The Original Blog O' Jean: May 2000

I'd like to go to bed, but I know I won't sleep if I do. This is why:

My room is cold. The thermostat is at 72 Farenheit. At home I usually put it on 78 before I go to bed, and then sleep under a thick, fluffy comforter. They've got it on 72 and the controls are locked behind plexiglass so I can't turn it up (or down, in the case of a/c), and the covers on the bed are very thin.

It's not my bed. Those aren't my pillows. That's not my thick, fluffy comforter. My kitty's not here to sleep on my head.

There are people playing pool at the table directly outside my door, which opens into the common room. There is another group gathered around, talking, right beneath my window, which looks out onto the porch.

Did I mention I'm not getting to sleep in my own bed?

So I'll tell you about the skit. We had to break into groups and each do a skit with a game show theme that addressed audit topics. My team decided to do a parody of a College Bowl match (there was heated debate on whether we should do the Dating Game, but someone else did that, so it was a good thing we didn't). I got to be the ditzy contestant. We decided I'd just keep repeating the same answer (ala' Elmyra in a Tiny Toons Jeopardy skit) and eventually it would be the right answer. That was my only direction. After that it was all improv.

Let me tell you something. I am a behind the scenes person. I am not an in-front-of-the-camera person, and I am most definitely not a stand-up-in-front-of-a-live-audience person. I've never done a skit before. Somehow, I always managed to find a way out whenever I was required to participate in that sort of thing in school. I did some public poetry readings a couple of years ago, in an attempt to conquer this stage fright thing, but I ended up letting the fright conquer me, and gave it up after two nerve-wracked readings.

Maybe it's because I knew everyone here would have to make a total ass out of themselves at some point during the evening, or because I knew I'd have to face my fears and read my poem at the wedding this weekend, but I figured, what the hell. I stood up there and improved my ass out. And do you know what? I kicked ass. I had them rolling. They were shocked, and so was I. Shy, reserved Jean, the quiet assistant who keeps to herself, got up in front of everybody and managed not only to ignore the fear and to think of things to say off the top of her head, but to actually be funny (and, I might add, in a way that was intentional).

I rule. This wedding's going to be a breeze.

But I'm not about to make this a habit.

They didn't just make me participate in the skit, they made me take a feature role. That was scary. As prone as I am to stage fright, however, I have to admit that it was fun. I got to be a ditzy sorority girl. Finally, a practical use for all of the valley girl speak I learned in the '80's.

Anyway, here's the poem. Feedback is welcome.


With this ring,

I make this promise:

To take your hand,

and to hold it tight,

     as we struggle,

     as we coast,

     as we conquer,

     as we fall,

     as one, always.

I will not let go.



With this ring,

I make this vow:

To take your heart,

and make it my own.

      Your hurts,

      your joys,

      your dreams,

      your losses,

      are mine, til death.

Our hearts beat as one.



With this ring,

I make this pledge:

To love your life

As I love my own.

      My riches,

      my glories,

      my hopes,

      my future.

      My life is yours,

as yours is mine.

Oh my God, they're making me do a skit!

I've about had my fill of togetherness with the staff. I'm supposed to go out to the common room for fun and games. I can hear them gathering out there now. I'm debating on whether to try hiding in my room until someone comes looking for me.

Since the meeting was nice and long and boring and bore no relevance whatsoever to my job function, I had time to write that poem for my sister's wedding. I need to polish it up a bit, but I'm pretty pleased with it. That's one less thing I have to worry about before Saturday.

I just heard my name, somebody noticed I'm missing. I should go out there. Hopefully it won't be long before I can sneak back in here. I'm hoping to be able to answer my e-mail tonight. I'm also thinking about posting that poem up here. I sure wouldn't mind some objective feedback on it before I have to go read it out loud to my whole family.

Eugh, I can hear them taking role. I have to say that I rather resent being forced to socialize after working hours. Now they're banging on my door. Guess I should go.

I'd like to delete some of today's one-liners. I really would; but, what's done is done.

They were poking fun at the whole "powerblogger" mentality, myself included.

I wish I could say I'm above it all, that I don't post nonsensical things simply for the sake of getting my link included on Torrez's oh-so-nifty toy. I'd like to believe that's true, but the fact is that my traffic increases when I make the list. I'm not above it. Quite the contrary, I'm right down in the nitty-gritty of it.

I don't want this to be about page hits. I don't know why I'm concerned with traffic. I have nothing here to sell, no banner ads awaiting a click-thru commission. Maybe it's just that I'm enthralled by the idea of achieving popularity for once, however modest. Maybe it's just that I love the fact that people are paying attention.

One reason I think I post so much each day is that here, like nowhere else, my self-consciousness is stripped away, and I can say what I want, when I want, without fear. In person I'm really very quiet and reserved, at least until I really get to know you ... until I trust you not to judge me. I lose that distrust here in this format. Not so much the distrust, but the fear. If I can't see you laughing at me, rolling your eyes at what I have to say, then it can't hurt me.

Still, I want to be more selective about what makes it to this page.

I'd like to resolve myself to only logging one or two somewhat meaningful posts a day, and not say anything at all if I don't have anything somewhat meaningful to say; but if I did that, I'd be limiting myself to a format that probably wouldn't suit me on a day to day basis. Because sometimes one-liners are really all I have to say; sometimes single comments hold more meaning than entire essays; and sometimes nonsense is what's called for.

So I won't resolve to limit my posts based on quantity. I will, however, resolve to limit them based on quality. No blogging for the sake of blogging, for the sake of linkage, or for the sake of increasing site traffic. I will blog only for the sake of saying things that I think are worth saying.

That said, I probably won't be blogging at all until next Monday. I'm going to take my laptop to the staff retreat, and I'll probably try to log on over the weekend, but, as I learned this past weekend, my ISP is not proving to be very reliable; so while I will try to make updates throughout the week, I can't promise that I'll be able to.

Which reminds me ... if you live in Northeastern Oklahoma and you're happy with your ISP (NOT counting AOL), please tell me about it. I'm thinking about switching to a local provider. Anybody familiar with Webzone? They're offering discounts to my company's employees, but I want to hear some testimonials before I switch.

And, referring to what I said above, it might be Monday before I can get to my e-mail, too.

Have a good week, everybody. Here's hoping you'll hear from me sooner rather than later.

I once wrote a letter to Suck in response to the question, "should Suck quit making fun of Canadians?" In the letter, I stated all of the reasons I could think of, some proven, some made up for effect, that explain why teasing Canucks is funny. When they published my letter, I was so proud, I showed it to all of my friends, including those who live somewhere up there in the Great White North. I didn't worry about offending them, because I knew that they, as well as anyone else with a sense of humor and most of their mental faculties intact, would know that I was only joking.

A couple of weeks later they ("they" in this instance being those affectionately known as The Sucksters, who were kind enough not to give my e-mail address out to whackos) published a response from someone of obvious Canadian heritage who did not get the joke (there's always someone who just doesn't get the joke, isn't there?). I suppose I should have found their letter insulting, and perhaps should have even felt somewhat chastized by it, but instead, as I read it, I had to stifle my gleeful laughter. Overcome with a sense of pride for having so successfully managed to make a total stranger loathe me, I pointed the letter out to all of my aforementioned friends, and printed it out to hang in my cube beside the original letter. I went around the rest of that entire day with a huge grin on my face, and became giddy whenever I thought of that angry person whom I'd so negatively affected sitting there at their keyboard pounding away furiously at what was surely intended to put me in my place.

I think this says a lot more about what kind of person I am than any bio page I might concoct ever could.

My e-friend Chad is taking off today for a summer-long European excursion (after a brief layover in Canada). I can't possibly begin to convey to you how jealous I am. I don't think he reads this site, but just in case he does ...

Bon voyage, Chad! Bring me back some loot!

*sniffle* My in-box feels so empty now that he's gone.

Y'know, I bet that's what I'll say when I finally have sex, too.

That's it, I think I've surpassed my exclamation point quota for the day.

Hey, if I blog now for no good reason whatsoever, I can get onto the Powerbloggers list before noon! Yay for shameless linkage!

The bathroom here at work is undergoing rennovations. It has been undergoing rennovations for over a week now. Being the incorrigible rebel that I am, and seeing as how I sat here too long reading blogs and didn't have time to make it to another floor, I went in there on Friday afternoon, and it looked exactly the same as it did when I snuck in there on the previous Friday afternoon. The toilets are fine, all they're doing is wallpapering (allegedly, though you can't tell by what they've done so far), but apparantly that's reason enough to ban us from using it and sending us two floors in either direction in search of a bathroom that is intact. This whole situation is beginning to seriously piss me off (should not have said "piss" just then ... it did not help my situation).

Finish the friggin' bathroom already!

Yay! My friend Eleni finally updated her site! And she has a blog! If I know Eleni, once she gets going it will definitely be worth visiting.

Note to self: don't forget to renew your prescription, goober!

Being the only single, late-twenty-something, moderate-drinking, non-smoker trapped in a room full of 19 and 20 year old chain-smoking girls who are talking about nothing but their significant others whilst trying to drink each other under the table does not amount to much enjoyment for Jean. I'd blame it on getting old, but the truth is that I didn't really enjoy that sort of thing when I was their age, either.

The highlight was that I finally got to see, for the first time ever in its entirety, Evil Dead 2, thus answering the question posed in High Fidelity. I hadn't seen it yet, but only because timing and circumstances kept me from doing so, and I fully intended to see it eventually. I wanted to see it, I know I should see it, I just hadn't yet. Now that I have, I can't believe it took me so long. What a wonderfully twisted movie.

Lizzy's party is this weekend. Her wedding is next weekend. In between is Memorial Day, my office's two day staff meeting (woo), and lots and lots of last minute wedding preparation type stuff. So for the next nine days, don't expect too many updates, and don't expect me to be too quick with the e-mail replies (not that I'm ever quick with the e-mail replies). Monday I'll probably spend mostly sleeping, still recovering from the party, but I'm sure I'll log on to tell you folks all about it. Tuesday is the only day I'll be at work next week, and unless I'm unusually busy I'm sure I'll blog plenty that day. I plan to take my laptop with me to the staff meeting, and I'll most likely log on that evening (did I mention we have to spend the night? At least this year I get my own room) to complain about it.

Damn, I just realized I forgot to call my doctor to renew my Ritalin prescription. I'll run out by Tuesday. No way in hell can I sit through two days of listening to auditors talk about auditing without being medicated. Damn, damn, damn! Hell, damn! I don't believe I did that.

I'm going home to take a nap. After that I think I'll attempt to write that poem for Liz. I need to write a toast, too. Funny how last-minute pressure always helps to stir the muse.

Have a good Memorial weekend, everybody.

**SIGH**

I knew I'd end up feeling like heck if I went out last night, and I was right. I figured that since I took the morning off to get my cat a check up I'd be able to sleep in, so it wouldn't be quite so awful, but it still only amounted to about 6 hours of sleep last night, not nearly enough to make up for the 2 hours or so I managed the night before.

But was it worth it? Heck, yeah! Not only did I get to spend an hour and a half ogling Vin Diesel in all his tight-panted muscular tough-guy glory, but Terrence was there, and yes, he does indeed love me (I knew he did).

I woke up this morning to the sound of my mom's kitty's clawless little front paws trying to scratch on my door, for some reason. That cat has never liked me, and she and my cat don't exactly welcome the sight of each other, so I don't know why she wanted up there. I eventually got tired of it and went to open the door for her, at which point she simply sat and stared at me (because she is somewhat simple, as cats go), so I shooed her away and went about getting ready for my day. I still don't know what her deal was.

I took Vanilla to see the vet, where I learned that she has an infected tooth that will have to come out. She goes back this Tuesday for the operation. In the mean time, I have to orally administer antibiotics to her twice a day. I can't put it in her food, because then she simply won't eat it. Which means that I have to hold her down and force it into her. And by the way, my kitty's claws are fully intact, and boy does she know how to use them.

The drive to the vet was rainy and gray, perfectly conducive to melancholia. On the way, I passed a gas station, one I pass all the time, to which I normally don't even give a thought other than to see if there are any police cars in front ready to bust me if I don't slow down to the town's ridiculously low posted limit. This morning, however, I remembered the time my car broke down there and I had to call my dad to come and rescue me. He and my mom both came, and he did his best to fix it. I don't remember if he did, but I do remember that he was particularly pleasant to be around that afternoon, which was unusual in and of itself, and doubly so considering he had me helping him fix a car. Some of my worst memories involve helping my dad as he worked on cars. Funny that one of the few good memories I have of him involves auto repair. I actually had to fight back tears at the recollection. It still hurts sometimes, even after this long. I suppose it always will. Usually the hurt comes from remembering how much and how often he hurt me. It's somewhat comforting on the occasions when the hurt comes from missing him.

Oh yeah, I like that.

Trying something new ...

That's a tad disconcerting. Who are you bellatlantic.net?!! I hope you're not that creepy stalker guy with the foot fetish who used to come into Dillard's all the time and try to get me to take off my shoes. That guy was one of the reasons I quit that job. Reminded me of that guy from X-Files with the hair and nails fetish. Creepy.

But seriously, it's nice to see someone actually taking the time to look around. Thanks.

Wow. This is also going on my list.

found via Zeldman

There. I added all of my new daily reads to the list down there at the bottom.

I like it.

Without further ado (because who out there gives a rat's ass, really?) ...

New daily reads:

Yana - like I said, it's all about attitude.
Wintermute - ditto.
BryanBoyer - I think it's also about an ability to write and be just flat out entertaining. But it was really Steve that won me over.
sixfoot6 - ditto, again (except for the part about Steve).
Re-run: What's Happenin', Bry? - all of the above (again, excepting Steve).
Zeldman - I always try to pay attention to people who can teach me cool crap.
Monstro - even though he hasn't updated in a month.
Perpetual Anticipointment - strangely compelling.
Luke's Site o' Stuff - I meant to add this one a while back, but I lost it, but now I've found it. So here it is. Mainly because it's hard to be a Christian and be able to talk about it as the major part of your life that it is (without coming across as preachy), when there is so much anti-Christian sentiment out there to deal with. I was getting pretty down about the lack of faith among people whom I otherwise seem to have all kinds of cool things in common with, and then I stumbled across this site, and it picked me back up. He is not holier-than-thou. He just is.

I was going to add a few more, but I decided to wait and get to know them better.

Now I must go home and change clothes and come back to town because, as tired as I am, tonight is the last night to view on the big screen the movie that very nearly did what I've been trying to do for years: turned Tess into a fangirl. That's right, we're going to see Pitch Black one last time before it's pulled from theaters for good and heads off to small screen territory. Because, as you know, we both love Vin Diesel. My God, but how we love him.

I am by no means anal retentive, but I am just OCD enough that my paperclips have to be sorted into big and small before I can continue my day.

I'm starting to think it's all about attitude.

As I come across new blogs I tend to bookmark them for future consideration as daily reads. Today, since I'm all caught up, I'm going through them and weeding out the ones that suck. Well, not all of the ones I'm launching back out into the ether suck, but they're pretty forgettable, and just not compelling enough to make me want to read past the first paragraph, let alone return on a regular basis. They are, in a word, boring.

Why are they boring? I pondered, trying to sooth the guilt I briefly felt over being so dismissive of sites that people obviously put a lot of time and effort into. Some of them were just links with comments, no real content. Some of them were nothing but content, but the content was whiney. It was nothing but mindless drivel about their day. "Blah blah, I'm tired. Yadda yadda, I hate my job."

Then it struck me. I write about that stuff! Am I so full of myself that I think people will find the inane bits of my life story any more compelling than I found the content of these blogs? I guess I am. And probably wrongly so. And not only am I an egotistical snob, but a hypocritical one at that.

But somehow I just can't bring myself to be all that bothered about it.

Stay tuned for a new list of daily reads.

(See? This is compelling stuff!)

Most likely due to the lack of sleep and the high intake of caffeine (among other things), I was in a pretty goofy mood all morning. Now it's all starting to catch up with me.

My scalp is tingly.

I have most of the lists and charts they mention printed out and tacked up around my desk. It's all just part of my unabashed hero worship of Polly.

The floating Lucas head is rather disconcerting.

Oh yeah! I'm getting bored with my bio page. I think it's about time I did a new one.

That wasn't really all that relevant after all, was it?

I'm mostly caught up now. Let's see how quickly I can fall behind again. Starting ........
..................... ........................ ......................... ......................... .................. .................... ................... ................... ...................... .................. ............... ................... ................ ............... ................ .............. NOW!

I actually came on here to say something relevant, but the elipses threw me, and now I can't remember.

In the immortal words of Poe, "You can't talk to a psycho like a normal human being."

Good advice.

Brannon Braga's Borg episodes (whee! alliteration!) tend to piss me off for the way he has no concept of continuity, but last night's Voyager was pretty cool. Well, the ending was, anyway. Assimilations are always fun to watch.

Anyway.

Last night was stormy. Loud thunder, combined with intolerable leg cramps and the fact that we were out of painkillers, meant no sleep for Jean. I think I did doze off around 1 or so, but I was awakened around 1:30 by thunder that shook my bed. I thought perhaps I should get up and watch TV to see if there were any tornado warnings, but then the power went out, so I stayed in bed. My cat, scared by the thunder, decided at that point that the safest place for her to sleep would be on my head. I think I dozed off again some time around 3.

My alarm went off (much to my relief, seeing as how I haven't changed the battery since I bought the clock), but there was still no power, which seemed like a good enough excuse for being late, so I stayed in bed, but then it came on, so I got up. But the power wasn't on to stay. Oh, no. It came on just long enough to give me a false sense of security, and then it went off again while I was in the shower. I screamed, then composed myself and resisted the urge to curl into a fetal position at the bottom of the tub while I went about finishing my shower.

I'm afraid of the dark. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Partially because of those scary-ass dreams I have sometimes, but mostly because I'm just a 'frady-cat. My bathroom has no windows, so when the lights went out, it was pitch black (hey, look, I said "pitch black" without turning it into an excuse to talk about Vin Diesel!), and I, quite honestly, freaked. I did recover pretty quickly, however, and I learned that the best way to finish a shower in the absolute absence of light is to close your eyes and sing as loudly as you can (of course I realize that, were there actually something in the dark that wanted to get me, the singing would only help to lead them straight to me, but at least I wouldn't be able to hear them coming).

So I finished the shower and got dressed in the dark. By then the sun had come up enough that by sitting by the window I could see well enough to not totally screw up my makeup. Thankfully, the power came back on in time for me to dry my hair, so at least I didn't have to come to work with a wet head.

That's my day so far. And it only looks to get better! Um, for the irony impaired, that was sarcasm, folks. I've fallen behind a bit at work (I've been reading blogs all week, imagine that!) and need to stop prattling on about the inane details of my day and go get some of it done. I think it's a good idea if at least one day a week I come out of my comfortable state of denial and act like someone that actually has a job to do. And today is that day! Time to close all of my browser windows and put on my big-ass headphones and crank up my mp3's and down some diet Dew and dig in! I'll just go do that right now!

Hey, look at that, it's time for my break. Go figure.

**GRIN**

(via Zippyblog)

Say what you will about this guy (go ahead. Chances are he did so about you), you gotta respect his honesty; and judging from his site design (which is really very good), he knows from originality.

Everything I've been going on about the last few days boils down to this. It's your web site. Do your thing. If someone doesn't like it, why do you care, as long as what you're doing makes you happy?

If you're in this solely for the sake of impressing other people, then you probably shouldn't be in this.

That was still too wordy.

Know what else I always hate myself for laughing at? Larry The Cable Guy.

Sick, sick, sick.

Oh! And we also went to the Performing Arts Center during lunch and bought our tickets to Rent. Orchestra, third row center. Hear that, Terrence? THIRD ROW CENTER! You love me, don't you?

So Tess and I were having lunch (as we do most days), and she started telling me about seeing a woman literally fall on her face while crossing the street this morning. Actually, she had already told me about it earlier, because she called to tell me about it as soon as we were both in our repsective offices. She had to tell me because, as horrible as it was for the woman who fell, and as bad as she felt for the woman, she had to fight like hell to keep from laughing about it because, quite frankly, the concept of a grown adult who is in perfectly good health tripping and falling on their face or, even better, flat on their ass is just about the funniest gol-danged thing that there is, period, and she knew I'd understand.

This sounds mean, I know. I can't help it. It's funny when people fall down. I guess I should amend that. It's funny when people fall down and get back up again and the only thing truly injured is their pride. Of course I don't think it's funny when people get hurt; but the majority of times you see someone trip and fall, the worse thing they suffer is the humiliation of having fallen in front of witnesses.

I know this because I've tripped and fallen plenty of times, and there is always someone there to see it happen. This is why I don't wear high heels. I'm clumsy by nature anyway, and I have weak ankles. Combine those factors with a pair of pumps and it's just a disaster waiting to happen. When I do fall, no matter how much pain I'm in, the worst thing is always that people saw me do it. It's not like I don't give them something to watch, either. It's not like I fall and then bounce back up again and try to play it cool and salvage my dignity. No, you see, the concept of seeing a grown person fall down is so pervertedly hilarious to me that when I myself fall, I picture what it must have looked like to the bystanders as I went down, and I get so cracked up that I usually roll over on my back and just lay there laughing hysterically at the whole thing until someone comes to help me up. Then I usually get the giggles every time I think back on it. I know. I'm sick.

So she brought up this poor woman again at lunch, and we started talking about other grand falls we've witnessed, as well as falls we've both taken, and we both remembered a time in high school -- probably 10th grade -- when our school hosted a local gymnastics exhibition. We went to watch. Actually, we went to sit at the top of the bleachers and make fun of people, but we watched the gymnasts a little.

At one point, this girl went to do her thing, and she vaulted off of something and was supposed to do a flip or something, but she just belly-flopped onto the mat and just lay there for a seemingly endless time, and nobody came to check on her. As appalled and concerned as we both were, we were both also on the verge of losing it. All it took was me asking "isn't anybody going to check on her?" and Tess and I both cracked up. We were the only two people in the gymnasium laughing, and we knew it was inappropriate, and we felt awful for it, but we just couldn't help it. Base humor though it is, that girl bellyflopping onto the mat like that was just damn funny. We know. We're sick.

So then we started talking about embarrassing moments (none of which I'm going to bring up here, thankyouverymuch), and about how when something humiliating like that happens, people try to console you by saying "In a few years, nobody's going to remember this ever happened." But there we were, 12 years later, laughing about that poor little gymnast girl and her collossal belly-flop. And we could remember every single one of each other's humiliations going way back. We realized that, if someone does something embarrassing in front of one of us, not only will we always remember it, but we'll remind you every chance you get, and we'll tell new people you meet about it too. Slip up in front of one of us, and we'll keep the memory alive for years and years to come.

We know. We're sick.

Fun!

I just called the vet' to make an appointment for my kitty. She's been going around sneezing for a few weeks now, and I planned to take her in eventually, but this morning her nose was bleeding. I wasn't really too concerned, I just figured that her nose was probably dried out and she sneezed too hard and burst a blood vessel. I cleaned her up and went to work and asked for Friday morning off so I could take her to the vet and get something for her allergies. When I mentioned to people that her nose was bleeding, they freaked, and told me that sounds pretty serious, and pretty soon they had me all panicked thinking that my kitty might be really sick. Considering I just lost my dog, I really don't need to have to deal with another seriously ill pet. So I called the vet to see if I should bring her in today. I described her symptoms, and do you know what they said? She probably sneezed too hard and burst a blood vessel. So she's going in on Friday.

One thing about knowing I have regular readers is that I feel obligated to update frequently, even when I have nothing to say. Looking in my traffic log and seeing that people have already been here looking for updates, only to find yesterday's ramblings, makes me feel bad, like someone came over to visit but the house was a mess and I didn't have anything to serve them, even though I knew they'd be dropping by.

Done. Everybody's been responded to who needs responding to (and even some who don't). Time to go home, feed my kitty, put on my jammies, and settle in for the Buffy/Angel finales. Couch potato heaven.

Tomorrow night is Voyager's season finale, then all that's left is Earth: Final Conflict, then I'm pretty much finished with TV for the summer. After this I'll have to start getting serious about writing again. Summers are always so wonderfully, creatively productive. Maybe that's a good hint that I watch too much TV the rest of the year ...

Ah, well. I love TV, and I'm not ashamed to say so.

I've a feeling I'm going to be staying late just to answer my e-mail, seeing as how I said I would today and all, and I still haven't gotten around to it.

It's code Adam. At least, it is at Wal-Mart, and I assume it is for Sam's too, since it's the same company. It's standard procedure any time a parent can't find their kid.

My site appears to be down. How nice.

I'm debating on whether or not to do a web site for Lizzy's wedding. Not sure she'd appreciate it if I did, since she tends to be rather unappreciative of pretty much anything I ever do for her; but the relatives in Florida who can't make it up for the wedding would get to see it all, and that would be nice.

And here I thought I was too obsessed with my dog ...

I tried to do a 'zine once. It was called "Bitch-zine," and Mitzi was our mascot. She was in the logo. It was back when I was still in my bitch about everything, feminazi phase. It lasted about 6 months, and featured articles, rants, and original poetry, by women, for women. It didn't do very well, and I didn't have much fun doing it. It was uninspired, and uninspiring. It felt like a chore.

From there I moved on to discussion forums. I still run a couple of these. For a while I had as many as four going. I had to dump a couple, because there was too much to administrate and maintain. I loved my forums. I loved being able to share my thoughts and ideas with people and get feedback. I still love this.

Meanwhile, not much was happening with my personal site. It was pretty standard, as far as personal site content goes. It contained basically the same things it contains today. A bio, samples of my writing, links to other sites I've done, and a standard page of links to sites I frequent. It never got updated, and it never got visited. Every now and then I'd think of a new design, but mostly I thought, what's the point? Nobody cared.

Several months ago I discovered Blogger. At the time I was unfamiliar with weblogs. I read about Blogger, and thought, what a great tool! I can post my random thoughts throughout the day, which will go along nicely with the "Random Thought Process" concept, and I can do it from work, too! I can communicate to anyone who wants to listen, without worrying about boring the patrons of my discussion forums with off-topic details of my life, and I can do it whenever the mood strikes me!

So, I signed up. I soon learned that there was an entire community of webloggers, I learned the jargon, I started getting to know people, and having fun. This is fun. It's a great release. Whether I want to share a short story I just wrote, or the frustration of rejection, or of being a single woman, or how much I dislike my job, or a link to a site I found interesting, or to a 'blog entry on someone else's web log that touched me ... the point is that I can, whenever I want to. The best thing is, people are listening. I get feedback, whether it's in the form of e-mail, or links, or getting 'blogged on another site, or repeat visitors in my site tracker. I have an audience. For the first time, it's not for nothing. People are paying attention.

I agree that there is a lot of crap to wade through to get to the good stuff. But the good stuff is worth wading through all the crap to find. Besides, what's crap to one person may be priceless treasure to someone else. There's room on the web for all of us. I'm going to continue to point the people who take the time to read my site towards other sites that I think are worthy of their time. And, though I don't expect it, I don't mind at all if it gets me a link back. I've already admitted to being a linkslut, though I do only post permanent links to the blogs that I actually visit daily, or as near to daily as I can.

Maybe it's the writer in me, always on the lookout for good characterization, but I'm fascinated with what makes people tick. My favorite blogs are the ones that give me a glimpse into the author's head: what they're thinking or feeling right at that moment when they post to their blogs. That's what I love about personal blogging, the spontaneity and the honesty. Little unedited snippets of who a person really is. When I find such a weblog, I post about it. If it's compelling enough to make me return regularly, I add it to the menu down at the bottom. Inter-blog linky-love seems to be the new phrase for this phenomenon. Even though it was meant sarcastically, I think it's a great concept. Bloggers helping each other build an audience. What is so wrong with that?

If you're with me, share the love (and if you can make a better button, share that too):

Oops, I was wrong, I didn't have that mp3. I do now.

I need to find some better headphones. They don't want us using speakers at work, so they gave us all headphones with an 8' cord. Nice, but the earpieces are about 4" in diameter, and I don't like having those big-ass things on my head. I want some smallish ones that aren't so obvious or so weighty, that still have a chord that's long enough to reach all the way to the back of my computer and still leave me some slack to move around without having them jerked off my head. Such a headset is proving surprisingly difficult to find. If you know where I can get one, please let me know.

By the way, I'm going to answer all of my e-mail today. Really. This time I mean it.

One more entry, then I'm going home. Actually (and unfortunately), I'm going to Wal-Mart, then home.

I didn't really do anything too noteworthy over the weekend. I saw Dinosaur, it wasn't quite as good as I expected, but it was still good. I did some shopping, got some toys and goodies for the party, found some good shoes to go with the dress.

The dress. It's too big for me. This was what I wanted, it's what all the dieting and stair climbing was for, but.

But I didn't take it in to have alterations done a week ago, which was the tailor's deadline, because I was broke, and my mom said she could do it. So yesterday I tried it on, and it's too big, not only through the waist, but also around my arms. There are big gaps and it doesn't hang on me well at all. My mom looked at it, and said she didn't realize it had a lining, and she thought she'd only be taking in the waist. She can't do it. So the dress is about two sizes to big for me, and the wedding is less than two weeks away. I try to convince myself it's not a big deal, that all eyes will be on Liz and I'm just a background accessory, but then I remember I'm supposed to get up there and read a damn poem, and I just really hope my mom was able to convince the tailor to alter the dress on short notice.

Anyway.

The rest of the weekend I spent mostly reading, except for the hour I spent watching X-Files. The reading was nice. I finished two books, and started a third (in case you didn't notice over there in the side bar). The books I finished were really good. I miss them. Chris Moore and Neil Gaiman always have that affect on me. Their styles are completely different, but they both spin tales that are so imaginitave that I would be happy if I could attain one tenth of their creativity. They create characters who come to feel like old friends, who live in worlds that I always hate to leave. I hope I can do that as well as they can some day.

Chris Carter does that too, sometimes, and though he hasn't been doing it as often or as well lately, he did it last night. Yes, I'm a fan-girl, and I probably watched the show through rose-tinted glasses, and probably you're thinking that I'm one of those who refuse to admit that X-Files just isn't what it used to be. I'm not, though it does pain me to admit it; but I liked last night's episode. More cynical viewers thought the ending was a predictable stretch, that Carter played his trump card to squeeze one more year out of a dying cash-cow; and maybe they're right, but I don't care. It surprised me, it gave me some new mysteries to wonder about, it let me see the Smoking Man finally get what's coming to him, I got to see Skinner cry ... hell, it even made me like Krychek. Maybe Carter & co. should quite while they're ahead, but, the first half of this last season not withstanding, I think they've still got some good stories to tell. It's worth it for me to sit through a few bad episodes to get to the occasional gem like the COPS episode; and, even the bad episodes are better than most of the rest of what's on television, especially on Sunday night. I'm glad it's coming back for another season. I can feel it slowing down, but I'm just not ready for this ride to end.

That's it. I'm off to Wal-Mart **shudder**.

There wasn't any chocolate.

I already have that one, but yes.

Right now I'm between steps 10 and 11.

My process is more like this:

Get inspired
Write something
Convince myself I'm brilliant
Show it to my friends
Listen to them tell me I'm brilliant
Submit it to a publisher
Get a rejection letter
Convince myself I suck
Wallow in self-pity
Fear that I'll never amount to anything
Repeat steps 6-10
Repeat them again
Start to really take it all personally
throw a frustrated hissy fit during which I throw out everything I've ever written
calm down and dig my stuff back out of the trash bin
settle into calm depression and don't write anything again for a long time
Begin again at step 1

That Kidd Video site made me nostalgic for other shows from my childhood featuring bad pop bands. Like Jem. All I really remember about that one was that for some reason she had a secret identity, like some kind of superhero wannabe, which I never really got; and that her clueless boyfriend was a two-timing slut, bouncing back and forth between Jem and her secret identity even though he didn't know they were both her, and that this didn't bother her in the least.

I have more vivid memories of Kids Incorporated, but only up until Martika left the cast. And, fond as those memories may be, I'm not sure I can forgive the show that foisted Jennifer Love-my-wonderbra-cleavage Hewitt on an unsuspecting world.

I have to edit this post now because "blog this!" posted it but didn't actually publish it, and now blogger insists that there's nothing new to publish. Isn't it nice when things work like they're supposed to?

In 25 minutes I have to make nice, even though I feel like utter feces, because the entire department will be at my desk for cake to celebrate, among other things, my promotion, which was on paper only and, though it gave me a nice raise, didn't actually affect what I do. There better be chocolate, is all I have to say. I need some chocolate.

The last time we had our little monthly celebration get-together at my desk, my mom called halfway through to tell me to hurry up and come to the vet because my dog was dying. I ran out of here without explanation, bursting into tears as I went. Maybe if I can repeat the performance they'll stop having these little cake parties at my desk. It's only once a month, but it's still annoying as all get-out. Mainly because I can't leave and sneak back to my desk when I get bored.

Remember Kidd Video? Do you wish you didn't?

Hee!

Shit. I'm in pain. Shit. Ow. Some days I frigging hate being a girl. Shit.

This chick is amazing. I like to think I'm pretty strong emotionally, but I'd have broken under the half the weight of the crap that she's been putting up with lately, and she comes on her web site and writes about it with such a sense of humor. It makes me ashamed. To think that all it took was one bounced check to my insurance company to send me running home to my mommy. Okay, it was more than that, the insurance debacle was just the proverbial straw that broke the proverbial camel's back, but in retrospect, it was a pretty tiny straw, on a pretty tiny camel, with a pretty weak back. I'm a wuss.

You know your week's off to a good start when you mistake your spray-bottle of water for a bottle of hairspray and thouroughly soak your head two seconds before you're supposed to leave for work.

Happy Monday.

Aw, dammit, and I only just recently discovered Captain Neurotic. I, for one, will miss your daily entries, Torrez. Yours was one of the 'blogs that made my mornings complete.

I just mailed all of my bill payments for this month. Most of them were due last week. I never pay my bills on time. It's not intentional. In fact, this month I was determined to pay them on time, and the first week of the month I sat down to pay all of my bills. But after two of them, I ran out of checks, and since Buffy was on and Oz was just about to find out about Willow's new girlfriend, I didn't want to go upstairs to get more, so I stuffed them in my purse and decided to go get a new pad of checks after Buffy. By the end of Angel I had completely forgotten about my bills. I found them in my purse this morning and figured I'd better take care of them. So if you were expecting any money from me this month, the check is in the mail.

The rest of my money is going towards wedding stuff. Actually, the majority of it is going towards bachelorette party stuff. I'm going to Spencer's tomorrow to pick up some naughty party favors. I also need to find out if there's any place in or around Tulsa that sells naughty cakes or pastries. Anybody know a place? I also have to buy her some naughty lingerie for the shower. I asked her if she wants a naughty stripper, too, but she said no, and it's a good thing too, because I can't afford a stripper.

I also have to buy my own shoes to wear with the dress, and other accessories. And get my hair and nails done for the occasion. And buy a camera, because I don't have one (I bought a camera a couple of years ago, and left it sitting on a bench in Central Park in Manhattan; then I bought another one that same year for a trip to England, but the film loading mechanism decided to break when I was about to take a picture of some really cool thing or another in Bath, and I haven't bought one since), and I'd really like to take my own pictures of the upcoming events.

Little sister also told me she'd like me to read a poem at the wedding, and not only that, but she would like me to read an original poem written by me. Seeing as how I don't have any wedding appropriate poems in my repertoire, and the wedding is only two weeks away, I guess I'd better get cracking.

I think she and mom are conspiring to set me up with the wedding photographer. I heard them talking the other day, not really listening because I was trying to read, but I heard the word photographer, and then my mom said excitedly "Oh, the guy Jeanie's age?!" and Liz said "shhhh!" and they both looked at me, and I looked at them, and they started speaking in hushed tones, and I went back to reading. I didn't really want to know.

It's Mayfest weekend, which means the streets below are teaming with yuppies, artists, and street performers. I braved the crowds at lunchtime and went down to the White River Fish Market's stand to get some jumbo cajun shrimp. Mmm'mmm good!

I didn't really look around while I was down there, since it looked to be the same ol', same ol'. What I did see wasn't too interesting. Some little girl was on the stage down in the courtyard singing songs from Jekyll & Hyde, and on the corner by the fish market, instead of the irie steel drums jam band that was there last year, there was some woman playing Celine Dion songs on pan pipes. Needless to say, I wanted to buy my shrimp and get out of there in a hurry.

Here's my requisite Boo link.

Goin' to get me some shrimp!

I actually remember last night's wierd-ass dream. I was sitting on my parents' bed in the old house watching their TV, and my nephew was in there watching it with me. We were watching a Very Special Episode of "The Facts of Life," but it was actually a crazed cross between that and "The Pretender." There was a serial rapist on the loose in Pekskill (or however you spell it), and he had already gotten Tootie and Jo. George Clooney was hanging out with the girls and Mrs. Garrett, and they were all trying to comfort Tootie (except for Blair, who was behaving like a self-involved bitch), and George suddenly morphed into Jarod, who started pretending to be some kind of school official in the hopes of catching the rapist, and was trying to protect the girls while at the same time keeping one step ahead of Miss Parker. Of course, in the dream I wasn't just watching the action on TV, I was right there in the middle of it, but then I'd flash to me and my nephew sitting on the bed making fun of the show ala MST3K. And there was also something in there about me getting called to sub in a second grade class and all the little kids wanting me to lead them in an at-home version of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire," (You don't need a link to that) but I couldn't find the game so I kept making up questions, but they were waaaay over the second-graders' heads and the little foul-mouthed bastards kept cussing me out for it, but that part's a little fuzzy.

("Timmy Big Hands" link picked up the other day from Impudite)

If you or any of your loved ones have ADD or ADHD, you might want to take a look at this.

Another good distraction, as pointed out to me by an alert reader, is The Letters of One Still Living. I could easily spend hours at this site (if not for my dreadfully short attention span).

Why, thank you, Mikel.

I never noticed it before, but Nissan's logo looks a lot like London Transport's Underground logo.

Polly wrote about the same thing a couple of years ago, and I couldn't agree more. Distractions are what I live for.

One of those links up there was via Torrez. You figure out which one.

Well said, ZippyGirl.

P.S. When I get the cafe in place, I'll give you a call!

If I ever have enough money so that I can run a business just as a hobby and not really have to worry about whether or not it's actually profitable, I'd like to buy one of the old one or two screen movie houses that are standing all over town, deserted since the advent of the multiplex (and even those are closing down now that the megaplexes have taken over town). I'd fully restore it, giving it a nice 1930's art deco look, or maybe go with a '40's noirish theme, and show nothing but arthouse and indie films, classic revivals, maybe an annual Star Wars marathon, and I'd try letting Rocky Horror show there at least once (subsequent screenings would depend on how well the crew cleaned up after). Maybe I'd even offer the stage up for occasional live performances. Besides a concession stand, I'd also put a little cafe in one corner of the lobby, where film students could hold meetings, or patrons could just hang out after the movie and discuss the film over coffee. Doesn't that sound just heavenly?

Zippyblog changed her URL over the weekend, and I've finally changed her link here to match.

So does he.

She needs to update her page.

Heh heh.

Heh.

This is actually pretty accurate, especially towards the bottom. Funny, I never really thought of myself as much of a go-getter.

The Go-getter:
Bold, energetic, and never far from reach. Is that you or your coffee? To the casual observer, there's really no difference. How you take your coffee provides people with a small window into your personality. Here's what one might see...
For you, coffee is a tool. Your drinking style labels you a go-getter. A non-stop hard worker. Coffee gives you the jump-start you need in the morning and keeps you going throughout the day. Your fellow coffee drinkers most likely see you as resourceful, energetic, and tireless. You are always on. If a job needs to get done, you're just the type to make it happen. Your coffee-style says you're very flexible and adapt well to change. In fact, you require a lot of variety in your life. You probably juggle many tasks at once, or move quickly from one task to the next. You are driven by your desire to accomplish many things, and sometimes it might seem like their isn't enough time in the day. Creative, quick and witty, you grab hold of life with both hands and hang on for the ride.

Catching up on e-mail is such a great feeling. No more guilt for me ... for at least a week, at any rate.

From the "a funny thing happened on the way to the bathroom" department ...

A few minutes ago I was walking down the hall to the ladies room, and a FedEx guy came out of the service elevator bay just as I passed. He apparantly had keys on one side of his belt, and something that made a clacking noise when he walked on the other, so that with every step he took he alternately jingled or clacked. Halfway down the hall I realized that we were in perfect step, and with every step *I* took he either jingled or clacked. We both walked like that all the way down the hall -- jingleCLACKjingleCLACKjingleCLACK -- and then I stopped, and so did the sound effects. We both reached our respective doors at exactly the same time. That was pretty cool.

That's actually a pretty damn nifty idea (via Megnut).

I wonder if I'll have nightmares about my current job after I finally leave it. Actually, I already have nightmares about my current job. The other night I dreamed that I got to work and logged on to find 3000 urgent task requests in my Outlook in-box. And something about not being able to go to the company picnic (not that I've ever in my life wanted to attend the company picnic) because I didn't finish them all in time.

I get my own room at this year's staff retreat! BWA-hahahahahahahaha!

I've been having strange dreams all week. I can't really remember any of them beyond the general wierdness they all have in common. I don't often remember my dreams. Sometimes I wake up and I can remember flashes, miniscule fragments that let me know I did dream, but nothing that forms a cohesive narrative. The ones I do remember aren't usually all that interesting.

I do, however, have two recurring nightmares that I always remember vividly, even though I wish I didn't.

One started about four years ago. I never had nightmares before this. Scary dreams, sure, but never anything that caused me to wake up screaming and then continued to terrify me long after I woke up.

This one is always so real that I'm never really certain when it's happening that it is only a dream. Even after I wake up, I can never say for sure that it didn't really happen.

There are two slightly different versions. Both have me lying in bed -- and no matter where I'm sleeping, it always looks exactly like whatever I'm sleeping on, in whatever room I'm sleeping in -- still trying to fall asleep. When it starts I'm never sure that I actually did fall asleep, or if I'm still awake. One one version I suddenly feel invisible hands grabbing ahold of mine, pinning my arms and legs in place, and I feel a hand clamp over my mouth, and I know I have to scream, that if I scream whatever it is will go away and leave me alone, but I can't open my mouth, and I can't move my hands to pry the invisible hand off of my mouth, and I just lay there struggling, terrified, for what seems like forever. Eventually I get one hand free and manage to free my mouth, and I scream, and I wake up. The other version differs only in that I don't feel anything touching me, but I just become paralyzed, frozen in place so that I can't move or scream for help. In both versions, I can't see anyone in the room, but I can feel someone there in the room with me, doing this to me, and I always hate that person, or being, or whatever.

The first time I had this dream -- actually, the first several times I had this dream -- I went for weeks after without turning off my bedroom light. Not even during the day, and especially not at night. I was that terrified. This dream's not as frequent now, in fact, I haven't had one in a long time; but now I'm used to it, and once I break free and wake myself up, I'm able to just shrug it off and go back to sleep.

The other nightmare is ridiculously tame by comparison. What's scary about it is that it vividly represents one of my worst nightmares.

I spent about 5 years working in retail: three and a half as a cashier at Wal-Mart, and a year and a half at Dillard's. There are two versions of this dream, too. In one I'm shopping at Wal-Mart. I go to check out, and I'm getting stressed because I hate everything that is Wal-Mart, and I just want to buy my stuff and leave. As I get to the front of the line I realize that the line is growing severly long behind me, and everyone behind me is becoming increasingly cranky. Suddenly I realize that I'm not in line with them, I'm actually behind the register. I look down, and see that I'm wearing a blue smock. I try to leave, but one of the red coats comes and blocks me in and tells me that I'm not going anywhere, that I just started a fifteen hour shift. I try to protest and explain that I don't actually work there anymore, but she tells me that I've always worked there, I never left.

In the other version, I'm shopping at Dillard's, and though it is a slightly more pleasant experience, I still want to get the hell out of there. I have to go up the escalators to get to the exit (I'm not sure why, since this was not the case in the store I worked in), but as I try to leave the escalators start to grow upward, and then they reverse directions, carrying me back down, and they won't let me out of the store. Behind me, at the bottom, are a bunch of blue haired old ladies holding up merchandise screaming "Miss! When are you going to help me with my purchase!"

I never wake up screaming at these, but they sure do leave me feeling stressed.

That's just nasty.

I did a mock-up index page for a redesign of my department's internal web site, and it occurs to me that it would make a rather nice weblog template. If it gets rejected I'll offer it up here to anyone that wants to use it.

Glassdog is a cool and highly entertaining site, but I always forget about it. Fortunately it's popular enough that it gets linked in plenty of other places, so once in a while I stumble across one of those links and say to myself, "Oh yeah, Glassdog!"

Didn't really have a point to this one.

So much for cooling it with the excessive blogging. Might as well make it an even 10 entries before I go home. For what it's worth, I did try. That one about my nephew was going to be it for the day. Ah, well. Time to go home, where we don't put the a/c on 68 when it's only 65 or so degrees outside.

How cool must that have been?

All together now: Happy birthday, Derek (and congrats on the Pyra news)!

I think I may start writing about Clay here if he doesn't e-mail me soon. I'm not asking for much, just a quickie hello. He's one of the few people from my past whom I actually miss, it'd be nice if he'd let me know he hasn't totally forgotten me.

I'm sitting here wearing my jacket (today I brought one!) and drinking hot chocolate because somebody poured out all of the coffee, and it's too late to make a whole 'nother pot, even though I desperately want some coffee right now. At least I'm starting to warm up a bit.

I met with my newish boss earlier this afternoon. She said I'm kind of off the wall, but in a good way. It's heartening to know that there's finally someone around here who realizes that sometimes it's good to be a little different.

Oh crap, I should be writing to Chad.

They've got it so freaking cold in this office today that -- I swear -- the skin underneath my fingernails is turning blue. I'm beginning to look like an asphyxiation victim. Damn! Turn down the a/c already!

I added back the menu section that I didn't know I had left out from before. "Rants, etc." has more of my almost-daily reads under it. Except for Squishy, that one I just discovered through badjuju.

People often tend to think I'm a ditz too, Yana.

I love my nephew. I love all of them, but Kevin, the youngest (turned 13 last week but I can't get it through my head he's that big), is so cute sometimes. Last night he came over for me to help him with his science homework. Sitting there, side by side, he held his dark brown arm up next to my freakishly white one.

Him: How come I'm so much darker than you?

Me: Because you're mostly Colombian and I'm mostly Irish, silly.

Him (raising his shirt sleeve): But my shoulder's not as dark as my lower arm.

Me: It's called a tan, sweetie.

Him: Well how come your arm's just as white all the way up?

Me: Because I don't tan.

Him: Why not?

Me: What are you, like 6 years old, asking me all these questions? I don't have all the answers. Go look it up!

Him: I don't want to know that bad.

Me: Fine. Then you just live with your ignorance.

Him: Fine, I will!

Me: Do your homework!

You know, it's probably a good thing I don't have kids of my own.

Hey, folks, Keith said it once, and I'll say it again: If you visit my web page (or that of anyone else who has a site tracker) by clicking on a link in your referrer logs, it places a direct link back to your referrer log in *my* referrer log. So if you don't want me or anyone else poking around in your web stats, it's much safer to cut and paste the address instead of clicking on the link. Got it?

This morning I woke up, to put it blatantly, feeling like shit. Damn allergies. They're even affecting my cat. We were both puttering around the apartment this morning sneezing and wiping our watery eyes. I'm all loaded up on sudafed now, and I feel somewhat better, though not much. At least I can breath.

One good thing happened this morning, though (good for me, at least). This idiot who had seen fit to ride my tail for most of the moring, even though I was moving at exactly the same speed as the 500 or so cars directly in front of me, decided to try and pass me when a gap opened up in the right lane. Stupid move, considering the lane we were in, even though we were moving at a slow crawl, was indeed the faster lane. As soon as he did the cars in front of him hit their brakes, and the cars in my lane that had been behind him moved quickly to fill the gap he'd left so he couldn't get back over. He ended up getting back in my lane about a half-dozen cars behind me. What a perversely gratifying feeling. Thinking of that will keep me in good humor all day.

What the hell am I still doing here?

I could have gone home ten minutes ago to take a nap or go jogging (HA! Jogging! That's a good one!) or something to get rid of this extra-special ADD-ness that's been making me extra-specially ditzy and cranky all day, but I'm still here at the office, surfing blogs, and worse yet, blogging about it. While it's nice to be in the Power Bloggers top fifty, I'm not so sure that's really something to be proud of. I think I blog entirely too much. I need to tone it down a bit.

Not off to a great start, am I?

Another reason I'm not rushing home is that when I went to lunch today the temperature had dropped at least 20 degrees and was still falling, and seeing as how it started out as a warm near-summer day and the weather guy said it was supposed to get up to 83 today, I didn't wear a jacket. I'm parked four blocks away and if the temperature has gone down any since lunch I'm going to freeze my unmentionables off before I get to the car. Yuck.

Waitaminnut ... I think I can see a sliver of sunlight peeking through the six inches or so of window that's visible from my desk. If the sun came out then maybe it's warmed up. Which is all the convincing I need to get up and get the hell out of this office.

Note to self: stay off-line tonight. Watch Roswell, then take a nice hot bath and go to bed and read. Or sleep. Just don't blog about it.

Hey, look, I'm an Amazon associate. Woo!

(does this count as a press release?)

This is absolutely wonderful (via Jish).

My Ritalin seems to be pretty darn innefective today. I'm all fidgety and I can't get my mind on work. I really hate this feeling. I can't wait to go to lunch. Maybe I can walk off some of this excess energy and gain some focus.

This is really tempting ... but I think I'll save it for a last resort. Something about self-publishing seems a bit like cheating. Perhaps I'm a glutton for punishment, but I'd much rather find someone who is willing to pay me to let them publsh my book, than pay someone to get them to publish my book. For me it's not about getting my book in print and racking up sales (okay, part of it is about that), but it's about acceptance and recognition of my hard work and talent. I want someone out there to pat me on the back and say "Wow, Jean, you're a really good writer, and we like your story so much that we want to buy it and publish it. Here's some money. Congratulations, you're a professional writer!" And I want all of the editors who ever sent me a rejection letter to see my name on the best-seller list and pound themselves on the forehead going "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

In the immortal words of Judy Tenuta, "It could happen!"

It was a good weekend.

For the most part, I camped out in the porch swing on my mom's sundeck, reading Coyote Blue and sipping pink lemonade. I wish I could say I have a nice tan to show for it, but seeing as how all I ever do is burn and/or freckle, I stayed greased up with SPF 40 and lounged in the shade. Still, it was nice.

I wasn't completely inactive all weekend, however, and I did manage to get a couple of constructive things done. For one, I finally filled out my profile for Guru. I also got all of the invitations for my sister's bachelorette party bought, filled out, and sent. Friday night, before the movie, I found a few things for the party at Spencer's that should be nicely embarrassing for the bride-to-be.

The Friday night movie was "Pitch Black" (because we [that's Tess and I] love Vin Diesel) at the Fontana. As I was buying my ticket, who should be staring and grinning at me from behind the concession counter but Terrence! I haven't seen him since my birthday and we were both so happy! That was a nice surprise. So was the fact that "Pitch Black" seemed like a much better movie the second time, and not just because of Vin. The things that bothered me about it the first time I saw it just didn't stand out this time, and the things that were good about it (besides Vin) stood out a lot more, which caused me to upgrade my opinion of this movie from "it was okay, Vin Diesel and the special effects made it worth the ticket price, but it could have been better" to "hey, this is a pretty damn good movie for an Aliens knock-off!"

Saturday my porch-swingin' and readin' mini-vacation was interrupted by a call from my brother who, along with his wife and son, was stranded out in the BFE somewhere. Apparantly they decided to take the scenic route home when his ancient VW Beetle broke down. After about 20 minutes on the phone, during which he tried to give me directions to his location that I could actually follow without getting so lost that they'd have to file a missing person's report on me, he also asked me to stop at a parts store and pick up some kind of part for the bug. I managed to get the part (thanks to the friendly and knowledgeable staff of Autozone who didn't go out of their way to make me feel stupid over my complete lack of knowledge of all things automotive), and I managed to find my family, and, after figuring out that the part wasn't what the car needed after all, I drove them all home, at which point my brother gave me $25 (double the price of the part). I tried to protest (honestly, I did), telling him I wouldn't give him any money to come and get me, but he said that's because it's his job to come get me because he's the big brother. That was good enough for me, so I kept the money. Hey, I was broke.

So, on Sunday, I had enough to take my mommy out for a modest lunch afer church, and there was even enough left over to order us a pizza for dinner. I think it was a good Mother's Day. I just hope she thinks so.

Torrez is a cutie.

Rent is coming! Rent is coming!

"Marvel Enterprises will increasingly move into film and video games and away from comics, Marvel CEO Peter Cuneo told The Wall Street Journal." (via Rupture)

"'The simple paper medium of comic books just isn't cutting it in the age of video's flashy special effects, explosive audio and interactive action,' the Journal said."

This is bull on so many levels.

Yes, the comics industry's sales are flagging, but this isn't the time to give up on it. If publishers would focus on telling stories, pairing well-written plots with good artwork, instead of stretching characters and plot-lines too thin over several different titles trying to milk every dollar they can out of fans, they maybe comics could still be saved. The reason I and everyone else I know who used to read Marvel titles stopped reading them is because with all of the different titles you had to buy just to follow one story, or one character, it was too damn expensive and too difficult to keep up with. How could I just read Cable and know what was going on with my favorite character when he kept making appearances in just about every other X title, all of which were relevant enough to reference in those helpful little asterisked footnotes that told you exactly which issue to go buy so you could follow that plot thread and not be totally lost? They could wrap up a plot thread every now and then, too, and not be so soap operatic. Quit trying to be "Days of our Mutant Lives," and just tell a superhero story. Maybe then Marvel's titles would appeal to the youngsters.

Compare Marvel to it's biggest mainstream rival, DC. Granted, DC started the whole multi-title cross-over fad with "Crisis on Infinite Earths," and while their cross-overs aren't always perfect, they are usually handled deftly enough so that you don't have to buy and read every single related issue to keep up with the story; and while DC does often delve into the personal lives of its heroes, in the end, the stories they tell are about heroes doing what they do best. Their most popular titles are consistently well-written, the art is top-notch, and they're not afraid to experiment from time to time. Best yet, more often than not, the stories they tell begin and end in a single issue. DC does comparatively well without having to constantly resort to cheap gimmicks to sell comics.

Marvel also sure sounds confident about their future in feature films, considering the X-Men movie hasn't even come out yet, and they don't know whether it will achieve the box-office success of previous comic-based movies, or if it will fare about as well as Marvel's previous attempts at movie magic. Though, by now, even I, after having been so careful about keeping my expectations low, have to admit that the X-Men movie trailers have considerably raised my expectations, and it probably won't suck. Still, it looks like Marvel would wait to count the box-office receipts before declaring that from now on movies will be their thing.

While this move is disappointing, I can't say I'm too upset about it. Clearly Marvel is no longer helmed by people who care about the artform of comics. That such people will no longer have the opportunity to give the artform a bad name is probably just as well.

Woo hoo! I'm a Redhead Blog! Which, of course, gets Zippyblog a permanent link.

This would have been very cool, Erich.

When I got home last night, my first rejection letter for my novel was waiting in the mail for me.

I wanted to post a long, well linked, informative rant about this development, but my heart's just not in it.

I used to think like the people mentioned here. I didn't believe in ADD. I thought it was just a PC name for the spoiled, hyper, misbehaved children of lazy, overindulgent parents, and I thought that the idea of drugging children into submission was horrible. Like apparantly most people, I thought ADD meant hyperactive, bratty, lazy, and out of control. I had no idea that ADD actually comes in several forms, including Inattentive, which is about as opposite from hyperactive, bratty and out of control as you can get.

Then my nephew was diagnosed. My quiet, talented, mostly well-behaved little angel was diagnosed with ADD. I couldn't believe it. Sure, he was a little spacey, but no more so than I. His grades could have been better -- a lot better, actually -- but his study habits, or the lack thereof, were just like mine. In fact, this kid was just like me in a lot of ways. My older brother was the same way. So was our dad. If this little boy had ADD, then they'd have to diagnose all of us with ADD too, wouldn't they? Of course, I knew, that was ridiculous. The doctor must be wrong. Only little bratty, obnoxious children have ADD, which, anyway, is nothing more than a politically correct term for hyper active.

My sister allowed his doctor to put him on medication (Aderal, I think), and soon his grades started to improve. He stopped procrastinating. He stopped losing things. He began to come out of his shell, and his self esteem skyrocketed. He blossomed. I still wasn't convinced.

About three years ago I read an article in the paper about ADD in adults. I read it so that I could scoff at it. They're ("they" being the psychiatrists and the pharmeceutical companies) not making enough money off of little kids, so they're trying to expand their market to adults by convincing us we're susceptible to a childhood illness -- and a made-up one, at that.

As I read the article, a light began to flicker. It went on to explain Inattentive ADD in adults. By the time I reached the end, that flickering light had become a blinding 500 watt strobe. There, in the newspaper I held in my hands, was a perfectly detailed, blow-by-blow description of me, my life, and all of the things that I had ever believed were wrong with me.

A week later I sat in my doctor's office telling him my life story and answering all of his questions, trying not to fidget. I met all of the criteria for non-hyperactive ADD, he said. That day I started taking Ritalin.

Soon, my writing started to improve. I became more productive. I stopped procrastinating. I stopped losing things. I began to come out of my shell, and my self esteem skyrocketed. I blossomed. I was convinced.

After that, I started researching ADD, and learned a lot of surprising things: It's neurological; it's genetic; it is, indeed, often misdiagnosed -- both ways; it often co-exists, leads to, or is mistaken for more serious disorders; and, while it is not a cure, and it is far from a perfect solution, in the majority of cases medications such as Ritalin do work.

Also since then, I've butted heads with a lot of uninformed people, and worse, with reasonably informed people who spout half-truths and misquote research in their efforts to convince the public that ADD is a hoax and that Ritalin is the new crack -- many of whom have something they're trying to sell.

It pisses me off, but it also wears me out and depresses me, which is why you won't see me inviting another battle by ranting about it here.

Today's weather: muggy and humid
Today's clothes: hot and sticky
Today's hair: curly and frizzed
Today's disposition: not happy
Today's attitude: not good

I just downloaded a bunch of Jim Croce mp3's. My dad really liked him. I remember when I was little there was a time that every time he took me somewhere, his van would rattle along to "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" or "Don't Mess Around with Jim." I remember people commenting on how much dad looked like Mr. Croce.

I hadn't thought about any of that in a long time. I'd forgotten it, really, but a few weeks ago I saw a VH1 "Behind the Music" special about him, and a couple of things hit me. For one thing, my dad really did look a lot like Jim Croce. Also, hearing those songs again made me remember some good times with my dad, and I realized that I do have good memories of him. Sure, the good times were outnumbered by the bad, but the important thing is that there were some good times. When my dad was sober, he was the best dad I could ask for. He was loving, funny, sweet, tender, and understanding, and during those times I really loved him, and I had no doubt in my mind that he loved me.

Right now I'm listening to "Time In a Bottle" and wishing that I could always remember that version of my dad, and forget about his other persona, the drunk, controlling, hateful, mean and scary version, which was what we usually saw of him. When I remember him during those good times, I can actually bring myself to miss him.

This was in my Joker's Realm guest book. It's a great site for anyone aspiring to be a supervillain, evil overlord, or evil genius. Mix and mingle with your own kind!

Hmm. I wonder how one gets on Zippyblog's Redhead Blogs list.

As promised, I've updated my blog links. I even alphabetized them, so as not to play favorites (psst! Impudite! You're still my favorite!).

Ow. Pain. Ow. Legs hurt. Ow ow ow. Stair-jogging today is highly unlikely.

Sometimes I find the most interesting things in my referrer logs.

All right Netscape users, my main page is now visible, and my writing page now looks much nicer.

Following Ryan's advice (as posted on the front page at Blogger), I came across this gem, which I think I'm going to add to my daily 'blogs list here shortly. Other sites I'm either still evaluating for permanent linkage or have been meaning to add ...

Riothero: Everybody links Riothero. Everybody should link Riothero. Mark is one hell of a funny kid, not to mention a good designer. He deserves his popularity.

Captain Neurotic: Torrez blogged me the other day, and I'm so desperate for linkage that I'll whore my permanent link space to just about anyone who blogs me. I'll also link to just about anyone who does their site up with DBZ characters. He wins twice!

Chocolatey Shatner: What, like the name's not reason enough?

badjuju.org: 'cause Ariel seems cool. And 'cause she's reading Good Omens.

I Really Must Insist You Leave: Because Patti is cool.

Ooine.com: I like him. He's silly.

4 flights! Woo-hoo!

From the "What in blazes is Jean going on about now?" department ...

I'm not too big on exercise. Scratch that -- I effing HATE to exercise. It's boring, it's painful, and I don't have time for it. But, seeing as how I have a bridesmaid's dress to fit into in a few weeks, I've been doing what I can to advance the cause. This amounts to jogging up and down the stairs during my breaks at work. I've been doing three flights of stairs per break per workday. This has been going on for a few weeks now. Today, as I topped the third flight, I realized that I did NOT feel like I very well may keel over and die, nor did I even feel like I needed to lie down for a while. Suddenly I was overcome by a feeling of invincibility and, without pausing to ponder the consequences, I added another flight! Of course, by the time I reached the top, legs burning, lungs gasping for oxygen, wanting to lie down and feeling that I very well may keel over and die, I felt pretty danged vincible. But that didn't stop me from doing four of them again on my afternoon break. My legs are in pain, but I have such a sense of accomplishment that I'm almost convinced to keep this up after the wedding. Almost.

Seems today was a good day to take care of some of the minor stuff that I tend to overlook. I updated my archive template to match the new look, for one thing. I also updated my links along the bottom. I added some links under the "stuff I like" section, and took out all of the stuff that I didn't have good links for yet.

Congratulations, Keith, and good luck to you and your family as you begin this new chapter.

Well, this page is a bit more Netscape friendly now. Lessons learned: Netscape does not support numeric CSS classes, nor will it refer to the class designation if it is not enclosed in quotes. Also, Netscape will not display the contents of a table if said table does not have closing tags. Also, never ever EVER upload your pages until you've tested them in Netscape! Bad Jean!

The title still doesn't rest neatly on top of blue-gray table like it does in Explorer, and the menu at the bottom isn't collapsible, but there's nothing I can do about that. Otherwise, it should look pretty decent in Netscape now.

I figured out how to fix the rest of the pages in my site (and I made a minor adjustment to the title .jpg), but they'll have to wait until tonight to be uploaded.

You know, I realized the other day whilst trying to tell a friend about Get Fuzzy that the premise sounds just like Garfield -- but it's not.

Thank God for the U.S. Constitution (via Follow Me Here).

Last night I finally checked my site in Netscape, and I'm so embarrassed. My apologies to Netscapees for the piece of crap you've been looking at since my redesign. Believe me, it looks really good in Explorer, honest! Anyway, it'll be this weekend before I've the time to straighten it all out. In the meantime, at least this particular page isn't a total disaster. Actually, neither is this one. The others, however, are just sad.

Eleni updated her Phantom site. Isn't it pretty?

Umm ...

(another link unceremoniously ripped -- no pun intended -- from SquirrelBait)

Okay, here's the lowdown:

My lightsaber is green
My true color is blue
I'm an INFP (that's "healer" if you go by that MBTI rip-off)
I'm introspective, sensitive and reflective
I'm more pure than I care to admit in casual conversation
I'm 43% bitch
I'm 44% nerd, and ...
My IQ is 94 (d'oh!)

Links pilfered from usr\bin\girl, Impudite, and SquirrelBait; the rest I stumbled across myself. Some of them I actually took a long time ago, but I retook them to see if my scores have changed. Interestingly (and sadly) enough, my nerd quotient has gone up about 10 points.

I like this picture muuuuuch better than this one (even though both caught me on an unusually-straight-hair day). My bio's still dorky, though.

Umm .... oh yeah, the bridal shower. It went almost exactly the way I predicted it would. My cousins cornered me and did their best to humiliate me by lamenting my singleness. They told me of their plan to rig the bouquet at the wedding so that I'd be sure to catch it, but then one of them helpfully pointed out that it won't be necessary, since I'm almost certain to be the only single person there. Then another one offered to set me up with his truckdriver friend, though if it works out I'll have to be willing to move to Alaska because he's getting ready to move up there for some such business. Oh, my, but doesn't that offer sound irresistable! Yessirree, I've always dreamed of being a truckin' mama in Alaska. Let me at this unattached hunk of a man!

Sometimes I don't like my cousins.

But Liz seemed to enjoy the shower, and she made off with a lot of loot, which is the important thing.

Now to plan the bachelorette party ...

I keep forgetting, but I'm supposed to blog the fact that I've joined the Southern Blogs ring. Except that I got an automated e-mail this morning telling me that I've been moved back to the queue because my code is bad, even though I can't find anything wrong with it. But hey, I joined the ring!

This is cool.

Interesting that they made his eyes red. They weren't red in the last movie, but they are in the novels.

I read this book, and I gotta say, I loved it. People I know who've read it either loved it or hated it. Most of the people who hated it had never read the first book (or, more correctly, the second; many people don't realize that this series is a trilogy), and didn't understand that the film was different from the book, and that the book, Hannibal, is not a novelized sequel to the film, "Silence of the Lambs," but is the culmination of a true trilogy, the final chapter of the mystery of who -- and what -- Dr. Lecter is supposed to be.

By the same token, a lot of people who did read the book are afraid that the finished film will disappoint them, and I think it's bound to, because they're expecting the film "Hannibal" to be a direct film adaptation of the novel (or, if not expecting, they think that it should be), rather than what it will be, which is a sequel to the film "SotL."

"Silence of the Lambs" was a great movie. So great, in fact, that it's one of those rare instances where you don't come away from it saying "good movie, but the book was better." The book wasn't better, but it was different, and it was a great book. This story was wonderfully told in two different mediums, which is something that rarely happens. Whether a novelization is made of an already existing film, or a film is adapted from a novel, somewhere in the transition things manage to get botched up so that the second verson is only a pale imitation of the original. Not so with Silence. Things were changed -- things had to be changed to fit the format -- but the film stood up next to the novel as a great work of art in its own right. I have faith that this will be pulled off again with the film "Hannibal." My concern is not that it won't be as good as the book (I'm going to try my darnedest not to compare it to the book), but that it won't be as good as the first film. Sequels rarely are. Even if it's not, though, I bet it will still be a kick-ass movie, and I'm looking forward to finally getting to see it. Til then, I'll sit back and enjoy the hype.

The Original Blog O' Jean

Wednesday, May 31, 2000

Tuesday, May 30, 2000

Monday, May 29, 2000

Friday, May 26, 2000

Thursday, May 25, 2000

Wednesday, May 24, 2000

Tuesday, May 23, 2000

Monday, May 22, 2000

Friday, May 19, 2000

Thursday, May 18, 2000

Wednesday, May 17, 2000

Tuesday, May 16, 2000

Monday, May 15, 2000

Friday, May 12, 2000

Thursday, May 11, 2000

Wednesday, May 10, 2000

Tuesday, May 09, 2000

Monday, May 08, 2000

The Original Blog O' Jean

Previous Posts

Archives