Salon of Shame pt. 1

Oh dear lord. I found my high-school diary from my senior year.  I can’t not share some of the strange, hormone-induced ramblings.

5.30.01

The girl in front of my is afraid of people with Tourette’s Syndrome.

5.31.01

We just had an intruder alert drill. “Cluster behind the file cabinets. It’s harder for the bullets to penetrate them.”

7.19.01

I am sitting in the doctor’s office lobby.  There is a small lab puppy who resides here to keep the nurses company.  I feel that this may consistitute a health violation. He is trying to eat a plant that serves as decor in the waiting room.  Now the puppy is trying to eat my water bottle.  My purse.  Sit, puppy.  Sit.  I have now been informed the puppy’s name is Elvis.

Lie down, Elvis.

Asian man staring at me.

Elvis eating plant.

Asian man is wearing a grey-green suit with navy socks. It bothers me for some reason.  He leaves, and now I am alone.  Just me and Elvis.

7.20.01

Everything seems dingy and all blurred together today. Everything is dusty, and God just ran his fingers over it, just to make sure.

I like to watch the duct-tape Jesus hanging from the rear view mirror.  I made him, and a little crucifix for him to hang on.  He lives in Justin’s car now, shaking lightly in sync with the engine, holding on for dear life when Justin takes a 15 mph turn at sixty.

Jesus doesn’t like it when we take his life in our hands.

3.30.02

I had a dream in which I fell in love with a young, curly-haired genius. The dream spanned several years, from college (when I didn’t like him and stole his credit card to spite him) to an architectural expo where I gave it back in a touchingly funny and timelessly romantic scene.  Though, in hindsight, stealing one’s credit card only to return it years later is hardly romantic.

Later in the dream, we escaped death by climbing up the walls, and I discovered a calculator program that would categorize people by what flavor of lube they enjoyed most.

5.10.02

I met a man the other day with a sidewalk-staring gaze,

His sour-dour face was one which smiles could never phase.

I asked him for the time and he replied, “Why does it matter? Go buy a watch instead of bugging me with idle chatter.”

My brain began to clatter with harsh words and moral strife,

So I blocked his way and demanded his say on why he hated life.

His eyes locked mine with a soulless stare, a never-ending pit.

“I hate life,” he said ice-coldly, “because I’m living it.”

5.27.02

Loneliness is an empty threat to someone who has never had an oportunity to synchronize their heartbeat with the nervous ticking of a wristwatch.

Poor Little Lappy

Just thought I would share the Seattle Weekly blog post about the Monday mayhem that ensued at karaoke last week. They talk about me!

Hiro Protagonist’s Smoking Cessation Program

You may or may not know that I have been trying to quit smoking for about a year now.  I’ll stop, then start, then stop – then sometimes I’ve stopped and started at the same time.  I’ll smoke three cigarettes in a day, and chew four pieces of nicotine gum – is that a victory?  I was smoke-free for a good three months when I had a semi-mental breakdown and the first and ONLY thing I could think of was CIGARETTE CIGARETTE CIGARETTE.  I went to the hospital – but only after I had a smoke.

I like to smoke.  It gives me something to do outside the bar when everyone is drunk and social.  It surrounds me with some sort of force-field protecting me from the slurry, stumbly madness that I am no longer a part of.  It gives me time to think.

I just finished reading Neal Stephenson’s Snow Crash – I think I liked it.  There were parts of the book that were so exposition-heavy that it felt sloppy.  I loved the main characters, however, especially Hiro Protagonist.  Yes, that is his name, and yes, it’s totally awesome. The World’s Greatest Computer Hacker/Japanese Sword Fighter is appealing to me.  I’m sure he knows some sort of Sumerian incantation that will cure me of my addiction.  Or at least he could just cut my hands off.