Saturday, May 25, 2002

Well, it's a little after 7:00 in the goddamnd evening and I've just woken up. My head is no longer pounding, but it does feel oddly swollen. Ate some lovely cheese-flavored crackers, and a quick scan of the kitchen suggests I'll be breakfasting on ramen noodles (spicy chicken flavor). Want to hear about my friday?

Got bitched out my boss yesterday for screwing up a spreadsheet. Wouldn't be so bad except she did it in front of the whole office. She was so mad she was shaking. Shakey, no-ass, 50-year old virgin! She's all like telling me fifteen times which two columns I left off of the spreadsheet and how someone (not me apparently, because I can no longer be trusted) is going to have to go through all those files again to finish my work. Then she was like I was going to have to take a course in Excell if I wanted to keep my job. It was all I could do not to tell her how much I didn't want to keep my job.

The one good thing was that after everybody left, Nobles, the guy who cleans up our offices, saw I was upset and offered to take me out for drinks. We've talked about the Celtics and movies and Buffy a hundred times, but I never really thought about what he did after work. Turned out he was really cool.

We went to this bar that I would have never gone to in a million years. I guess it had a new orleans theme to it or something. It was all bright and there was peppy blues playing on the jukebox. People were drinking beer and eating fried food. I wished Jeremy could see it. He would have fainted. Fainted then ran home and got his camera so he could document the place.

I had this sandwich that had every kind of lunchmeat in the world in it. I couldn't eat most of it, but there was this olive tapenade stuff in it that was like an orgy in my mouth.

We drank pabst blue ribbon and did shots of southern comfort and talked about my job and talked about his cousin who is a boxer and he flirted with me and I said he was too old for me but I flirted back anyway cause he was really, really nice. And I got really plastered. I think we played pool, though I don't remember ever having a cue stick in my hand.

Got home around three or four, and the rest, as they say, is history. Phone's ringing. If it's Jeremy, I might be going out again. Bye.

Thursday, May 23, 2002

So, I missed David Blaine last night, but I tell you, I really wish I could jump off a tall building sometimes.
R., hereafter referred to as "dumb bastard," was at ManRay with his new tool. He was wearing his dust mask, which is too bad, because she could have used it to cover her face.
Jeremy gave Dumb Bastard the evil eye last night, but he didn't even notice it, because, of course, he's a dumb bastard.
Maybe I should give that place a rest. I just hate being driven out of my one-time favorite place by him and his sstupid ssorority ssisters.

The Dumb Bastard.

There. I feel much better now. You'd think with all the colleges letting out, traffic would get better, but the roads are still packed. Nearly got nailed crossing the street to get to work this morning.
I blame, of course, the Dumb Bastard. He is every bad driver in this city. He is their King.
King Bad Driver Dumb Bastard.

Oh, that feels much better.
I should do this every morning.

Wednesday, May 22, 2002

Got email from true friend Dana today. Claims she's visiting Boston at the end of June. Claims she's staying at my place. Claims I made some drunken promise back in college that she if she ever came up to Boston she would not only have a place to stay, but that I would throw a party in her honor.

College now seems like quite a long time ago.
Farmer's thought for the day: if goth was the new mod, then what is the new goth?

Because I fear the old one is getting tired.

Tuesday, May 21, 2002

There. I said it.



Mom, if you're reading this, this never happened to me.



No, really. I swear.
This is a poem by Elissa Wald.
I'm beginning to really like her.

Meeting the Master
by Elissa Wald

"Beware the fury of a patient man." John Walden

I dreamed you had the patience of a prayer:
You let me memorize your open hand
Before you closed a fist around my hair.

I read a warning written down somewhere:
"Beware the fury of a patient man."
I dreamed you had the patience of a prayer.

I'll swear to the truth if you'll take a dare,
Plead guilty if you'll force me to the stand,
And close a knowing fist around my hair.

Yours is the rhythm of a rocking chair:
Steady as an hourglass spilling sand.
I dreamed your patience would make saints despair

I've yearned to cringe beneath your level stare,
My wish has been to be at your command -
To kiss the iron fist around my hair.

I've waited for years, searching everywhere,
But only you have made me understand:
Patience in a slave is itself a prayer,
And answered by your fist around my hair.


Let's see if this works.

To new beginnings?