June 2002 Archives

Last night I went to go see Ian's band play. You know, maybe I am just getting old, but it has become rather painful to see shows now. Even though I really liked the music, and it was the perfect level of emo for me, I kept thinking, "why is this so loud?" But Ian is a rock star.

Also, there were scores of boys/men there, and it made me nervous. I can't seem to function in their presence. I am pathetic, yes. Of course the lovely Tracy was also there. Tracy used to be a financial analyst. Now I am not one to point fingers (or wiggle them for that matter), but the word 'analyst' clearly features the word anal. Appropriately enough, I suppose. Speaking of which, PLEASE, go read the last letter in Savage Love this week. I peed myself laughing.

Today, as a form of birth control, I hung out with my friend Christy's three children, and two of my buddies from the North Bay. This little excursion has encouraged me to stay celibate for at least another 20 years, even though I probably would have anyway, by default. As far as small boys go, these ones are pretty f'in cool. But I am too tired to do that at a full-time level, yaknowwhatimean?

Love me.

This is clearly an evil sugar glider.

Well, it's past my bedtime but since I had the first urge to update in a while, I thought I would roll with it.

The other day I heard a guy compare eating refined sugar to having sex with a prostitute. Believe it or not, I am not exaggerating in the least. He was ranting on and on about how bad it is for you to eat refined sugar, and then he said, "You know, one of my friends once said, 'It's like having sex with a prostitute--it feels good, but then it hurts later.'"

You heard it here first, folks, refined sugar is just as bad as a Tijuana whore!

Speaking of perverse, I tried to apply for a job today. I'm really no good at this process. I like to think of myself as a fairly capable individual, so applying for a job that requires 4 brain cells and 12 IQ points is slightly depressing. I saw a baby clothes store that was hiring and I walked in to apply, but the two current employees were talking to each other in Spanish, so I decided it was a lingual conspiracy and quickly left.

Then I went to the local burger shack to apply, but it smelled like, well, burgers. I filled out my application and turned it in. They told me to memorize the menu and come back, so I went home and cried instead. I'm really making progress here. I can tell that I will be gainfully employed in no time!

Pete from the UK sent me this. Why do I love the brits so? I saw Hugh Grant's movie and it made me weep. LOVE THE ACCENTS, KEEP IT UP!

My mom went to Vegas for some reason or other, and brought me back a flyer that said, "United Colors of Ass." It is for some porno or something, with a large cast of multi ethnic women and their booties. I love my mom.

I also forgot to tell you all that I got an A+ in my English class. Now, people like Sheila would say that's not a big deal, not like an A+ in Calculus or something. That's just because Sheila is a nerd and doesn't know a GD thing about literature, and is barely coherant enough to produce her webpage let alone a decent paper. Love ya h0.

I am considering making new friends, and here are some of my possibilities.
Ian was in two bands I saw as a young, impressionable teen. He's funny, too.

Tracy was a cheerleader in high school, but still remembers all of her cheers! Ready! OK! God, I love cheerleaders. Because I am too retarded to be one.

On another note, there is someone out there that I owe a big thank you to, and I bet that person is aware of this. I suck. :(

#1. I need an outgoing smtp mail server. I want to use outlook and my pop mail account even though I am on AOL. I can get my incoming mail fine, but no outgoing. Any suggestions?

#2. I freaking love Cher.

#3. There is a retard-woman trying to steal my parking space. Am I going to hell?

So the problem is, I have no access to a computer. Right now I am at the public library, and while it is fun to sit next to a fat, hairy man that is humming and trying to read what I am writing (hi dipshit!). I don't think it is going to be a long-term solution. I need to get a computer, and pretty damn fast or I might end up sleeping around. Well, maybe not, but without a TV or computer I might have to go out and search for real human interaction, which is never a good thing. I'm thinking about buying a computer from Dell, just because they have a one year warrenty and apparently I can't go for more than a month without breaking my computer anyway. I can get one for $779 with free shipping and all the things I need, sans monitor, which I will deal with later. Anywho, if you like me and want to help get me online, please feel free to drop me a few bucks to lina@shutitdown.net via paypal :D, email me a letter of support. I probably won't get to write back though, because I only get limited time here at the library. :(

Apart from my computer woes, all is well. I am becoming a normal person again, and I actually leave my house. I think it might be the seratonin or something. Dunno. I went crazy at Ikea a few days ago, and oddly enough, saw one of the CHICKS ON SPEED. Crazy, man.

I got this email from null over at DGNR8. Thank god someone is concerned about my well-being.

I've noticed your run in with random squirrels. And i cant help but think about how deadly, yet cute these squirrels are.

The saddest ground squirrels I'd ever seen were part of a gang, in Dallas. They always seemed brave, at first, but if you looked past the switchblades and macho posturing, you could see they just wanted a handful of roasted walnuts. I saw a squirrel kill a man once. There was no wasted energy, just a simple lazy end-over-end sommersault and the deft pull of a sharp blade. The squirrel moved with the lazy precision of a window washer. He hit near the top of the man's neck, and by the time he reached the ground again, he was smoking a cigarette, and the man was dead.

"The ground is our mother," a squirrel once said to me. "We were born on the ground, we live on the ground, and we'll die on the ground. Ain't no thing."

Ah, but you could tell it was. It was obvious that it was a thing, and an important thing at that. More important than nuts, even. These were no tree squirrels, with their techno raves and big stylish pants.

Dallas cops asked me about the killing, but there was little I could tell them.

"He was part of the Loco Posse," I said, "and he moved like a dancer."

The cops, however, were able to tell me about the man I saw die. He'd been a biker with the Rebel Riders, an Oklahoma-based motorcycle gang. He'd been selling cystal meth to the ground squirrel community. The squirrel that killed him had reportedly been unimpressed with the buzz, but the man's associates claimed he was selling the pure stuff.

The thing is, both the squirrel and the man might have been telling the truth. These squirrels were hard.

My intentions are not to frighten and alarm you, I just want you to be aware of what you could possibly be dealing with. And even tho' we don't talk on a daily, or even weekly basis, i still lay awake at nights wondering, if those damn dirty squirrels have harmed you....

Thanks, buddy.