jugular dance

encore vide.

28 February 2004

Dropping in again to say that I'm really fucking lonely. Exceptionally so, in fact. I think Josh has begun to see someone else and is not telling me about it. I have no friends here. I'm really hungry. I bought my tickets home today for my trip in July and that has left me feeling more horrible than before. Two weeks, sleeping in my mother's house, listening to Josh tell me he can't hang out tonight 'cause he's already made other plans and if I would've just told him I wanted to hang out he would've...blah...blah...yeah. Then after that when will I go home again? Will anyone come to visit me? Dad & fiancee are going to Italy this summer and won't be in Southern CA anytime soon...Mum & husband are too caught up in their own lives & money situation...Josh will never be able to afford it and won't want to come anyhow...will I make any friends this fall at school? Maybe I should move on campus at UCR even though I have no money for it...I need a cup of tea
Just returned from Stater Brothers. Chose to buy some hummus. Endured an interrogation by not one - not two - but three Stater Brothers employees concerning the exact composition of hummus. 'What is hummus?' the first asks me. 'Is it cheese?' 'Nay,' respond I, 'it's chickpeas.' Evidently the word 'cheese' is some popular Southern California abbreviation for 'chickpeas', because she then nods affirmatively and says, 'Oh, so it is cheese, huh?' 'Nay,' I say, more forcefully, 'it is chickpeas.' It's also got tahini and bell peppers, but I do not want to broach the intricacies of tahini with this young wench. She gets an inter-store phone call. 'Guess what?' she says into the receiver. 'You know that hummus stuff, that we sell here? I just found out what it is, it's chickpeas! Isn't that crazy? Do you know what chickpeas are?' I can barely remember my PIN for this transaction because of the highly unnecessary flurry of activity surrounding my hummus, my poor, dear, innocent hummus. I manage to complete the transaction. One of the baggers, who is very cute and who has been talking about his participation in comedy talent shows to the other bagger, remarks, 'It's chickpeas? Like a pea, only different, huh?' I suppress several nasty internal comments regarding day jobs, not quitting them, et cetera. I also manage to suppress blurting out something about my knowing more about the store's stock than its employees do. I nod half-heartedly at the comment, unwilling to begin a semantical discussion of chickpeas. 'Yeah, chickpeas, like little peas!' he exclaims. A second bagger arrives. She takes the poor manhandled container of hummus in her hands, peering at it as though she might find the secret catch that could change it, ala Transformers, into a miniature car. It performs no tricks, sadly. 'So what is hummus?' she asks me. The other two look on, entranced. 'It's chickpeas', say I, red-faced. 'I cannot explain it further than that. I cannot explain what chickpeas are. You probably sell them in cans. Go and look.' She nods. 'I'm gonna go now, OK?' I say to the first girl, the checker. She apologises profusely - 'Oh, I didn't mean to make you feel bad! It's just we never knew - ' I wave my hand majestically, managing to keep all the rest of the flurry of nasty, cynical word activity in my brain in my brain. Was hoping that perhaps the first bagger, who was very cute, might invite me out later for some contact sports. Alas, the divide between us is immeasurable, and is filled with chickpeas.

And this is the second post about chickpeas in as many days - what is happening to me?!
The brand-new sealed copy of 'Loveblows and Lovecries' arrived yesterday, to my intense delight! It's so very very gooooooooood.......'Break Heaven' is whole reason I bought this CD again...

Also a small package from one Josh arrived...CDs, of course -
  1. Sunny Day Real Estate, 'Rising Tide' :: He's all jazzed about SDRE...they seem only mildly amusing to me, but he insists I give this a try.

  2. The Fire Theft, eponymous :: Yet more SDRE propaganda, this being the project that 'rose out of the ashes' of SDRE's demise. Sigh...

  3. Incubus, 'Morning View' :: He kept telling me that he had sent one CD that would be absolutely mystifying and mind-blowing to me, and I suppose this would be it. He's an avid opponent of the 'nu-metal' scene, and he once-upon-a-time owned and hated 'Make Yourself' (which I never thought was too bad). I guess this record must be quite innovative for him to be all beshit about it!

  4. Nick Drake, 'Pink Moon' :: This is the one that really was mindblowing to me. How'd he know I've never heard ND? How'd he know I've been wanting to for some time? Can the boy read my mind? This'll be first on the playlist...

27 February 2004

And in real news, J. K. Rowling becomes the first $1-billion author. Way to go! - my life would be considerably emptier without Harry Potter. :)
And in other work news, J is my hero of the hour. He, ass that he is, sent out a group email patiently explaining to all of us operations idiots how to operate the 'Log Off' button when we sign out at night, and (mistakenly?) left J off the list. She, pretending to be highly offended, called him promptly and left him a scathing voice mail - 'Just wanted to tell you thank you for not including me in the group email about how to sign off at night; Jenny was kind enough to forward it over to me. Thanks a lot for forgetting me, and I hope you have a great weekend!' Hopefully my uproarious cackling was recorded as background noise as well. Jerk!
A highly undecipherable exchange of emails between C and myself today -

me, 1:28 p.m.: I am ready to receive your $2 whenever you are ready to give it to me.

C, 1:37 p.m.: What is going on?

me, 1:52 p.m.: What’s going on with what? Deaf guy back in the corner?

C, 1:54 p.m.: Ya think? What is worse deaf guy or tooth pick boy?

me, 1:59 p.m.: That’s no toothpick, that’s a tooth MACHINE

C, 1:59 p.m.: T what do you think about that comment from Jenny?

me, 2:03 p.m.: He might fire me if he could quit the drooling and clicking long enough to talk... :) You’re sure you don’t want that delicious $2 cream puff? You’re SURE?

C, 2:04 p.m.: You are as funny as you look! I see how you look at him! Just like you do Bob and Brett!

me, 2:09 p.m.: Don’t forget Abdul…and your dad. Ha ha ha!

C, 2:19 p.m.: You really are a sick MONKEY! Abdul?

me, 2:25 p.m.: …I would ravish him :)

C, 2:26 p.m.: I have no doubt! Just like a donut.

26 February 2004

'The Wolf Destroys the Eye of the Heart: The Fierce Attack of the Zero Stance Gatotsu'

Alright, I flippin' love this show, but gawd! Must the title of the episode consistently render actually watching the episode completely unnecessary?! The only thing it doesn't give away is what shape Kenshin'll make the rice balls into!
Big Daddy Wiz: 'So...what will you do on this lovely half-holiday?'
Worst Witch: 'I think I'll practice my flying...'
Big Daddy Wiz (dramatically): 'Would you like to practice...with me?'
Worst Witch: 'With you?'
Big Daddy Wiz: 'Oh...absolutely'

The best scene in all film...brings a tear to my eye. If you're out there somewhere, Racer X, I hope you're gleefully spending your Tim Currency!
The story with C and T is that they have known each other for ten years, having worked together at another bank in the Corona area and having left that bank together to charter the bank they - we - are currently working at. The consequence of this is that most of our customers are former customers of the 'other' bank who followed C and T over and so who know C and T well.

Such is the case with the gentleman called Abdul who came in today to open new business accounts. T, elated to see him, jumped up from his desk and gleefully called his name. Coming round to the platform, he grabbed him, shook one of Abdul's hands in both of his, and dragged him to the back desk to talk to him for twenty minutes before coming back to sit in new accounts.

I would be a liar if I said Abdul did not absolutely dazzle me. Tall, lovely deep brown skin, flashing smile, terribly nice, great accent, lilting voice. C came over to say hello and shake his hand. He spoke of his wife and his 7-month-old baby, showing us a glossy photo. I commenced to open the accounts. He leaned back, compelling me with talk of the barriers between his Farsi-speaking inlaws and his own native language, the difficulty yet necessity of learning Spanish in California, the similarities of the Romance languages. He asked me if I had any babies. I replied that there was no husband to imply any babies; he chuckled widely.

The subject turned to childbirth; his wife had had an awful pregnancy. Two months in their child (born perfectly healthy) was 'diagnosed' with Downs syndrome; four months in she commenced to bleed internally. Delivery was a nasty Caesarean section. I asked wryly if he wanted more; he said he was afraid to bring up the subject at home! I related that my friend Iren, who gave birth to all of her children in France, had laughed at American women who treat childbirth like a medical crisis, who beg for epidurals and painkillers and who lie flat on their backs with their feet in stirrups during delivery; she had gone into natural birthing centers for all of her children, and given birth standing up with dim lights, soft music, and no drugs whatever. When Iren told me this story she related to me that the idea was based on women in Africa who work the fields, and give birth perfectly naturally by suspending themselves from a tree branch. I, of course, unthinking, related this back to Abdul, who is, as I found out shortly thereafter, from Ethiopia. Ha - what do I know about how African women give birth, or do anything else, for that matter? He must think me a presumptuous moron - it's alright, I still think him brilliant and delightful.

The encounter with him reminded me of Juvva, a friend of Sonia who was a wonderful Indian woman and my coworker at the bank back in Pennsylvania. My first meeting with him left me completely mesmerised. A journal passage, if you will -
...I met a man who I cannot remove from my mind. I wrote of him in an earlier poem - his name is Ramakrishna Juvva. He is a friend of Sonia and Vikas, and he is absolutely beautiful. He had the thickest, blackest hair I have ever seen, a full moustache, perfect white teeth, green eyes with gold in them...fantastically charming.(12/20/2001)

Sonia, never good with the letter 'v', used to pronounce his name 'Jew-ah'. I never knew how to say his name - I didn't want to mock Sonia by pronouncing it as she did, and I didn't want to spoil the lyricism of her pronunciation by putting in those two hard 'v's. Ahh...I guess an excerpt from the poem would be appropriate as well -
...I have been left late into the evening
and am in a puddle of wondering
on a man from today,
Ramakrishna Juvva, who has his family in
redpeppery India
and thick black hair that gleams like volcanic glass, sturdy, flowing,...
and whose mouth moves in eternal wit and laughter
with the ease of a child's sigh
as he says he could never go back to his mother in India with
all that hair(12/19/2001)

I should have gone for him; unlike dear Abdul, he was quite single and quite looking for a wife. I was with Josh at the time, though, and Sonia made it very clear I could never make a decent wife for an Indian man.

Indeed, my chickpeas have never been nearly as good as hers were that evening when she made me dinner and made me eat it with my hands.

25 February 2004

And on top of that, because Riverside is so 'swamped' (re: 'unable to manage their time properly between personal phone calls and sniping at each other'), Corona staff has to start going over there three times a week, commencing next week. One teller Tuesdays and Thursdays, and a new accounts (that'd be me, since I'm the only one at the branch who actually qualifies for that title) on Wednesdays. I was rather much jazzed about this prospect, until I realised (yet again) that, oh yeah, he doesn't really even know that I exist. It's going to be hideous. I'll wear my ugliest outfit.

Josh is still a jerk and I still really like him. I think he might be dating someone else now. Wouldn't that just be the case.

On a high note, I borrowed some books from the library, amongst which can be found 'Ulysses' (James Joyce) and 'Swann's Way' (Marcel Proust) as well as a highly pretentious play (I always want to give playwrights the benefit of the doubt, and they always absolutely saturate me with their unbearable pretense) entitled
'The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade'
Thought, 'Hey - I enjoy the Revolution as a period of time in French history. I like reading about insane asylums (asyla? arg...). I even like the Marquis de Sade, in spite of/because of his writing about people pooping into other people's mouths'. It seemed like a wise choice of drama at the time. I read (...counting...) about 24 pages, or about 12 scenes, inward, and became disgusted and quite convinced of what I wrote FSP-Jim o'er the weekend - that modern playwriting is folly and total self-righteous, self-elevating, pretentious garbage, perhaps excepting the Absurdist work which mocks everything, including itself. There are some high points, though:
Charlotte Corday: Why do the children scream/What are those heaps they fight over/those heaps with eyes and mouths/What kind of town is this/hacked buttocks lying in the street

Yeah. That's the kind of girl I am. Simple, uncultured, painfully aliterary, and moved by a line about buttocks.
That Goapele song is AWESOME. Can't quit singing it. The arbitrary use of profanity is so sexy on a woman.

Work post d'aujourd'hui:

Locked out of the network this morning upon my arrival. C called him on his mobile to have him fix it. They guffawed together for hours. He made quite sure to tell her that next time I should call the CCO instead of him, as she is the one to correct this problem (although the CCO was, by word of the CFO, in a meeting and quite unreachable by an underling like me); then made the stiflingly hilarious joke that he had deleted me off the system completely because he thought they didn’t want me anymore. On a quite related note, both of the new new-accounts in Riverside, who have each been sitting that position less than two months, have their own names on their telephones. I, by contrast, have been here since September, and am still pathetically, miserably Rosemary. What a fucker he is.

22 February 2004

Goapele: 'You're so fuckin' romantic' ... !

And Ralph Nader, Idealist, is running in Nov! Ja, now the dear author may vote intellectually. It's so not about swinging someone else's election. It's about intellectual decision. And I am going for the dear Consumer Advocate! Finally, redemption for my silence in 2000...the angels do love me...

19 February 2004

Against myself I just downloaded the newest version of Real Player...I'm so frickin' happy I could burst! Ahh, my newly acquired PT Baltimore live show looks so lovely...I can rewind again and again to SW thanking the crowd for telling him Happy Birthday which is found at 31:37 into the show...gaaaaaaaaaa!
Oh ya, and finally sneaked a way into C's inbox and viewed the long-deleted reply message from him today. In a word:

as promised, workpost d'hier:

Yet again I am wondering why I am not the supervisor, since evidently nothing I do is supervised by the actual supervisor. I made a mistake last night - I forgot to take copies of the federal tax payment coupons. Mea culpa, it's understood. But every night all the fed tax documents are supposed to be reviewed by a supervisor, and since T left early yesterday, that task would have been delegated to C. She, evidently, never noticed that there were no copies, allowed the coupons to be mailed to the fed, and then chastised me for it this morning. I'm not denying that I made a mistake and forgot something important; but I must confess myself utterly confused about her role in branch operations, if it is not to catch things like that.

Bored. Looking through T's massive operations manual, trying to learn things I don't know. Just found a set of notes entitled 'How to Pull Images for Scrutinizing' in his handwriting. Scrutinizing! That is truly hilarious.

Rather uncomfortable dream, early this morning. Josh and I were living together, tentatively, temporarily, in a place that was both and neither Allan's apartment in Bellevue and the place he is currently living in. I was sleeping or crying on a bed in a barren grey room. There were Opeth posters on the wall. Josh was furious with me. I slipped out of consciousness and when I came back to, he had removed the posters in a gesture of defiance. I went downstairs, met him, asked him dazedly what was wrong, if I could do anything. He told me that his mother had asked him whether we still slept in the same bed even though we were broken up; he told me that he told her that we did, yes, every night. I was infuriated. I demanded why he had to tell her anything; he yelled at me that he could tell her whatever he wanted. I intimated that we had had sex when I was home for the holidays - I said this very clearly, about an inch from his face - and yet he hadn't told her about that. Then he began to move every single bit of furniture from the top part of the house out onto the porch where he was living. I asked him what he thought he was doing, why he hadn't left me a single chair to sit on. He replied that it was his house and he could do what he wanted. I reminded him that, since I had moved back in, I had paid half the rent last month. I conjured an image between us of $450, in cash, in an envelope. He grudgingly moved a brown, ratty recliner back up the stairs into my quarters.

Stumbled upon G in the bathroom, crying furiously. Incorrect tickets were passed again for something - not the vault, but something - and C is in a terrifying mood.
A huge strawberry was crushed, cleaved in two, in the blue crosswalk this morning. Is that a bad omen?

Yes, it seems, yes! During the morning Suspicious Activity Report meeting, T and C decided to train D to do morning cash balancing, even though she's a fucking moron and I already know how to do it. C just called me and asked me if I knew how to do a credit rating. I said no, because J showed me only once, a month or two ago. She told me I was a dumb-ass just like her - evidently she, although the supervisor, does not know how to do them either - and said 'Thanks for nothing'. My sentiments exactly.

C and I had a few moments of camaraderie at lunch, and I in my vulnerability asked her why she was having D balance cash in the morning instead of me. She said T jumped to appoint D to the post because she 'doesn't do a fucking thing over there in the morning', and if they had both chosen based on ability they would have chosen me. It's like the Onion sketch about feeling overjoyed at finally getting a key to the toner cabinet - it's such wretched meaningless filth, office life, and yet it bears so heavily on who we are. Also a customer - the controller for a huge company we just opened six corporate accounts for - was in today, and referred to me at the top of her voice as 'the best new accounts representative ever', apparently much to the chagrin of D, who huffed off without response when I wished her a good lunch. Grr...office politics...

18 February 2004

Would have been here posting this random and quite meaningless blog post ten minutes earlier, perhaps even fifteen, but as I was attempting to get onto the 15 north, some fucker in a HUGE truck decided he wanted to be on top of me. I blasted the horn. He kept going. He looked down at me from his HUGE TRUCK, made eye contact with me, and kept going. Thus I was pushed onto the ramp for the 15 south, having had no choice in the matter whatever. Not helping matters was the rain, which evidently is scarier than earthquakes out here. Hey! You rat fink in the HUGE truck! Didn't anyone tell you I am perfectly capable of going the wrong way on the freeway by myself? No need for strongarming, eh! And if you wanna be on top of me you could at least pull my hair ;)

Had a work post...forgot to send it to me...tomorrow, then.

Listening to: 'The Fragile', Nine Inch Nails, Left Disc :: I reeeeaaaalllllllly like...

17 February 2004

Hrm...I'd just like to express my continuing and unquenchable support for that opus of all concepts, 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles'. Four highly unlikely elements. Such a pleasing result. Not to mention that the title doesn't even reveal the connections to the California surf culture and Renaissance art found within. I'd interject something here, such as 'Cowabunga!' or 'Krang!', but that'd be cheesy. Gawd, but Krang was cool, especially when he teetered about in that scary enviro-globe thing, sneering at everyone and dripping slightly. I'm in a foul reminiscing 1980's sort of mood, entirely due to the news of the Muppets' imminent demise...

You'll also be mildly indifferent to the news that I am hard at work on acquiring another copy of my precious 'Loveblows and Lovecries' No-Man record, and perhaps several other No-Man CDs which I should have acquired ages ago...
And in a final bit of surreal updating, the parrot mentioned here has 'transcended to the next level', in the cynical words of SW. Her owner was nearly inconsolable today. Though I joked about it in the initial post, I actually became somewhat interested in the dynamic between this woman and her parrot - which is actually a cockatoo, not sure why I keep calling it a blasted parrot. She told me that right before she had the bird put down (on Valentine's Day!), she took it out to her car, reclined her seat, and snuggled with it for a bit, intending to nap for awhile. Alas, another love affair shattered.

R.I.P., O Cockatoo-Whose-Name-I-Never-Knew. I think it may have been 'Chocolate', or something else equally inappropriate.
Well, a month has passed...I suppose I could be coerced into talking about the very interesting happenings announced on 1/17/04. The excitement stemmed from the fact that someone had found me via this blog and had begun a correspondence with me, and that someone was someone I really would have liked to talk to. I knew him in eighth grade - I will not use his name, as that's what got me into trouble in the first place! - and had a rather large and unwieldy crush on him then. He jumped through hoops of fire to convince me of his true identity via email, and then, after four or five mails, decided to drop off the face of the earth...again. This dropping-off-the-face-of-the-earth is probably due to something stupid I wrote; unfortunately I write so many stupid things I couldn't possibly track the offending item. The facts remain that this boy, who I would have given anything to talk to when I was fourteen, has now blipped onto and off of the radar of my life in such a short time that my heart is once again wrenched. I wish he would have just not identified himself at all and left me wondering indefinitely - it would have been much more humane that way.

In other boy news, Josh could perhaps be beginning to actually miss me slightly. When I left, I left a huge box of excess lotions and sprays and general girly stuff with him, because my car was packed to exploding and I barely had room for a deodorant and toothpaste in the way of cosmetic products. One lotion in particular - a lime-coconut scented one - I have been yearning for. He told me today he plans to put a package in the mail within the week, containing CDs he's gotten over the last few weeks that he thinks I simply must hear. I asked him to splurge on a box (instead of the ubiquitous bubble-lined envelope) and throw my lotion into it, as I have men to attract and please out here. His blushing was audible. 'Don't tell me that...' he said, voice trembling. Come the end of the conversation he said 'I love you' in such a way, and with such a lingering silence afterwards, that I think if I had not responded in kind he may have found a way to set something/someone dear to me on fire. Poor suffering boy. ;)

And, not to be outdone, he arrived in the branch today, more determined than ever to not look at me. Though 'Wishful Thinking Jenny' would have it that he checked out my ass when I got up to get a rate sheet from D. Damned alter egos.

My father called me today, and asked me what I thought of 'national politics'. I mumbled something about voting third party. He told me how he and the fiancee fought all weekend. He's wigging out because she wants to spend more time - lots more time - with my semi-delinquent brother, among other things, so I understand.

And to round it all out, the semi-delinquent brother himself, who goes by the name of Krystopf, seems to be doing remarkably well on the non-delinquent side of life these days. He's beginning GED classes next weekend, is still clean as of the last briefing from my hysterical mother, and has actually managed to not send said mother into fits and spasms of any kind since his release from the Home O' Delinquents mid-January.

Jerks, the lot of them. And how I love them.
Disney acquires the Muppets? What bullshit! The Muppets, proud takers of Manhattan, are not things to be acquired! Grrr...what the Fraggles would think of this...

16 February 2004

New cousin Grant Sebek is arrived! Check it out!

15 February 2004

I feel heartbroken. I'm remembering last time I watched Kenshin and became this way; I talked to Nancy about it. She wagered that the themes of leaving, of going on a long journey, of 'severing feelings', and of protecting others at all costs resonated particularly with me because of where I was in life - I was preparing to leave for an indefinite period, and was letting down the guard that I had built up around the one I swore to protect. I find myself feeling much the same now. Now that he is gone - now that I am gone - I feel nothing but horrible feelings of insecurity, danger, loneliness, instability, incompleteness. He cannot return unless he faces himself - I cannot return unless I face myself - and even if we do return we shall be different people. Will the good feelings of innocence and camaraderie ever be his again? Will the good feelings of innocence and camaraderie ever be mine again? Is this being an adult, moving forward through the times even when it means sloughing others to the side? He has a great sense of personal responsibility for his actions and for past events. I have the same. He wishes to change things by protecting others with his sword. I wield a sword that can change things as well, though the nuances of mine are slightly different. The cause is inescapable and noble; but the feeling of having left something important behind is nearly unbearable.

Thus my broken heart...
I'm catching up on that weeping now.

14 February 2004

Pleased to announce that I've just made it through the episode where Kenshin decides to leave for Kyoto with much less weeping than the first time.

'The times are beginning to move again...I am no longer allowed...to remain still.'

Gambatte ne Kenshin!

13 February 2004

Long day...on Wednesday G and I were 'training', i.e. snickering at every damn person/thing to cross our path while making a measly attempt to keep a manual propped open in front of us. One of our customers, who shall be known only by the name Londos, entered. We stared at her and snickered for awhile. We put our brains to the task of trying to figure out what kind of plastic surgery she's had. We concluded that her ass is perfect. So we with our flabby asses decided to start walking together, and so I went over to G's house after I got out o' work at 7:00 and we walked 16 laps round her cul-de-sac till my heels were burning, hence the long day. We plan to implement the now-infamous 'Londos Ass' as a motivational element in our training program. Fucking fake bum. It looks like one of D's water-filled bras.

Cream puffs were a no-go. The recipe was bad (far too eggy) and the cook wasn't much better. Also if one desires to combine chocolate pudding and cream cheese, one should whip sugar - lots of sugar - into the cream cheese before combining, lest the result be simply foul, as my particular result was. Hence the 'bad cook' reference. No matter, he and his pants did not show up anyhow, as per usual, the jerk. And Josh didn't even call me, the jerk. Nobody loves me.

I've been watching Kenshin and it is, as it was the first time I watched it, mindblowing; but eventually I'm going to come to the part where Kenshin leaves the dojo and goes to Kyoto, and what am I going to do with myself then? Lindsay will not be here to comfort me and give me grape juice and reassure me that obviously he'll be reunited with the gang, as the separation happens halfway through the series and said series would not be likely to be named Rurouni Kenshin if its eponymous character goes to Kyoto smack-dab in the middle and gets swallowed by a shark, ne? Logic, indeed. But I'm still scared. I know I'm going to bawl my head off and I'm quite not looking forward to it.

I'm sad about G. We could be really good friends, she's a good lot of fun and we get along really well. Unfortunately she's fifteen years older than I and has three children (17, 14, and 7) as well as a newborn grandson (the son of her 17-year-old) and a boyfriend my age (22); this leaves little time for an actual life. We are in different times of our lives and I feel sad that we can't hang out more. She's great fun to get sloppy drunk with.

J and I sat in the break room watching 'Crossing Over with John Edward'; I get absolutely mesmerised by that show and I don't really know why. Today he was talking to some lady whose husband felt as though if he had been in the room when his father took a turn for the worse he might have been able to save him. The father, deceased obviously, 'came through' (whatever that entails) and JE told the lady, 'I want you to know that your husband's father has come through and he has acknowledged your husband by name.' For some reason that hit me like a ton of bricks. Why shouldn't some of us have those sensitivities? I guess calling a person a 'psychic' lends an air of phoniness to what they do, but JE is presented in a really grounded, matter-of-fact way: it's just a dude in a flannel shirt, no theatrics whatsoever. I want to believe that what he does is real. I want to believe that some humans are able to overcome the mundane and realise the whole circle of life and life-after-death, to be sensitive to other wavelengths and states of being. I could say that I don't want it for myself but that's ridiculous; for as long as I can remember I've been fascinated by ghosts, death, mysteries, occult stories. I've always wished I could see ghosts, have some kind of extra perception. I think a good part of it is that I see myself being more sensitive than and set apart from others anyway, and that kind of perceptive ability would distinguish me even further. It's a yearning of my ego; but it's also a spiritual yearning, my need to go beyond the mundane. Sadly, I have not even the tiniest smidge of that sort of perceptive ability, so little in fact that I find it exceedingly difficult to even be spiritual, much less talk to ghosts and ghoulies. And with that I realise that I am about as far into my tortured spiritual existence as I care to go this fine Friday evening, and will quite put an end to that.

You'll forgive me the rambling, my heels hurt and I ate too much chicken shishkabob at the potluck today...

12 February 2004

'I smell blood'
'You like it? It's better than the smell of apples...'
(Rurouni Kenshin)
Making cream puffs for the pants-getting-into event taking place tomorrow. Will post results. If that fucker does not show up I'm going to have to eat all the cream puffs myself. I never realized the word physics could be spelled 'fizzix'. That brings a whole new insight into my putrid world.

11 February 2004

I've been meaning to post this quote (seen on the bumper of a Camaro) for weeks:

'If you're gonna ride my ass, at least pull my hair'

Indeed! *evil grin* Nothin' like some good...er, hair pullin'!
Two mouse clicks and a short code, and he sat back and watched what she did. She tried to post one way; it was faulty. She tried a different way; it worked, but she was still displeased that the correct way had not worked. Moments passed; he saw the other girl trying to post the same things; hers worked perfectly. He grinned, leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms. Two minutes later her phone call came. As he answered the phone he undid the two mouse clicks and replaced the code. She was perfect before he even heard her voice on the line.
The realty company upstairs called the police because Ms. B locked herself in the upstairs public bathroom, which smells consistently like poo, with all the lights off and was singing to herself. One police car, then two, then a third with a female cop who would ostensibly be able to ‘calm’ Ms. B. They dragged her down the stairs in handcuffs; she stopped outside the double doors, screaming her head off, incoherent, her teeth dangerously loose. We were all scattered at various points throughout the branch, all looking out the doors in horror, wondering Does she expect her bankers to leap through the doors and fight off the police? I swear she looked each of us, in turn, right in the eye. They stuffed her into one of the cars. T went out to talk to her; we needed the keys for the vault but none of us were brave enough to face her, screaming nonsense and clattering dentures, so we made our customer whose ATM card was captured and locked in the vault wait till he came back inside. She left her shopping cart, wheels still spinning, outside on the sidewalk. T just went out and pushed it dutifully back up to the 99¢ Store parking lot. The receptionist for the realty company called T to inform him that we are not to refer ‘our customers’ to the public bathroom upstairs, which smells consistently like poo.

I just learned that our toilets are battery-operated. We also have trolls to scoop up our poo when we’re too lazy to shit inside the battery-operated toilets. Evidently the folks at the realty company don’t employ the same services, which owes to the fact that the upstairs ‘public’ bathroom smells like poo.

10 February 2004

Me: ‘Call the unsympathetic woman from Riverside, she just called you’
T: ‘If I ignore her will she just go away?’
Me: ‘I doubt it, she’s rather persistent that way’
T: ‘She’s like a fart in a whirlwind, eh?’
Me: ‘Be sure to tell her so when you return her call!’

Discovered what is in those blasted interoffice envelopes that he keeps sending her, finally. Today she was out of the office (again) and T opened the envelope. Tapes, I believe our surveillance but I can't be sure. I know they're changed every day and I believe they're digital and I know they and their accompanying device are locked in the night drop room. No note, no love letter, nothing in the least bit cute, just tapes. Learned today that we are having our Valentine's Day potluck on Friday, barf. Well, I'm off to begin preparations immediately for the triple-decker-cream-cheese-chocolate-raspberry-caramel-pie-cake-monstrosity with butterscotch frosting and full-sized Snickers bars as decorations. Not that I'm even remotely attempting to get into anyone's pants, you'll understand.
news slightly better than that below (which apparently is now 'yesterday' though it sure did catch me by surprise):
  1. The CEO and I have been exchanging a series of torrid emails concerning one of his customer's Fictitious Business Name Statement; he (the CEO) refers to himself by his initials. That is COOL.

  2. Maritza and I (reconciled, hopefully) may be going here if the gods are kind and can provide camping space. The Cure!!!! {muffled screams}

09 February 2004

2nd week of training G commenced today. She is learning way too many of my secrets. Friday she passed the wrong tickets for the vault and this morning branch cash was out of balance. C hates when branch cash is out because she has to call Riverside and speak to her equivalent rank in that branch, a woman who is absolutely without sympathy. Such was the case this morning; thus C was in what J.K. Rowling might call a 'towering temper', even though she had had her morning burrito and twelve gallons of soda (diet). She called G to her desk as though she were fit to execute her, and the relations between the two declined from there.

After her spanking G made her way back to my desk, and we, as quite a testament to my bad judgment, commenced a talk on the fouler qualities of C's personality. I didn't mean to bash her or even complain much; but when G told me she's gone home crying because of the way C has treated her, I could not bite my lip further. So we flowed forth with our observations in traitorous whispers
always on the phone
absolutely condescending
excludes me purposefully
makes me feel stupid
the constant ridicule
yes, the ridicule! i feel about two inches tall...
petty, at least i don't have monstrous outages
ya, it's the end of the world for a $.10 overage!
and so you can see the pattern.

So now there is a coccoon between G and I, a nasty pocket of backbiting and good old-fashioned unchristian behaviour. Now everytime C mentions how tired she is from painting her house we roll our eyes sympathetically. Now everytime G passes a bad ticket she can chuckle to me about it. Now we're on the opposite side of the divide from C and we are responsible for the division of the camaraderie, the breaking of the team spirit. When it was just me I could pretend that I rather enjoyed the combination of affection, fury, and humiliation that C inspired in me, but when G told me she's gone home crying it changed everything. I feel relieved that I'm not a crybaby (or at least not the only one), that my ill feelings towards C's behaviour might be viewed as valid. I feel equally dirty that I've helped create this rift among the people of this branch which is so lauded for being able to pull together as a team. I also feel vaguely pissed off that G may be leaving soon and I will have to be new accounts and merchant teller...echhh.

I feel at this point that perhaps I should point out that C is the same woman who offered me her shower and her child's bunk bed after I slept the night in my car when Lupe kicked me out, the same woman who called Lupe that afternoon pretending I'd never shown up for work and got her in a tizzy on my behalf, the same who made me shepherd's pie and potato-cheese soup when she knew I didn't have much money for food. Yet she makes my very skin prickle and my fur stand up on end. I do still quite suspect that all the skin-prickling and fur-standing is a product of my own intense insecurity, but at this point I would elect to continue in deluding myself and thoroughly denying that.

And while I am on this incredibly worthwhile thread about my own insufferable cattiness, I might mention that yesterday S and her boyfriend were over with Chinese food to help C and her husband begin moving back into their newly renovated home. I asked her on Friday who would be there; she said S, the boyfriend, and stopped as though I had chucked her on the spine with an axe handle. Yeah...wonder who else might've been there covered in plaster dust eating lo mein...and probably pie, all the pie he could get his hands on...bleh.
{plants jenny flag in dry california soil}
CSS 0, jenny 1!
ya, and added the scrollbar thing as well...because I'm really cool and hip. read my work posts and find glowing evidence of my utter coolness and hipness. if you really pore through you'll even find some days where I'm not spit on.


08 February 2004

listening to KPFK (90.7 FM) live - grand

am sorely regretting deleting the sidebar indigenous to all blogspot templates...unfortunately the CSS has got me down for the count and I can't possibly be bothered to fool with it now

Sunday night programming on KPFK is brilliant! I drive down to Norco on Sunday nights to call my parents and Josh from the pay phone at the Chevron station and I listen to it then, in the car. Not sure what time it comes on but Reggae Central plays until 6:00, and then the Cosmic Barrio is on between 6:00 and 8:00, just wonderful. This music absolutely stews in your brain, it's what Deep Forest wants to sound like.

in other sad news I have LOST my No-Man 'Loveblows and Lovecries' CD which I acquired so stealthily last year...of course (as with everything else SW does) it's competely deleted from the catalogue and so I will have to pawn my fingernails to acquire another! probably went the same way as my lost kitty Izzy...poor kitty, she discovered the fourth dimension...
Have had a series of repeat dreams lately (thankfully nothing to do with a certain grade-school classmate who has once again left me hanging from the cliff) - two dreams, each repeated twice. One concerning an amusement park which may be Kennywood, but I am entirely unsure. I seem to be ambling about, others seem to be on their lunch break. Both times I took the same route through the park, through all the buildings which seem to be interconnected, coming out at the same door. I seem to have been stationed somewhere and walked away from it, trying to find a place to buy a bucket of root beer. Others seem to be there temporarily and in the dream I feel like a permanent fixture, like perhaps I even live there. I feel good in the dream, like I am home. Those were early last week. The second one is about Josh; I'm talking to him via instant messenger (good to know my dreams are moving into the 21st century!) and he's talking to me about a girl. Her name is LORITA or LOLITA or DORITA or something similar and every time he names her in the dream he types one letter at a time so it ends up on the screen like this


which infuriates me to no end. He has all the time in the world to dwell on her. Taking time out to spell her name lazily is of no consequence. Last night I dreamt this, I tried to contact him and he asked me to hang on, he was talking to her on the telephone. This telephone conversation lasted for hours, all throughout our electronic conversation. During it I was bombarded with images, mostly red-coloured ones, of her on a trapeze, her dressed in a bathrobe, her face, him and his friends, highly intense and colourful things flashing before my face. She was an actress or a dancer of some kind. He who despises the telephone was making a meal of talking to her on it. If I believed my dreams...yup. Madwoman. Even though he's a jerk I miss him...:)

05 February 2004

from joel's blog, 2/3/04:
like I was John Denver walking into that white room looking to meet God and only finding an empty white room with a speaker in it
i read this and I tripped on the word God; for a second I thought 'is that a real word?' similar to how it is when you stare at your own name or the word 'devil' too long, they cease to be real as words...scary what the word 'Jennifer' can do to one's brain, let alone God

snow on the mountains, the sky is mauve.
ate 1.5 pints of sweet-cream-snickers-caramel-oreo ice cream today at my desk while gloriously shunning work and, to paraphrase D, it was better than most of the sex i've ever had...!

off to write letters to people in pennsylvania

03 February 2004

Some grand and fabulous work posts:

Just had a fabulously funny conversation with V from Riverside, C’s paramour. It seems I am capable of charm as well! They seem to like me there. Spoke to him quite briefly this morning, enough to take his call and transfer it to T. T had him on speaker and he was babbling in geek mode. Nearly fainted dead away. God, his voice is so perfect…

He was here. Was monstrous. Was walking round the branch, talking to her on his mobile! She’s not even here today and they still manage to talk! Was talking about when he saw her house last year. He has been to her house. Was talking in-depth about the improvements being made. Stood behind me and made a comment – again – about the stupid SW/AG desktop photo. ‘That’s such a freaky desktop’. ‘You know what…I don’t wanna hear it!’ said I, flustered, blushing. There is less than no hope for me. I want him so bad. He accepted a Ding-Dong from G with no reservations. He’s going to become a diabetic. I’m still gonna want him.

G just told me she wanted to say something while he was here but managed to hold her tongue. Thank goodness. We all need to learn to control ourselves. Now she knows my secret – I trust her, but I’m worried C might find out, in which case I would be absolutely doomed. She would tell him straightaway and I would be forced to leave the state of California.

Lots of truckers and construction workers in Corona.

You know, there were about a million things I could’ve said other than ‘You know what, I don’t want to hear it!’ Of course this was playful, but only slightly so. Could’ve looked up and grinned at him. Could’ve said, ‘Ahh, quit teasing me!’ Could’ve stuck my tongue out playfully. I don’t know why he keeps bringing it up, but I could’ve made a joke of it. Alas, no. The first time he speaks directly to me in nearly a month and I act like a jerk.

Ms. B is homeless. The metal between her real teeth clicks when she talks. She came in on Friday wondering if she could get a $300 advance on her Social Security payment due on the third. T said no, he was sorry, he could not, it wasn’t even memo posted yet. She said ok, she would go beg for 50¢ for bus fare somewhere. Before I even knew what was happening, T was pulling something out of his pocket, giving a $5 bill to her. Today she came in and said that $5 had gotten her a whole bag of groceries, plus allowed her to entertain the children she babysat on Friday night. I want her to be okay. I want to not keep thinking the word ‘homeless’ when I look at her. This Friday is her birthday. She said they wanted to cut her legs off in 1999 but she recovered and so for her birthday she’s going to get a red dress with a slit up the leg to show them off. We’re all very serious around her and she is the picture of mirth, in love with God, wearing purple eyeshadow.

C was excited beyond her bounds today when I came in; she took me to the kitchen, made me close my eyes, and brandished a package of feta cheese with tomato and basil that she had bought especially for me because I had been talking about my love for it yesterday. Sigh…we go through these phases, where we are sympathetic to each other and listen and care for each other, and then are at odds, at opposing points, being catty and picky with each other. I feel unmentionably bad when she does nice things for me. So I told her her hair looks nice, which it does; a week ago or so she had it coloured or frosted and it made her look like she was about sixty. Yesterday she came in with it back to normal, actually looking quite pretty, brown and sleek. Not that a compliment does anything for the bad karma speeding towards me.

Yesterday I went to Food-4-Less. I was trying to figure out whether I should use my debit card or pay in cash, as I had only $8 in cash. My bill came to $8.02. Decided to pay in cash. Did so. Walked out. Walked to my car. Just as I was pulling the door open and stepping my foot inside, a couple walked up to me. ‘Excuse me, miss?’ I looked up, wary. A man and his wife, or perhaps his sister. ‘Excuse me, I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said politely, ‘do you think my wife and I could have your help?’ I absolutely teared up. I never pay in cash at the grocery store. In addition I absolutely detest people who stand at freeway exits with signs, but people who are brave enough to beg from strangers absolutely get whatever’s in my wallet. Unfortunately, I had just emptied my wallet of anything that might be of use. I thought fleetingly of offering them my recently-purchased mushrooms. ‘I’m sorry, I’d love to’, I said, ‘I just spent my last $8!’ They shook a little, said thank-you-god-bless-you. Immediately I began to cry. What is wrong with me? I drove around the shopping center looking for an ATM; none to be found, not even in a store. I drove home, feeling like absolute shit. What bad judgment on my part. The one time I decide to pay in cash at the grocery, I absolutely regret it. I don’t know what it’s like to beg. I don’t think I would be brave enough to do it; there’s a lot of shame to conquer in order to be able to ask other people outright for help. This poverty that exists here is something that rolls in drops from me; it stains me and I try to forget it. I feel guilty about trying to forget it. I feel guilty when I see it and cannot help because of my own lack of foresight. I feel guilty when I give someone $2 because I worry that it is a drop in the bucket, or that I am ignorant as to what I am supporting. Maritza and I have been having a good email discussion about poverty in Baja; she feels enraged and disappointed at Hispanic poverty. I am disconnected from all poverty because I deny my racial affiliations, so everything is equally distressing and mystifying to me. Poverty seems to change people; it seems to dissolve shame. This shamelessness embarrasses others. I feel embarrassed when Ms. B admits to me that she is homeless and sings songs about Jesus Lord at the teller line. I feel embarrassed for her, I feel embarrassed for myself, I feel embarrassed that others are looking at her as she talks to me. These feelings roll in drops over me; they trail my skin with brown rust, I try to forget them, they persist, I feel guilty. We all feel that this is someone else’s problem.

He is in school until noon today. C said so. I believe this is a recent development, spring semester? Ahh…he’s handsome and brilliant. If only he knew who I was! Yesterday he was calling every phone in the branch, performing devious experimentations of some sort. I, working hard on several accounts with a customer right in front of me, was not clued in as to the occurrence of these experimentations, and so picked up a phone that had rung five or six times with some irritation. He laughed – ‘Oh, you had to go pick it up!’ I turned red to my toes. ‘Oh I’m sorry! What should I have done?’ Signature cards, corporate resolutions, and printouts littering my desk and Mrs. R staring at me, I had no clue what was going on. ‘Just let it keep ringing!’ he replied jovially. ‘Okay, call back and I’ll let it ring into oblivion’ I said. He laughed, I think, not sure. My mind was in a lightshow at this point. ‘So who are you looking for?’ I stuttered. ‘I was trying to call B’s voice mail!’ he replied, still with laughter in his voice, by now most likely directed at my absolute idiocy. I apologised again, getting it, and ended the call quickly, ‘Okay, sorry, later, bye!’ absolutely shivering in front of my customer. Shivered for the next hour at the sound of his laugh.

The new accounts at Riverside is leaving; a card circulated for her today. T signed it ‘love’. He didn’t sign any birthday cards of his own staff that way; he didn’t even sign the sympathy card for Riverside’s operations officer that way when her nephew killed himself. I am quite mystified concerning the lovable portion of this particular person, and quite shocked that it is T professing the love in question!

Josh tells me ‘I love you’ every single time we hang up. He’s taken to pointedly telling me this, using all three words instead of the usual mumbled ‘okloveyabye’, and lingering, if you will, waiting for a response for me. This is good…

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