turns out, my new roommate didn't steal my book. it was waiting suspiciously under the bed for me.

i am, however, convinced that the son of a bitch busted my guitar. i think i wrote my official first song (kinks have yet to be worked out, ie: the fact that i can't read music and i don't play an instrument). it sounds great in my head, though.

i swear i'll upload images soon. very soon.

i think i have been or am on the brink of being found out at work, in regards to the fact that i'm a big phony.

this can't go on forever.

i wish i could get paid to have an office and fuck around on the intranet, but who doesn't? and even if i did, i'd probably get so bored because i was allowed to screw around that i'd start working or something.

work is an insatiable appetite for screwing around. i pretend all day, like i'm a very important person, and that none of the rule really have or ever will apply to me, and that i'm some sort of invincible administrative super-hero whose fate of being locked in a cage full of engineering drawings and AutoCAD software was passed down through my father who has unfinished business with a villain who can only be referred to as "Project No. 03023/03034", but who we refer to in the clan as 'Cero San Pedro Gold Heap Leach' (omg-- i just used capitals. that bastard strikes again!).

although slightly overused and chewed thouroughly, my work life is a sickly second cousin of our biggest fears. except for that hint of nepotism.

dad doesn't look or talk like bill lumbergh, or wear suspenders with a coordinated tie, but he does swear a lot, and that's always fun.

for instance, the other day i was visiting with my stupervisor, and heard this phone conversation (dad has never and will never use the fucking handset. it's all about the speaker phone. ask him, he'll tell ya):

anonymous voice:
you know, if they ever get their stuff together, this could turn out to be pretty good.

dad:
well, you know, cock suckers like to be cock suckers.

anonymous voice:
(chuckles)

dad:
if i had time to sit around with my thumb up my ass and squat, i'd be retired and living naked on a beach somewhere.

anonymous voice:
(chuckling continues)

dad:
ah well. who the fuck knows. if they can't get their shit together, i'm not going to hold their fucking hands and wipe their asses.

my dad is the weirdest businessman i've ever met. he is structurally unorthodox, intimidatingly exclusive, completely narcissistic (i'm going to invest in a spelling class), and generally overbearing. but everyone loves him. he's like the party boy of the local engineering scene.

how did i get to be such a dork?! i'm supposed to be saving the world from 03023/03034 with my good looks and keen wit, and i have yet again debauched another lunch hour with 'sticking my thumb up my ass and squating', whatever the fuck that means.

i am soooo my father's daughter. yikes.

song lyrics that have made a noteable impression on me

run...rabbit, run/dig that hole, forget the sun.
and when at last your work is done,
don't sit down/it's time to dig another one.

breath/pink floyd

i had eaten some mushrooms with my dormmates and was watching a lava lamp (gawd, so cliche). it was one of those situations when you're with people who are your friends, but you don't really know if they like you or if they enjoy being around you, so naturally, i was all self-concious, which began my trip-slip into that horrible void of uncontrollable thought. i had convinced myself that there was something inhuman about the cells that make up my body, and that i was spawn of an evil place, and that if i accepted it then and there, my the never-ending battle that was my life would be easier.

it's just sick with irony, isn't it? i love that song.

what a beautiful face i have found in this place
that is circling all 'round the sun
what a beautiful dream that could flash on a screen
in a blink of an eye and be gone
from me...love to be...
in the arms of old and keep it here
with me

neutral milk hotel/aeroplane over the sea

from a band that i'd never heard before on a compilation album that literally changed my life circa 1999, this tune gives you that wonderfully elated and intoxicated-on-happy feeling, and is a constant reminder for me not to freak out too much about stupid shit. none of this crap really matters, anyway.


everybody loves you/and they want to know your story
you go riding out in mystery/concealed in all your glory
but when it comes to flesh and bone/you remind me of shallot
only made of shadows/even though you're not
i remember how i spent/all my energy and time
with effective conversation/trying to pry inside your mind
you are as beautiful as truth/and as empty as a shell
and i came to you one night/and it made me feel like hell
oh, to reach below your surface/just to find an empty pool
and aside for all your pride/as i lay down by your side
and you swallowed up my heart/and left me a fool

indigo girls/left me a fool

yikes. i could just keep listing all the words to this one. this was the song i listened to over and over and over ad neausium after my first real heartbreak when i was 17 (yes, 17. i was anorexic, my friend had been pregnant with his kid, and he had made a video tape of himself and a 14 year old girl. i think that counts). these days, i'm on the receiveing end of this lyrical conversation.

days like this i don't know what to do with myself
all day and all night
i wander the halls along the walls and under my breath i say to myself
i need fuel to take flight
when there's too much going on...its calm under the waves
in the blue of my oblivion
is that why they call me/sullen girl...sullen girl
they don't know i used to sail the deep and tranquil sea

fiona apple/sullen girl

with this, i first began to understand that that weird feeling or mood that was always lingering with me was 'melancholy', and there were many other people who felt that way sometimes, too. not only that, but that other girls felt that way, and talked about it, too, and made sense of it, and were not afraid, but appreciated it. and that good things could come of it.

well i thought about the army/dad said 'son, you're fuckin high'
and i thought, yeah there's a first for everything/so i took my
old man's advice/three sad semesters, it was only fifteen grand
spent in bed i thought about the army/i dropped out and joined a band instead
grew a moustache and a mullet/got a job at chic-fil-a
citing artistic differences/the band broke up in may
and in june, reformed without me/though they got a different name
i nuked another gramma's apple pie and hung my head in shame
oh no...i've been thinking a lot today...

ben folds five/army

one of the most important things i got from this is that the way i express myself can (and should) come out of me the way it sounds when i think it, and that i should loose all pretense. pretense only fucks shit up when you're trying to mediate your thoughts or feelings. ben folds rocks-- when he sings, it sounds like he's talking to you instead of waxing poetic.

when you gonna make up your mind
when you gonna love you as much as i do
when you gonna make up your mind
cuz things are gonna change so fast
all the white horses are still in bed
i tell that i'll always want you near
you say that things change, my dear

tori amos/winter

my moments with this song were in the summer of 98, before leaving for college, before even turning 18. i had a feeling that i had made the wrong decision to go so far away. i remember listening to this song in the first house my dad bought after my parent's divorced (a very warm, happy house, but lacking in structure). they let me paint my bedroom this weird blue that to this day, i don't know if i've ever seen again. i have since associated the color blue with 'winter' and being nervous.

take your tiny feet out of your mother's shoes
or there is going to be a terrible scene
its not just the lipstick drawn on crooked
when they find how wicked we are
how wicked we have been
how i've been tempted
how you tripped at ever step

elvis costello/you tripped at every step

i was the only 16 year old i knew in high school who never, ever took this cd out of her cd player (until her ass older brother decided he needed a stereo and damnit, mine was good enough for him, so he'll just take the whole thing). this always struck a sensitive chord, because i grew up worrying that i was always doing something wrong (more specifically, that i was a phony, and that i would be found out sooner or later, and then where would i be?). not only was i a phony, but i was bad at it. i couldn't even convince myself. i still get that feeling sometimes.

you seem so so out of context/in this gaudy apartment complex
a stranger with your door key/explaining that i am just visiting
and i am finally seeing/why i was the one worth leaving
the district sleeps alone tonight/after the bars turn out their lights
and send the autos swerving/into the loneliest evening
and i am finally seeing/why i was the one worth leaving

the postal service/d.c. sleeps alone tonight

aside from the fact that its a great fucking song, its just dripping with symbolism (or i guess, literalism) for me, especially after the last 6 months.

i've seen the rains of the real world
slink forward on the plain
i've seen the kansas of your sweet little myth
you've never seen it, no, i'm half sick on the drinks you mixed
through your true dreams of wichita
brooklyn like a sea in the asphalt stalks
push out dead air from a parking garage
where you stand with the keys and your cool hat of silence
where you grip her love like a driver's liscense

soul coughing/true dreams of wichita

i really could've just listed those last two stanzas. it took me a long time to accept that no matter how neo-feminist-out-of-the-box-make-my-own-agenda i think i am, i am an absolute sucker for true love.

quit while i'm a head (case).

the island and the shower

i am pinned,
in the middle, and in the end.
waking this morning was sweet and somber and i
hope to do it again sometime.

the shower was gone this morning. i know i left it
where it was, but it seems
to have had better things
to do.

i hope that it finds its way back up
the narrow staircase of this old house
to rest in the supra as it had before.
i value cleanliness
and the soft towels from my dead seudo-
grandmother's house.

this morning was an easy transition.

i stomached my dream before i surfaced
as not to tempt what i were wishing
in the little girl closet in the
back darkness again.

in the sink downstairs is a
mug that i grew up with
am still growing up with
and a familiar blue logo that has
snuck its way into many childhood anecdotes.

i hope to repay debts someday.
that is my intention.

if i could own an island, i would give it
to those that took the fiberglass fast lane
and wiped blood from my burned forearms in the boys' bathroom
and give it right back.

(i don't remember crying that day. i remember
the sun on the sink--
the rocky wavelength in summer is to be admired--
and wiping my eye repeatedly)

i would give it to
her and her ceaseless attendence of
the ever-redundent school of dance
recitals.

i would give it to
the black glory that is
my easy mornings, who is
forever patient with me as i search
the house for shower.

i would give it to
reliable transportation, and high beams
on I-36 to see an irish fella
with an irish fella.

i would divide territories and
show for conquer to four
soldiers whose sleeves are so stained ankle-knick red
and who know strawberry patches.

i would save
three ocean lava rocks that host
for insatiable thirst and late, late nights
with muddled in-betweens.

and, since i am,
i would keep a little corner for me.

"i can be wordy at times."
-gijyun's response to why the xcel-formatted procurement status report was turning into a novel.


among other uncomfortable incidents this morning are:

1.accidentally seeing my coworker practice his tai chi in his office (i least i think that's what he was doing...). to make matters worse, he saw me see him. it was one of those milli-second drive-by eye-catchers. tai chi in general cracks me up, cuz i always say chai tea on accident.

2.the stuporvisor hiking all the way to the second-floor bathrooms to "find one that works", and using the one i had just used for a little #2 break. sick.

3.finding cookies and other junk food stashed in the drawers of a coworker who is supposed to be on a very, very strict diet.

4.noticing my fly was down during a conference call.

5.getting put on the spot during the same conference call, being asked if i had any idea whether or not the electrical one-lines had been approved. my answer was "no", only because i wasn't listening. instead, i was trying to decide whether i should use the $10 cash i have to buy dinner or the new luomo cd. a reconcilliation still has not been made.

i'm waiting for the day to start looking up. it's 1:58 in the p.m.

proxemics are a bitch. i remember learning about them in communications class, but i never really thought i'd have to use that shit. course, i thought by this age, i'd be designing campaigns for the next fashion retrorevival to help save the world, complete with benefit concerts and fundraiser candybars.

turn on the fan, man!.

i hope a boy feels this way about me again someday.

alas, a lass! and how she blow
across to land and wayward show
to eat, and with a backward glow
she swims, me thinks, so far below

to catch, to clasp her striking wind
and feel her white through desperate sin
and know not from where she begins
but where she ends and what she's in

i feel, i fail a breaking day
should she ever be away
not from here will i move or lay
until she's still again to stay

i burn, to breathe her laughing stare--
run fingers through love-mangled hair,
see and be her everywhere
and keep her scent with me to wear.

alas, what is a lad to do!
with nothing bent and nothing through
all her baskets, old and new
i fear my own too shallow blue.

i keep, i take the roasting muse
and give myself for her to use
for nothing more than to abuse
with hope she dare not leave or loose

to pine, pretend she knows my heart
and like a magnet's force apart
a pompous me, i find me smart
to wrap and package evr'y part

and still, i am, in johnny's tree,
thought no longer wrestling me
i long to fall, forever be
in passion's peril with likes of thee.


stevie b. says spring love, come back to me.

thanks to this feller, i have located the starting point for a new venture:

bearing the guy in the gap commercial's illegitimate children.

if you know how to reach him, lemme know.

one of my new year's resolutions, aside from keeping my room clean, losing weight, and goodwill towards (as many) men (as possible) was to keep plans and promises to friends and families.

when we die, which seems fairly likely at this point, that road to hell will be superviously paved with each and every one of my intentions. i have some good ones, a lot of them, actually; but they never seem to go any further than the brainstorming/invention stage (which is why i'm not interested in an executive position. that, and the fact that no one hired me for one. or even offered me one.).

like the time i had this idea for my dad's birthday; i was going to photoshop pics of all of the kids and paper machier them to a vase or some shit. or when i was going to send my mom flowers when she got her new job. or the gifts that i bought for the girls at my old internship. i even actually bought some of them, and then just never gave them to anyone. good job, gijyun. no wonder's my career in pr has been a little slow to start.

while surfing at work (as per usual), i emailed timo maas just to be a jackass, and this is their response (see my original email attached below):

Hi Anne,

Glad you enjoyed the biog:) That said it could certainly do with a rerub.If you fancy having a go then please feel free and we look forward to reading it.

All the best

Leon

Leon Alexander
Hope Music Group
www.hoperecordings.com



> Hi-
>
> I've been following your career for a while and have only recently checked
> your website. While the impressive design is a healthy representative of
you
> and your work, I think the copy on your 'biography' page is shallow,
> lacking, and does you no justice at all. Aside from grammatical errors, it
> sounds like it was written by a kid in junior high.
>
> Anything wrong with kids in junior high? Not at all, but for such a force
in
> the industry, I think it would be justifiable to list some powerhouse
> flattery, significant contributions and distinctive accomplishments;
> something that represents your work, not just someone's opinion of you.
>
> That's what websites are for, right?
>
> Any crap, I'm looking to do some pro bono copywriting. If you're
interested,
> I could throw something together for you. If you're really interested, a
> short phone interview could afford me some great substance. It would be
> journalistic in nature and rhetorically explorative.
>
> If you decide to post anything I give you, the only thing I might ask is
> that you post a tagline below reading "contributed by..." or whatever,
just
> so's if an employer ever asks if I've ever been published, I don't have to
> make up some bullcrap story.
>
> If you're not at all interested, thanks for taking the time to actually
read
> your emails. I'm going to get back to pretending to work.
>
> Thanks
>
>

english people rule. i fancy them.

any crap, i digress. i don't like it when people say they'll do something and then decide not to on a whim. my roommate got all baked on friday night and flaked out on the pharcyde show cuz it was $20. 'scool, i 'spose, since i didn't have $20 to go anyway.

don't you hate it when technology fails you?

the internet, cell phones and all other forms of moderniztion should NOT be used as a submittable basis for whether or not someone likes you.

crippity crap. i need me some crunk.

my flare for surreal optimism is matched only by my love for boys who play the instruments.

what's going on in denver tonight? that's right, nothing(shame on you, soul-less 80's party throwers! your trend died right along with your stupid pants 5 years ago!). only cepting for the 2004 MANY-YEARS ANNUAL MR. TJ CONTEST. the kicker's brother is in it this year.

his talent? a dance. the song? n'sync's 'pop'. coreography? i may or may not have had influence on this masterpeice. either way, it'll be a good show. i'll see it performed in all its glory for the first time this evening.

the two-and-technically-four-hit-wonder is expecting my call. i might disappoint him. yay me, though i was duped into 'supporting local hip hop' outside of the fox theater in boulder last night (blasted coors' light!). whatever. he took a check (did i really right a check for a shitty cd to a guy on the street last night?! damn it, i gave him my fucking number, too. he lives in aurora for fucks' sake, and his stupid cd is called..prepare yourself...PIMPTASTIC. local hip hop my ass. i hope he calls so i can ask for my goddam $10 back).

it'd be worth the $20 fee to put a stop-payment on the check, just so i could imagine the look on that fuck's face.

and yes, ms. thang, he's black.

i don't know when the word 'jam' became technical, but what i saw last night was not jammy. the beautiful girls (who are, by the way, three desperately good looking fellas from down under, and have the accent, which makes them even hotter) are a rigged up version of sublime meets jack johnson. a little overdone, but you have to applaud them for being so far away from home...and so hot.

i recognized the stages (no pun intended) of going to see shows last night.

1. teen queen: must be up front, must know all the words, must dance, must buy tshirt, must try to get someone to buy you alcohol, must beat after-show rush to be first to get autograph and pronounce undying love for (insert lead singer or hot bassist's name here).

2. 20's (pre 21): must wear cute outfit, must bring cell phone, must bring many friends to meet other friends, must scrounge together some $1s and $5s to get the band's EP. tshirts for bands are, at this point, gay, since only the teenagers buy them. must look for someone to buy you alcohol.

3.20's(post 21): get drunk in the parking lot. much cheaper, and fun, too. pick up ticket at will-call (you put it on your new credit card). consider buying the tshirt, but don't because they don't take plastic. actually listen to the music. see old friends. linger outside of venue after show closes and ask if any bars are open.

4.23 and up: go to show by your lonesome. have one beer pre-opening act, one during opening act, one pre-headliner and one during headliner-- two more than you promised yourself you'd get. find comfortable place to stand, away from anyone not 21 or older (you're not buying drinks for any of those fucks) and as far away as possible from those stupid teenagers who probably don't 'get' the headliner's music anyway. quickly glance for people you might know. check cell phone. really enjoy show. head home, get to sleep, wake up early to go to work and make money to pay off the credit you racked up several years ago. wish you had money to buy the cd.

as soon as i get older, i'll update this list, but i feel this is pretty accurate.

tell me something i don't know

what an asshole.

it's thick these days
and slow to burn.
but best to keep idle hands busy
and wandering eyes wandering
to meet an end
to an old beginning
with lost motive.

lose thyself,
i say,
in what you don't know
and what you are
and be carried by what is
and without the coolness
of a stagnant bath.

drive...
unroot your curse
and with arms flailing upward
announce surrender
to the teasing dance ghost
who tickles with trance
and mist.

don't let that sun go down
again
without definition.
forces be with those who call
and without those who don't
..easy reminder
for someone who never remembers anything
except usless details.

be...
still and restless,
open and closed and open again
dizzy with vixen eyes
and maiden heart
impatient tounge
impatient loin
find no more solice in the blank crowd.

potions abound that blur the bind
of ties that unbound lay
and rest here,
and there,
and many times over.
seek not the comfort of otherlover
but the id's comedy.

mind the tumbling soil and compost
of what decay has ammounted
and leave your footprint...
gently...
in this good earth.

it is time to go.

3 degrees of green

when irish eyes are smiling

when i risheye zarsmiling
when irish zie zar smile eeng
wheneye risheye zarsmeye leeng

"what are you doing tonight?"

"prolly starting a brawl with some wee byr'ns and chasin the laddies. you?"

"prolly drinking beer and playing irish folk muzak on the geetar."

"beer? why?"

this is the part where you laugh innately because of my keen sense of cultural knowledge and wit. everyone and their mom (save one) will be drinking beer tonight. so, rhetorically, i compounded the connotation.

some people aren't as quick as us, though.

"if you have to ask why that's funny..."

"shut up. you had to look up 'skeet' on urban dictionary..."

"...shut up, fucking mick."

"don't get beat up tonight."

yeah, like i fight a lot.

there was crista mckinzie back at southmoore, and t.lo in high school, but i didn't really start attacking her until someone was holding us back, just so's i wouldn't look like such a pussy. we had to have a meeting with the principal and our parents and everything. good thing they didn't find out about the statutory video my exboyfriend made with a 14 yr old girl that the whole school sawl. man, high school was fun!

there was also the forty year old woman, whose nephew was throwing a ST. PATRICKS DAY PARTY, who proceeded to knock me in the snow, and while i was trying to salvage a pair of $200 spectacles, starts kicking me in the face (in the FACE, dean says!). luckily, my posse pulled me out of that one. the woman's nephew's friend was the same lad who rumbled a few weeks ago... coincidence? irony? it's outta my hands...

they're always after me lucky charms!

too-ra-loo-ra-loora
too-ra-loo-ra-li
loo-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra
this is an irish lullabye


i practiced my irish accent in my head alllllll day, just so's after i've had a few, it won't sound like i'm just saying it.

"for unlawful carnal knowledge vs. fornicating under consent of the king -- its an ongoing battle, folks."

one can never be too sure regarding the whereabouts of their personal development. as i frantically websearch for ideas on igniting my own virtual family therapy phenomenon, i seem to be more behind than ever in my assignment for personal development. i am shocked (and appalled!) at this gross comedy.

i am kind of a winona, if you will, in that i blog for blogging's sake. i have no gimmick, content, substance, edge, marketability, twist, staying power, nor any other potential industry affirmations applicable intertwined in prose. the day-to-day gob-gobbings of a dare-she-complain pseudo-urban wanna-be India chick who prides herself on superior quality self-loathing, superimposed over insided jokes and boo-hooing over a non-existant love life is, i would say, an accomplishment in itself, whether or not i've hit the motherload. that fucking carrie bradshaw always steals my ideas.

if i didn't have a healthy lunch break and a high-speed intranet kunekshun, who knows into what oblivion my repose would have decayed.

"i get turned on by thinking about the people who might read this..." was i think the way i was supposed to put it. but aside from wordchoice or sentence formation or grammar or large-word count, the added dynamic of audience demographic and variety (damn, i'm good!) hosts an entire new district (i'm on fiyaaah) of potential examiners (does she ever stop?!), all whom may add a healthy spoonful of ego-check and cashing.

in any case, i do hearby solemnly swear to start using more creative formats, links, and subject matter. but i stand firm in my consistent use of intense one-lined (pronounced line-ed) paragraphs. those are a trademark. plus, when i get famous, what will reporters use for quotes?


email gijyun

"don't ever tell anybody anything. if you do, you start missing everybody."
-holden, via j.d.

while our good friend holden was suffering from what can only be described as spiritual numbness, my father the gyro suffers from the opposite.

he does this thing, when he drinks, and those that are familiar with it will know what i mean; he takes on this life-is-so-fucking-magical personality, and everything has to bend to his slurring, booming voice of reason.

last night, we had dinner with neighbors, as he'd just gotten back into the country (again) after one of several long trips. after his oooooh, seventh glass of wine, he made the neighbor lady get out her camera and take a picture of the wine glasses on the counter, because it looked poetic or something. "beauty...is...find in the...small things" he says, as we all pretend to be on the same life-affirming paralell on a sunday night.

while i'm sure the photo is a gas, i was banging my head on the wall.

so, of course, he stumbles his way over to me (partly because of the wine, but also partly because he's close to quadrapalegia) and says "don't ev...ever give away chance..for the...you can never give...get too many hugs". while i'm sure to some of you this may sound warm, charming, and much like an experience you would've liked to have with your own father, i wriggled with contempt.

i know that its great that my middle-aged dad finds increasing increments of the beauty of the world, especially after he travels so, but just because he's 'in the mood' doesn't mean that we all have to stop being mediocre and start making stupid comments that sound profound, but really, they're just to impress other people. please puruse the following list of comments from last night that i overheard while i was trying not to throw up:

"friends make sundays great"
"i'm so happy with our little community"
"we're so lucky to have neighbors like you"
"what would we do if we didn't live here/know eachother"
"i'm so looking forward to another summer with you all"
"sometimes things just work out the way you want them to"
"to friends and a good meal with good wine"

i'm sure when i'm in the oldest generation of a sunday night dinner party, i would like to have friends like my parents, and be comforted by the familiarity of having lived in such close proximity with others for a substantial period of time. but the truth is, whether i, or my stepmom, or my dad, or my siblings, or our families, or all the neighbors and friends who think that my dad is such a stupendously swell guy choose to recognize it or not, my dad's teeth turn purple when he gets into this mode.

this movie, still, has had such a melancholy but potently lasting effect on me--

"i knew there was this entire life behind things, and... this incredibly benevolent force, that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. video's a poor excuse. but it helps me remember... and I need to remember... sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in."

if ricky fits can find it in a paper bag, why can't my dad find it in another country, sans alcohol, sans neighbors, even sans wife and kids? i know my hypocracy is just pouring here, like, its not okay for my dad to tell other people what's important, but it's okay for me to tell him that, but while you can find beauty in an empty bottle, beauty doesn't come from an empty bottle.

tuuuurn....and faaaaace the straaaange
ch-ch-changes.

on why me and the ex shouldn't cross the line

ooooo--

i know why.
its because there's girls...

more aerobic
and athletic than i,
who don't panic when girls
like me draw by;
who tickle your pants and
cater your eye,
who mean to get, and
satisfy,
who are thrilled and excited
by the cool of your lie,
in absence of contact
are sure they won't die,
and don't worry so much
when their world goes awry,
who are humbled that your proud
to have them on your side,
with chests that all laws
of physics defy,
who write poems about
dreams and moon and sky,
whose skin is naturally
tanner than mine,
who carry your ego
so gracefully high,
with strengths and your weakness
alive in her thighs,
who indulge in the charm
that's any man's prize,
and lack baggage
with sinewy-motional ties,
who, when you request
that they jump, shout 'how high?!'
whose bedmanners
never seem comprimised
by the way you went down
or easily rised,
whose headcase emotion
never brought them demise
who you offered your sympathy
when they actually cried...

there's rules that i hate
though i stoop to abide;
i hate...i hate...i hate
that you lied.
if i'm anything now,
i'm smart to subside..

after all, i'm not without pride.


email gijyun

debbie, goddess of electric deception

googling can take you to amazing, imaginary places.

i will admit i have a problem, and that i will follow link after link until i sometimes whiz by three or four hours. though the intranet isn't the most reliable resource, it certainly is the most entertaining.

i've stumbled across this story that seems to have popped its head into just about every form of media imaginable, a good illustration of being wary of all that i read when i surf. reading this account is haunting, and there's not much included in it that doesn't turn up page after page of crap when googled.

it has strange and whimsical powers, this intranet of ours; i have to practice hiding expressions of shock when someone tells me they don't use it or are unfamiliar with the extent of information accessible by it.

losing your identity via 01001010110001100011010011010 has its benefits, but that story just blows my mind. i know that our creations are only as powerful as the creators, but i just can't get over what it would've been like in this ladies' mind, or if she had any idea what she was doing, or how many people she was affecting, or why she would admit what she was doing.

or maybe the whole story is a hoax. who cares. its a good story, and if it is a hoax, it should be published.

the problem with numbers is there's like, too many of them.
-butthead

a few interesting numbers to start off the week:

1: number of times i text-messaged the ex friday night.

3: number of times he called me the next night (also number of times i picked up the tab on friday-- being a generous drunk is sooo dangerous. not to worry, though; i've been reimbursed).

20: number of pounds i've lost.

25: number of minutes i spent talking to the one-hit wonder on the phone.

2200: number of dollars its going to take to fix my fucking transmission.

infinity and beyond: number of times i'd like to punch the guy who works in the office across from me in the face for telling me that the music that plays from my office is at an unreasonable volume, and could i please be considerate of others and wear headphones.

headphones? do they still make those?

i got news for you, dougie. this is my office, bitch. i play the music at the lowest possible volume, and for some reason, i think because it's a drywall maze of cubicles up here, you can practically hear it from the parking lot. for the first time since i've been here, these words actually popped in my head: "don't you know my dad is your boss?". i was quickly whipper-snapped with a strong dose of reality and modesty.

it'd be interesting to know what kind of undercover thoughts and conversations go on around here regarding family ties and what not. uncle wonderful's shit still consumes half of the upstairs. step-gramma's last will and testemant has a folder next to working project and proposal folders. there are miscellaneous photos (that have to be at least 18 years old) of us mixed in with photos of construction sites and mines. there are file folders full of correspondence from maw and grammaw. the fab 5's college education used to be part of regular expenditures. no wonder this place got the shit audited out of it.

when dad told me he was leaving again (the man's been gone so much his leg is literally eating itself), i told him i thought he was a good man. he looked me dead in the eye and said, "i have a lot of mouths to feed". this place is not the frightening black hole of chaos i thought it was. er, yes it is, but now that i know that what goes on here during the week is not comparable to that of a mental health facility, and that there is ryhme and reason to this madness, and that those haunting photos of equipment that still look like monster aliens that dad took when we were little that seemed to multiply like bunnies and creep their way into the photo drawer in the entertainment center in the family room are actually of stuff that has to do with stuff, not just of inapplicable wastes of time.

aside from the income, there are other rewards i've received from this venture into the abyss. my own self-centeredness reveals itself daily here.

email gijyun

with all things said, my mood in foreseeing the weekend is optimistic.

good to be back in a good place...

i spent lunch money on a new cd (think tank...rockin...), but today's payday. hopefully, i can get my swerve on full swing this weekend without worrying about cash flow.

i have tentative dates for the stereolab concert (finally!), my awsomest brother and psuedo-sister-in-law have agreed to give them a whirl, and i am delighted that there's still people in the denver/metro/front range area who still think i'm at least semi-cool.

seriously, i used to be hot shit. not so much anymore (at least according to popular opinion, which is usually wrong anyway, leaving one of two things possible: either i used to be really cool and now i suck, or i used to think i was really cool, and am just coming into my cool-ness).

don't worry, i won't be singing gloria estefan or mariah carey in the shower anytime soon; i still have my doubts re: my generation and what seems to be the likely outcome of our overly-self-indulgent youths. but maybe the weekend will proove progressive for all things spiritual.

com-en out of the daaaaaaaark...
i know that love would saaaaaaaave me, and its shiiiiiiiiin-en o-on meeeeee
(i see the light....i see the light)

when you don't respond to my emails, you get nasty metaphoric stories written about you and emailed to you from yours truly. read on, as one unsuspecting friend did this afternoon.


enter young woman onto empty stage. there's a dead body in the middle of the floor, representing a lack of communication between the young woman and her friend.

Young Woman: searching through dark

mike?

are you there?

dude, wake up. mike.....mike.

slaps face

michael donald...

pause

slaps face again, this time twice as hard

dude! wtf? did you have a seisur or something? did you eat some bad seafood?

nudges ore corpse with foot

maybe he just doesn't have access to email...

holds up wrist to take pulse

nuthin. humph.

rumages through wallet, takes three bucks and a nudie shot

oh well. i never liked his stupid ass anyway.

exit stage right

The end.

somewheres, far far from here, there is a life void of drawing numbers, document control, purchase requisitions, change orders, and engineers who can't wipe their own asses.

that is all.

taboo schmaboo

i can't shake it...

shake-shake-sh-shake it...

shake-shake-sh-shake it...

shake shake...shake it like a polaroid picture....

let me wax bradshaw for a minute (carrie, that is, to you non-herd folk).

as i continue to dabble in e-con with an ex and dance around boundaries of what's cool and what ain't with a one-hit wonder, i've come to understand the source of my angst with my ex-friend cupid.

i have no tweener. i have a psuedo-romance with what was and what could be, but nothing herenow. the one-hit wonder who's number, by the way, i instinctively got rid of after having a heart-to-heart with a fellow freelover:

lemme get this straight. is it taboo that i called him in general, or just that i nurtured the offer to see him again?

does it matter?

yeah, i guess yer right. i forget the rules. c'est la vie, non?

was it worth it?

...(pause) yeah. a girl's gotta do. it's like i have to go through some foundational training to get back in the league or something.

...(pause) you didn't tell him any of this, did you?

no. i'm just out of shape; i'm not fucking retarded.

oh...(pause). yeah, i suggest you get rid of all contact opportunities. delete the possibility of repeating a shoppman.

good call.

_________

however, i do have to countercritque for a moment. i care to give myself a little credit for consistently stepping outside my comfort zone; whether or not i presented it correctly is irrelevant.

viva la humiliation.

i've effectively demoted myself at work with the help of our ex-receptionists' drinking problem, so i don't have the comfort of my own office at the moment. in fact, i'm seated comfortably between a rock and a hard place, as far as occupation is concerned. to be honest, this computer is such a peice, i'm close to being driven to the drink myself.

i seem to have that effect on the weaker sex. my woman-powers exceed my pretense, and that's hard to conquer.

hmmm... i think i'm onto something.

comparinus to-othersium seems to have infected my daily routine. er, the objective side of it, anyhows. i guess its not so much that i compare myself to other girls too much, because i think a little self-critique is important every now and then; its more or less that i compare myself to everyone and everything around me. and why not? the human-ness of reason comes with its defective systemic problems that we're all faced with sooner or later.

i'm just beating god to the punch, really. better to know every teeny tiny thing that's wrong with me now, rather than have to pretend like i'm shocked when i make it to purgatory. as my old boss would say, 'its not degredation. you're setting yourself up for success.'

spin is the purest form of art known to humans. those who lack in said department are victims of mundanely logical lives.

this is pure snow! do you have any idea what the street value of this mountain is?!

why my dad will never retire

its a slow day that burns away the rest of a monday eve'
and watching clocks will only mock the sign that its time to leave.
without temptation for recreation, there's lists to-do abound
though silent halls ring empty calls, gathering little by the sound.

an exodus of parking lot, rocking seals of solid gate--
home, to where the sofa sinks, and supper's never late.
and slumber brings a nearby spring, and easy morning wake,
to rise, to rise, to bathe and beat the mass beyond the rake.

fear not the idle afternoons, nor the silence of a line
that doesn't ring with anything on which you serve to dine.
the settle of a feathered paper without the gust of work
infects you with projections of a knee-pain twisting jerk.

it is not the stillness you should fear, nor the silence in itself,
or the dust that settles on the chair, or desk, or floor, or shelf;
or lights that switched off stay best dark, or the thought of staying home,
its the restlessness inside yourself that purges you alone.

i had a great idea for a poem last night, but, instead of writing it down, i pretended like i was going to read. then liv tyler came out and looked all awsome, so i figured watching tv was way more suitable.

if it helps, the poem had the word 'demure' in it. it was also set to iambic pentameter, and i thought of a super cool word that rhymed with 'demure', but, along with the prose, it is now gone as well.

demure
pure
lure
sure
cure
refer

hmmm... nothing. i'll think of it. then, maybe, i'll write it down.

still no confirmation for stereolab (hey...i haven't really gotten any emails all day, now that i think about it. i put effort into my social life for it to be redeemed by email notifications whilst i work on my secretary ass all day, and this is the thanks i get?). but i'm still optimistic; i have a few weeks until things start gettng desperate.

my office is littered with photos of crap that i couldn't name if had to. they've been here since i got here, but i don't have the nerve to take them down. there's things about this office that make up most of the whole of everything i'm afraid of (namely: unorganization, miscommunication, laziness, overwork-edness, bad business, good business, audits, and secrets), and while the underlying objective of my position here is to conquer that which intimidates me, there is also one that tells me to be respectful of the decades of tales and in-and-out characters of this never-ending engineering saga.

it was decided this weekend that the reason that my quest for world domination has been slow to speed has partly to do with my presentation. i'm not real sure what that means; i just know that i'm supposed to stop being so depressed (round and round we go...). its that whole "just when you're not looking", or, in some cultures, "optimism is the only cure for optimism", which, in turn, is followed by "a pesimist is an optimist who got their feelings hurt". being the realist that i am, i can only make decisions based on applicable evidence, and the only evidence i've gathered to date is that there's not much about which to be optimistic.

it was also boldy, bluntly pointed out that i still suffer from comparinus to-othersium, a disease i thought had been outlawed by the id several years ago. my own ego has expanded too-many-fold-to-remnember that those things can sneak in through the cracks and set up camp without so much as a knock on the door...but, interestingly enough, its true. while i've been claiming to be ahead of the self-assurance game for months now, retrospect shows quite the opisite. i think it should be mandatory to teach an "envy literacy" class in some selected, prepubecent/adolescent year. it would've saved me a hell of a lot of time and torture.

even though i've acclimated to thinking highly of myself, i still have my doubts. im such the gay (cummon mom, i'm not the gay...i can't host that entire parade by myself...).

which is funny, because i went through great pains to recognize my shortcomings. and in an attempt to develop them, they multiplied.

fucking irony. if i ever become a playwrite, my story will have no trace of irony in it, just because its so obversely cliche, overused, redundant, irritating and soooo five minutes ago. i can't recall a single anecdote in which it did some folks any good. look at alanis; she wrote a retarded song about it to get famous, and now everyone just talks about what a retard she is.

brilliant, but still tangibly annoying (irony, or alanis? both, damnit).

send some love

email gijyun