december 99

1999
november
october
september
august
july
june
may
april
march
february
january

1998
december
november
october
september

++++++++++++

phone home

12/30/99
I'm often annoyed by the walking habits of others. Sometimes if someone is heading towards me, I will stay on my path and force them to move to one side. Sometimes it's just easier to walk around them. It depends on my mood or if I'm in a hurry (which is usually). Last night I was walking down an uncrowded sidewalk with James Robb and these two teenagers were heading in my path. I decided to move around them rather than push on in my straight line, as teens are brats and wouldn't get out of my way anyway. It was the weirdest thing because I couldn't hear well, I had on a furry hat over my ears and I was engaged in a conversation, but I could hear muffled angriness as they passed by, and I don't know why I'm the only one who ever seems to be aware of my surroundings or when potential trouble is brewing. I didn't hear what they said, but I knew it was directed at me and probably had something to do with me being a white bitch or something (I didn't actually hear either of those words said) because I had the audacity to get out of the way of two black teens instead of barreling into them. It pissed me off, but I ignored them and continued on my way (the last time I was in a mildly similar situation I was like, "what the fuck is your problem?!" and got robbed at knifepoint. This was many years ago in Portland, OR--don't believe what they say about N.Y being dangerous). A few seconds later I felt this smack on my back and was like, "whatever, I am ignoring you" and kept walking. Then some woman who came from who knows where said, "You dropped your hat" but obviously I didn't because mine was still on my head. We stopped, and James and the woman started chatting and were all baffled as to where this hat came from, as if it had fallen from the sky or something and I was so disturbed because the teens were half way down the block busting a gut like it's that funny to throw a hat at someone, and for some reason I couldn't explain to either James or this woman where the hat came from. It just didn't seem worth the energy. I just don't get how people can be sharing the same space with you and taking in the same sights and yet be completely oblivious to the little goings on right in front of their faces. Then again, there's probably a lot that passes me by. Who knows the things I've missed. I think the lesson is to not have moments of consideration and just continue being rude to everyone and knock into people when they won't get out of your way.

12/27/99
ESCHER IS FUNNY. Well...he is, but I'll get to that later. Christmas Eve. I didn't have plans til the evening and I was restless and decided that a long walk in the freezing cold would do me some good. I journeyed out under the guise of finding my bean sprouts, but that was only a vague premise to get myself out and to clear my head. It was dead out, silent, blue skies, crisp and biting. I decided to keep walking in a straight line til I couldn't stand it anymore. I love that no matter how long I've lived here I can still find streets and windy roads that I've never been on. If you walk north you come to blocks and blocks of apartments in long rows with no let up. That's sort of how my block is, but it ends just beyond my street because of the railroad tracks. I loved my mundane walk. It was one of those things where it's indescribably simple and everything seems so beautiful and funny and sad at the same time. Every little detail becomes important and amusing. I became fixated with people's Christmas decorations, I became obsessed with those crazy nylon banner/flags that people hang on their porches for no apparent reason. Ones with geese, musical notes--my favorite was a trumpet with a fox's face superimposed on top of it. Some are seasonal, but most aren't. I eventually came to a dead end where the railroad tracks were and started tramping through a dirt and gravel side path and it was just the best. I loved the Nabisco factory, the stray cat who wouldn't play with me and the empty McDonald's happy meal containers. Everything just seemed so right I decided that I loved the world and it cracked me up because it doesn't take much to get a rise out of me. I thought of that scene in "American Beauty" where that handsome "messed-up" kid who lived next door was showing that video tape of a plastic bag being whipped around against a brick wall and he was saying something about how it was so "beautiful" like it was almost painful and the scene was like so borderline pretentious and cliche that you wanted to almost burst out laughing, but part of you wanted to take it seriously and cry. Maybe it's the holidays, but I'm just on one of my faggy, everything is beautiful and meaningful kicks. Last night I was re-reading this short story collection, "Because They Wanted To" and this paragraph stood out:

His memory flashed back to his boyhood. He was walking down the middle of the street at dusk, sweating lightly after a basketball game. There were crickets and the muted barks of dogs and the low, affirming mumble of people on their front porches. Securely held by the warm night and its sounds, he felt an exquisite blend of happiness and sorrow that life could contain the perfect moment, and a sadness that he would soon arrive home, walk into bright light, and be on his way into the next day, with its loud noise and alarming possibility. He resolved to hold this evening walk in his mind forever, to imprint in a permanent place all the sensations that occurred to him as he walked by the Oatlanders' house, so that he could always take them out and look at them. He dimly recalled feeling that if he could successfully do that, he could stop time and hold it.

I got home and wasn't sure what to do with myself and then a good friend called from Portland and I was gushing about what a wonderful day it was and he knew just what I meant and had had a similar blue-skied walking experience days before, and we decided that we were full of LOVE. It's all about love. That there shouldn't be shame in loving the world and your friends and your silly, seemingly meaningless life. I've been on a big love kick lately so this was great to hear. Not romantic love, so much, just pure love of everything. That life can be so good, just because. That everything is about love and full of love and that everyone should admit it and show it and stop being so pissy and hiding their real feelings. Of course these manic moods are fleeting, the important thing is remembering them when you feel yourself swinging towards the bitter side of the spectrum (which is often). So, I spent my afternoon all warm and in love and then snapped back into my usual belligerent self by evening. I threw a fit at T.G.I.Fridays because there was an odd number of people and no one would share an appetizer with me and I ended up paying more than my fair share of the bill and the conversation just wasn't what I wanted it to be and it was all wrong and dammit, there was no love in that room and I was angry all over again. Later we went to a party of some people that I didn't know and it wasn't a casual raucous party, but a sit-down dinner affair and it was awkward because I was with one friend and the others who invited me didn't show up til later. Everyone was nice enough, but there was a weird stilted politeness in the air like they weren't fully comfortable with each other and I cold feel myself getting crazy. I wanted to leave when they started exchanging presents. I mean, this was Christmas Eve and these weren't MY friends and these weren't MY presents and I didn't want to sit there in the middle of it. Well, one of the gifts was an M.C. Escher 365 day calendar. I nearly lost my shit. It put me over the edge. That was all it took to set me loopy. I started howling and babbling uncontrollably. See, I have an issue with Escher. It's deep seated. It stood for all that was wrong with this evening. A few years ago when I was dating this guy who was 20 years older than me, there was this incident involving his roommates. They were this married couple who were my age and I just wasn't fond of them. I felt I had nothing to say to them and we just didn't clique, but I was trying. Really. One night Escher came up and I started going off. I mean, Escher is just so funny. Like, look it's a lizard and it's turning into a drawing, but oh no, now it's a lizard again. Crazy! Or, wow, it's a staircase but the people are going up and down at the same time. How does he do it?! I couldn't stop laughing about M.C. Escher and everyone looked at me like I was mental patient and the more they didn't get me the more I couldn't shut up and it got really creepy and it pissed me off for years. Since then, I've used the phrase "Escher is funny" to sum up those kinds of people you just can't mesh with. So, I was at this party and it was happening all over again and I just couldn't stand it. I was hysterical and kept repeating, "Oh my God, it's Escher" and everyone seemed baffled and this girl was all, "Why is she laughing? Why is she laughing?!" and the guy who got the calendar was going through all the pages and got to one with some chess pieces almost falling off this cliff/chessboard thing and was, "This is my favorite" and I couldn't deal (the next day a bunch of people went out to dinner and I didn't go because I knew I'd be a crab and this guy just happened to be there coincidentally and said to my friend Jessica, "Krissy doesn't like Escher, does she?" Motherfuck! I never said I didn't like him, and moreover, my #1 pet peeve is people who can't seem to get my name right. See? It was good I stayed home). I didn't care that I looked like a freak because they were the freaks. Once again, M.C. Escher completely, wholeheartedly summed up the horrible disconnectedness in this world (though I always thought that if I were a D.J. that M.C. Escher would be an amazing name--don't go stealing that brilliant idea now). Life shouldn't be like that. I get belligerent because people take things too seriously. Escher IS funny. EVERYTHING is funny. Why can't they see this? But that wasn't even the end of the evening. We got it in our heads that it'd be fun to go to this bar down the street, Kokie's. Now, Kokie's is sort of notorious. People don't go to Kokie's for the alcohol. They congregate for something else, as you maybe able to deduce from the name. This place is insane, it sounds made-up, like it belongs in some 70's movie set in New York. There's a guy who lets you in, who keeps watch through this little window in the door and inside it's mostly a Hispanic crowd, there's salsa music and some dancing and then there's the curtained off area for er, "activities." It's all very surreal, and even more so on Christmas Eve. I mean, who else would be there except the hardcore...and well, us. So, that was that. From love to loathing and back again. Now it's Monday and I'm somewhere in the middle.

12/24/99
This is not a new complaint, but every time I get the urge to make pad thai the issue comes up again. Why do they not sell bean sprouts anywhere in my neighborhood?! Nowhere. Not the little grocery stores, not the larger supermarkets, not even the Korean delis. I know the Korean delis in Manhattan and some in Brooklyn sell them because I've seen them with my own eyes. I guess there's just not a market for them. I wouldn't ask a store why they don't sell them because the answer would probably be nut anyway. A friend couldn't find tofu in his local delis (that, I can find) and asked the Asian owners why they didn't have any and in such a typical N.Y. complete disregard for any PC sensitivity said, "Blacks don't eat tofu." There could be some truth in that, but that's just not the kind of thing you expect grocers to say. The strange thing is that on the "Ethnic Foods" aisle in three separate stores there was a little sign for canned La Choy bean sprouts, but no bean sprouts in sight. The idea of canned bean sprouts is pretty unappealling to me, but jeez, it's better than nothing. When in Rome...but it made me wonder if this product is even still being produced. It is. So, why don't they get it together and stock their shelves properly? I could concern myself with so many other things on Christmas Eve, but why?

12/23/99
I very rarely wake up in the middle of the night, but last night I did, and with a specific, disturbing image in my head. The image of one of the elderly librarians I work with shaking my hand. Yesterday was the last day of work til Jan. 3 and everyone was being jovial and asking about holiday plans and the like and as people started taking off this hug phenomenon began. Not everyone, but what seemed like lots of people were hugging each other. I do not do this. I have never done this. It's only been in maybe like the past 5 years or so that I've even hugged family and good friends. It's not that I'm impolite or unfriendly or don't care about others. But as the one librarian was leaving we said our goodbyes and then there was a pause and she reached out her hand and it gave me the creepiest feeling. Like they must think I'm a nut. I mean, it's obviously that apparent that a hug would not be order with me. Well, it's true, but it made me feel like some deviant. This inadequecy was reinforced the other day when I re-took this "Emotional I.Q." test. I didn't do as bad as I thought I did when I took it some time before (I scored 91 with 100 being the median), but it said I had a "relatively low EIQ." Sure, I could shape up in a few areas, but I don't think that because I don't like complimenting people and hugging acquaintances, that I am emotionally retarded. The demented thing is that despite how bad off I may be, I love guys who are even more devoid of emotion than me. This is always trouble. It causes problems. I can't help becoming enamored of "robots" as I like to call them. My friend Lance (who is a semi one, himself) calls them "iceburgs" and gave me all sorts of advice last year when I was stalking the impossible. Talk about cold fish. These boys never cry, wouldn't even hug their mothers on their deathbeds and the three little words "I love you" are as unlikely to come out of their mouths as...oh, I don't even know what. I was discussing this type with a friend last week because she has the same incurable attraction to them. It's not that they don't like or even care about you, but showing it is a whole other matter. These guys also have little time for girls because their work/art/computer/anything is more important. They also give bad gifts. The two things I have in common with this friend is that both of our dads are quiet and distant and that we're INFJ's on the Meyer's Briggs scale. You hear about that old opposites attract, but in this case I think it's similar seeking similar times 100. Seeing your bad emotional traits amplified in another can be scary.

12/21/99
Oh god, I'm dying here at work. I didn't have anything around the house to eat for breakfast and I'm too cheap to run out and get a bagel so I grabbed this half-eaten bag of "Green Peas & You," which are these dried peas covered in wasabi mixed with little dried fish. I like them, but they're so hot my mouth and nose are burning and my eyes keep tearing up. I now have absolutely no taste in my mouth and water doesn't seem to help. And yet, I can't stop putting them in my mouth. I know I've been saying that I haven't been watching tv, and I guess that must not really be true since I can remember all these lame-ass plots from the past week. I appreciated this bit on "Will and Grace" where they were avoiding these friend of theirs because they were boring. The epitome of their blandness was that they enjoyed the Olive Garden (their favorite being in Seacaucus, NJ). Yay, Olive Garden! Now if I can only manage to get a T.G.I.Friday's reference out of a sitcom (or drama--who's being picky?), life will be good. I've finally gotten the motivation to mess around with some other sections that have been severely neglected. Pranks/Stunts is starting to take shape and Shopping has been revamped a little. These things take time. Now, I am having severe pain in my sides. I do not know if this is wasabi related or if my kidneys are failing. Ow.

12/18/99
Do you ever have this thing where you just can't stand to listen to any of your cds/records? I'm just sick of all my music. I haven't bought much since I've been here and when and if I get my 7's shipped they'll all be circa 97-98 and they'll conjure up weird nostalgia and then I won't want to listen to them either. I'd like to just buy a bunch of new stuff, but I don't even know what I want to listen to. That is pathetic. I don't know that I'm so unaware of my taste or am so wishy-washy that I don't know what I like (I hate it when people don't know what they do and don't like--in all aspects--clothing, people, food, etc.). I know what I like when I hear it. I guess I just haven't been hearing it, that's all. New York is not a music town despite what you may believe. I like west coast indie crap. It's not cool to like things with vocals or guitars here. I'm so '92. I'm having a stay at home sat. night that's why I have the time to ponder unimportant things like this. I already went into Manhattan today and people think that's a lame excuse, but if they were me they wouldn't want to ride the subway for 45 min. four times in one day either. Since I've been doing this dating thing I haven't had to do the fri. and sat. night Queens to Manhattan trek like I used to and I'd almost forgoten how rotten it was. I've been getting soft. Last night I had the drinking too much and falling asleep on the subway platform in the freezing cold experience and it was just like old times. It was good, I am not complaining. I need to be reminded of how much nicer this dec. has been than last year's. I mean last dec. every holiday was lost wages since I was a temp and I had to pay my rent with a credit card and I'd spend my weekends pining away for a painfully oblivious boy. I still don't have any money, but at least I get a week and a half off with pay and the bad egg of a boy has softened a bit. So, today I wandered around Chinatown, picked up a few presents, bought a bunch of Asian candy and stationery and various filled buns. I'll usually pick out random ones no matter how freaky they look and I'm always pleased, but today I found one that I couldn't handle. It's only been in the past few years that I've been able to eat mayonnaise without gagging. And now the thing everywhere is french fries with mayonnaise because it's Belgian and any Belgian food is now cool and I do like eating mussels and french fries with mayonnaise. Maybe that makes me a grown-up, but I still have a little trouble with mayo on sandwiches, burgers, and the like. Well, today I saw this rolled up bun thing in a case like a small cinnamon roll with scrambled egg around the outside and covered in brown flakes that looked like toasted coconut (I think it was fish flakes in reality) and when I bit into it there was a tuna filling that was thick with mayonnaise and it tasted perfectly fine, but I could see the mayonnaise and that was the problem. The sight and smell of it, not the taste grosses me out. I couldn't even eat the whole thing and that was a shame. I'm still feeling all naseous, but that could be due to the fact I've been eating fudge and pork buns all evening. I mean, I know mayonnaise is just like oil and eggs, but it's hard to deal with. Earlier at this huge Asian grocery store I found this Kewpie brand mayonnaise in a squeeze container and I wanted to buy it for the packaging, but the thought of mayonnaise sitting in my apt. was too much. Earlier than that, I almost lost it with the post office for like the millionth time this year. I'd gotten one of those pink slips last sat. from the u.k. so I assumed it was a package from my sister and this sat. was the only day I could go and pick it up and I heard from my mom that my sister had paid some ridiculous postage like 22 pounds (roughly $38) so I thought it might be heavy, which could be a problem. And then a few days later I got a pink slip from my mom and she always sends heavy boxes and with truly heavy, bulky items they deliver them in the morning so it's not a problem because I'm still home (I just didn't happen to be home that particular thurs. morning). So, I figured I go today and my sister's package and have my mom's redelivered on mon. morning. I wait in the line, give the slip from my sister and they bring out this enormous box that's not so heavy I can't carry it, but it's awkward enought that I know it's going to be trouble to manage the 15 blocks or so back to my apt. I had a fit. I had to stop every few streets and rest my arms. I was all red-faced and sweaty. When I finally got it home I turned it over and realized that it wasn't my sister's handwriting, but my mom's. They'd given me the wrong freakin' package. I was so mad. This probably means that they couldn't find the other one and just saw my name on this one and gave it to me. And now I'm going to have to wait til next week to go back for the proper one. I started having a huge fit when I realized next sat. is Christmas and they obviously wouldn't be open, but then I calmed down a little when it dawned on me that I only have to work til wed. next week. The post office really shouldn't do stuff like this to me. My heart can't take it.

12/16/99
Next to tracking down Hawaiian pizza, my favorite food quest is the monte cristo sandwich. I got one at this diner last night after seeing "Sleepy Hollow" and it wasn't bad or anything, but it wasn't properly presented. It must be an east coast thing. A monte cristo is supposed to be like a club sandwich on french toast and served with a side of jelly. Gross, sure, but tasty in ways unimaginable. Sometimes it's even covered in powdered sugar, but don't be confused, this is a savory item, not a sweet. It should even have mustard on it and come with a side of fries. I'm discovering that here they treat the monte cristo as a sort of breakfast affair, serving it open faced with syrup and butter. That is so wrong. I know it's only a minute variation, but the jelly and ability to eat it with your hands rather than with a knife and fork makes the monte cristo the beauty that it is. Enough said. This morning I went to the doctor and decided that anti-depressants are not for me. I never really thought they were a good idea in the first place. It's just that I've felt weird and spacey for what seems like years and I thought that maybe these medications would aleve this. Like my head always feels cloudy and heavy and who knows if this is mental or physical or if I'm just a hypochondriac, but I swear it's real. I used to think that maybe I've just had a sinus infection since like 1984 or something. I mean, my nose does always burn and it feels like there's liquid in my head. Or maybe it's an inner ear condition. My balance has always been rotten and it's just getting worse with age. My new favorite is depersonalization. I mean, for real. This really does describe how I feel most of the time. It's kind of creepy. When I talk to people I feel like I'm not really speaking directly to them. Like I'm outside of myself. At work I always feel like I'm not actually present in my body. But maybe that's just because I always have boring, mindless jobs. Then again, I could just have a sinus infection.

12/15/99
Oh my god. Just when I thought the world was as messed up as it could possibly get, someone (well, not someone, Joseph Enterprises to be precise) had to go and create Chia Looney Toons characters! Why?! What for? Is there no end to this Looney Toons epidemic? I can think of nothing more hateful than Taz. When did it become o.k. for adults to identify with and proudly sport Tazmanian Devil paraphernalia? Taz on t-shirts, Taz on potholders, Taz on baby bibs. And now Taz with sprouty green hair. My heart can't take it.

12/13/99
I'm all spastic. I haven't been able to sit still and write anything here. It's like all of a sudden it's Christmas time and I have to buy gifts and do holiday stuff and I just can't deal with it right now. I was able to simmer down long enough to make fruitcake, everyone's favorite. I don't understand why it's so hated. It's good, dammit. This recipe isn't so bad since it uses apricots, pineapple and pistachios instead of the usual mix of candied cherries and fruit peels. Oh, I am very excited for Christmas Eve since if things go my way, I'll be eating at T.G.I.F. in Times Square. I wanted to do a chain restaurant excursion for every holiday, but so far it's just been Olive Garden on Easter. It's not always so easy to convinve others of the wonders of places like Sizzler and Red Lobster. When will people learn?

12/9/99
I caught the tail end of two shows tonight. "Popular" was doing something really new and novel and reinterpreting "A Christmas Carol." But get this, the scrooge is the mean, hateful popular girl, not a crochety old man. Wow. After seeing the potentially bleak future she decides to change her ways and give all the uncool kids Christmas presents. The fat girl got the gift of being allowed on the cheerleading squad. They both started bawling, and hugged. Wouldn't that bring a tear to anyone's eye? And I always say I hate "Frasier" but then I somehow manage to catch bits and pieces of it and actually I'm kind of glad I saw it because they finally spilled the beans with that Nials (how does that man spell his name?) secretly loving Daphne plotline. My God, how long could that thing go on? I love pining and obsessive longing and torturing oneself, as much as the next guy, but there comes a time when the cards must be laid on the table. Really, that's one of my favorite parts of the fixation process--the confession. Pure nervewracking pain in its purest form. Everyone should pour their heart out in a grand fashion at least once in their lives. Just for the humiliating experience. There's such an exhilirating high to the lead up, planning just how to let the cat out of the bag. And once all is done and said, it's almost a let down. I mean, what next? Something normal and rational? Moving on to another oblivious target and starting from scratch? A person could spend their life in a spiral of secret crushes, searching for some form of satisfaction. But such are the ways of the world.

What the heck?! I was just checking my email before putting this up and I clicked on my Chickmail.com bookmark and instead it took me to LatinoMail.com. What is that about?! I keep getting stuff in the mail (real mail) from Club Musica Latina (a division of Columbia House) with all those little stickers of records (in this case they're like 90% Latin with freaks like Elton John and Cyndi Lauper thrown in for good measure) and a flimsy plastic "credit card" with my name on it.This is starting to weird me out.

12/8/99
Yesterday my horoscope in the "Daily News" said I should go to a drive-in. Er, great idea. I mean, I would love to, but that's kind of an outlandish suggestion for a n.y. newspaper, or any paper, really. My favorite horoscopes are the ridiculously specific. Years ago I got this one in "The Oregonian" saying, "potato dish featured tonight," which busted me up for some time (obviously, I'm still taking about it, aren't I?). I honestly think a drive-in movie would be a life-saver at the moment. TV is killing me. I don't know what's going on. I tried to watch "Party of Five" last night and it made me sick. I tried watching TV tonight and the only thing vaguely of interest was some special Martha Stewart thing, and I usually like Martha Stewart, but it was all holiday-ish and she had guests like Aretha Franklin who she made "sing for her supper" (Martha reallly said that) and my hand couldn't reach the off button quick enough. So sad. But I will admit one guilty TV pleasure: the Food Network. I only get to watch cable on weekends and I'm almost embarassed to admit it, but I spent my last sat. night watching it from like 12 am til 3. Um, and to make it worse, this was after eating a meal based on a recipe I'd seen on "Martha Stewart" a few Saturdays previously. I wasn't doing this alone--does that make it creepier or more acceptable? You must see Iron Chef, if you haven't already. This show absolutely rocks. It's Japanese and they have these "battles" between chefs. The judges are celebrities like soccer players, actresses, fortune tellers, foreign ambassadors, and the like. The dueling chefs have 6 minutes (I think) to create a full course meal using a special ingredient which they announce at the beginning of the show (in this episode, blue crab). What makes the show is the M.C., this crazy, over the top, Liberace-esque guy. It all must be seen to be belived. If you are ever bored at 1 am on a sat. and even mildly curious, this is a must see.

12/7/99
I've managed to refrain from speaking about co-workers. You just never know who'll read this stuff and I don't need any trouble. But some people are just too much. I can't hold it in any longer. I work with a tiny beast of a woman, who pushes my limits on a daily basis. This has gone on since day one and she's a nut with everyone, I am not singularly tormented. But yesterday she had the audacity to tell me her long-winded story about looking for a pair of size 5 orthopedic shoes. You know I'm creeped out by tiny feet, all feet, really. I never quite got the gist of what her "problem" was, just that she could never find shoes. She actually took off her shoe, pulled out this specially-made insert, shook it off causing dust and debris to fly everywhere, and stuck it in my face. I could not believe my eyes. How could someone think this is appropriate behavior?! She then proceeded to tell me about how great they feel to walk in and how it helps her bad leg (her other favorite thing to talk to me about is her shingles and how she thinks they've turned into siatica [I don't know the proper spelling or what it even it is, but I will most certainly find out]). This is not an elderly woman, she is only in her 40's, and this is just the tip of her mentally ill iceberg. This sounds like harmless rambling, I know. It's not. I think one of the worst crimes of all time is lack of conversational skills. It's surprising how few people in the world have even a basic understanding of the speak/listen balance. This is not a new beef from me. I've ranted before...but still. I like talking, I have a big mouth, but I know when to be quiet. No one seems to be capable of how to engaging others in even the most trivial of circumstances. I'm not even saying that everyone must be involved in some meaningful, heavy dialogue. I would gladly take small talk over being talked at, ignored, dismissed, complained to. And not to sound like a crazy technophobe, but this is just going to get worse. Most of the people I come into contact with are 20+ and they're bad off. You just know that those computer-crazed kids and teens of today will turn into the conversationally challenged adults of tomorrow. I weep for the future. O.k., not really. In other exciting news, I just found out what sciatica is.

12/6/99
I'm wondering if it's possible to be antsy and complacent at the same time. There's a heavy lull in the air. Maybe this is what relative stability and lack of turmoil feels like. I'm not stressing or obsessing over boys at the moment, I have my job and I have to stick with it til I can get my degree and that won't be for a couple of years and even though I'm not thrilled about being poverty stricken, it's not something I'm dwelling on anymore. It's like all of a sudden there is free time in my life and I'm not sure how to fill it. I'm not bored. I can always find things to amuse myself. I went nuts with the omnipresent lack of direction/ambition in England. Ever since I've been back I've been restless. I can't sit and watch TV, it makes me feel nuts. Even talking on the phone, which I normally like, makes me feel all spastic. But on the other hand, I can't seem to do anything productive. Instead of focusing, I just feel like absorbing. Taking things in. Like if I get enough information things will start making sense. It'll strike me the right way and everything will click. All I've been doing lately is reading, thinking, observing. But what good are ideas if you don't do anything with them? It's bugging me. I haven't had the urge to walk and walk for the sake of walking in like a year. When I first moved here I didn't know anyone and I didn't have much to do and I didn't have the money to go anywhere and I'd just walk around my neighborhood trying to get lost and it worked. Even though I know my neighborhood better by now, I found myself in one of those Forest Gump roaming moods this afternoon. And the ridiculous thing is that it's not as if there's much of anything to explore around here. It's residential. There are endles rows of apartments, corner stores, cemeteies, lots of dead end streets and railroad tracks. I decided to do a grocery store tour. I know it's not right, but browsing supermarkets puts my mind at ease. First I went about 15 minutes west and north, which is Middle Village (that sounds like some creepy town from a Tolkien book) and ended up at Waldbaums. I love this place because it's the only real grocery store nearby. I got this flyer the other day saying they were going out of business and everything was 50% off and I just didn't believe it. Well, I got there and it was insane. By now everything was 75% off, but there was almost nothing left of value. I wish I had had a camera on me. There were maybe 2 or 3 aisles out of about 15 with a few sparse items on the shelves. Things like old flea collars, sugar-free jello (not Jello brand), dirty jars of green salsa, one coconut, lots of dried seasonings (I actually was looking for ground ginger, found a lone container, but the lid was missing), a handful of video tapes (some Lynda Carter movie and that "She Devil" thing with Roseanne Barr), some hard candy decorations for cakes made to look like footballs and Looney Toons characters, and lots of Maneshevitz (sp?) products. The only aisle that was relatively full was the greeting card one. All the wrapping paper had been ransacked. The only color bows and curling ribbon left were black (left over from Halloween, I'm guessing). I'm not doing this experience justice at all--the whole thing was very worthwhile, despite my leaving empty handed. I then got back to my neighborhood and went about 15 minutes the other direction. That's Glendale. They have an Edwards supermarket, which I never go to because the one time I did it was a madhouse. Well, it was a horrible, packed, mess once again, but I was able to pick up the dried apricots I'd been looking for (hoilday fruitcakes in the near future) and scope out some new products that I'd never seen before like Hershey's raspberry chocolate chips and Edy's Dreamery ice cream in this crazy flavor with a picture of a chili pepper on the top, that had spicy nuts and a mole chocolate swirl. I became very excited by these 99 cent blobs of saran wrapped, frozen pizza dough in the deli. I think I will continue browsing grocery stores until the purpose of my existence beomes clearer.

12/2/99
I keep thinking that there's supposed to be something special, something I'm supposed to remember about Dec. 2, but it's not coming to me. It might be May 2 that I'm thinking of. There are days when you see something new to you and then it seems to be everywhere. Since last winter everyone seems to be wearing those North Face jackets with the little 1/4 of a concentric circle logo. There's also South Pole, which I'm guessing is a lesser brand? I can't remember their logo. And there's First Down with some geometric, line that looks like a mountain. They're all sort of serious. Today I saw some woman with a jacket like those, but the brand was Bad Bear and where the usual symbol would be (the front upper left) was this comical bear face that was supposed to be scary (I think). It cracked me up. I don't know if this is some ghetto coat or if this is a legitimate brand. Then I kept seeing Bear stuff on lots of people. Not this same exact amusing jacket. Bear Mountain stuff. So, maybe it's the same? I'm going to keep my eyes out for this woman again tomorrow. This could be a big trend for 2000. Bears.