Milk and Cookies Inspiration

So, I should be doing other things... such as sleeping, maybe, but I'm not really tired, mostly bored. I shall write instead, and then perhaps do some reading, in bed.

But first, I want to expand on my series of crazy dreams that occurred in the post midnight hours between the days of May 8th and 9th, 2008.

First dream, of four. I was in a park, perhaps Lincoln Park, over by the geese pond, gazing into the water, searching for lost thoughts - let's say. And I guess there's some playwriting contest festival-y thing going on that day. The theme behind the contest is writing a play that is concept driven rather than focusing on characters. Maybe something to do with an epiphany? [Mind you I wrote these notes after the last 3 of 4 dreams, and the first dream had many things that slipped away before my pen hit the page, kind of like Jerry writing out the world's best joke but it turned out to be undecipherable scribbles the next morning] Then, there was a beautiful boy there, and he fell in love with me, but too fast. He was making too many plans, so many that I couldn't keep up. Then his father was there, as we were walking across a bridge. His father was only in town for a night, and they were going to dinner. The boy invited me along, but I said no, that was ridiculous, I don't know you. The father told the son not to rush things, and handed me his business card. I don't remember what was on it, it's not important, or is it? Was it blank? I don't know. A bird shat on me, as we were crossing the bridge. I was disturbed, especially when the boy wiped it off without thinking. Really? Okay... There was some really witty dialogue, so witty in fact that I remembered it when I first awoke and was so proud and impressed with myself for having dreamt it, but then, alas I thought I would remember it. I repeated it to myself and I told myself to remember it. Yeah, let's just say that didn't really work.

Dream 2, of 4 - I wasn't participating, but watching the events unfold, helpless to the outcome. There was a family; husband, wife, 2 small daughters. This family was very important. They were trying to cross borders, a very dangerous thing to do. There was a succession of checkpoints. They had been briefed on the fact that there should be 2 guards at every post, each post was an ancient stucco archway, beautifully ornate. With hurried walks and darting eyes, they passed through the first three, no problem. Then, at the fourth, and final checkpoint, there was only one guard. It was useless to turn back after coming that far, the father thought they must press on, for what was their other option? Before they had time to consider alternatives, a man wielding a machine gun shot them all to the ground. As the family lay bloodied and dying, a thief robbed them of all their precious possessions. The littlest daughter cried out, using the last of her strength, "Why father!? Why!!" as the father lay choking on his blood. Off to the side of the archway I saw a cloaked woman with bright blue Tammy Faye-esque eyes.

Dream 3, of 4. This one was a bit weirder, and harder to explain because the scenes changed so rapidly and it was obscenely abstract. I'm standing in what I believe is "my" garage. It's the middle of the night, I'm with Smash McDash, and the police are there. There was an incident of drunk driving, on Smash's part. Apparently she crashed my family's gold mini-van (which we haven't owned for 10 years, classy mid-to-late 90s) and then perfectly parked it in the garage. Then, I guess she went out again and the cops pulled her over for weaving on her bicycle. She was able to get away because Paris Hilton outside, sitting in an empty bathtub, on a roof, with the curtain drawn. What? There was something about Dr. Pepper cans littered everywhere in the car, but really they reeked of booze. The cops caught Smash again, and she blamed everything on Dena. There was more to that dream, the places we had been, but they, too, floated away into the gray space of my subconscious.

Last of the 4. After witnessing the checkpoint massacre, I was walking past a fated flight - I knew this because the same Tammy Faye eyes lady was serving as the head flight attendant, so you know it isn't going to turn out good for anybody. As I'm walking through a parking lot, a flock of seagulls flies out of my shirt. Feathers and quills are everywhere, stuck in my shirt, teeth, and hair. I pull them out frantically, worrying about the diseases they carry... Not worrying about the fact that I have sea-faring birds flying out of me, but what strain of avian flu I might catch. Possibly a valid worry.

So, lesson learned. No more milk and cookies before bedtime. It's no wonder Santa Claus thinks his "reindeer" can fly, he's a crazy dreamer, too.

I love my Momma

An Ode to Mothers

Dearest Mother,

womb-warrior,

ultimate life giver

and sacrificer of self,

I thank you.

For your humor, pride,

courage and outrageous

good looks,

among other things.

Your endless love, support

and nurturing are the only reason

I made it to where I am today,

and so,

I say,

Thank you, with love.

I got some scrapes

On my right hand and knee. I was biking in the cit-tay, and curse North Avenue for not having a bike lane! Approaching Halstead from the East, I decided that I was going to get on the sidewalk, thinking it would be easier to cross, but alas, the curb was higher to hop than I thought. A slow-motion skid and fall followed.

"Are you okay?!" Motorist who most likely caused my fear of turning to the sidewalk
"Are you alright?" Bicyclist who rode slowly in front of me
(it's always someone else's fault, until it's yours)

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. A little embarrassed, but I'm okay."

Yeah, I really felt like a fool, but I'm just thankful I didn't break anything or land on my head. I should probably invest in a helmet. I really should.

But yeah, I rode like a demon the rest of the way home because my hand kept dripping blood and I wiped it all over my pants - thank goodness they're black. Now it's going to be harder to do push ups, and other things that involve my palm. Hopefully this Neosporin will clear things up real quick.

Oooh. I've been blogging for a while. I can't wait to start back up with guitar lessons tomorrow!! Hooray, hoorah!

I think I'll go read some of Dostoevsky's "The Idiot" to put myself to sleep... I'm not really enjoying Part 2, but I've invested this much time in it... and ARHGJ! I still have 300 pages to go. I don't know, I might not finish it, but I probably should, right?

Later fools. Y'know, this blog is mostly for me, because I'm pretty certain no one else is reading it, and if you are. Hmm. How 'bout that. Hope you're feeling entertained, or, er, something... yeah.

Turn it around, bright eyes.

You know how the proverbial ‘they’ say that you write what you know. Well, one day I was out running, my way to take myself out of the chaos of my world, listening to Modest Mouse’s “One Chance” and I started thinking about chances in life. Life is a succession of big chances, and whether you take them on or miss them completely… then came the dialogue of a person A, “I was never given a chance (in life)” and person B retorts, “When have you ever taken a chance?”
(CNF course 2006)


Alright. May resolution: buck up, buckaroo! I need a job, yo.

I was putting some writing samples together for a job interview yesterday (oh, how fun! except I got there and they had already filled the position that I really wanted, and the other position that was open seemed way too tech savvy for me, or so they seemed to think, as with the ending they reminded me they had a few more interviews to conduct. Oh, thanks a lot guys, for wasting my time, and yours. Apparently I'm not very good at tricking people. Shucks.) and it made me slightly depressed to realize my naivety in the whole scheme of real world job market. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be, though I'm not really sure what I thought was going to happen. The world hasn't been handed to me on a silver platter as of yet, and right now it sucks, but maybe it's going to help me in the long run. Although, that's a little tough to think about right now, with the school loan officers getting closer to my door... one month. I want a desk job, or something where I don't have to serve people and laugh at their stupid jokes in order to make $18 an hour. AHHHHHH!!!!!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I’ve had friends tell me that nothing’s going to happen unless I allow it to, and that reminds me of that saying, “Everything happens for a reason.” Does it really? Does it really? Or do we just learn to adapt to the change and therefore require it to be reason and based on fate? I go back and forth on the issue of fate and faith and all that heavenly jazz. I’m getting far too far away from the initial topic, which is people giving me a job. Oprah, specifically. My God, - excuse me, my Oprah, how wonderful it would be to work for her. Or, would it be some hell-fire lower level of the Harpo Studios where Steadman drove everyone with a whip until they sweated [blood] to death? Regardless, I think it’d be fantastic! She might be a little demanding, but she’s Oprah. Although I do question her on a couple things, such as her support of Tyra Banks, and her crazy madwoman rant to Mr. James Frey about his fictionalized memoir. Dude. He was on drugs. Maybe he thought that was what happened. Leave the man alone.
(3/24/08)


Quick note: I do not approve of pandora.com's playing of Dave Matthews Band on my Grateful Dead station. BOOOO!


Other past writings....

From playing “Sleeping Beauty” with my brother when I was three to performing as the Captain in “Anything Goes!” and lip-syncing an interpretive dance of Seal's "Kiss from a rose on the Grave" in the back of the bus at summer camp when I was ten, I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic. My life in theatre goes back from before I can remember. When I was a kid, I was positive that I was going to be the next leading lady in Hollywood – I would be the new starlet of the silver screen, the next big thing. Turns out, I came to the harsh realization – not until my sophomore year of college – that the “overnight success” phenomena doesn’t really exist. I’m not going to be walking down the street and have some producer shout at me, “You! You there! In the galoshes! You! You need to work with me, be in my next film!” Isn’t that how it happened for John Travolta, maybe sans the galoshes, so why not me? Apparently, everyone else in the theatre department had been working toward their dream since before they could remember, while I’d only been imagining it

It was a rocky journey to get where I am today. I have horrible stage fright – horrible. I cry in auditions. I can’t do it. I don’t like when people don’t trust or believe in me, I get scared that I won’t be able to prove myself good enough. It’s silly, but something I still can’t seem to get over. When I was ten, the same summer I acted in “Anything Goes!” (The head nun sang “Blow Gabriel, Blow! Why don’t you blow Gabriel Blow I’ve been a sinner I’ve been a saint, but now blah…” and little Jake stood up confessing his sins, getting into the act.), my father took me and my brother to “Grease!” on Broadway, starring Sally Struthers. Before the show, the DJ invited all the kids onstage to dance and have a sock hop. I really wanted to go, but I was nervous to do it by myself. I tried to get my brother to go with me, but he thought it was stupid – he was three years older than me and into sports. So, sadly I sat in my seat watching all the other kids have a great time, wishing I could get up there. My Dad told me that if I didn’t go up there then he didn’t want to hear me talking about being an actress ever again. I suppose it was his way of trying to encourage me, but I didn’t see it like that and I decided that I would never again talk about theatre or being an actress.

......That Spring Break (sophomore year - college) I went back East to visit my Dad with my friend, Alli, and we went to Edward Albee’s “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” starring Kathleen Turner and Bill Irwin. It clicked. Everything fell in place. I always got that feeling seeing plays before, the magic of the theatre, if you will. But this time was different. An epiphany. The light shined on me and the angels blared their trumpets. I wanted to write plays, I wanted to create worlds. And it continued from there, playwriting instantly became my passion. I love theatre and I love writing – put them together and I can die happy.

I’ve never experienced anything as great as the theatre world. You have the dramatic; the activists, the eccentrics, the artistic; wonderful, crazy, thoughtful people - on all levels and in all areas of theatre. No other profession is so creative, in my opinion. The goal of it all is to entertain, to teach, to provide an escape from the ordinary. It’s extraordinary. Theatre and entertainment is something that mankind can’t live without, it stands the test of time, it provides an outlet to try and comprehend the complexity that is life.

I chose Theatre as my major, with an emphasis in playwriting, and Sociology as my minor, because I want to understand people; who they are, where they came from, where they’re going, why they do the things they do. I want to connect in ways that most people think isn’t possible, to cross borders and find that underneath everything and behind everything, we’re really not that different from one another. I want to tell stories that would otherwise not be told. I want to change the world. I want to open eyes. I want to write plays. I want. I just hope I can do it. (Capstone 12/2007)



IN terms of life, love and war, we always learn too late. And you can never undo something that’s done, so you have to try to cope the best you can. It’s never so easy, and you always think coulda, shoulda, woulda, but really, what good’s that goin’ do? Still you keep doing it all the same, time and time again. Ooh! Wonderful feelings this human being’s dealing with.
(3.18.08)


I kind of like sleeping on the floor (preferably on a mattress, or a cushy sleeping bag - my back is getting worse with age) it's like camping, but inside, so you don't have to worry about the bears.
(2-29-08)


I've been told that
"What if"s won't change the world.
They don't.
But,
What if they could?
What if they do?
I'm sure it's true.
You only have to believe,
and perform the execution.
....................
He sang, "Why don't you love me anymore?" Over and over as he trodded through the empty wooden hall. Smashing his fists through the glass, he cried. As his knees hit the porcelain he wished it all would end, but a knock echoed through the dark silence and its unrelenting cry was impossible to ignore. He rose, tired and sore. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he opened the door. There was no one, but a note that said, "Have faith and go forward in the direction of your dreams. Happiness is best when shared."
(4-7-08)


There’s something about humankind, and the striving, driving force to be a magnificent minuscule shining among the masses.
(CNF course 2006)

=====--------------------------------------------------------------=====

PS - one more thing before closing. I have this list written down in one of my journals, "Bob Parsons' 16 Rules for Survival" (maybe it was from a brother sent email, which is most likely), and let's hope #3 is true:

"When you're ready to quit, you're closer than you think. There's an old Chinese saying that I just love, and I believe it is so true. It goes like this: 'The temptation to quit will be the greatest just before you are about to succeed.'"

WAIT! One more thing!

I totally forgot this, until 48 seconds ago!! I had another apocalyptic dream last night, and I was convinced that I was going to wake up to a smoldering Earth. A lot of it's hazy, but I remember a "Dante's Peak"-esque scene where the road was turning into a fiery inferno and there was a bus full of screaming children that I ran past. I was trying to get to my family, and I had some friends that were going to the top of a ski resort to get drunk - the altitude makes it fast and cheap - and they were razzing me about wasting my last moments being scared in the loving arms of my loved ones. Oooh. I didn't like that. Then, upon waking up, for the first moments, such as when I was on the phone with the job hunter, I was thinking that I only had 4 years to live life to its fullest potential. Yeah. Whoa. 4 years, why 4?! Well, duh. Everyone knows that 2012 is the year of death for all, December 21... very scary. I don't actually believe it, when I'm not dreaming... why must people always predict doom. Y'know Nostradamus was drunk when he wrote his prophecies and was probably thinking, what can really scare people in the future? Oh, I know, I'll give them a specific year in which the world will end. That'll be crazy for them, and I'll be really vague so my "prophecies" can be put into any context, and people will believe every word I write!!! AHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!


Okay, real quick, and then I really need to go. I totally feel like Marsha Brady right now, doing this whole match.dom thing, and talking to lotsa guys all at the same time. Apparently, I'm a great phone conversationalist, not awkward at all. So that's good to know. Okay. I need to put on clothes and leave my home - I've been blogging without pants this whole time. Too much information for you? I'm so sorry. Deal with it, baby!

You Don't Know What It's Like

I had my first "first date" with a match "dot" commer last night. Oh boy. He was late, by 15 minutes. I thought I was being stood up, it was an awful feeling, and I drank 2 beers in the time I waited... first beer averaged 4.32 minutes, and the second lasted up to 11 minutes. I finished and I was just about ready to get up and go, and he walked in the door, wiping the sweat from his brow. We shook hands (I didn't know what to do! ha) and he explained that he parked 7 blocks away, thinking the place we were meeting was somewhere else... hmmm. Likely story, sir. Anyway, it was interesting. He was handsome and I was slightly distracted/staring most of the evening. Oops! He's 26, smart, seemingly has everything together. We had some pretty good conversations throughout the evening. Talking about livin' life, family, the "good" hipsters vs. the "bad" hipsters, books, music, crazy things that happen in cities... like cougars in Roscoe Village

--sidenote: on Sunday, in Lincoln Park's park, two guys that were playing frisbee with one of my friends came over to talk to us (they couldn't resist the ladies) and we discussed the cougar with them, as well. At first we were wondering, why would anyone own a cougar. And, if they did, and they realized it was gone, they probably thought, Oh shit! But then, the one guy in the black shirt was saying that the cougar traveled all the way from North Dakota, and we joked that he was on a revenge trip. Picked up a scent of someone who camped on the cougar's turf and traveled onward to Roscoe Village, Chicago, where he was maliciously gunned down. 18 bullets!! Wicki-wicki-what?! Black shirt made a joke that Rookie Mike needed some shooting practice - good times. --

and other things of social importance. Anyway, we had a few beers, laughed, and spun on the swivel chairs. Then, he started getting yawny around 11, and I made fun of him for having a "real job." We left the bar, he was walking that way to his car, and I said, "Hey. My bike's right here." There were a buncha people outside, and it was a real awkward good-bye, I didn't know whether to shake his hand or hug him... we did the polite thing and said we enjoyed each other's company. Which I did. I wasn't lying, he's a beautiful and interesting guy, but a little too serious for me - he was really well spoken, too. Which isn't a bad thing at all, but then I would talk about some book I'm reading, say "The Idiot" by Dostoevsky and I would fumble over all my words, sprinklin' "like"s and "um"s all over the place. If my step mother were there (that would be weird, number 1) she would've had a conniption and I would've rolled my eyes at her. Rolling eyes, weird. I just did it, and it kind of hurt, my left eye closed a little with the roll, too. I don't think I'll be doing that again - rolling eyes, not dates... I've got more of those lined up, which is really stressful to tell you the truth.

Whoa, I just had a lightbulb! What if I end up getting into a relationship with one of these guys that I'm talking smack on, and one day we happen to talk about the fact that I have a blog and he checks it out and gets offended. Let me just say, "Hey, baby. I didn't know then that I would love you soooooo much now. I'm glad we're where we are now. Let the past stay where it is... in the past." Smile.

I had a pretty wonderful day today. I slept in, well, I tried, but then I woke up to my phone. Groggily I answered, feigning alertness, and it was someone from some place asking if I was interesting in a sales position job... making 500-700 calls a week. "Um, no thanks." Then, I played some guitar, gchatted for a bit, hopped on my bike, rode to the lake, ran for a bit, hopped back on my back and rode home. Then, I putzed around my apartment for a bit. ANNNNND THEN!! I got a call from this temping agency that I applied with yesterday(!) for an interview on Tuesday - the position would involve writing blurbs for businesses on some search site, or something - sounds like fun, and it's a temp. foot in the door in the "real world" of jobs. Also, I have a phone interview for an admin assistant in Lincolnwood, but I forgot what the company is... important thing to know, and I'll find out tomorrow. So, fun things all around.

Now, I must go and get ready for a concert. I need to drink some coffee or something, I'm feeling a tad sleepy. WAKE UP! Alright, kids.

Peace.

In-a-pro-priate!!!!

Which is almost like "in a pro pirate"... doesn't that sound sexy? I don't know what it could mean, but it's damn sure sexy. Speaking of sexy, this post will totally be un-sexy. Just a forewarning to you horny readers out there... you may never feel sexual again. Ever. Never ever, like Peter Pan, you'll be stuck in a land of make and dis-belief.

The following is copied/pasted and slightly edited to protect the few, sad souls who had to experience my roommate's bi-polarity (perhaps) with me.

The email subject line was, "An electric green dildo, with HUGE balls." Or maybe it was "big", whatever, they were large and frightening...

That's right, ladies. I said it, and God help me do I need to vent!!I'm about a centimeter and a mile past the point of shaving off my eyebrows!! Can you bear with me for a little disturbing verbal account of what raped my eyes earlier this afternoon? If not, skip the following paragraph until you see me begin rambling about match.com, mmkay?! Wow. Okay, I don't know where to begin, as some of you have already heard my bitching and moaning about my living situation - and, for the record, it is completely justified. Let's see. Craigslist totally set me (and my other roommate- b/c she's normal) up with the craziest, most unstable person, ever! EVER, EVER, EVER!!!! I am soooooo angry!!! (And I don't know what music to listen to right now to egg on my mood-- Pandora's Daniel Johnston station just might do the trick....)

Okay, so number one, he's filthy. Like beyond all reason, beyond anything I've ever encountered before. He's disrespectful in the aspect that he never cleans up after himself, and if he's cooking, he doesn't wipe the goop off his hands before he smears them all over the cabinets. So, in the morning, when I reach for the silverware drawer to retrieve a spoon (for oatmeal, not cereal, b/c cereal costs over $4 in this city. Note to future visitors, bring me some cereal if you plan on staying with me) I close a fist on god only knows what, but it's slimy, or sometimes crusty and flakes into my palm... umm, I thank whatever deity you choose, that I don't have to share a bathroom with him. He's still hocking his loogies, but it's not as frequent now that the weather's turning warm. URRRRRRRRGH!! He never gets the mail/takes out the trash/locks the door when he comes home (so we'll only be raped/robbed/murdered by our building neighbors, b/c there's an outside door, too, and that automatically locks... if it's closed). He took the living area TV into his room one drunken night, right before my DVR setting for Chris Walken's appearance on SNL - so I REALLY did not, NOT appreciate that! And you all heard about the night, a couple Wednesdays ago, when I came home from work and he stumbled out of his room, musing too see if I would accompany him in a drink. Old Style, ew. No thanks. But the point is, he was drinking (drunkenly) all by himself, and he had all these awful notes about himself tacked to theoutside(!) of his door (hello, cry for help!) "Life is one big circle jerk" ok... "His name, you suck. You're a waste of a soul" "You don't deserve to live" schizo. "Failure" "Obsolete" on and on and on...okay, I know he's going through some rough times, but there are other ways to deal with things, brother! Oh wait, so he was "celebrating" the fact that he hadn't touched a woman in 15 months, saying he was disgusting, who would touch him (I agree, but I didn't tell him that) and that if he had some courage he would swallow a bullet. Stop! Right now! I yelled at him, saying I never wanted to hear him say that again, b/c really? Are you serious? What's that going to solve? Then, he said he wishes he could be gay... I'm pretty sure gay men have higher standards than women, so that's probably not going to work out so well for him. This story recounting has become more bitter since the actual incident because I despise this man - that's right folks,this shit head is 24, almost 25, and I'm surprisingly more mature than him. He slept (before his mother, bat shit crazy, too, came into town and bought him a big nice bed that's going to be a bitch to move out) on a un-sheeted mattress on the floor, stained most likely with his piss and vomit... there are smears/punches in his walls, a broken window. Hey! You might say to yourself right now, Hey, Kate! Tell your landlord, take some pictures as proof! Yeah, I've done those things, the landlord is afraid he could be sued... I'm kind of afraid I might be murdered. So thanks, sir. Thank you. Where was I in my rant? Oh yeah, and there is pizza, and milk, and dirty dishes, and broken bottles, all over the floor. Our house smells because of his room, and it's a really nice house!! And he makes it suck! Most recently, he drinks lady roomie's beers, my milk - without refilling either, he kept uncapped milk in the fridge which I reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally wanted to throw on him, and then punch him repeatedly. I'm not an angry person guys, I was, but I'm trying to get past that point in my life, that point called adolescence and being a grounded teenager who couldn't goto the "drinking parties" in high school, as my mother so eloquently called them.

New paragraph, cause that one is big.... deep breath. Oh, and shoes in the freezer! FREEZER! SHOES! Yeah, you read that right. It's okay to laugh. I did, too. Granted it was a maniacal laugh as if I were going insane, and I feel like I am. I don't feel like I should have to move,#1 b/c I'm not the crazy one in this situation, #2 b/c moving's a bitch, and #3, I have a really sweet set-up and an orgasmic view of the city!! Orgasmic. I go outside and stand on my balcony when I'm lonely. He needs to live alone, or go back home. He has to be bi-polar, or something... he's on all sorts of meds, and he just needs help!! Then, today. Icing, man. Icing. I shouldn't have gone in his room, but there was a blanket in the living room that's been there for too long, and it was on my chair, and I thought it was his b/c his mom used it the other week. So, I went in his room to put it back. Then, I saw my grinder (which I let him borrow a month ago, when I stopped smoking, that's rightf olks... well, Saturday night was a party people exception, but other than that it's been... 3, 4 weeks? I'm losing count that's how long!!) on his bookshelf, and I went to get it, but I was stopped in my tracks, frozen with fear, when I noticed (besides all the food, drinks, dirty plates, and crumbs in his bed that he sleeps with -- and he rarely showers!! Maybe once a week, twice if he has to work, and then he doesn't always towel dry, but wears his clothes while dripping wet -I've seen it, and it was scary) a BIG BALLED, ELECTRIC GREEN, RUBBER DILDO AMONGST THE FILTH!!! Okay, y'know. I don't think I was bothered so much by the fact that he had a dildo (I don't want to know about it!). I've never known a straight man that has, well, maybe I know those men, but I've never seen them... b/c usually people keep them, oh say, in a drawer, under their pillow, or something, but it was there, staring at me. In the grime of his life, EW! EW!! EEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWW!!!! I wanted to puke and die, and even if it's a joke from a friend (if he has them) that vision is burned, BURNED sooooo deeply into my brain, that I, no matter how many sleeping pills I take, and wine I drink, it will not be removed. I'm at a loss. Lady and I decided that we're having a roomie meeting Sunday afternoon (he doesn't have to work) to tell him to "shape up, or ship out" but now, I'm convinced that he won't shape up, and he has to ship out. Also, another thing the landlord said, (as I explainedthe severity of the situation, he said Ray paid rent and he can't kick him out...) is that we tell Ray he can either move out on his own, or we're going to have the whole apartment sublet... so basically he has to leave on his own, or will be forced... but the bogus thing, is we will too... I'm bummed. I hope he man's up and leaves, but I don't think he has a heart or a conscience, so that won't work. Damn. WOW! Lot's of ranting, eh? Hey, it's good writing material. I could probably say a lot more, maybe I'll write a play, or a book about how to deal in these horrific times... hmm.

SIDE NOTE! DAMNIT! Lady just got a really great job offer in San Fran, and has an interview at the end of this month... I'm so gonna, maybe have to move. FUCK A DUCK!!

If only I could have this kind of success that I'm experiencing at match.com in my professional searchings. I will work for Oprah, even if her website doesn't want me to, "Server Error" uh huh, whatever. So, either tomorrow or Friday, I'm going to march over to Harpo Productions and hand my resume to her, myself. And it will be magic, or it might take magic for that to happen, in which case I will have to send for Megadeath man.

So, all in all. Chicago is wonderful. I've got a lot highs and lows happening, so it's like a really crazy acid trip, pretty much... every second of my life. And, I could be giving myself stomach bleeding b/c I take Advil PM almost every night, probably should switch to Simply Sleep, or get "Dr." Jose to write me a prescription for Lunesta, or Ambien. Alright, lovers. Keep on doing like you do, and drop me a line all about you! Or call, cause that's fun, too!

Peaches and ice cream topped with love (but not for lunch, a couplehours before a run - bad combo for the digestive tract)....

NEWS FLASH... got really drunk last night, called my mom, told her about living situation, and she got upset, told me to call our lawyer friend in the city... cause, it's just a bad situation. Oh, and Filthy just came home... knocked on my door, coming by all friendly, "Hey. How you doin'?" and I'm being all sour and short to him in return... he makes me feel crazy when he's feelin' good about his life, and I asked him about the shoes in the FREEZER and he said it kills the bacteria, and I said, "Oh" and he says, "Do you not want me to do that?" And I said, "No! No, I don't want you to do that." And he says, "Done. All you have to do is ask. Anything else?" And it took every inch of me not to shake him and yell, "Just stop being gross, and stop living here! And stop eating my food and drinking drinks that aren't yours!! And act like a man, not a little baby with mental issues." Instead I said, "No. Not right now. I'm busy, writing an email." But I lied, b/c I'm doing this. Telling the world about his home life.... well, I guess that's all for now. Oh yeah, and I'm putting Oprah off until Monday, really get my stuff together, dress up my "hire me" documents to impress the hell outta her. Alright, I'm going to maybe go do something productive. AHHHHHH! HE JUST HOCKED ANOTHER LOOGIEEEE!!! I'm going to lose my mind. Oh wait, yeah, and even if we decide to move out, it's going to cost a month's rent for them to sublet for us, I believe their reasoning was that they're tired of doing paperwork. Really guys, really? Because I thought that was your job. Oh, and... no. I'm going to stop now, because I might lose it if I continue on this stream of thought.