I really haven't been moved to write today... that is, until a few seconds ago. See, I checked (just for giggles) the counter manager that Geocities so nicely provides. And I realized that so far a bunch of you have seen this thing.
Now, some of you, it's not so bad. I know Boy comes here... and Allegory, and probably a few more that I have met face-to-face. And there's my dad (hi dad!) who comes here on occasion too. And that's not a bad thing... my dad is pretty cool like that.
But there are others. People that I don't know. (you know who you are).
And all of a sudden I freaked. I'm all like, "Damn... people are actually reading this thing. Oh shit! They probably all think that I am a Big Dork!". Call it stage fright, call it what you will, call me a Big Dork, but all of a sudden I got nervous.
I wrote to the girl who I actually got the idea from to do something like this, and I sortof explained what was happening in my head. I also felt like saying something along the lines of, "Hey, you didn't tell me that someone would actually read this thing!!!!" But I rethought that, because I figured I'd just get a response back from her, like, "Duh... what did you expect?". (which would've been a perfectly appropriate response, had I actually said what I was going to say, but didn't.)
So, anyways... to all those that don't know me for real, I'd just like to say "Hi, hello there, I'm not really the Big Dork that you think I am. Thank you."
Because it's really late, I just have one thing other than that that I want to comment on. I was listening to the radio at work tonight, and they played James' "Laid". You know... "This bed is on fire/ With passion and love/ The neighbors complain about/ The noises above/ But she only comes when she's on top..." But, see, the crazy part is, you know, I was singing along, and it gets to the part about her only coming when she's on top... and I could've sworn that on the radio it was "She only sings when she's on top...". What? Talk about a DUMB radio edit. I thought Nirvana's "Waif Me" was stupid, this is even worse. Sheesh.
{July 18th, 1998}
I just wanted to let you all know that I am voluntarily boycotting my computer for the next few days. Just too much going on, and I don't even want to think about answering email, or keeping up this site, or anything to do with modern technology.
See ya'll in a few days.
{July 21st, 1998}
There's a boy at work that likes me.
No, he's not the boy that I have a crush on. No, this boy is a psychopathic stalker-type. (why do I always seem to pick those up?)
He used to have this thing for the girl I go on break with. But the advantage that I have over her is that I have forewarning that he's "Six cans short of a six-pack" (as April put it), whereas she didn't. She was nice to him, she said, until he started beating up all of the boys that talked to her. Yes! He beat up co-workers that talked to her! Is that not crazy, or what? I mean, what's the mentality there? "I'm going to show her how much she means to me by beating up anyone who talks to her! Yeah! That's the ticket!"
Whatever. If he asks me out, or even pays me any more attention, I'm going to tell him I'm a lesbian.
My spine is way weird... it curves in too much. If my spine was like normal peoples spines, I would probably be at least two inches taller. If my spine was normal, I wouldn't have such a short torso. If my spine was normal, I wouldn't get such horrible backaches all the time. If my spine was normal... if only.
Ted (the Bellhop) spent a couple of nights at my apartment in early Feb of this year... he was having problems with his roommates, and I lived a few blocks away from his apartment, so it was convenient for him... and also provided me with much-needed company. (be decent all of you! Nothing happened!) I was lying on my belly on the floor, and he was lying on his back, and we were watching movies and talking... and all of a sudden I noticed that his chest didn't move at all when he breathed. I commented on this to him, and he told me that he had a concave chest (a rather common birth defect), and so that was why his chest didn't move. I found it really interesting.
For some reason, I commented on this to my grandparents when they came to visit a few days later. They then informed me that I have a concave chest as well. I was shocked... but it made sense too, and all of a sudden I realized another reason why I hated my bod was due to something I (once again) had no control over.
When you have an un-corrected concave chest, (it is correctable through surgery) your ribcage does have it's natural elasticity, because it is curved too far in. Because you cannot fully expand your lungs to breathe, you compensate by "belly-breathing", which is how you learn to breathe in chorus... but is not how most people breathe. It flares out your ribcage at the bottom... which is, of course, necessary for that flared-ribcage look that the boys just go nuts for. (Yeah, right)
I used to try anything and everything to lose weight... I almost killed myself in the quest for the perfect bod. My lowest weight was 90 lbs... my Junior year of High School. I'm thankful that one day I got out of the shower, and I saw myself. I didn't just see what I thought I looked like, I saw myself the way other people would've seen me... and was promptly disgusted. My shoulder blades stuck out; you could see the texture of the bones of my breastbone. I would wake up with bruises on my knees and hips just from sleeping on my side. I was... ick. I'm glad it's over.
{July 22nd, 1998}
Sure, I go on a long rest, and now I'm taking off again... you people must hate me. I'm heading off to Detroit, starting tomorrow night, so you guys probably won't hear back from me until Sunday, if then. But by Monday, at the very latest, I promise. (And everybody's sitting there going, yeah, right, she said that about the biographies, and I don't see those anywhere yet!)
Anyways, I'm going to Detroit to attend a conference sponsored by The Alexis Foundation, entitled "Empowering the Parents of Premature Babies". It ought to be interesting (outside of the fact that I have a deep and abiding interest in all things preemie.) and plus, as an added bonus, the social worker at the hospital Epiphany was born at wants me to write an article for the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) newsletter about it. Hell yeah!
By the by, I apologize for the abrupt ending of last night's post... In my incredibly over-tired state, I thought it was ok to end there, but now (in a slightly-but-not-much less tired state) I think that it just kinda ends with a bump and a thud and just lies there. So annoying.
Since I'm on the topic of previous posts, I forgot to add that the night I went to the Tori concert, it seemed a perfect finale to the evening as Boy was driving me home, and we saw some bee-yoo-ti-ful Northern Lights. It just seemed... right.
I found out tonight at work that the boy who has a crush on me believes in God. Not only does he believe in God, he is a Pseudo-Christian- one of those that goes to church faithfully on Sunday, that reads his Bible, and prays every night for your very soul; but in addition to all that brags about how he's going to get laid that weekend, gets fucked-up, beats people up (just for laughs) and all of those other oh-so-Chrisitan qualities. So now, as far as he's concerned anyways, I am now a All-Powerful, Mother-Goddess-Embracing Lesbian Pagan, Who Will Place A Curse On Him, Should He Touch Me Ever Again.
At the end of work last night I was washing all of the icky ink that I work with off of my arms and hands when he walks up. "Looks like you've got plenty of soap," he says, and while I'm still trying to process what exactly that means, he grabs both of my hands and starts rubbing his hands against them, like he's trying to wash his hands with mine. I was Capital-P-pissed. Like, God, I don't even know you, and you don't even know my name, why the fuck are you invading my personal space motherfucker?
I also happen to be quite convinced that he is the asshole who referred to me as "baby" one night.
Baby. Who the hell uses baby and actually means it? I use 'baby' either sarcastically, ("Oooh, baby... that purple-plaid top with the orange-striped bellbottoms... you are hot!") or in reference to my daughter, because she is a baby. ("Just a second baby, momma's just getting your feeding, I'll be right in there...")
But no, he said, "How's it going, baaaay-bee?". For a second I contemplated turning around and punching him in the face, saying "'Hey baby' this, fucko!" (I don't hang around all boys for nuthin'), but fortunately I had a second thought (which I don't have many of) and realized that if I did that I would probably be out of a job, so I just ignored it- although I am personally of the opinion that seeing the look on his face when I punched him would've been infinitely more satisfactory.
{July 29th, 1998}
Ee-gads. I just looked in my refrigerator, and heard whispering about how the strawberries were going to take over my apartment. I think I'm going to attempt to clean out my fridge tomorrow.
I know, I know, you're all disappointed that my plane didn't go down. But no, here I am, back in full force. Well, not quite full force... I've decided that (Tops) I'm going to write every other day... like I've mentioned before, my only real free time is at night, and there's just so much stuff that needs done... So I'm trying to cut down my online hours. Hopefully that will help me a little. If not... I don't know what I'll do!!!
My trip to Detroit was a blazing success. Fabulous! I loved every minute of it, and was sorry to see the weekend end so quickly.
The saga of how I got to Detroit... now that's a story.
It was relatively simple plan. I was to leave home at 8:00 Friday morning, and drive to Chicago, where I was to meet up with a friend of mine (for the sake of the story, we'll use the generic name Becky for her.) from my mailing list at her house, and we'd visit for a bit, and then we'd take a cab to O'Hare, leaving my car at her house, thus sparing me the fee for leaving my car at the airport. Simple. I was a bit concerned about driving in Chicago, because I've never driven there before, but I felt capable of finding her house.
So, I get home from work on Thursday night. The nurse and I are packing Epiphany and her things up, because Epiphany spent the weekend at her nurse's house in Milwaukee. The nurse decided to change Epiphany's diaper, and when she opens up Epiphany's jammies, the G-tube had fallen out. (The g-tube is a tube in my daughter's belly that she gets fed through.) So we've got to mess about for a bit, putting another one in. Then, I look for my contacts.
The previous night at work, (Wends) I had forgotten my contact case, so I just took out my contacts, and put them in a plastic cup. It's happened before, with no problems. I drove home from work without my contacts (my eyes are not all that bad) and put the cup (with my contacts in it) on my dresser. I forgot to take care on them Wends. night, and Thurs. morning, and figured, "no big deal, they can soak while we're getting everything packed up.
I found two plastic cups in my house. One is Epiphany's bath cup; the other was sitting on my desk... full of water.
I lay no blame here. I know three facts:
1) There were two plastic cups in my house.
2) One of them contained my contacts.
3) My contacts were not in either of them.
So, I decide to wake up in the morning and call a Stein Optical, or some other such place in the morning, and get an emergency pair of contacts. No problem I figure. I'll call around 9:00 because they're sure to be open then, and because I'll be in Milwaukee, that will be an hour head start anyways, so I should still be on time to meet Becky at her house between 10 and 11. (By the by, our flight leaves at 1:50)
Then I fell down the steps. (I have a habit of doing that.)
We drive down to Milwaukee, and I pass out. I am awakened at 9:15... a little late, but not terribly so. I try calling the Stein Optical closest to where I'm at. The phone rings and rings and rings. I try one slightly farther away... same deal. I figure that they must not open until 10. I call Becky and let her know what's going on... after all, she's expecting me at 10. She says no big deal, but to keep her informed.
At 10, I finally get ahold of Jack, an employee at Stein. He tells me that since my last exam was over a year ago, they cannot give contacts without an exam. "But I have to be at O'Hare in three hours!!!" I protest. He tells me that if I can get my regular eye doc. to fax in my prescription, and a written ok for them to sell me a pair of temporary contact lenses, he can help me. He gives me his fax number, and we get off the phone.
I then attempt to call my mother to get my eye doc's number. (we have the same one) The phone line at her work is being repaired. I call my brother, and he can't help me either. (Don't ever ever ever ask a twelve year old to look up something in the phone book. It ain't gonna happen.) Finally I do what I should've done in the first place, and call information. I get the number. I call. I get the receptionist, then a secretary, then another secretary, and then my Dr's nurse. She agrees to send the stuff to Stein. I go outside while I am waiting for the transactions to take place, and furiously smoke a cigarette.
I call Stein, and they have everything ready. The nurse leaves to go and pick them up for me, (since I can't read the street signs, and have no clue where I'm heading to.) The Stein's is about 15 minutes away, I'm told. I call Becky, and update her. It's 10:30. As soon as I get to her house, we're going to have to call a cab, but hey, no big deal. Right? Ha!
The nurse finally comes back at 11:30! I'm frantic, I throw the contacts into my eyes, and I phone Becky again. This time I tell her that I will meet her at O'Hare. "Do you really want to do that?" she asks. I have no choice, I tell her.
I zoom away to Chicago. With the road construction and all, it takes me an hour and a half to get there. So, it's 1:00 when I park my car in the economy parking lot. The economy parking lot is so far away from the actual airport, you can't even see it. I get on the shuttle that takes me to the terminals. I've never been to O'Hare before, and I've never had to find my way around an airport by myself before. I was rather proud of myself that I didn't get lost.
Of course, one must take into consideration the fact that O'Hare is approximately a few hundred thousand square miles in size. By the time I make it to the correct gate, it's about 1:40. I'm panicked that the flight has left already, but if it had, by that point I was so determined, I would've driven to Detroit.
Anyways, I get to the gate, and frantically scan the crowd for Becky, who I've only met once in real life, four months ago. All of a sudden I hear my name being called, and I'm scanning the crown to see who's doing it, when I hear, "Down here on the floor!!!" I look down, and it's Becky and the other lady who's flying with us.
Turns out that our flight was delayed by an hour, but how was I supposed to know that?
And that is the saga of How I Barely Made It To O'Hare On Time, But It Didn't Make A Difference Anyways. I shall continue on with my weekend the next time I post.
{Aug. 6th, 1998}
Jeez, I suck hey??? I hate to make excuses... but I'm going to anyways. During the tail-end of last week I was having problems with my server, and then I just wasn't feeling all that great... probably from doing the occupational equivalent of snorting paint thinner. I tell ya... I can't wait to finish this job. Although I am terrified of College... I do think that once I get used to it, I'll do better, and hopefully I won't be so terrified any more.
An amusing advertisement on the radio today... some place that sells ATVs (All-Terrain Vehicles, a.k.a., three-wheelers or four-wheelers.) is giving away a coupon for a free *gun* (or something like that... maybe it's just a discount.) with each ATV sold. At the end of the advertisement, they caution that, improperly used, ATVs can be dangerous, and that one should take safety classes before operation. Like guns can't be harmful??? Or something. I guess.
Alright.. so where was I in the Detroit story??? Ah, the airport. Umm... the flight was fine. Nothing really major happened on it, and we made it to Detroit without mishap. As we're disembarking the plane we are wondering how on earth we're going to find the people who were to pick us up. We hope that they will have a sign or something, since we don't know what they look like, and they don't know what we look like.
So, anyways, I happen to be in the lead as we're exiting the plane. We're scanning the crowd, looking for people who are looking for people that they don't know, same as we are. All of a sudden I hear someone shouting my name. I instantly freeze. "Oh my god! What did I do?" I wonder. Then, it hits me how no one could be shouting my name since they don't know what I look like... I thought they just might've started shouting when they saw people coming off, in hopes that there's only one person with my name on the plane. Then they start calling Becky's name too, so s we go over by them, and sure as shit, it's the people we're looking for. (When I asked them later how they knew it was me when I got off the plane, I got an answer somewhat to the effect of, "You look like you write." I look like I write??? Interesting. Keep that in mind the next time you walk down the street and see a girl that looks like she could write like me. It's probably not me, but it could be a great conversation starter!!!)
We must've really tripped out the people in earshot with our greetings... it was something along the lines of, "Yes, I am!!! Who are you? Who? What's your kids name? Oh! You're so-and-so's mom!!! Wow, it's great to meet you!!!" Conversations like these in the midst of a great deal of hugging, and so on.
So then we split to our separate hotels, and got rested a little, and got to know our roommates a little (in person that is... we had already known each other for a year or more, virtually). Then we gathered ourselves up, and headed over to another hotel where Becky and her roommate were staying at. We ate our supper there, and then piled more people into one hotel room than I've ever seen before and all talked and laughed and showed off baby books and told stories, and shared pictures, and in an amazingly short amount of time, grew to love one another very much. Finally at about 11:00 or so (I think) we went back to our hotel, and chummed around in another list-member's room for a while, and then finally retired at the terribly sensible hour of three in the morning, to get up for a conference that starts at 9:00. Yeah, we're all brilliant.
And that is Detroit, Stage 2: Kindred Spirits. (Yes, I read Anne of Green Gables. What's your point???)
{August 12th, 1998}
I just want you all to know that I'm not a mega-slacker. The truth is, that I've been working my butt off to get my real-life writings up. It's not open to the public yet... I still have one more story that needs to go up... and then it will be open. K? K.
Also, about the Detroit thing... one of the other ladies that was there (and a good friend of mine) has put up a page about it, so if you're that interested... you have to wait until I get a hold of her. Sorry.
"You're only popular
with anorexia
So I turn myself
inside out
in hope someone will see..."
~Tori Amos, "Jackie's Strength"
I've finally accepted something... the fact that I will never never never ever have a fabulous body. It's just never going to happen. maybe with some working out or something, I could improve it... if my bone structure wasn't so messed up.
Both separators provided by Full Moon Graphics.