sound, smoke, pollen-- you name it, it's on my floor or in my livingroom.
5. Living room/ bar
Another biggie-- arg. Our living room is the width of my pinky now, and the length is about the same as the width of the old apartment. The bugger I love and live with STILL hasn't set up the stereo and so I am forced to listen to music using the DVD player and the TV. Trust me. This does not sound good. In fact, it sounds, um, bad. And I miss my bar. Someplace to eat, to drink, to throw mail on and then forget about it... Yeah. I miss it.
6. Oh, my kitchen. My beautiful, beautiful kitchen that is no longer mine.
A) Counterspace
B) Big refrigarator
C) Ice maker
D) Dishwasher
E) Big self-cleaning oven W/ a lovely stove-range that is large, large, large
7. Oh, the list goes on and on...
I'm tired of complaining. I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of work, I'm tired of incompetence, I'm tired of feeling... I'm just freaking DONE with it all... until, of course, tomorrow when I wake up and start the same day over again.
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About Me
- xoxo, elizabeth
- San Leandro, California, United States
- About as average as average can average.