December 21
I got Murray the Giggle Monkey in the mail today. If only you all could come over and hear how very hilarious the noise is. My god. You'd scream with laughter.
Babies, Etc:
Hey...wait..everyone come back. Don't leave. Aw, goddammit. You people only love me for my baby information. See if I tell anyone anything ever again.
All of my love and congratulations to Rob and Julie. They are two phenomenal people who will make absolutely perfect parents. Schuyler is in for an amazing time. I was honored to be included. (Oh, jesus, now I'm getting all misty again. Moving along.)
Oh, Gee. Diary-L. What a Surprise:
After I posted the announcement on my index page, I was amused to find, about 45 minutes later, someone had copied and pasted it to the Diary-L list. You can all imagine how that sat. It never, ever occurred to me to even MENTION it to anyone beyond who I was asked to keep informed (e.g., you, gentle readers of my page, who've decided to stick around even without exciting baby announcements, because you love me so), especially not to the List of Hate. Within 4 seconds, there were inane messages about the moon and fucking retail experiences and people so self absorbed, so very self absorbed that it was about all I could do to post a cordial reply. Which I did. Because I'm everso polite. Bastards.
What I've Done Today:
Well, Dr B is out of town, making this week Boring Week. I decided to attack the twin towers of Unreadable Scientific Journals (you're telling me you don't have a subscription to USJ?) outside of his office. When I say tower, I shit you not. These babies were stacked up to my shoulder. Anyhow, last week, he'd made a reference to this week being a good time for me to perhaps go through and put the journals away because "someone pointed out that they were a fire hazard where they were" "Yes," I replied, "But only for YOU".
I got the jibe of what he wanted, though, and spent much of today dividing the twin towers into separate minitowers. People walked in and asked me "But how will you fit all of those minitowers into the sloppy craphole of Dr. B's office?" "WATCH ME" I avowed.
Three hours later, viola. Journals placed neatly in shelves. Twin towers demolished. How did I accomplish this, I hear you cry. Why, it was easy! I threw everything away. That's right. If it didn't say 1999 on it, it went to TrashWorld. This was not the solution to the space problem Dr. B had in mind, I'm sure. However, after crawling around on the floor for an hour (woo..how dirty does that sound?) , I used my Administrative Decision Making Abilities and decided that he probably wouldn't ever notice.
I'll be busted, however, if the maintenance guys don't come for the trash before Dr. B returns from vacation. "Where did all of my journals go?" "Umm...what journals?" "The ones from 1998...?" "Wow. Are they GONE? That's astonishing!" "Dana, did you throw my journals out to make room?" "Um. Maybe?" If the garbage gets cleared, well, he'll think I'm an organized genius. In any event, no one will die in a fire.
Stalk, Stalk, Stalk, Clarify:
So here's the thing. I love you, all 10 of you, who've written to my friends here. My issue is that my 30th birthday will not occur until January 1, 2001. I'm all for advance notice, so I'm giving them a YEAR to prepare. What kind of shit would I be if I only gave them like two weeks? That's wrong. I would never do that. They need time to prepare. To warn their loved ones. To build up tolerance to bad beer and a chilly New England night. I'm pretty well aware that they've got something to do on New Year's Eve,so I'm willing and happy to not have my party until after my birthday. See how mellow I am about it?
If you're going to write to them for me, as a nice Christmas/Birthday gift, the facts are as follows: 1.) I plan on talking about this at least until I get email from someone representing them telling me to stop talking about them and that there's no chance in hell they'll ever play for me. (In which case, I move to plan B: Klezmer!) 2.) I don't want them to play for me this birthday, because I'm only turning 29. Feel free to write them as many times as you like between now and 2001. 3) The kind of party I want is what they had in the movie PCU, where George Clinton shows up at the end, and everyone has a blast. That's exactly what I want. Except that we're all older and much more responsible, so would never, ever drink in excess or partake in anything but the most wholesome and holy. Yeah, you bet.
Helpless, BHT&TM:
Since the first time I can't take my poor eyes off you
Though it seems I've lost my mind you make my heart new
Any fool would run but
I can't help myself around youYou turn my head, and I leave the rest behind me
Who I am, what I had, none can remind me,
My defenses done and
I can't help myself around youMy intentions cannot keep this face from changing
And surrender all this cold heart has been saving
I can't help myself around you
Christmas Break, The Only Thing That Does Not Suck About Working at the Death Star:
Tomorrow is my last day of work before the break. I'm cutting out early and going to THE GYM, believe it or not. I'm figuring that my one day there will more than make up for the 3 weeks I've not gone, CERTAINLY canceling out the glasses of egg nog, butter cookies, quiche and Hershey's kisses and Godiva Cappuccino liquor. Oh, and the cider, let's not forget the mulled cider. God, I love that stuff.
Did I mention that my grandparents canceled the house deal? No, I don't think I did. Those people are going to drive me out of my fucking mind. It happened a few days ago, so I'm mellow about it now, but on Saturday, I lost my shit, but beer helps.
Speaking of bands I've been obsessed with:
The Afghan Whigs got to me, in a big way in the early 90's. I was completely and utterly enthralled with Greg Dulli, the lead singer (2nd guy from the left). Their screaming, angry, drunken album Gentleman was on constant play for more than a year. It, more than practically any other, represents perfectly, without fail, a time in my life. Who I was, where I was, what I was doing. To listen now brings out the strangest mood.
This ain't about regret
My conscience can't be found
This time I won't repent
Somebody's going downIt doesn't matter at all who I'm with or what I'm doing, it's still me.
I waited for the joke
It never did arrive
And words I thought I'd choke
I hardly recognizeI remember the first time I sat and listened to it all the way through. I was alone with a bottle (well, a jug) of wine. And I remember, from start to finish, thinking 'this changes absolutely everything'. And it did.
You hurt me baby
I flinch so when you do
Your kisses scourge me
Hyssop in your perfume
Oh, I do not fear you
And slave I only use
As a word to describe the special way I feel for you
You look like me
And I look like no one else
We need no other
As long as we have ourselves
But I won't cry about it
Every time you get obsessed
Every time I came undressed
All ugly thoughts are gone
I'm sure we'll all be friends
I'll try to break your back
You'll try to make amends
Curse softly to me baby
And smother me in your love
Temptation comes not from hell but from above
And there's blood on my teeth
When I bite my tongue to speak
Zip me down, kiss me there
I can smile now
You won't find out ever
Hurt me baby
I flinch so when you do
Your kisses scourge me
Hyssop in your perfume
Oh I do not fear you
And slave I only use as a word to describe
The way I feel when I'm with you
If I have to lie about it everytime I came undressed
