Life of Jess

Tuna Casserole-giving.

Fri, 25 Nov 2005 00:32:37 GMT

I just got back - early - from Tuna Casserole at Mom's. This is what most normal people call "Thanksgiving." What I normally call Thanksgiving is the weekend after Tuna Casserole at Mom's, when Dad actually makes a turkey with fixin's and we all actually have something to be thankful for.
Okay - that's not fair. We have something to be thankful for this Thursday evening. The tuna casserole was edible. And Mom didn't pass out at dinner. My god, it's a veritable cornucopia of gratitude.

Okay - maybe I'm a little sarcastic, here. That's because my real Thanksgiving was cancelled, due to Dad having a new girlfriend and due to said girlfriend booking a room at a bed and breakfast in Maine for the weekend.
Maine.
What the hell is in Maine, you may ask? Well, this weekend, snow. Snow and antiques. And old people, of which my father is rapidly becoming one.
So real Thanksgiving for me, Jenny and Chris was cancelled. As soon as Chris told me, I called to lodge a complaint, only to get this widowed holiday-wrecker on the phone. And you know what she said?

"Well, Jesus, Jess, you're 26. You could have Thanksgiving, you know."
Yeah.
Whatever.

Then there was some crap about how at my age she was expecting her third kid, taking care of her mother-in-law and having 20 relatives over for turkey.
Well, Betty or Bitti or whatever, thanks for rubbing it in that at my age you were married and had it together while the second most important man in my life is Jack Daniels.
And while you're at it, why don't you whisk the first most important man in my life away to an antique shop in Maine for a holiday that is rightfully mine?

That's how Tuna Casserole at Mom's became Thanksgiving this year, and when Mom found out tonight why we were all not going to Dad's, that made the occasion even more special. She was slamming stuff around, and yelling at Dad even though he wasn't present. Then she yelled at me for not yelling at Bitti or Betsy or whatever.
It was great, and it's not like the three of us didn't put some effort in for once; we brought stuff. I brought cranberry sauce. Chris brought some beer. Jenny brought a dead mouse and Sarah. But it wasn't the same. And then we all cut out early.

Oh well. I'm off to drink myself silly. No work tomorrow.

Blackmail?

Thu, 17 Nov 2005 04:54:39 GMT

Okay - guys? Whoever found that picture of me from a decade ago with the pig-tails and the clove cigarette? Not cool. What do you want? Who are you? Do you have Morris or something? Because I'll give you whatever you want to take that down. Even my whiskey. Well... maybe not my whiskey.

True, I was getting laid then, and I had more life goals - to play RPGs about the undead and watch The Crow - but still, guys, whoever you are, I'm begging. Take it down before Dave in work sees it. I'll never ever live it down.

Please.

Ghost of Halloweens Past.

Tue, 01 Nov 2005 22:42:08 GMT

Yeah, I went as Hate Girl again this year, and as always that codpiece and leotard totally chafed. But I had a little bit too much of the Special Serum after the trick or treaters left and was two hours late for work this morning, due to a Special Hangover.

What can I say? I need a better costume. Desperately. I mean, I''ve been dressing up as Hate Girl since my senior year in college, and for the first two years the blue magic marker fumes from the front of the leotard made me feel like I really was flying. Sadly those days have passed, and Sharpie doesn't even make the same kind of fume-y blue ink any more.

Ah well. Hopefully next year I won't be sitting alone in my tattered Hate Girl duds at a bar, pounding bottles of serum.

HAppy Ending

Thu, 20 Oct 2005 03:18:55 GMT

Woah. Wooah. I think I'm a litle drunk. But that's okay. It's been a good night. Tonight, after a solid day of thnking my presscius little kitty was dead, Morris is home!

To give you the short version - actually that's the only version - I came home late, after putting up signs all over the block and callign the police twice, and right in my froont hall, there's this awful, mangy cat sitting on a pizza. I was seriously about to kick it out - last thing I need when I'm missing my cat is to see someone else's miserable beast - when I recognized its little pathetic meow as my Morris! The ppor litle thifng was a mess - he smelled liek garbage and was covered in somethign that looked like cheese and tomato sauce.
AND he had my PAL, which I don't get, but whatever. It was awesome. I started the celebratory drinking immediately and even gave him some, to lull him into a false sense of security while I gave him a bath. Right now, he's curled up in a wet little drunken ball on a pile of towels, sleepign like a kitten. I'm sso happy he's home, I have to drink a little more.
Yay!

Sigh....

Tue, 18 Oct 2005 15:32:38 GMT

Morris is STILL gone.
I got up early this morning to put up more flyers and looked everywhere, but aside from some homeless guy and one of those public art project black totes, I didn't find anything.

Oh man, I wonder if Tom will let go home early. You know, on bereavement leave. Probably not.
I do feel a little sick though. Don' t think I slept very well. Even though I was wearing my headphones I kept thinking I heard the buzzer.

Worst night of my life.

Tue, 18 Oct 2005 04:24:21 GMT

I just got in from an exhausting night of talking to the neighbors, the police, and the people down at the pound. I'm too upset even to drink. Morris is GONE.

I'm tired, so I'll just tell you all what I told the animal control officers: I came home from work around five, like I normally do, and the window was wide open. The screen was on the street and Morris, my precious little kitty, was gone. I was afraid that he fell out, was killed by the impact and.. um, dragged away by another animal, but there wasn't any blood, and the officers said that a cat would survive a two-floor fall. So it's probably most likely that he fell out the window was scared when I wasn't around and bolted. No one's seen him. I showed his pictures to half the people in the neighborhood. And I'm putting up flyers tomorrow before work. Flyers with his sweet little kitty face on him. I'm going to put them up everywhere.

Oh I can't believe this. I should have shut the windows. I should have fastened the screens more securely. This is all my fault. Now my poor little sweetie is gone, alone and probably scared out of his mind somewhere. If he hasn't been killed by traffic.
I'm sorry - I just need to go to bed. I just need to put on some music, to drown out the guilt, and go to bed.
This is awful.

Still tired

Mon, 17 Oct 2005 21:37:13 GMT

And ready to go home.
Although it's been kind of a weird day. I think the government must be extra stupid. Someone has been leaving little black tote bags all over NYC. I mean, I've been seeing them all over today and the national security level hasn't been lifted.

Or maybe its a weird New York art thing - they all do look kind of the same. (The Totes instead of The Gates? Not really flashy enough for those artist types.) Normally I wouldn't notice anything like this - but it looks like the same gym bag I bought when I briefly considered beginning a fitness routine. You know, research for my beat.

Anyhow it's freaky.

Monday sucketh

Mon, 17 Oct 2005 16:27:24 GMT

It's noon and I am very, very tired for no good reason. I think I slept pretty soundly. Yesterday, I went to my mom's house for Sunday dinner - which, as I've said before, basically entails an identifiable casserole of some sort - watched my brother play Resident Evil for the umpteenth time on the Playstation, listened to my goth little sister Jenny and her anorexic friend Sarah giggle about how good my ex-boyfriend Jay is in bed (this is a lie, as anyone who knows Jay can tell you - he's a repentent necrophile), and watched my mother drink her liver away.

For those who don't know, that's a typical Sunday evening at mum's. After that, I went home for a nightcap and passed out near my bed. And somehow after nearly 12 hours on the bedroom floor, I'm still tired. Go figure. Maybe I'm coming down with something.

Anyhow, I'm in a fog today. I even somehow misplaced my PAL. It wasn't under the pile of clothes I normally leave it under. God. I hope I didn't leave it at Mom's. Who knows what unholy things Jenny would do with it.

Can someone please tell me why the FUCK AA's homepage is on my browser's Favorites list?

Fri, 14 Oct 2005 19:25:13 GMT

Well, I pretty much ran out of booze last night. I mean, I only had one bottle. But I must have gotten pretty drunk last night, because when I woke up this morning my laptop was open and the browser was open to the home page for Alcoholics Anonymous. I would have to be drunk to admit - claim, I mean - to be an alcoholic. I'm a problem drinker. That's my designation - I drink and then I have problems. I also have problems and then drink.
See?
Problem Drinker.

Anyhow.
There will be no drinking at home tonight. Not only because I've run out of liquor, but because the Rear Admirals are playing at the Prop Closet again and John and Cat are going. (Cat, sorry for misspelling your name wrong in the last post. I suck. I know.)

Maybe Dave will go too, if I can convince him that there will be Real Women at the bar and also that talking to Real Women is more satisfying than trying to talk to apparent women on World of Warcraft.
See Exhibit A: http://www.penny-arcade.com/view.php?date=2005-09-30&res=l
At least the rejection at a bar is slightly less humiliating.

Back to work for me.

Thu, 13 Oct 2005 15:12:39 GMT

It's pretty much common knowledge that if you're talking to yourself, you've got problems.

So when I woke up this morning with fuzzy memories of having a conversation with my cat, I had to ask myself if that's better, worse or the same as having a conversation with myself.

The answer I came up with was not comforting. Particularly since the conversation I think I remember prominently featured my cat telling me I'd had enough to drink.

Maybe I should switch to hard drugs. The hallucinations might be less disturbing.

Well, back to work. I'm compiling information about the joys of the stilletto high heel boot trend for our December edition. More on that later.

LET THE BLOGGING RECOMMENCE!!

Mon, 10 Oct 2005 04:00:37 GMT

Hello all, Jess here.

For those of you who have followed my blog up until a few months ago when I dropped off the Internet into a big, big vat of whiskey (no I don't want to talk about it, here or anywhere else, thank you) I apologize. There have been some technical difficulties with, well, my life and most of the last six months were spent in an alcoholic, secluded haze while the powers that be (namely, Kat, John, Dave and two other strangers whose names I do not remember) tried to rehabilitate me.
Unfortuntely for the city of New York, their efforts were successful and I'm back, as large and in-charge as I was last year! And, sadly, one year older than I was when I started blogging last fall. And still single. And still having loud discussions with my cat Morris at ungodly hours of the night.
Christ.
Maybe I need another drink.

Welllll.... anyway, I'm back. Stay tuned for more of my drivel. It will be forthcoming. Hopefully daily, if Dave doesn't send this URL to my editor Tom again.
(Tom, if you're reading this entry, you know when Dave said he was "too busy" to update the magazine's website for a month in July? He spent ALL that time playing Guild Wars. That would be the whole month of July. 31 days. AND his character is a gay elf.)

So yeah, stay tuned.

I could be drinking

Wed, 15 Jun 2005 03:49:35 GMT

Ah Law and Order. Balm for the lonely soul.

I'm out of whiskey and I happen to know for a fact that my little sister and my ex are right now, at this moment, having sex in a bathtub full of ice.
Oh lord. McCoy and Brisco, stick it to that bad guys good, so I can forget all about Jenn and Jay.

Demon Cat.

Sat, 28 May 2005 17:07:52 GMT

No, not Morris. Morris is my darling little sweetums.
But I finally think I found out why cats have been associated with evil spirits throughout the ages. His name is Felix and he lives in Washington Heights.

He's actually John's cat from college. He's this weird black and white cat who only has one tooth, a big friggin' tumor-lookin' mole on the side of his face, and who needs to have a pill forced down his throat every day. I always thought he was kind of cute, in an ugly way, but Cat has been complaining about him ever since she and John moved in together. Now I know why.

Last night we all went to a Rear Admirals show in the city and I crashed at their place after Cat pulled me away from some amorous pirate-looking guy at the bar (long story).

Anyhow, they put me in the second bedroom, which I now know is Felix's bedroom. I was awakened at 6 am by the door shaking and an unearthly yowling. I sat bolt upright, which is a difficult thing when you've had 12 jack and cokes the night before.
The door was actually shaking in its frame, and there were two little black and white paws protruding from under the door. How 10 pounds of aging cat can move a door like that I don't know.
Anyways, I guess I didn't get to the door in time because there was this ghastly gagging sound and then this brown slime started seeping under the door, next to the paws. I opened the door and yup - he'd vomited all over the floor and himself.
Total exorcist cat. Makes me grateful for my smart-ass kitty.

five more hours.

Thu, 26 May 2005 17:12:49 GMT

This has been an interesting week. Oddly, I did it. I made it through the whole week on spinach.
Okay - I'm lying.
What I mean by that is that I've been having a lot of spinach for lunch and sometimes dinner when Dave is around. The other times I've been eating what I want. The hardest thing was cutting down on drinking, actually. I mean, I couldn't come into work hung over this whole week on he'd know I'd been cheating. That was hard.

Ain't no thing like a chicken wing.

Thu, 19 May 2005 21:39:42 GMT

Oh my god. I feel awful today - I've had nothing to eat but spinach all day - and I'm supposed to do this for a week. And goddamned Dave, who is actually the one responsible for my eating habits today just sat down next to me with a big old bucket of KFC. And it smells so good, and the sonofabitch is just sitting there, grinning at me and licking his fingers.

I hate him so much right now.

This is all his fault, although actually I wouldn't be hurting so much if I didn't do something really stupid last night.
I made a bet about Star Trek with a bunch of Trekkies at the Klingon Bar last night after having about seven Romulan Ales.
.... I just lost about half the people reading this post, didn't I? Okay, those of you who are still with me are probably closet Starfleet uniform-wearers and are going to smack your hand against your ridged prosthetic forehead in exasperation when I tell you what stupid bet put me on this diet.

It's actually kind of anticlimatic after all that build-up, actually. Dave (who always carries a set of pointy ears with him in case he decides to drop in there for a drink after work or stumbles upon a D&D game or whatever) mentioned last night that Klingons are into opera. And I said "Nuh-uh, they're warriors! Warriors don't go to the opera!" And he said "Worf was into opera," and I retorted, brilliantly, "Nuh-uh."
And then, Dave got this evil gleam in his eye and said, "All right. The bar has a tv and all the DS9 boxed sets - we can find this out in a few hours. Let's bet. If you're right, I buy all your booze for a year. If I'm right, you have to go on that fad diet you've been writing about for a week."
At the time it seemed like a good deal, and I was so certain I was right that I was composing a shopping list for Dave.
That bastard. It took him less than an hour to get me off the booze and on the spinach. He knew the exact episode and scene where Worf lets Dax borrow his opera tapes. He didn't even toy with me, just went in for the kill, him and his fake Ferengi friends.

He says he feels bad for me. Says he's going to take me out to dinner tonight.
Terrific. And I was going to cheat and have pizza tonight. Finger-lickin' chicken eating bastard.

Mummy Dearest

Sun, 08 May 2005 05:16:31 GMT

Ah mother's day.

Luckily I was out at the bar tonight so I'll be able to handle the insanity by concentrating on my hangover. It'll be awesome. Chris will be concentrating on his PSP, I'll be concentrating on my hangover and Jenny will be contrating on her hypothermia.

You ever notice how Mother's Day is one of those songless days? Birthdays have one song, national holidays have patriotic music, religious holidays have hymns, Christmas even has secular songs, but Mother's Day is one of those days with nothing.
Except I think there's a song perfect for Mother's Day. It was provided to us in the early nineties by one of the most wonderful groups of all time and we just ignored it: She Drives Me Crazy, by the Fine Young Cannibals.

Sibling to a gym sock

Mon, 02 May 2005 18:24:39 GMT

Okay - seriously, I'm back. For real. I'd like to say that I was ever-so-busy and unable to write in my journal, but the fact is that my laptop was messed up for about a month. So I asked Dave to take a look at it. That was a disaster. He spilled some of his everpresent Mountain Dew into the damn thing. Then I needed a REAL tech. That tech just couldn't seem to get around to my laptop for weeks.

Anyways - y'all missed a whole lot of nothing. My boss is still nuts, my mom is still drunk, my cat still talks to me and my sister is STILL dating my ex.
There's your recap.
Onto newer stuff. I finally got to hang out with Cat and John this weekend. It had been a long time, but we got together at this little place called the Prop Closet. (Neat bar - it's kind of like a living room with hard liquor, or, like a neater, larger version of my living room, with more interesting people in it.) And, as its name suggests, there are many props scattered throughout the bar. Props like old hats, or walking canes. There's even a wheelchair. It's pretty awesome.

Let me bring it back to the point, which is this: John ran into my little sister and my ex last weekend.
Here's the story: John is still a little into the goth scene. Not much, but his old college roommate, Trevor, still drags him out to this weird vamp dive in NYC every once in a while. I don't remember what it's called, The Weeping Toreador or the Seventh-Generation Loser or something. While John was out, sampling the delicious pain of New York's undead underbelly, he ran into my ex, Jay, and my 16 year-old sister, Jenny. (A minor in a goth bar? Unheard of!) The bitch of this was that Jenny wasn't spouting off her normal goth stupidity. She wasn't speaking at all. In fact, whenever they sat at a table, she slumped over and played dead.
That's what happens when you date a necrophiliac who's sworn off actual corpses.

John started laughing and was promptly asked to leave the bar by a bouncer, who said that laughing is against the rules, unless the person in question is laughing mirthlessly or sniggering with evil glee. John tried to explain that his glee was evil, and in fact, pointed out Jay and Jen (draped face-first onto a table) and explained why he was laughing. This made the bouncer crack a smile. The result of this was that John was violently thrown out, along with Trevor, who had been chatting up a Gangrel chick.

Trevor was so upset about his ejection from the bar that he actually stood outside and waited for dawn, then disintigrated and wafted into the Hudson.
Actually, I made up that last bit.

FINALLY!!

Wed, 27 Apr 2005 22:01:32 GMT

That damned technician.
I mean, really, I am not the type of girl to put her life on hold because of one tardy computer tech.

Sadly, I had no choice.
I mean, my laptop was broken. I COULDN'T post.

Aww yeah.

Tue, 12 Apr 2005 01:52:17 GMT

You know sometimes my life isn't so basd.
Liek tonights, for example. I'm jsut sitting on the couch, like Snoop Doggy said, sipping on gin and jouice, laid back, with a mud mask on my face and my face... on a mud mask..? Ah - never mind - that was just silly. I'm not really drinking gin, I'm drinking Jack! Again! On a weeknight1\!

But seriously, I am pimpin. You don't have to get laid to pimp, right? I'm just sittin here, with my whiskey, and my mask, talking to my cat. And ja know why?

Because my borther called tonight, all upset because he had a bad date. Let's review this. My brother .... had a ... date.
Thas not possilbe. He plays PSp all day and a woman chased him - never mind the date was bad - he had a date inna first place. I haven't had a date in months. Not fair.
Gotta go - Morris is sayin something to me. Somehing about ICe. I mean, mice.

Whaa?

Thu, 07 Apr 2005 16:07:40 GMT

Tom's not in today. He's got a doctor's appointment or something.
As a result, I am unable to forward really annoying or troublesome phone calls to him.
This is a problem, especially since there are certain issues I just cannot solve.
For example:

This morning I got a phone call, not from one of my freelancers, but from the mother of one of my freelancers. This girl, we'll call her Nan, she's done stuff on dieting for me before. She is a very good writer - she once did this comprehensive feature on the Blood Type diet for me. It was great - she followed people with the four different blood types and chronicled their experiences with the diet.
The problem was, it was supposed to go into August's issue and she got it to me on July 28. The idea of a schedule - not something Nanny can wrap her mind around. So I don't call her with work unless I want to throw something at her and then wait forever for a work of genius to randomly arrive on my desk. Which, by the way, is never.

So today, her mother calls from — let's say, Lousiana — and asks me to please give Nan some work.
"She is such a good girl and, you know, I worry about her. You'll worry about your children too when you have them, dear. And she is such a good girl - you know she won the state essay contest when she was 10? True story."
I tried to explain that Nan hasn't met deadlines - but the mother launched into this story about how Nanny (such a good girl) is dependent on prescription drugs and just went through a huge break-up with her girlfriend and really needs the work.
"And I don't want her working down at the Burger King, honey," she says. "People don't like, you know... homosexuals."

Jesus - what am I supposed to do with this information, exactly? I told the lady that I would talk to Tom tomorrow and she finished off with: "Thank you sweetie, I know your mother would be proud."

So I gave her my sob story - alcoholic mother, absentee boss, no life, bad pay - and she hung up on me.
Too bad. I'm such a nice girl, sweetie. You know, I won the town spelling bee with the word "alcoholic" when I was 10?
True story.

That Sara is a strange kid.

Wed, 06 Apr 2005 15:36:45 GMT

Not only does reading my sis's best friend's L33+ give me a headache, but what she says hurts my soul.
Speaking of pain, Sister Jenny's been silent. Maybe she's playing dead.

Anyways, I've been off livejournal too long. Things are moving kind of slowly in my world, as you can see. Luckily, however, the torrent of angry phone calls (and the mailed packages of dog crap and dead birds from feminists) has kind of stopped. Morris is disappointed. He liked the dog crap and dead birds.

More later.

I hate women. And everybody. Mainly, I hate Dave and Tom.

Tue, 29 Mar 2005 20:58:15 GMT

Oh my god - it's been a day and a half of hell, ever since I checked my voicemail.
Apparently, as soon as our April edition hits the newstands, people with low self-esteem and big anger problems just snatch it off the stands and flip directly to my column so they can a.) hate themselves and b.) hate the magazine on which they spent money.
Also, militant feminists, who are NOT the target audience of Cosmetropolitan, seem to pick the damn thing up as soon as it hits the stands. We should start putting sensible shoes on the Must Have for This Season page because about fifty of the bitches have called me to yell about my column this month and tell me how I'm hurting women.
They're hurting women too.
Me.
And the poor receptionist, who I think is now just forwarding ALL her calls to me. What happened to hating the male oppressors?

Here's my voicemail list from lunch. (I forwarded the phones to Dave on lunch break, since this was all his idea. He's kindly left me a detailed callback list, but he looks a little pale and frightened, so I won't crumple it up and force it down his gullet.)

1.) Dana Mulley from Viva La Fem, whatever that is. She has always been appalled at the emaciated models we use in our publication, but until now, has never seen an article blatantly stating what so often was implied.
Hmm. Sounds like Dana is a regular reader. Shame on you for supporting us, Dana.

2.) Terri Tsoukas from some random town. Terri has a daughter with bulimia and it's my fault. Yep, that's right Terri. I forced my magazine into your kid's pudgy hands and whispered that denying herself food would make her pretty like Kate Bosworth. Or maybe you aren't a very good parent, Terri. What else would I think of a woman who, instead of getting her child the help she needs, calls a magazine and blames them for an eating disorder? Get off the phone, pull your kid out of the bathroom and take her to a therapist.

3.) Two self-righteous little snots from some high school someplace are appalled that grown-ups would write stuff like my column and print it. They, apparently, are idealistic young feminists who think for themselves. Pretty phrase, kids. Your health teacher make you say that?

4.) Of all things, the God's Light Church ladies' group called me to tell me that my magazine is a poorly-written piece of trash that encourages sin. I don't know why they chose this particular month to call - they could call anytime with the same complaint. Perhaps one of their daughters is bulimic as well. To them, I have one thing to say - I work for a women's mag. It's pretty obvious that I'm not working for Jesus, but if I were working for Satan, I would hope that my paycheck would be more substantial.

Thank God I'll be seeing Cat and John in the next couple of days. I need to see someone who doesn't hate me.

Easter Monday.

Mon, 28 Mar 2005 16:23:46 GMT

Well here I am, back in work, and as with all holidays, this past weekend was a mixed bag. Half of it was really good - Dad made crown rack of lamb (which Jenny, suddenly and inexplicably vegan, did not eat) and we had a great time until we had to leave and go back home to Mom's, where we found mother dearest weeping for no apparant reason.
The next morning, Mom made us hunt badly hidden eggs (I found two empty bottles of jack that were better hidden) and then we had a chicken casserole thingie for dinner. (Which Jenny, all of a sudden un-vegan, DID eat, maybe out of desperation, because there was nothing else on the table.) It was all too depressing, so I left early and went home, where I ate lots of chocolate and gave myself a big sugar buzz that kept me awake until 2 am. ( I was out of whiskey.)

Dave appears to still be on some sort of sugar high - he has five boxes of Peeps stacked next to his keyboard and two empty boxes in the trash. What else can the day bring? Let's see - my phone's message light is flashing. Rapture. Can't wait to see what this is about.

Gooooood Friday!!

Fri, 25 Mar 2005 15:43:16 GMT

It's Good Friday and that means a lot of things to a lot of people - to good Catholics, it means a bare-bones mass and the death of Jesus, to Mel Gibson it means big numbers at the bible belt box office for the second year in a row. To me, it means a two-day countdown to sitting with my family at Mom's, eating an awful dinner that she prepared while drunk. Uck.

There is an upside - we're going to Dad's after work. But it's only for tonight and tomorrow. Despite the fact that I'm closing in on 30, we ALL have to go home and sleep at Mom's on Saturday night, so that we can wake up Easter morning and find our presents from the Drunken Easter Bunny! At the very least, Mom has stopped trying to make us go to church on Easter morning. Not only are we all totally unfamiliar to the people at the church we're supposedly members of, but the holy water was burning Jenny.

Just the thought of Dad's is enough to almost clear the thoughts of Easter at Mom's away.
Nah - not really. Maybe if I'm drunk too, I won't remember this year.

Waiting for the outbreak of self-hate

Wed, 23 Mar 2005 16:51:54 GMT

Well my article came in right under the wire for the April Cosmetropolitan, so we were shipped out to bookstores and mag stands today.
So basically I'm just chilling (literally, it's freezing in here) and waiting for any hate mail. Then again, we never get hate mail really, unless you count mass letter mailings from eating disorder centers that have their patients send us letter as part of their therapy. We claim to read them all, but really Tom just has the mail room dump anything that comes from those addresses. I suspect the emails are just automatically deleted - I dunno, Dave handles those.
If he does have to handle those, it serves him right. it was his idea.

Anyways, life has been downright boring since I recovered from the deathflu. Nothing is going on, and by nothing, I mean less than the usual amount of nothing that occurs in my life.

I haven't gone out and gotten drunk - I do it at home. I haven't hung out with anyone, I've watched I Love the 80s on VH1. I don't even play with Morris much, we just both sit there and watch TV.

Kill me.