Man, I swear... on the days I go out with the specific purpose of finding people to hang out with, I can never seem to run into anybody. But on those rare times when I actually have something to do and/or time constraints, I manage to find plenty of people. I went to Livingstone's on my lunch break and saw gynocide and selfamused just as I was leaving to head back to work, then I saw Malcolm and Brian as I was driving up Maroa and stopped just long enough to say hello. Gosh darn my luck sometimes.
And because I've been thinking about it lately... here's a phat fat poll!
I think we might go check out The Dance tonight (what is currently the place that used to be The Express, wow that's some awful grammar I just used). It's been too long since I've gone dancing. And I know I look like a fool doing it: fat white girl in the hizzouse. But it makes me happy in a way that few things do.
Oh, and I *finally* saw Reservoir Dogs last night. Hard to watch, but a pretty good film nonetheless. Then again, I'm predisposed to liking movies that end like that. And I think Steve Buscemi is a demi-god. I was talking to someone about how it would be the scariest thing in the world to make an army of pissed off Steve Buscemi clones. Anyhow. Why the hell was it called Reservoir Dogs anyway?
Now I remember: I was going to post about the dream I had last night. It's really rare for me to remember my dreams these days, and even when I do it's usually just one moment or scene that sticks with me.
I was in this health food store, but it was also a new-age/magic sort of store. They had lots of dried fruits and candies that were free to sample. I guess this was "the place to hang out", at least in my dreamworld, so I'd been there for a while, sampling everything. Mischa came into the store and she was blind, which for some reason didn't shock me very much. She said that she'd just come in to pick up a box of lemon-flavored coconut slices (I can't help but wonder what that would taste like). Lots of other familiar people would stop by all day long, and I would help them find what they wanted (never mind the fact that I'm certain I didn't work there).
Anyway. Erm. Thanks for the jokes yesterday, everyone. My co-workers were wondering why I was giggling.
And happy doubledouble wishy wishes to aryx and sogi.
I sure feel braindead this morning. Buffy was disappointing last night. I discovered the joy that is Domino's Dots. Now I just feel fat. I'm wearing lipstick today. I get to go motherboard shopping for my parent's puter tonight. In the quiet moments, I still feel the resonant vibrations of psychic violence from the past. And I can't stop dwelling on Justin's death, even though I hadn't really thought about him in years. I guess that's the effect of never having someone who was actually close to me pass away. If I have any connection at all with the deceased, it stays with me. I'm too sensitive for my own good.
Like in 7th grade at Computech... there was this girl named Andrea who always used to pick on me. She dressed like a grunge rocker (this was, after all, 1994) and she had a high school boyfriend. Then, one Friday night, she shot herself. My best friend came to me the following Monday, right after we found out what had happened, and told me that Andrea had gone to her during the day on Friday and told her to give me her apologies for being such a bitch. Then again, I suppose my friend might have made this up just to be sappy. Still, I held onto her obituary for years.
And then in high school, when Julie was killed in a car accident, I went to the memorial service they held in the Little Theater at Roosevelt and bawled like a baby, even though I'd never actually had a conversation with the girl.
And there was Robert's little brother who wasn't looking where he was going while playing soccer. And that Asian girl who hung herself, I think her name was Mei, the one with the limp. And, of course, all the gang-related crap that went down in and around the high school.
Half the time I start crying if any of you talk about someone dying, even if I've never even met you. Shit, man, the person doesn't even have to be real. I had trouble sleeping after the episode of Buffy where Tara was shot. It makes me wonder what's going to happen to me when someone close to me does die. Like my grandmother, who just turned 90. Or my kitty, who has leukemia and probably not much time left.
Shit, I gotta stop dwelling on these things so early in the morning.
In November, Jason Morris, 30, was acquitted by a jury in Greater Manchester, England, of the charge that, using ordinary pliers, he pulled out 18 of his girlfriend's teeth, leaving her covered head to toe in blood. The case turned when the girlfriend, Samantha Court, 25, took the witness stand and admitted that she pulled the teeth out herself, during an April drug binge during which she tried to get rid of a green and pink fly that had darted down her throat. Court said the couple has decided to stop doing drugs. [The Guardian, 11-23-02]
Yet another accident just happened on Dakota outside my building. If you're bored and feel like reading about it (by no means mandatory, there will not be a quiz later):
Guy in a white pickup was driving west down Dakota. Between Fresno and Blackstone, there's a little side street called Diana. A woman in a white Saturn was driving south on Diana towards Dakota and turned right, apparently going fast enough to hit the back side of the white pickup, causing it to go into a spin and flipping onto its side. The guy wasn't hurt, and the girl sped away, although I guess the crash caused her license plate to fall off and get picked up by a cop, sealing her fate.
What was this girl's problem, anyway?
Happy birthday to elvenwolfcub, before I forget to spread the wishies.
You ever see a sign or name every so often and it always gets a certain song stuck in your head?
Maybe that's unclear, here's an example:
There's a sign on a door at my work that says "Home Services Clinical Clerical" and it always gets Supertramp running through my head, as in... "When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful, a miracle, oh it was clinical clerical..."
Or, we once had a patient whose first name was Colita and every time I saw her name I started thinking of Hotel California.
Yeah, this really is the best shit I can come up with to talk about this morning. It's freakin' Monday. School starts in a week. Yeah.
Yay for Ambi having email at work and keeping me amused throughout the course of the day. :)