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

phone home

5/31/00
I've been all sick and delirious for the past few days. I already wasn't feeling so great, but now I think I'm having a bad reaction to the medicine they gave me and I've been waiting since 8:30 this morning (it's 3:28 pm) for the dr. to call me back. Oh well. I kept having bad dreams last night involving going to the dr. and I can now just remember this one scene where I was trying to explain my symptoms and he kept joking about smoking hash. This would never really stand out in my mind except for the fact that about 5 min. ago this guy with a cell phone came out of the meeting in the room that's about a foot behind me and was being all loud like most men with cell phones are and he made some joke to the person on the other line about frequenting hash bars. I thought that was strange. I guess hash is the theme of the day.

5/25/00
Whew, I can breathe a sigh of relief. On the way home today I saw the mini Pam Anderson and she was sans cane. It's not downhill for everyone in this neighborhood. She is living proof that it is possible to bounce back from near crippled-ness. This can only be a good omen. I also noticed that at the local Burger King there is now an autographed photo of that boy from "The Sopranos" where Darryl Hannah's used to be. Now he is in between Chris Penn and some woman I can recognize. What I don't get is if the owner is all crazy and writes publicists or something for photos or if these celebrities actually stopped in the Ridgewood Burger King. I really don't see why they'd be in the neighborhood. But if someone was just writing for autographs you'd think there would be more or bigger names, right? Just this weekend some clip from "Splash" was on tv and I was wondering what happened to Darryl Hannah. I mean, you never hear about her anymore. Obviously she's slipped in popularity if she's been bumped for that chunky kid who's famous for his line, "What, no fucking ziti?"

5/24/00
Oh lord. I was just poking around job websites (I'm not looking for a job--I just like seeing what's new, who's hiring, etc.) and I saw this ad for an editor at something called itsybits.com and was intrigued. What the heck could itsybits be? Well, it is "for petite fashionistas and the people who love them." Now that's funny. Maybe it's prejudiced (duh), but I'm really weirded out by tiny people. It seems like there are a lot of really, really short people in N.Y. I don't know if it's all the fresh air, nature and organic produce that grows 'em taller out west, or what, but it's not my imagination. It's funny because just this afternoon I was trying not to be a spaz about slow walkers and I kept getting behind really short people and I had to keep telling myself that they are probably not walking slow on purpose, their legs just have a shorter stride. I still didn't like it much, though. I hesitiate to write about work since so far no one reads this, but could some day, but I've been noticing how there's a disproportionate amount of really little people at work. Short isn't the biggest crime in the world, I'm not particularly tall, just 5'7. I mean little like grown-ups with the bodies of 8 year olds. It's kind of creepy. The person I'm specifically referring to happened to have a jacket hanging over the side of her cubicle and I couldn't help but notice the tag said XS and I was like, damn. My theory was always that extra smalls weren't actually at stores for adults, but for juniors, you know, not quite developed pre-teens. I guess grown-ups really do buy XS. This isn't one of those resentful issues where I'm sickened by small people because I wear an XL (I've got oh so many other thing to be resentful about). I just find it hard to fathom being that tiny. Like you would have to stop growing when you were in grade school or something. So, if there are any diminutive readers out there who were at a loss as to where to find your toddler-sized togs, rest easy now that itsybits.com is on the scene.

5/22/00
I was turned onto a smile-inducing pick-me-up this weekend by a former coworker in Portland. I never knew how much joy could come from reading the police log of my hometown paper, "The Gresham Outlook." This is pure unadulterated trash. I forget sometimes. I've only been here two years and sometimes there are tiny bits about Portland that are hazy. I haven't lived in Gresham for ten years so it's reasonable that I would gloss over some of the grotesqueness in my mind. I think I've already mentioned before that the primary Gresham phone prefix is 666, and it's not without reason. Of course much of the humor in these police reports comes from the fact that I'm familiar with the places involved (almost as horrifying is the "engagements" section where out of three listed, I just knew I'd have to know one of the marrieds-to-be. I did). You don't have to know Gresham to enjoy its police log, all you need is an appreciation people who punch women in the face, steal video trivia machines from bars, and kidnap their instructors during their driver's license tests. Good stuff, eh? Did I mention that my mom moved back into her mobile home? Did I ever even mention that she'd moved out of it in the first place? Probably not. I was worried a while back when she bought the trailer because owning mobile homes runs in my family just like obsesity, diabetes and high blood pressure and I could do without any of it. So, I breathed a minor sigh of relief when she decided to pick up with "the step-dude" and move to Seattle. Maybe the chain would be broken. Maybe not. I mean, the woman changes jobs and residences 2-3 times a year. So, the dude's job fell through and they moved back less than three months later. This doesn't have anything to do with Gresham, they live in Beaverton, a more affluent suburb completely on the opposite side of Portland, but when I start thinking about Gresham I can't help but think of mobile homes.

Unrelated stuff--the above was from work and now I'm home. God, I am a spastic. I'm really starting to think I'm obsessive compulsive about time. I've always been really crazy about punctuality and expect it from others. But it's getting worse. I'm always in a chronic state hurriedness. I walk like a maniac and get high blood pressure if anyone gets in my way, which is ridiculous since the streets are always packed wall-to-wall with pedestrians just like myself. I'm obsessed with effiency, like I plan out exactly which staircases to use, which subway exits are strategically placed and often will figure out how to use underground walkways more so I can cut down on slow people and traffic above ground. I'm constantly scrutinizing maps, trying to figure out better ways to get everywhere. Last week I discovered that an express bus goes from my block to 38th and 8th where I work. I got really mad that I didn't know about this sooner. However, when I investigated I found out that it's $3 each way. Now that's ridiculous. The only thing that concerns me more than efficiency is penny-pinching. I'll reuse dirty baggies that come 150 to a box for 99 cents. Lord help me, I'm becoming a demented old lady. So, I managed to leave a whole 15 minutes early from work today and I was determined to make the most of it and go grocery shopping. I made my list, planned it all, envisioned the aisles in my head and the fastest order for picking things out from the right of the store to the left. I got in, did my business, rushed out and felt pretty good that there weren't any mishaps. Of course people got in my way, the store is like a shoebox, but I didn't let it get to me. On the way home I noticed this woman who's the local miniature Pamela Anderson. She doesn't have huge tits, but she has her hair and face. She's the 85 pound Queens version that I see everywhere, sometimes with a small child, and always being fawned over by a grocery store clerk or customer. Seriously. Every time I see her, some guy is giving her advice on meat or where the best deals are. Well, today I noticed her walking with some store clerk, but what caught my eye was the cane in her hand. A cane. I told you this neighborhood was full of cripples!! Now even the little Pamela needs a device to walk! What is going on here?! I'm really getting scared. So, I get home, preheat the oven (I was making mashed potatoes and bbq chicken), start doing dishes. I've got five things going on at once and then I realize that the chicken is nowhere to be found. I freak. In my manic, sweaty, mad rush to do my shopping quickly as possible, I forgot my groceries at the store. Needless to say, I was livid. I've been trying to take deep breaths and not let silly things get to me since I don't want to have a heart attack by 30, but this really took the cake. I didn't save any time at all. Going back in the pouring rain (I put on these shoes that I was wearing thurs. when I got caught in huge thunderstorm, and they were still wet! Four days later) in my crappy shoes, mad as hell, did not do me any good. Maybe there is truth in that haste makes waste saying. I'll try and live my life more accordingly.

Oh my god, I'm sorry to keep bringing up "The Gresham Outlook," but it's making me laugh harder than I have in ages. I'm sitting here with this bleach crap on my face, trying not to smile or it will fall off onto to the bed, and it's very tricky. Not only do they chronicle the illegal happenings in Gresham, but Troutdale as well, a neighboring town. I can't believe the stuff that makes it into papers. Of course every small city must have their local paper with equally mundane reports, but this just happens to be the one in front of me at the moment. Two classic examples:

1. A jacket laying on the grass at the Troutdale Outlet Mall on the 400 block of Northwest 257th Avenue was stolen at 12:20 p.m. Tuesday, May 16, according to a police report. A worker was mowing the lawn and laid his jacket on the ground and later discovered it missing.

2. Someone spread Ranch dressing on the front door and ketchup on the garage door of a residence on the 1000 block of Southwest 10th Street on Wednesday, May 17, according to a police report.

Ranch dressing, my ass. How can they be so sure?

5/21/00
Sometimes it feels really good to just do nothing and not even leave the house all day. But it's sun night, almost 9:30, I haven't even peeked out the windows and I feel really gross about it. I've watched tv all day and that can't be healthy. A National Geographic special about cats and the problem with them killing wildlife, "Iron Chef," part of "Alan and Naomi," some Lukas Haas movie where he befriends a girl who won't talk so they use dolls for communication, the choice bits from "F**kin Horney" (that's the way it's spelled on the tape) some porn video I found in James's vcr while he was at work, and lots of random stuff on the Food Network. There are probably better ways to spend a sunday. I did see an amazing profile of Jim J. Bullock on E! last night. TV is not all bad.

5/20/00
I can't figure this out. I haven't had a watch for about a year now (and yet, I'm the only person I know who ever on time, on the dot. Lateness is a big pet peeve with me). It's not been a big deal, but I thought maybe it would be nice to have one again. Every day since I've had my new job (about 2 months now) I walk by this store that advertises "All watches $10.99" and I keep thinking I'll go, but I never do. Well, last friday I finally stopped in and there wasn't anything super amazing, but what do you expect for $10.99 so I picked out this silver watch with a green face that was pretty cute. I wore it all last weekend and then mon. noticed I didn't have it. I searched my house and it wasn't there. I asked people who I'd visited during the weekend and they didn't have it. It's making me crazy. How can you just lose a watch like that? After finally breaking down and making myself buy one, it only lasted 3 days. Maybe I'm not meant to have a watch. It wasn't even special, but the fact that it's missing makes me want it more. All I can say is that it had better turn up.

5/16/00
I was reading of this new movie that was just came out, "Coming Soon," and how it had all these problems getting released because it deals with teenage girls trying to have orgasms and how there's such a double standard in Hollywood since it's o.k. to make jokes about boys humping pies and to show Cameron Diaz using jizz as hair gel, and sure, that's all good and true, but that's not why it caught my attention. I noticed that one of the teen main characters is played by this girl I went to school with in Gresham, OR. I think I may have mentioned Bonnie Root before when that short-lived NBC drama, "Trinity" about the tight-knit Irish family in Hell's Kitchen (oh, it was a treat, alright)aired in '98, but I might not have been doing this site yet. She was this non-descript Jehovah's Witness that I only remember standing out because she didn't do the pledge of allegience every morning and wasn't allowed to celebrate holidays. I also remember that she'd wear this shirt with a glittery iron-on of a mouth with braces that said, "Tin Grin" and her telling me some freaky story about how her mom used to be a satan worshiper and every time she'd get rid of her satanic bible (is there such a thing?) it would keep reappearing in the house. I'm not sure if I really believed the story, but it did scare me a little. I don't remember her being in high school and had this vague notion that she started hanging out with "bad" kids or something or that she'd dropped out after freshman year. Little did I know that she was rapidly becoming a world-class actress. My high school friend, Lema, who is an insane liar told me a few years ago that she swore she saw Bonnie Root in a tv movie about a teenage runaway and I chalked it up to delusional fabrication. Now I may have to admit my error, as from what I can gather, Bonnie always plays troubled teens and even made an appearance on "ER" as a rape victim. I'm glad to see that 28 year olds can still get work playing teenagers. I was lucky enough to find the Unnoficial Bonnie Root Website, which is quite a gem and some Warner Brother's publicity thing. Who knew that Bonnie fondly remembers fishing in the Pacific NW and enjoys researching jazz music and snowboarding.

What a Bonnie lass

Me+7th grade=scary

5/12/00
Ick. I've been sick all week and my attention span hasn't been so hot. I finally had a soft-shell crab this weekend. I'd been doing research on them for work and the idea of eating the whole crab without having to crack a shell seemed kind of cool. And kind of creepy. I mean, it's like eating a mutant crustacean that's in between losing and growing a new shell. But since they were serving them deep-fried and covered in salt with chile peppers at my favorite late-night Chinese hang-out, New York Noodle Town, I couldn't resist. I have food on the brain since in the past few days that I've been home sick I have been trying to re-vamp and add to my goodies section. But even in my food-obsessed delirium, I was sharp enough to notice a distressing trend on tv commercials. A couple weeks ago I saw Tommy Hilfiger was using The Guess Who's (at least I think they did the song--I'm too lazy to look it up) "American Woman." Then sun. during some basketball game I saw they were using it in a Gatorade ad. Now that seemed like a bit much, but the commercial immediately following the Gatorade ad used it too! I mean, what gives?! It was for Castrol or whatever that car oil is called, and they didn't use the lyrics, just the music, but it was too much. Don't people do research or something? I don't know who decided to use that song first, and it doesn't really matter, now I'm just annoyed with all three ads. Not that I was a fan of any of the products in the first place.

5/8/00
Practically since the day I moved into this place, I've been complaining and awaiting the day my lease would run out. It's hard to believe but that'll be July 1. That means I should give notice June 1. That means I'll have 30 days to find a new place. I should be elated that I've almost put in my 2 years like some prison sentence, but just like prisoners who find they're unable to function normally after their release, I don't know what the heck I'm going to do. 1). Price. I barely make any more than I did when I moved in here while apt. prices, which were always high, are even higher. Never mind the fact that I have absolutely no money for deposits, broker fees, 2 months rent and whatever else they see fit to charge a new tenant. 2). Location. Manhattan is completely out of the question, which is fine because I've never been terribly enamored with the idea of living in the city anyway. I think I'm probably the least picky person I know regarding neighborhoods. I don't care about nearby cafes, bars, stores, or hip inhabitants. In fact, I'd prefer to stay away from all that. I just don't want to spend 2 hours a day on the subway. I don't think that's too much to ask. I get torn on the neighborhood aspect. Like I said, cool areas make me ill. I don't like being surrounded by cute couples who live in lofts walking their dogs (I mean couples walking their dogs not the lofts, but I can't be bothered to structure my sentences properly). I like being around nobodies. Nobodies are benign, they don't disrupt my often unstable emotional state. It's wallpaper. I like that I can wear ratty shorts, no make up and walk around with my runny nose and goopy bloodshot eyes (I've been sick all week. It's really gross, my eyes got all red and swelled shut for no good reason. I didn't even go to work today. See? I care about people in Manhattan thinking I look like a beast) and no one will give me a second thought. But too often, I'm disgusted. I've been trying really hard to calm down, not get annoyed with strangers or mad at people I do know for trivial reasons. I hate to admit it, but my neighborhood is really starting to get to me. It's a total freak show. All I wanted was to to my laundry and buy groceries since I actually had free time today and as soon as I get off the subway, there's that guy with the huge meatloaf nose. I mean, why?! Why is he here? You would not see someone with a huge purple califlower nose anywhere else except Queens, I swear. I get to the check out line at the store and the manager is harassing the girl ringing up my groceries in this gross bossy/flirty way because she didn't know the price of my ice cream. I try to ignore him, but it's hard because his skin is discolored and peeling off. I think it's viteligo (sp?), the disease that Michael Jackson claims he has that require him to bleach his skin. Like the guy is Hispanic so he's brownish, but there are all these white patches mottling his face. And I can't deal. There has got to be a happy medium. I have no tolerance for youngsters with money to burn who think they're hot shit with designer accessories and artist's spaces. But then, I can only take so many young moms with airbrushed fake nails, and enormous gold jewelry, screaming at their 3 kids. Where do down-to-earth, moderately intelligent, mildly trashy, relatively able-bodied, modest income people live in N.Y.? I've got less than 2 months to find out.

5/5/00
You know, I'm starting to get a complex. A few weeks ago, I was all half asleep, just about to get up for work and James who was already up said, "for a second, I thought you were a man" or something like that. Like laying face down I look like a guy?! He groggily tried to cover his ass, but I wasn't buying it. Then last night I went to get some Chinese take-out and when it was done the guy behind the counter said, "sir, your order is ready." My back was to him and he looked embarassed when I turned around. I couldn't stop laughing all the way home (one block) but then later I got kind of paranoid. What if I really do look like a man? And is that so bad? And there was all that hubub yesterday about that stupid "I love you" virus and everyone at work had to have their computers debugged and all these people lost files. See, I'm too smart for all that. If I ever got an email titled "I love you," I would instantly know it was a trick. I mean, who the hell would send me a message saying they loved me?! All those people who got viruses are needy, attention-starved saps who deserved it.

5/3/00
God, I'm such a cornball. I just got home from work and turned on the tv and it was "Party of Five's" last episode and I got all sappy and nostalgic. Granted, I was a little bit tipsy due to a healthy amount of champgne consumption at work. We officially went public yesterday and there was some due celebration. OneBigTable, if you care to know. But, I got to thinking. I've been nostalgic and stupid all day anyway. It's something about spring that does it to me. The sudden warm weather gets me all giddy for no reason. Often I have some stalking/obscene crush to even fuel the change of season even further. This isn't the case for 2000, but nonetheless I'm in a silly pondering mood. I was thinking about how when I first starting watching "po5," it was '95 or so and I was temping at the Nordstrom's factory for $6.50 an hour (decent money) and getting off at 11 pm and heading to my sister's flophouse/home-for-wayward-youth and drinking Boone's Farm and Mickey's Big Mouth's til the wee hours and listening to music and generally hanging-out, and it was simple and fun and my rent was $225 a month and I worked maybe 15-20 hours a week, and how different my life has become. I mean, she was just here this past week, and it was for a May Day protest and she was all concerned about the workers and how we're wage slaves, and geez, that seems so true and relevant, but just doesn't apply in n.y. There was a pathetic turnout, and I wasn't surprised. Maybe people still fret about money and class, but in n.y. it's a millionaires paradise, and not just for the old white men. 20-somethings are raking it in. It's not an anomoly to to make $100,000+ and I'm the pathetic dirt-poor exception. Of course no one was out there marching for the working-class poor. They're too busy buying their Prada and eating at trendy restaurants while I stress over $30 shoes and brown bag it daily. It can make a girl bitter and sick to her stomach (but not sick enough to stop from breaking into the two 12 packs of Cadbury Creme Eggs brought by her sister from England). So, I got to thinking about dumb memories, the past, and all that business. Things that generally conjure up good thoughts. 1). Cafeteria Food: I love the smell of cafeterias. Can't help it. There's an item, Cheese Zombies, that makes makes me smile. It consisted of probably processed cheese sandwiched between two layers of Bisquick, and I can't think of many fonder food memories. 2). Spray-in Hair Color: Believe me, I've permanently colored my hair more shades than neccessary, but the smell of temporary spray-in color puts a smile on my face (do they even make it anymore?). I remember being "punk" for Halloween in 6th grade and using the stuff. I also remember wearing a t-shirt for my classmates to sign (where did that trend develop?) and all the guys writing "69'r" all over it and not getting it at all. My teacher told me I might not want to go home wearing it. Students explained, "it's a POSITION," which still didn't click in my head. I was a late bloomer (not physically, but emotionally--this posed problems) and slow learner. 3). Fendi perfume. Ah...the 80's. I get some sexy nonsensical vibe when I smell Fendi. It was my high school scent. Conversely, Polo cologne makes me ill. The first guy I gave a date rape/blow job to as a freshman wore it and I've been scarred ever since. I never dated a guy who wore cologne until recently and it was a strange coming to terms. 4). Fresh Cut Grass: You don't really get that smell here in n.y., but I love it. It's got spring written all over it. 5). Ivory Soap: I'm not sure why this works such magic, but it's a very sexy scent. Crisp, clean, innocent and pure. It makes me happy. I don't know if I'll ever have to make any monumental, life-changing Party of Five decisions. Does anyone? I'm just going to think about good smells for a while.

5/2/00
I wish I wasn't feeling so ill. I don't have the energy to concentrate much here. I ran around all weekend drinking like a fish and up til all hours entertaining my sister and a friend and it finally caught up with me. I now feel like I'm losing my voice, it hurts to swallow and all my glands are swollen. I can barely keep my eyes open just to type this. One thing, on May Day as a kid, didn't people leave baskets of flowers on doorsteps, ring the bell, and then run? I remember making fake flower baskets in school out of construction paper and leaving them on neighbor's doors. Of course this could've been done with real flowers too. But nobody knows what the hell I'm talking about. I thought this was what you were supposed to do on May Day. It's a good thing I didn't try leaving anyone anonymous flowers because they just wouldn't get it.