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Archive for January, 2002

 
|| January 16, 2002 || 9:03 pm || Comments (0) ||

Outta all the U2 blokes, I’m Larry Mullen, bizzotch!!

Larry Mullen


You don’t take crap from people, and quite frankly you can be a little too blunt sometimes… but you’re also an extremely good friend. Plus, you’re dead sexy.

This is exciting news, because Larry is THE ONE, THE ONLY drummer I’ve ever been all squirmy over. This little test just proves that were we ever to meet in an alternate universe, maybe there would be hope for us to crawl all over one another yet. Or it proves that we would be likely to trade heated blows.

Either would be memorable, I wager.

 
|| January 14, 2002 || 10:50 pm || Comments (0) ||

So, do you ever find yourself making friends with someone and you check yourself and go, “Whoa, hey, waitadamnedminute, this is just going far too fast.” Here you’ve just met this fastfriend last Tuesday and you are already sharing the stuff that you should share after, say, A YEAR OF FRIENDSHIP….

You know, just like that version of the careening-like-a-loaded-freight relationship you dived right into, but only it’s with a potential friend rather than a potential mate? Spooooooky, and not in a fun, sexy way.

Come to think of it, I believe that I have been far more discriminate in my life with my friendships than with my boyfriends. Because, hey,
boyfriends are like buses
but friends, really and truly real friends (not like acquaintences or pals or runaround buddies, but honest-to-Frank actual
Friends
) are NOT a dime a dozen. They’re not even twenty dollars per dozen! I know! Imagine that!

Perhaps, in the end, that’s why I chose to marry someone who held the title of ‘Friend’ for five years before we were anything more. I heartily suggest that you do the same, beautiful readers.


 
|| January 13, 2002 || 3:32 am || Comments (0) ||

Watched “Easy Rider” on DVD today.

Damn, that Peter Fonda was HOT. Skinny, but hot nonetheless.

 
|| January 13, 2002 || 2:39 am || Comments (0) ||

Sometimes I think I might chop micro bangs in my hair and dye them blue, braid the rest up into a hundred teeny braids, dab a bit of clove and ylang-ylang behind each knee and buy a pair of already-worn-in motorcycle boots. Of course, all this would culminate in me hitting the open road.

“Don’t you know

I watched you walkin’ home from school

Your friends on the old playgrounds

You never looked so down

Won’t you come and help me with these cuts of mine?

I’ve disconnected my heart

And cut myself on the wires

// The Wallflowers, “Josephine”

Sometimes I don’t feel like writing a fucking thing for days and sometimes I can’t get any peace for the words chasing me around and begging to be strung together. I don’t know which is worse.

My mom says I was an excellent communicator from the time I was born. She says (and I think not untruthfully) that I held my head up on my own a scant few hours after birth.

Did that one act, that one little defiance of the common run of nature, make me a Watcher or a Doer?

My computer just went belly up, eating most of this entry. Am I not supposed to be ruminating on these things?

My baby book described me as “knowing my own mind” and “short tempered!” Was that who I am? Was that early manifestation of personality traits an accurate legend for who I have grown to be?

“At age two, can recite about nine nursery rhymes”
“Loves to be read to.”
“Can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”
“At two-and-a-half, can tell you her name, address, phone number and birthdate.”
“Loves music.”
“Can play by herself contentedly for hours.”

I spoke in sentences at a little over a year of age. I read fairly independently when I was three. At four-almost-five I wrote and illustrated my first book. It was about pirate ships and fancy stones with attached meanings. I had a teacher in the first grade that was mean to me because her daughter (two grades ahead of me in the same school) was in remedial reading classes, but the same woman would enlist my help in passing out graded papers and the crayon boxes with everyone’s name on them. My ability to innately do something is bad? Why is it bad?

But thankfully, there is childish forgetfulness and didn’t lose my lust for the magic of letters placed together precisely in order to convey an idea. To communicate.

There are those that say I am wasting a gift, and to a degree, they are right. The thought of creating a full, complete something is daunting in that I simply don’t know where to begin. Which of all the things seeking the solidity of the page are worthy (or worse, TOO worthy) of bringing forth? Do I just spill and pick up a thread in the middle to run with?

I’ve had enough for the day. I’m going to bed.

 
|| January 11, 2002 || 5:38 pm || Comments (0) ||

HA! The horoscope tomorrow for those of the Gemini persuasion:

Mop up your extra cash and save, as much as you can as you’ll need money to pay off a debt soon (another legal bill for a defense lawyer, maybe? some more fines, perhaps?). Envying other people’s success won’t help you achieve your own goals (see, your bitter nature doesn’t escape me OR the stars….get over me already, dear! put it behind you!). If you do anything today, take one step towards a cherished dream (being self-sustaining and living on your own without being so terribly co-dependent, perhaps?). This could be writing the opening paragraph to a book (AHHHHH-hahaha!!), sending out a resume/CV (in order to, y’know, get a REAL job) or cutting out a picture of how you’d like to look (all that WEIGHT you’ve put on…tch,tch) or something you’d like to buy (your soul back) and putting it in a prominent place. It’s time you joined the winner’s club (since you’ve been an absolute loser for so fucking long now).

 
|| January 11, 2002 || 5:10 pm || Comments (0) ||

Dearest Dirk,

You remember that whole ‘thing’ the last time you sent the software? You know, the Abbot and Costello routine?

Well, you made me so effing paranoid that I wiped all traces of it from my drive, as per instructions. Do you remember that part, sporto? Maybe you should just burn it and mail it to me.

Yours affectionately and with lustful devotion,

Jett

pee ess…..nice 50-point try, but chum beat you to the Springsteen call by a couple of hours.

 
|| January 11, 2002 || 4:14 pm || Comments (0) ||

First off, for 50 points…

“57 Channels & Nothing On” is a Bruce Springsteen song. (What do I win?)

Re: The story about Miller

I’m reading this and thinking, “HERE’S OUR F*CKING MOVIE, YOU DEADBEAT!!!! Try to load the software I sent you and GET WRITING!!!”

Get cracking!