i started the book on the bus this morning. i actually started at the beginning, too, which is something i rarely do in public. i will begin in the middle so it appears i've been reading for a while, finish the book, then go back and read the first half. my vanities are erratic like this.

but i started where i should have this time.
by the time i got off the bus, the air was luxurious like you are skipping school to meet a new lover to go hide in the Tree and kiss.

i walked to work with my hands in my pockets glowing like i had a secret like i had won a million dollars.
i made eye contact with every stranger i passed and smiled like a madman.

i guess it had to come around to me eventually sometime


the power of donuts

Kelly stayed over last night. We arose in the morning and had pursued breakfast. I had done my German homework already the night before, but wanted to go over to Carnegie Hall to the Cartography Lab do some GIS work. Kelly, meanwhile, wanted to play Scrabble. Well, really, i wanted to play Scrabble too.

Soon, my housemate Marnie came in. "Wie geht's?", i asked her. She responded, "Eynhhhh... My class just got cancelled. Because of an anthrax scare. Carnegie's closed until further notice." It turns out mysterious white powder was found in the stairwell between floors two and three. A security guard came up to the door of the classroom and ordered the class to evacuate the west exit immediately.

My plans for homework had been ever so sadly dashed. However, our alternate plan for Scrabble was also dashed, as i'm the photo editor for the Mac Weekly, our student newspaper. I grabbed my camera and we headed over to Carnegie to capture the unfolding madness.

I ran into Loren on the way, and commented that i really needed to get that cd back to her. I then asked where she was going. "Carnegie." "Good luck," we said. We got to the building. It was close to class-changing time, so there was a crowd of students out front who had just discovered the building to be closed, wondering where to go, what to do next. I got photos of them. I got photos of custodians guarding the doors. I got photos of "BUILDING CLOSED" signs on the doors. I got the HazMat team when they came. In short, i got a bunch of photos that would be interesting for our paper, but nothing of note for the Star Tribune photographer i talked with and offered photos. (Ah well, fun though it would have been to have my photos in the Minneapolis newspaper...)

The HazMat team came, took samples, and went away. Amid all the excitement, i talked briefly to Rabbi Bernie Raskas, a religious studies prof, on the way to the Campus Center to check my mail. He had moved his class from Carnegie to the Campus Center. He talked about having lived in Jerusalem, and the need never to give in to terror. About half of the classes held in Carnegie had been moved elsewhere, most of them to the meeting rooms in the Campus Center. Mine, however, had been cancelled, probably because without the projector for the planned PowerPoint show of our recent work and without the Cart Lab, there wasn't much to do.

I called home to tell them about the story, mostly in case there was a false positive test for anthrax (no one really believed it was anything harmful at our little liberal arts college in fucking Minnesota) and it got out into the national newsmedia, to reassure my family that i had not been in the building. My grandmother asked if i was worried. I wasn't. I was annoyed. This shouldn't be happening at my school. This has all got to stop. The madness that this country has been plunged into is absurd, a madness i rarely perceive trapped in my ivory tower college bubble. I suppose it had to happen sometime; it's happened at St. Catherine's University, just minutes from here, it's happened in City Hall back home; it's not hard for white powder to show up. But why do i have to live in a world where salt, sugar, or non-dairy creamer is mistaken for a deadly weapon?

A few hours later, the building reopened. I was told it was powdered sugar. Someone probably dropped their donut...

...a donut that brought out the St. Paul fire department HazMat team.

"I never meant to cause you trouble.." Cold Play

I deserve every second of misery I experiece.
For every offer of friendship, love and trust
that I have refused, violated, or broken,
I deserve this hell. End of story.

What a strange trip it's been...ciao.

at the risk of sounding insensitive, or hypocritical, or anything along those lines, i've noticed an increasing number of people suggesting lately (in day logs, life in general, i am not singling anyone out), that suicide is becoming their only option. well, suicide is not an option. there are a lot of depressed people wandering around the planet, a lot. i am one of them.

it can't get better if you aren't here. you can't make something of your life if you are not living it. it might be extremely hard, it might be mind numblingly exhausting just to wake up in the morning.. but you need to wake up, and you need to live. it sometimes won't feel like you are living at all. it doesn't matter. do it anyway.

if you know that you are clinically depressed (if you think you are), that you can't handle this on your own, get help. if help is talking, then talk. if help is medication, at least try it. you would be amazed how many people are willing to just talk to you about everything that is hurting or listen to you ramble about everything and nothing because you don't know why it hurts or why it doesn't feel at all.

what i am trying to say is this.. this world is really fucked up, especially with these new fucked up developments. people care about you. even if you don't know them, where they are, or anything at all, they care.

i am trying to be simple, trying, anyway. i struggle every day of my life trying to figure this out and it gets beyond anywhere i want to be quite often. it is not an option. there are people who will be there for you (as best they can), and if that fact is all you have to hold onto, then never let go. i love eyes. all eyes. do not close yours forever.

this sounds like some sort of public service announcement, i guess. i wrote it partly for myself.

Another midly hungover morning. I'm so glad I've found someone. I'm so glad I'm not looking here. I think after I cruise into lunch every day straight out of bed with my hair plastered down, in my pajamas, I've ruined any appeal I could have mustered up. Somehow I found someone who's seen me at my worst and hasn't thought any less of me. Who has stayed with me when I threw up all day long, and stayed with me the night before. Who had dealt with my paranoia, panicking, perfectionism, and messiness. Who has seen me after I slept all night in a tent and didn't mind taking me to a restaurant to eat before I'd showered or anything. I think that is love. When they see youand you are so disgusting you want to cry, but they don't mind. They aren't embarrassed to be seen with you. I'm embarrassed to be seen with me sometimes.

Why are you so far away?, The Cure

Today is a good friend of mine's 21st birthday. He lives on the other side of the country from me, and we hardly speak. We went to high school together, and although we may only talk once every few months, or exchange a few emails here and there, we will always be close friends.

I had been trying to get a hold of him for almost 2 months now, and today I finally did. He informed me that his mother passed away on October 10th. I didn't really like his mom, but could tell he was very stressed out (not suprising). I felt helpless. I couldn't hug him, or even put a comforting hand on his sholder. All I could do was offer my friendship, and an open ear. I wished him a happy birthday, and we hung up.

On a lighter note, my boyfriend, "Fred" called me again today to tell me he misses me, eventhough he is having a blast on his trip. He even called yesterday upon ariving, to tell me he was safe. I was beaming the whole afternoon. He makes me feel so alive!

Off to get yet another tattoo, or maybe a piercing.

Part One: Wasps

I'm working in the listening room of the UNO library right now. I can't be here right now. Because of my own scheduling fuck-up, I'm getting off here at the same exact time I need to be across town at my other job (which I'll come back to in a moment). I'm tired, pissed off and dodging wasps.

Yeah, somehow there's a wasp nest inside of the library, in the listening room. I feel sorry for the nun who's sitting here trying to study. I don't know why she doesn't just move. She hasn't gotten stung yet, though.

Part Two: My Boss Has Seen Me Shit

Started at a new job last week. Still working at the listening room, but trying to phase it out. Then, what do I find out Thursday evening?

I already knew there were security cameras everywhere in the store, along with audio bugs. Not a climate of trust to say the least. And now it turns out there's a hidden camera in the employee bathroom. We, of course, were not told about this.

A lot of people would be really freaked out by this. Not me. I have no shame. It just really pisses me off. One of my co-workers is contacting the appropriate authorities. I hope my boss is keel-hauled.

Part Three: Have You Seen Me?

An old friend of mine from NOCCA (an arts high-school) is missing. I remember him as kind of odd back then. It turns out he's bi-polar, and he's only gotten worse since then. I've seen him every so often. His father is pretty rich, apparently, so he hasn't had to work. He just rides his bike around the Quarter, smiling at people, making friends with bums, and saying really opaque things to people he recognizes. He's very childlike. Very innocent.

Saw the missing person poster Thursday. He's been missing since last Friday. Apparently during the few days before he vanished he told different people different things. According to different sources, he was going to Haiti, Alaska, Alexandria (whether he meant the one here or in Egypt is not clear) and several other unlikely destinations.

A friend of mine spotted him casually riding his bike either on Friday or Saturday. Doesn't seem likely that he'd be just riding around if he was about to head off on a trip. I'm very worried about him.

Those of you who live in New Orleans, look for the fliers. His name is Justin Smith.

Part Four: The End?

My grandmother (aka "Granny") died at 3am Thursday morning. Day after Halloween. All Saints Day. She was a devout Catholic (to the point of baptising me in the kitchen sink when my parents wouldn't), so I think she'd appreciate the timing.

What angers me the most is that she had all but beaten death twice before. Ten years ago she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She kicked its ass. It went into remission. Then, a couple of years ago, cancer showed up again, this time in her spine and lungs. She didn't beat that, per say, but it never got any worse. She was living a fairly active life.

Then, several weeks ago, she has a seizure. The doctors give her a CAT scan. It turns out that two tumors have checked into her brain and are trashing the place. They called them "nodes" actually, which sounded odd.

The language centers of her brain were being affected. She had a hard time thinking of words, constructing sentences, understanding other people. A kind of damnation to someone as verbal and quick-witted as her.

Another seizure, and she was just about reduced to a vegetable. In a way, I'm glad that didn't last long.

It hasn't sunken in yet. I may post a follow-up to this once it hits me.

Sorry I wasn't able to make it out to the New Orleans gathering. It was just bad timing.

I was up by 7 a.m., as usual. Even on the weekends. Phil slept in as I fed my E2 addiction, went to work out and eventually I made blueberry muffins for breakfast.

While stirring the berry and dough conglomerate, Phil walked in. Hugs and kisses all around. Our main mission that day: to find promise rings.

After we dressed and gathered the main news of the day from the tube, (anthrax peppers the midwest and northeast still; no more toppled buildings) we headed to downtown Athens.

Through the streets, with chai and pumpkin cookies in hand, we pass sundrous shops and wander by John and Derek's place. I felt the impulse to stop by and say hello to Derek, but I suddenly realized that he was no longer there. John kicked him out four days ago on the count of his nasty recurring coke habit.

The coke John could have dealt with- he had been for almost their entire relationsip. He indulged himself sometimes. It was the sudden attack of lying and stealing Derek had developed that forced John to send him packing. John called me the night he kicked him out, at about 12:30 a.m.- I flung my hand towards the phone next to the bed, being raised out of one of my typical nightmares.

"He stole $300 from Tina. I don't know where he's going, but don't let him stay at your place. OK?" Was John's jist. I assented in my weak voice.

"Sorry to wake you," he continued. "I'm just sick of it. He stole money from me, that's one thing. But he stole from one of my friends and if he ever does it again I'm gonna fucking kill him."

This was not your typical John. John, my favorite roommate from two years previous, my gay pal who could help me pick out clothes and guys for both of us to admire. John had never been a "drama queen." He was a pacifist. He loved snakes, Irish landscapes, my ex-boyfriend, and letting things go. He'd been aware of the many times Derek has lied or cheated. He'd always let it go until now. Derek had been a good friend of mine for a while now, but John deserved better.

Derek was a good guy, inherently. Coke can do some pretty messed up shit to a person. It can spoil the Lloyd Dobblers and Sandra Dees everywhere.

I held onto Phil a bit tighter as we passed the place, hoping our future together could amount to more than that. The promise rings would be the tangible symbol of this hope.

After searching several stores, we finally found them. Tasteful thin bands with waves rolling across the silver. Erin, the store clerk, another individual who'd happened to have an obsession for my ex-boyfriend, helped us pick them out.

About an hour ago Phil cooked dinner and over the candlelight we ate, joked about the idea of Bush and Arafat hosting a love-in, and then gave each other words of promise and love as we slipped the rings on our fingers.

Right now, as he rests before we go to see a movie, I have the strong inclination to hum Lou Reed's "Perfect Day."

(Names of friends are changed for sake of their privacy)

Can I please have just one normal quiet birthday? I just want one day where nothing catastrophic/bizarre/troublesome happens. This crazy delusion we call life, on the other hand, thinks that the aniversary of my entrance into this world should be met with utter chaos.

Oh, it started out normal enough. I messed around on the computer for a little while, took a shower, got dressed, and relaxed. The only concrete plans I had were to go to my parents' house for a small family get together to celebrate my birthday. After that, the plans were non-existant.

I drove to my parents' house, ready for the small family party. I chatted with my parents and sister; normal party kind of chatter about the state of live, etc; nothing too controversial. My grandmother arrived, there was more general chatter. It was a fairly typical family get together.

After the chatting, I opened my gifts. My parents got me some nice towels and a shirt, my grandmother got me various trinkets for my car, my sisters each got me a DVD. I thanked everyone, and conversation quickly resumed. That is, until the subject of my sister's tongue piercing came up.

Now, my sister has had her tongue pierced since the beginning of April. Since that time, she has seen my grandmother literally dozens of times. Well, apparently, the piercing had gone unnoticed for that time, because the shit hit the fan. As soon as she knew my sister had that piercing, my grandmother, without saying a word, got out of her chair and stormed out of the house in a huff. Like I said, my birthdays are never dull.

After that fiasco, we finished up the party. We had cheesecake, talked a bit more, and then the party was pretty much over. I gathered the items of mail that were addressed to my parents' address, drove home, and relaxed.

Now, here's the time the second minor fiasco happens. About a week ago, one of the area ATMs decided that it was hungry, and digested my card. Therefore, I had to call the bank and have them send me a new card. It arrived, so I went over to the bank to activate it. For whatever reason, the new card doesn't want to work, so now, I have to wait until monday to get the bank to fix whatever problem they have with my card. It's unusable as-is. I hate having to write checks, dammit; plastic is so much more convenient.

I had had enough. I needed to go off and relax. So I went for a little drive. I drove Pacific Coast Highway up through Malibu, then taking the little canyon roads all through the Santa Monica Mountains. I took turns much faster than would probably be considered safe, especially in a car with fairly crappy tires, but I didn't cause harm to anyone else, and vented off a good amount of steam. It's amazing how well driving a narrow, winding, mountain road can calm you down. I returned feeling much more relaxed.

I returned home, and talked with my neighbor for about an hour or so. We talked about life, LA, houses (he finds it troubling that every house I've lived in has been torn down); he's a great guy. I also found out some fairly interesting stuff about the seamy underbelly of LA, that's a topic for another time, gentle reader.

So that's a typical birthday for me. Perhaps one of these years, I'll have a common one, but c'est la vie. I guess that's just one of the things that makes this world interesting.


I've spent most of my evening trying to figure out a cyptographic puzzle. A simple arrangement of letters that will reveal a quote, once the code is cracked. It apears simple, but has had me going for hours on end.

A X Y D L B A A X R is

The key seems easy enough, right?

Single letters, apostrophies, length, and formation of the words are hints.

Okay.. for what it's worth.


Righty-Ro. So far I've tried using number differences, the ROT method, and the mean of distances between the forward and backwards character count of the letters. I've even gone so far as to set up a ratio of charaters to the rotational theory and the mean distance theory, all to no avail. This has me buggored.

In other news:

CapSkippy has sent me a postcard! THANK YOU!! I needed something to make me smile. :)

I need a job!


I know this daylog is very scatterbrained, but so am I at this point.

Oh yea, and my cablemodem connection is down, so this is all being done on a measley 19.2k cell phone connection. Joy. @Home must die.

I lost my virginity.
In the back seat of an Oldsmobile.
At night.
In a graveyard.

What a time to be alive.

I went to Masukomi and MizerieRose's raunchy little birthday party. The whole day was good, and it might spin off to possibly something for my birthday party next month, but who knows?

Boredom by Bus

I took the bus from New York City around 1:00 PM, talking to a guy who knew his share of computer building before being bored out of my ass watching some MTV-made movie. It's either the guy talking about his undying love for nVidia's latest graphics processors, or the movie featuring thugs, gangsta rap, and ballet dancers making my beloved Chi-town into a nitty-gritty war zone. Okay, okay - I love that city for the cabaret scene.

Around 6:30 PM, I landed in South Station in Boston. If I knew earlier about the trains running in the city, I would've spent less money taking the cab to the girls' home. I wasn't pre-programmed (studying the transit system and the locations of cabarets and diners beforehand) like I was before going to Chicago, but I'll have to deal.

On time and in the party

I was one of the first folks who made it to the birthday girls' home. Cahla dropped by, ansate (who I'll call "Leather Pants-ate" for obvious reasons), cowofdoom and his girlfriend Snowbelle also made it to the party with a cast of thousands!


When the strippers arrived, they were nice folks. If I remembered correctly, their names were Mark and Heaven. Mark gave us a lecture on how to fold our dollar bills for safe stuffing into his thong. Make sure you fold it so the sharp edges are tucked away, and you'll be fine. The birthday girls sat facing each other, and both of the strippers gave them their appropriate first dibs. When Heaven was done rubbing up Narbey from #everything, she pointed at me and told me to get on my knees. She wrapped her legs around my head, and gave me a good view of her twat! I wasn't too... immediately excited, but I liked it - Besides, I've only seen naked women in porn.

If I had the chance, I would've told her that I've never seen a woman naked in person, and I would've thanked her. I like it when she strokes herself and licking her fingers in front of Masukomi (and the spanking with a belt). Galt was unsafe from her "treasure hunt" with a dollar bill in his pants. I've got a lap dance that lasted through an accidental CD/tape change in their boom box too!

Mark was a great sport dancing with the guys as well as the girls. I gave him two dollar bills because he's a great guy. I saw his towel trick for the ladies too - he covers himself with a towel, and shows off what's underneath to the lucky person sitting in front of him.

Those folks danced on the guests for nearly two hours - that was fun. Cobie came in after the party, but he got to see lots of video game playing and galt getting massively plastered instead.

The way home

At first, I left the party at 2:00 AM because I thought the bus was leaving a half-hour later - but I was wrong. That time was for an arrival from New York, and the next bus leaving Boston to my home was listed as 7:00 AM. I went back by cab, and slept the whole night.

During the morning, I heard nothing. The girls were sleeping, the cats and dogs were walking around, and I had nothing to do. I dressed up and left for the train station going to South Station.

I was Tyler Durden for halloween. I've been Tyler more and more lately.

pants: black & white hound's tooth
shirt: vintage white polyester with a bunch of stupid designs
jacket: red kind of a weird brick pattern

imbibed: 2 40 oz bottles of St. Ides High Gravity Malt Liquor

The party was going pretty normal until after the strippers left. Around this time memories become hazy. A couple images of chilling out on the floor float reluctantly to the surface, and then, no fade to black, no transition:

Cold. Dark. Outside. I'm in what seems to be a backyard. I'm pressed up against a wooden door, sandwiched between the glass outer door for slight protection from the elements...desperately trying to open the wooden door at random intervals. I'm not sure how long this went on for, where I was or how I got there. It was sort of like waking up, except somehow I knew I was never technically sleeping...probably in a sort of walking unconciousness. After a while I realize this door definitely is not going to open, and furthermore, this probably wasnt the house I was at earlier in the evening... and the very real possibility that the cops were on the way. I stumble across the yard and somehow make my way over a fence without killing myself.

I find myself on some street..no sign in sight..I cross the street and start walking to the left. I see some dude probably about my age standing on the sidewalk ahead of me. I dont remember the exact dialog...I believe he spoke first, "Where am I?"

"I have no idea dude. I was at some party a few minutes ago and then I was outside and it was cold. I dont know how I got here."

Further conversation reveals he lives in Allston also. We decide to grab a cab. The cab driver was from Argentina apparently. Dude starts saying we should go to his friend's house and that our meeting is of cosmic importance because of how random it was. I had to agree. Dude was all excited and started talking about how his friend has acid... and naturally I express interest.

Dude tries to use an atm at star market (I believe on comm ave) but it was closed. We get to somewhere near his friend Lo's house. I give the cabbie a 20 and we walk down some street..I think somewhere off comm ave. We chill at Lo's house for a while, Lo makes some hot pockets, some kind of potato thingies, and a couple drinks (no idea what they were). Apparently Lo is out of lsd. Dude gives me a 20, then i took a cab home.

This experience made possible by BAP, and more specifically Masukomi and Mizzy for throwing an excellent party.

Pictures of this event (minus me being lost outside) can be found at:


note: Lo isnt Kit_Lo. Lo is some friend of the random person I met.

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