sending racist tracts to people by email.

last night i went to dinner with a friend. she said that, for reasons she couldn't explain, she'd had the song "paper moon" running through her mind all week. neither of us could remember all of the words.

so today i found it on the web, typed 'em up and emailed them to her at work.

"it is only a paper moon
hanging over a cardboard sea
but it wouldn't be make believe
if you believed in me." etc.

it came back almost immediately with a note saying that it contained "discriminatory, hateful, vulgar, pornographic, [etc.} material inappropriate for the workplace."

i figured it was probably the line "honky-tonk parade", so i censored it (h*nky) and included a note at the bottom:

"i hate all white people. this evil cancer with pale-pink skin should be obliterated from earth by putting them all to death in the most painful, demeaning way possible."

this time it went through.

chuckling. my eyes hurt.

tired but clean. I just took a shower. I was out excavating all day today. well, actually i was supervising the excavating, which meant I did very little digging but a lot of walking back and forth.

I can't remember the last time I was this dissapointed.

Third day on the insomnia wagon. Those three veritical lines between my eyebrows are deeper, making me look pissed when I'm really not. Some soothing sleep inducing Valerian erases them and my smooth, frownless, forehead returns and people on the subway stop wondering why I'm so mad at them when they've never seen me before in their lives. My frontal lobe feels full of frothy bubbles and I can't remember my own name. All I've got to think with feels like soda fizz. The chemical compounds vs. herbs disadvantage is that it takes a few days for the latter to kick in. Bubbles, dust, crumbs in my cranium instead of cells. It's like constipation of blood flow to the brain bowl, at least that's what it feels like. Maybe everybody known in the outdated slang term as an 'air-head' were just sleep challenged. Hope I don't get hit by a truck today as I walk into moving traffic.

sitting

giving up on love. admitting loser's defeat in the war twixt lust and liking somebody a whole lot and the real thing. the real thing's a killer anyway, ain't it? i'm hanging it up, throwing it all in, ready to be accomadating within a reasonable frame for the sake of not being alone. i'll agree to a merger, a contract partnership, everything written down in advance. butterflies in the tummy, weak knees, dizzying love struck mind and body melding just ain't coming my way. i missed the bus on this one.

...anybody gonna talk me out of it?

"After checking and re-checking and cross-checking your results with all my colleagues and mentors and even my students," she said, "It's clear to me and to everyone else, that what you have is simply an extreme case of being multi-, poly-, ultra-, para-, super-, extra-, mega-fucked-up. -- And that's the optimistic assessment."

Is that all?! Well, that's encouraging and a real relief to know. Your diagnosis has been filed and charted Dr.Swine. And if love in my protracted adolescent girly dreams ain't the cure, than what is? Since I've never known it, I need you bodies who have to tell me, is it worth hanging on for just a taste of it even if it falls to ashes? Awaiting your just as fkd up opinions.

How's this:

It's one of those things, that, if you don't sit around wishing for it, you can certainly be happy without...

And you'll be more likely to actually run into it.

[email protected]

I do already know that, and thanks for the reminder. I do have something of a social life and some fulfilling, soul satisfying activities that do not revolve around meeting a man.

It obviously runs faster than I do.

Thanks Tbone. Anymore?

if we knew the answers we would already be so screwed up. find your own answers.

uh, just for the record. s is not me. in case anyone was wondering.

going to start peeling away the earth in stage one of my first step-excavation, where you have to dig away surrounding layers of dirt from the area you really want to look at, to keep it all from slumping in on you. I've never done an excavation this huge before. Should be fun.

also been fooling around with demo versions of family tree makers. Printed out a couple charts for the family reunion this weekend.

preparing Jell-o using Red Bull as the liquid.

preparing Jell-o using Red Bull as the liquid.

being clear on being clear.

DE LA.

be clear.

beware.

i've heard the next coming.

and it is good.

I feel so bad about typing my last message up wrong. bunglebungleBungle.


I thought S was Syl, but then I've just been reminded that No One is who they seem to be.

*Sigh* oh well. Looks like 0 for 0 on this one. I guess love recommends itself since no one else does. I guess since I haven't been kicked in the butt by it(yet),I'm still hopeful.

Pleading temporary insanity. Get on with it folks, have a great one if you can.

i am exactly who i seem to be. that is what started all the trouble.

Everything I've ever said is a lie. Don't trust me.

[email protected]

apologizes if I contributed to any of the aforementioned confusion by economizing alphabets.

If on the other hand I'm just being full of myself as usual and only THINK I had something to do with it; ignore me and get on with your lives.

Insanity involves an inflated opinion of one's self as well, right?

Gone off to hunt down the guy with a bigger ego than myself.

that man.

ok here's the deal:

I smile and look pretty, defer on everything and never speak a word of anything that could be construed as criticism or an improvement.

You make all the money. I'll turn down any job offer if it would pay me more. Can't have my man feeling kept.

You pick all my friends.

You tell me what to wear.

I sweat, starve, workout to maintain a body weight of less than 12% fat at all times.

I look gorgeous at all times and upon waking emerge from the bathroom after 3 minutes flat looking coiffed and ready for a magazine shoot just to do housework.

I do all the housework, you never lift a finger.

I do all the housework naked.

I go into hiding during PMS.

My mother, family members do not exist. However, I am a servant and slave to your mother and kinsmen.

More sex than goes on in Thailand in a week.

My end of the deal: You adore and worship at the temple of Sylly daily without interruption thru the following means:

I am dressed in jewelry and designer labels only; financed by you.

You have a standing order for a dozen roses to be delivered to my place of employment on a weekly basis.

I get a new diamond every year for our anniversary because the old one is,well,..old.

You never look at another woman ever.

You never sleep with another woman ever.

You give me more orgasms than I have hair follicles.

Deal?

you'll get yours, eventually.

everybody does.

there's a woman outside on the street, pointing and laughing, "I'M HAPPIER THAN YOU ARE! I'M HAPPIER THAN YOU ARE!" in a ringing childlike sing-song voice.

hard slash mocking-smile mouth and a dress that fits like a bandage. i can tell from the look in her eyes that she wishes she could kill with her mind. (you can count backwards from zero all day long and still end up with nothing.) happy happy girl.

we're driving to atlantic city on saturday morning to open up a new world of damage. i should wrap up the happy girl in the loose bandage and take her with me as a good luck charm. gamble with bloodmoney and use cat's eyes for dice.

i'm gonna get mine.

everybody does.

no no no.

i'm just saying my ego is bigger.

i'm not really interested in living with a superficial sex slave maid.

er.

no. no i am not.

no goddamnit. i am not.

not interested.

shit.

i'm going to atlantic city.

addendum:

I go to law school and as a result no longer get my hair done or apply make-up because I am too busy studying. As a result, my hair falls in seductive waves to my shoulder blades as opposed to being cemented into a gravity defying do. Free of wax, my lips are dewy and moist throughout day and night.

New pplication of my previously dormant cerebral powers urges me to discuss world events, poetry, politics and the arts over the can of ravioli I've opened for dinner 'cause I don't have time to cook. Because of the guilt I still do the housework naked...but wearing stilletoes.

'Cause I'm too mentally taxed and not as much in the mood for sex, I give you bonus rounds on Sat. and Sunday mornings.

Anything for you baby.

You sure you're still not interested?

i smell crackhead transvestite.

you fart?

Thinking of bonus rounds...


Hmm... That's almost as good as romance.

Drinking coffee. The stuff here at work is crap. Absolute shit.

I make good coffee. I've got a burr-grinder that wakes up everyone in the 4-plex. None of that blade-ground crap. The best is when I grind it seconds before brewing... but many mornings I set it up the night before and let my computer start the coffee. I'm not so good at getting up without that motivation.

I had an ego once... but it got fed up with me and left me for someone else.

[email protected]

this is annoying. the tiny font on this browser is annoying. everything is annoying. I can't open my eyes without seeing something annoying. But I can't walk through the day with my eyes closed, so I guess I'm doomed to be annoyed.



people Suck. bad.

all girl, all the way, all the time. Believe it.

wishing Syl, S, whoever, was a man.

Cat, you want a husband who does naked housework in stilletos?

[email protected]

I admit it wasn't something I dreamed of when I was a young gel.

But so long as he doesn't borrow my red patent stilletoes, what the hell.

slowely and surely becoming addicted to www.opendiary.com , and it's incredibly painful younger sibling, www.teenopendiary.com
Something about reading people's whole lives, and realizing that everone's life is just as goddamn boring as yours.

somebody stop me

Hey Tbone.

I'll grind something for ya.

waiting for my new credit card to come

Intimidated.

Maybe I'll just have some tea.

Women have always scared me.

[email protected]

I'll pick the leaves, and dry them myself boodle-poohs.

Then serve you up a hot cuppa with cream tarts and strawberry jam before gingerly bathing you and putting you down for a little nappie-bye.

But only if you want me to...

Oh and Nate? Clarify please..is it 'do I fart?' or, am I a fart?

Nate. No need. You were talking to Swine weren'tcha? I'm doing it again.