i can't think of a way to structure this entry to make it appear to have any semblance of flow, and this is due to the fact that i feel like writing but have nothing to say.
an hour or so ago, due to the fact that a)i've been deluged by a workload that unexpectedly quadrupled today b)am extremely hungry, yet unwilling to pay money to eat the same raunchy local food i eat every day, i found myself stewing in anger. i realized that this was no good, so i did the first thing that came to mind. i put on my headphones, forgetting what was in the discman. ah, i thought. figurine! this makes me sad. it will be refreshing, and wipe away my anger like an emotional Swiffer. bad idea. ten minutes later i had my head down on my desk, sobbing into my keyboard as my carelessly positioned ear produced an endless line of L's, trailing into oblivion. to correct my bad musical decision, i made a worse one. into the cd player went my age-old copy of No Use For A Name's carne con leche, designed to invigorate and revitalize my flagging spirits. of course it didn't work.
yesterday on my lunch break i found myself at a mexican restaurant in the part of town one might call Frat Row, chewing contentedly on a quesadilla as through the window i gazed at the Safe Sex Store across the street. fifteen minutes later i was locked in conversation with the store's owner, discussing my ex-boyfriend's job history with a stranger who had just sold me a bottle of lubricant. realizing the total weird turn my lunchbreak had taken, i ducked out the door, tucked my ID Milennium Advanced Formula into my shoulder bag and headed throught the rain back to work. let me just say that the evening's pleasures were an eye-opener- i have seen the light and it is really greasy.
i'm finding it increasingly hard to be nice to people. (is there a white stripes song to that effect?)
i just heard a song on the radio, and i have to disagree with the singer-songwriters claim: it is wuite easy to be me. i think that if someone were to wake up and find themselves somehow John Malkoviched into my body, they would be pleasantly surprised at the ease with which they could acclamate to the lifestyle of casual comfort and gentle hedonism that occupies the days of t. rex mccullen.
i took slaps' word for it and downloaded some Glass Candy and the Shattered Theatre, and damn, i was practically blown backward in my chair all memorex-style. because i have a humble dial-up connection i must choose my downloads carefully, as one poorly selected song equals thirty minutes of wasted time. big payoffs of late have been 'One Way' by miss kittin and the hacker (whom i shall see tomorrow in chicago), cher's Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves, adult.s remix of 'emerge'(fischerspooner), and porn.
all of this reminds me of the first time i ever got drunk. i was a mature fifteen and was employed by a conscience-less company which hired people of all ages to perform telephone surveys. i was pretty good at this and was shortly promoted to Refusal Converter. this lofty position's responsibilities basically consisted of me sitting down at a telephone and calling up individuals who had already declined (or "refused") to participate in the study, which took about twenty-five minutes to complete, though no one was ever told that.
the management of this company was a portrait of diversity- three guys from the college's gay frat managed the day shift and two fourth year law students took care of the evenings. i worked nights. naturally the stress of working in such an abusive environment ("you are an asinine BOZO and your survey is poor!" - click) led many a surveyer to hit the sauce after a long night spent querying the dregs of society about their inpatient hospital experiences.
one night, the day manager hosted a party to which all employees were invited. the gay frat boys coerced me into attending for reasons that are now clear, but which were then shrouded by my hopes of friendship with "college kids." i had first one beer, then another as the law students continually monitored me to make sure my bottle had not run dry. eventually, i was lifted from my seat by Jeff, the most attractive but most shady employee, a gay 26-year old elementary schoolteacher moonlighting at the survey firm for extra cash. jeff spirited me into a bedroom and closed the door behind him.
"so here we are," he said, or something to that hackneyed effect. i believe my response was "burp," which didnt seem to be what he was looking for, as he began to advance slowly in my direction like a lion stalking its prey, or like a newarsighted housecat stalking a chair leg.
"um, can we-- could we do this later? i'm kind of drunk, ha ha!"
although jeff was making a concerted effort to block the door, i was aware that i didnt want my sexual initiation into all things queer to take place on the eve of my first crashing hangover, and i certainly did not want it to take place on the floor of this students' bedroom, strewn as it was with dirty laundry and stray papers. fortunately, at that moment, jeff's boss (the head gay) began pounding on the door and demanding my unconditional release. it distracted jeff long enough to afford me the opportunity to slip past him and open the door. i instantly composed myself enough to appear sober and still virginal (or so i thought), and promptly went into the living room where i passed out in a vinyl armchair.
i never went to another party while i worked there, and quit not much later for various reasons, not the least of which was that the job fucking sucked. jeff was eventually fired for making sexual advances toward a fourteen year-old heterosexual soccer player from chile.
makes for not a bad story, though. man, i love sure do getting drunk!