2004-04-20 | 10:20 a.m.
like a whirlpool it never ends

I hate jobs that don't even bother to tell me they've hired someone instead of me. I really hate them when they've evidently hired someone who turned a blurb on "Freaks and Geeks" into a "Manimal" fest. Man, only Ahmet can get away with that kind of unnecessary "Manimal" love. Also, only I make poor punctuation usage sexy. Not just any bitch can pull that off. They'll be sorry someday, that company.

Shortly after I came upon that, Joe Rogan was on Jay Leno (The Darkness were on, so that explains my watching anything having to do with Joe Rogan), describing some maggoty "Fear Factor" horror, and I got dizzy and lightheaded. I can't say if it was the residual job rage, or the shocking grossness or some combination of that and having not had any water all day, but the malady lingers on.

The Darkness were pretty great, though, eh? Ah, Dan. Soon we will be as one.

OK, speaking of that (except totally not), some someone is repeatedly getting here by looking up various permutatons of Deadly Snakes and Andrew Gunn and haircut and Janest. Now we all know I waxed poetic on his haircut, as showcased on the cover of either their second or third album. I believe I also called him a boy-god. He is. He is a fabulously entertaining man of rock, who happens to be irritatingly young. I don't hate him for it; I congratulate him on it. Anyway, I don't really know why any of it is anyone's business to obsess over. Unless of course, it is Andrew Gunn doing the looking. I mean, if someone was writing stories about my haircuts, I'd be reading all about it, too.

Today, when I learned that my internal monologue's first reaction to someone standing in my way was, "Does Jane O'___ have to choke a bitch?" I realized I need to chill on the repeated Chappelle's Show viewings. It's just that I have 12 episodes on DVD and 12 more on DVR and they bring me such joy.

So I've got joy, but still no job. Dame.

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2004-04-19 | 1:15 a.m.
players only love you when they're playing

I had to delete my OKCupid test and account and all that, because I was getting mail from seemingly nice mens. It isn't that I don't like seemingly nice mens; I do. But I don't have anything to say to them online. Like, at all. Nothing. Ever.

Is that weird? Sure it is. Am I a total bizarro? Indeed. But I am not a bitchass, which is what I was being like, I suppose, by getting all these messages and not writing back to them. So I deleted. Why did I start at all? Perhaps thinking that I would run into someone I already knew and would prove 89% compatible with.

Honestly, I am never going to meet someone online. Does this cut my manpool by 99%. Yes. It is a fact I live with.

Another fact I live with is, when I take a nap and really fully fall asleep, I have some weird ass dreams. Three in the hour I conked out today. In the first, I was at a Barry Manilow concert with my (departed) Nana. Weirdly, behind Barry, there was this screen, which was showing audience members getting up to go to the bathroom as well as a news ticker from NY1. This was really annoying. Mostly because I had evidently gotten a friend a job editing the newsticker at NY1 and they totally f-ed it up. I can't even begin to sort out what that one means.

In another dream, I was working for P. Diddy, but we only spoke via IM. He was quite friendly on the IM, let me tell you. I was, as ever, a competent and utterly professional employee. It was a good working relationship. Did, if you're reading this, hook me up. I won't even do Chappelle's "Is this anytime?!" joke. Much.

The third dream had me -- and a man whose identity I will not disclose -- happening upon houses in a weird Hansel and Gretel/Rocky Horror kind of way, and we ended up moving into this old giant schoolhouse (which was, of course, a dilapidated version of my own elementary school.) There were no apartments free at the time, but they let us have this very interesting empty studio, which was, when you pulled the curtains, a stage. The stage in my elementary school auditorium, but set up with weird architechture and a giant tall bed (even more giant tall then my current bed, which was placed on 6" risers and is being called a skyscraper by my lovely roommates). It was all very strange and unsettling.

Sort of like my dream in Boston, where Donald Trump was trying to get me a job. "You'd be a great receptionist." "Ugh! I don't want to be a receptionist." "Listen to me, OK? I know what I am talking about." Speaking of Donald Trump, I got way in love with Apprentice Nick on Thursday. Between his inscrutable babbling about Bill being Joe Namath or something sporty and fabulous sounding and his horrible back and forth with DT about "good friends," I was won over. Now are you really going to meet a jerk like that on the internet? I can't account for my own taste, kids.

AND speaking of taste, I so so so wanted to bite Brian's butt on Queer as Folk tonight. He had on some droopy-ass jeans, too. There is no logic, only love.

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