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++++++++++++

Stalking
Lone Star Thomas
Goodies

phone home

2/28/03
Isn't that smoking ban in bars going into effect tomorrow? I never thought I'd live to see the day. The West Coast, sure, but here? I'm not supposed to be smoking anyway, and I never touch cigarettes at home, or at school or at work, but when I'm out having a drink on the weekend smoking a couple cigarettes is part of the package, that's just the way it is. First I couldn't have basic things like bread and rice and now they're (yeah, I know, who's they?) taking away another tiny unhealthy pleasure. Jeez, what crutches are left for me. So, I've wanted to go to S.E. Asia for what seems like forever and I'm always hinting and mentioning it but James doesn't seem to take the bait. I don't think he really wants to go to Asia, he always insists it will be hot or boring or dirty or there'll be no cable TV or we'll get terrorized somehow. I don't really care (well, I can't stand hot weather). The yesterday I saw this ad on Orbitz for a Singapore Airlines special that's good until May 23, and that's right after my semester ends so it's perfect timing, and the fare is slightly higher than like United, but if you're going to be on a plane for like 24 hours, taking airlines known for their amenities actually makes a difference. I emailed James the special and he said he'd book it, and I hope he's being serious because I have all sorts of plans. Singapore, Thailand, maybe Malaysia (but not Indonesia or the Philippines because I don’t want my head chopped off). Then today it occurred to me that my new job starts Monday, and its p/t but not temp and I don’t know if it's the sort of thing where you can just take off because you feel like it, and I'm not even a free spirit, I just really want to take this trip in the near future and not be tied down. I'm assuming you accrue things like sick days and vacation time and that stuff never kicks in for at least six months and I can't wait until Sept. and besides, by then I will have school again with no time off till all the big holidays where everyone goes out of town except me. And I would say fuck them all and just take off for Asia during Christmas, but I'm disgustingly dependent on the financial kindness of others when it comes to vacations. That sounds gross I guess, I would think some girl who couldn't pay for her own stuff was pretty annoying, but we're talking luxuries not general living expenses (which I have student loans for that I'll be paying off the rest of my life, dammit) and I find just about everyone annoying so my opinion barely matters. Anyway, this trip had better not fall through because I'm very serious about it.

2/26/03
OK, so first it was the hives (if that's even what they are, they look like mosquito bites. Last weekend they started popping up all over my scalp and began appearing around my hairline and forehead, which was incredibly irritating since I do have to go out in public every now and then), then it was swollen lips, then my entire right hand turned red and puffed up like a glove filled with water, and now my right eye is making me insane. For almost a week now it's felt like there is sand in it, it burns and itches tears up, but there's absolutely nothing weird looking about it if you look in the mirror. I can't stop rubbing it because it seems like there's something in it, I feel like it's droopy or sleepy looking, but it's not. I can't figure it out. Then yesterday I woke up with intense wisdom tooth pain, which hasn't bothered me in years. I'm wondering if the eye and tooth are related in some creepy nerve ending way, since it's both on my right side. I tell you, I blame it on the carbs. I'm laying that whole thing to rest at the end of this month because it's been a total crock, if you ask me. I'm lucky if I lost five pounds in nearly two months, have no energy, am in the same foul mood I've always been in, have horrible allergies that I never had before, and get constant charley horses (an common result of the Atkin's diet). That's a lot of effort, for almost no pay off. It's total quackery. I mean, you could lose five pounds in two months from just exercising more and removing junk food and snacks from your diet, while still eating bread, rice and pasta. Anyway, yesterday I got this contract and page and pages of rules (style crap like not using words like [ha, or using the phrase like x, y, and z or such as x, y, and z] boast, charm, cheesy, chic, clearly, crowd, hip, joint, literally, etc. you get the idea, no overused cliches, whatever I'll do what I can) but the amusing bit was how you're to remain anonymous and never accept free food or drink. Oh well, don't tell anyone about that gratis white chocolate martini, ok? Yes, I know there are carbs in white chocolate martinis, same for flan, nasi goreng, corn fritters, bastilla, and couscous, all which I ate this weekend. I feel pretty damn good about it, too.

2/24/03
1. I like mechanics magazines. 2. I have a good appetite. Most definitely (during my painful Sunday afternoon class where I'm always starving and hungover, the teacher kept saying "on Dewey" like the Dewey decimal system and I kept hearing andouille like the cajun sauasage.) 3. I wake up fresh and rested most mornings. Never. 4. I think I would like the work of a librarian. What the hell is up with that?! These are the first four questions on the 567-question MMP1-2 personality test to determine if you're psychotic or not. 96. I see things or animals or people around me that others do not see. Scary, but not quite as scary as enjoying library work. Speaking of, I was offered a job today at Parson's School of Design's library. It's good because it's p/t, a block from school and has benefits and tuition remission (for New School, et.al, not Pratt where I'm going, but they have interesting writing and cooking classes). The pay, however, is pretty sad. Fortunately, it's only a job to tide me through school. OK, so this weekend I went to Bay Ridge to review bars and I'm a bad journalist type because I'm antisocial and rarely mention I'm writing a story to staff or mingle and get quotes from the clientele, and if I were a good self-serving New Yorker, I'd totally weasel free stuff at all possible moments, but I don't. But this bar in Bay Ridge was all aspiring to be Manhattan-esque with a martini menu (each at $9) and reserved seating, it was actually a cute, lounge-y, 50s opium den style place that was out of character for the neighborhood, though the crowd was pure under 26 Bay Ridge with R&B blaring. Mentioning you're writing a small Time Out review in a Manhattan bar wouldn't get anyone's attention, same for the Bay Ridge Irish pub I had to visit later that night, but I could sense you could get some mileage out of it at this place. I broke out of my timid persona and casually asked the bartender about popular drinks and said I was writing a review (I don't know the ethics of this, legit, real highbrow food critics remain anonymous, but c'mon for a $25, 200-word blurb, how much integrity do you need?). Next thing I knew the owner was bounding over (apparently he'd been trying to get a review in this guide for years. This is the first year they've started including farther-out neighborhoods) and plying us (Jessica and James) with plates of chocolate-covered strawberries, $9 drinks became free (I get $15 in expenses usually). Earlier when James tried snagging a table he was told, "don't even think about it" by a waitress, then all of a sudden she was kicking an entire group of guidos and their gal pals out of their front couch so we could sit down. It was totally over the top. Appetizers kept coming to the table, more drinks showing up. I started feeling guilty, but heck, if they want to treat me like a king in Bay Ridge, they can. Lord knows I don't get any respect in the city. We had four bars to make it to that night and got trapped there till 1:30am (we only had time to briefly check out the Irish Pub, but they have a John Cougar cover band, Pink Houses, next Sat. so I will be back) because the owner sat down with us and then starting hitting on Jessica. I started thinking we'd never make it out alive. He wouldn't let up with her and kept touching her knee and I told her (quietly) she'd better keep smiling or else I was going to get stuck with a big bill. It was just too much, we were happy to pay for our beers and listen to bad renditions of Hole and Boston at the next bar. And now I'm scared to death of saying anything snarky about the bar (they owner came over and started pouring us "mojito shots"…so '99 – see, I'm being snarky) or else this guy's going to come after me (he kept asking for a business card). I was told by the editor to "break out of the Postian style and play up to the TO attitude." Uh, OK. This cracked me up, she means I write schticky and for the average joe for the New York Post and Time Out fancies themselves to be hip, young and insidery, which means dismissive and smart-assy, which I'm good at, but I don't really want to slam Bay Ridge bar owners with high-faluting aspirations, even if they do deserve it. See, you get soft once you hit 30, I'm more concerned with making fun of people than I was a couple years ago. It really sucks getting old.

2/21/03
Ack, I wish I had more time to write mildly interesting drivel here. I always tend to write more when I'm working because for me working implies lots of straying off task and goofing off. When I'm at home I have a hard time sitting still at my computer like I should be doing something more important or school-related. I'm totally not buckling down, and now it's 5pm on Friday anyway so I may as well throw in the towel and get out of the house. And now I have a new distraction, I'm supposed to be writing bar reviews for the Time Out NY's Bar and Club Guide that'll come out later this year, but they assigned me these random places like in Bay Ridge, which is fine by me really, but the one that's throwing me for a tiny loop is this gay bar on the corner where I used to work in Park Slope (I used to walk by it every night on the way home and it was definitely not be the kind of place I'd hang if I were gay, it seemed all granola-y and folksie). I'm so not in touch with the NYC lesbian scene, like what makes a good or crappy bar, I mean my taste is poor enough when it comes to straight bars. If I have any lesbian readers with strong opinions on Rising Café, feel free to pipe up.

2/19/03
In grade school I'd always get an "I" in Makes Good Use of Class Time (same for Self-Discipline and Works Well With Others, ha). "I" meant needs improvement, where the rest of my report card would be filled with satisfactory Ss and quite a few excellent Es. I don't think much has changed. I really have time management problems. This is my first week not working and I don't feel like I'm getting anything done. Granted, the snow kept me away from home until yesterday afternoon, and my phone line went dead again (this is easily the seventh time since I've lived in this apt. It'd been happening all last week, then was completely dead Fri. and it was too late for them to do anything and since it was a three-day weekend this was bad. They told me they could have someone come out between 8am and 5pm on Sat. Like I'm going to sit around waiting for nine hours. I'm not even home on weekends, was planning on staying out late Fri. I said I'd be home, but knew I wasn't and somehow it miraculously got fixed, which leads me to believe that they don't actually need to get into my backyard and have me present like they say they do) but now it's Wed. and I have a million things to do for school, mostly reading, but I have all these papers and presentations due pretty soon and I don't even know how to give a presentation. Really. I'm supposed to give a talk on "Perspectives on the Library Profession" and I'm totally blank for ideas. The only thing working in my favor is that many of my fellow students fall into the retard camp (my favorite is this middle-aged woman with high-pitched whiny voice who's a dead ringer for Lady Elaine Fairchilde off Mr. Rogers'. Pretty much anyone over 45 in the program is weird – watch out for those career changers) Nothing makes a person feel better about themselves than being surrounded by mediocrity. Not that I'm a genius or anything, I'm pretty average, but I haven't felt this smart in years. I forgot how it felt to be in school and get everything so quickly, this doesn't make you smart, but having a knack for rote knowledge, facts, memorization can get you pretty far. Like in college college, I'd get maybe a C+ or B- in Drawing, but I was one of the few people in art school who'd always get As in Art History, English and Science because those were literal type classes, which I think are easy. The same held true for high school – it wasn't hard on the brain (emotionally, a whole other story, of course). I didn't realize how pitifully stupid I was until I had to deal with the real world. I couldn't and can't find jobs to save my live and that's because jobs aren't about smarts, and facts and memorization, but personality. It's no coincidence that all my grade school Is were in the social skills section, not academic performance. Who cares how much stuff you know if you're combative, smart-assed, disrespectful, lazy and anti-social. Anyway, I hope to continue feeling smart for the next year and a half or so, until I get my degree and am forced to confront the more undesirable aspects of my being.

2/13/03
Do you ever think a hysterectomy would be the answer to all your problems? Now that I have health insurance again I thought I'd be all good and dutiful and do my yearly pap smear and they just called with the results and for like the 8th time it's abnormal and I have to have another biopsy. I think I speculated a few years back how if they keep taking samples (I know they're tiny), but the time I'm 40 I'll have no cervix left and I still believe that to be true. They should just take everything out, I don't plan on having kids anyway. Speaking of, it feels like all of a sudden everyone's doing all these monumental life things. Not my close, close friends, but just about everyone else. I guess once you hit your 30s it's all expected. I think most people in the U.S. probably hit this phase more like mid-20s, and I've just been insulated by the crowds I surround myself with. I met up with an old coworker Friday night and it turns out she just got engaged (she's been dating her boyfriend way less time than I've been dating mine) and has everything planned out like when they're going to have their first child (in four years, which isn't outrageous or anything, but weird that these plans are made). A college friend of James's might've just had a child last week, she up and moved to Maine after 9/11 with a guy she hadn't been dating that long and now they're married with children. But the truly disturbing specimen is another of James's college friends, Pat, who started dating this bland, mousy girl late last year. We only met her once, in fact some of our group of friends have still not met her. She's a divorced coworker who lives with her parents in CT and won't come out because she doesn't like Brooklyn and will only go to "yuppie bars" (according to Pat) and I thought he meant that we were like too lowbrow for her and she liked upscale $12 martini places, but he meant our hangouts were too hip and she only likes T.G.I.Friday's types of places (I'm not joking – I told him I'd gladly drink a Mudslide or do tequila shooters if it would make her feel more at home). Anyway, the more I hear about her the more I dislike her, and as it turns out she's knocked-up. Fine. And she wants to keep it. Oh, I forgot to mention a serious part of this tragic tale. In like Oct. when he was wooing her, she absolutely wouldn't go out with him, he bought her gifts, perfume, jewelry (he's one of those overly generous types who'll pay for dinner, buy you drinks, just for no reason) and one of the reasons she gave for not wanting to date him was "I want children who'll look like me." OK, the big question there is why children were even being discussed (apparently, her strong desire for babies contributed to her recent divorce), but the bigger issue is someone telling you they want nothing to do with you because of your race. In this case, Korean. She was put-off by the idea of Asian babies. We were all appalled at the time. And now, well…who said irony was dead post-9/11? Women can make their choices, fine, but the part that disturbs me (and this isn't even my life) is that Pat is moving in with this woman this weekend, to Westchester. The suburbs because it's close to her family and they can't afford Manhattan and she thinks Brooklyn (where he currently lives) is unacceptable and he's just going along with the whole thing, merrily buying furniture (she wanted a $1,200 Ethan Allen crib) and paying for crap and oh, even asked her to marry him. They've been dating like 4 months. She doesn't love him, it's been discussed. She didn't even give him a Christmas present. He constantly refers to her as "dumbass," acknowledging she is selfish in this whole scenario. She won't eat "foreign food" and offended his mom when they first met two weeks ago by not eating anything (I did crack up over his impression of his mom saying "she's too old" [she's 33, he's 31] "I hate her eyes" [they're blue] "her nose is so ugly" [it's button] like Margaret Cho's stand-up act where she imitates her mother). This is not my life, but it's totally infuriating me. It's infuriating because this seems so wrong on so many levels and there's no way it's going to end well. Just because 90% of people on daytime TV enjoy talking about/dissing their babies' mommies, doesn't mean that's an acceptable standard. I'm not against grown-ups having babies, but for god's sake be responsible, and don't play house because it's serious business. The only way I will be buying this little bastard child any presents is if they register at Target's Lullaby Club, which sadly I know won't happen. I know two men who've had girlfriends they were dating for short periods of time get pregnant and keep the baby. Both are horribly bitter, misogynistic (more misanthropic really) though often pleasant, people (I guess giving half your salary for 20 years to someone you dated for a couple months could have that effect). I would apologize for airing Pat's dirty laundry here, but I'm the only one who seems to think it's dirty – he's been reveling in the attention (while many men in his situation are hush-hush ashamed, it's all he can seem to talk about), knows I would give it to him much worse in person, and besides I think he's way too busy pretending to be a husband and a daddy to be reading some yahoo who thinks she knows everything about life's webpage. Because as you know, I'm a shining example of how everyone should live their lives. So, I'm having doubts over what good can come of my uterus is anyway, they may as well just take it out. I think I've deduced where I'm being taken for Valentine's Day (no, not The Olive Garden). I'm pretty sure from clues it's Suba, which makes me a tiny bit nervous because it's one of those style over substance places, even though the consulting chef Luis Bollo is relatively acclaimed (I took James to his now out-of-business restaurant Meigas for his 31st birthday) and it's gotten a lot of press lately over this gimmicky, singles dinner in the dark thing. I think the lights will be on for Valentine's Day, but if I'm correct they are doing some blindfolded dessert tasting, which scares me. You know Valentine's Day is notoriously a heinous dining experience, at least in NYC (this topic was written about twice in yesterday's New York Times, hey, and Suba was actually given as an example of a more fun option). All these restaurants create special, cutesy, overpriced menus with passion fruit, chocolate and oysters and the places are filled with the sorts of people who don't generally eat at "nice" restaurants (the "never ending pasta bowl" crew, if you will) who therefore have high expectations and don't want anything challenging cuisine-wise so normally unacceptable whims (like putting parmesan on seafood – I don't care if people eat that, but I know it irks "serious" food types [I refuse to use the gross word foodie, but that's what I mean]) are accommodated for the evening and blah entrees are de riguer. I'm not a snob (well, sometimes), I'm just reiterating popular opinion. I personally, enjoy cheeseball trappings. If I were served a red and pink themed dinner with heart shaped food, I wouldn't complain. Heck, I'd even eat the seafood alfredo with extra grated parmesan.

2/12/03
Last night I once again marveled and lamented how my apartment is the only one on the entire block that doesn't shovel or salt the snow and ice in front. One of these days I'm going to seriously crack my head open. I know this doesn't magically happen, that someone must physically remove the ice, but it just reinforces what a retard dwelling I live in. Even the ghetto building on the corner has nice, clean sidewalks. Who's maintaining the rest of the block? My theory was that many of the homes are owned rather than rented like mine, but that can't be completely true. And who's responsibility is it to clean that crap up anyway? I always ended up picking up the piles of leaves and trash that accumulated in front of the building just because the way the apartment is set up makes all that garbage blow and pile in front of my door and I get tired of tracking it inside the house. But the snow is a different story. My point is that last night I came home and on the front door (not mine, if you can imagine the set up, I live in what they might call a 3-family house around these parts. If you walk up a short flight of stairs there's one entrance that leads to the first floor and stairs to the second floor, each is a separate apartment. If you walk down about 3 steps from ground level you're at my door, I'm in the semi-basement. Semi because I'm below ground in front, but my back door is at ground level where the backyard is – that always weirds me out) there was a citation with a $50 fine to the owner of the building for not shoveling or salting the snow and ice in front of the building. See, it's a big deal, it's not just me being petty. The thing is the violation was from the sanitation dept. (yesterday was trash pick up day, obviously getting to the trash was a hazard in their eyes) not even from the city directly. I was just surprised that clearing snow is like a law or something, not optional. But if an owner doesn’t live on site how do these things get taken care of? Like I said, I'm not clearing that snow any time soon and besides I live in the crappy basement, my magazines always get stolen and am never even home, the top neighbors I've never seen in my entire life, the main floor neighbors seem to think the entire building is their stomping ground and the mom sits home with the toddler collecting disability (we all share a mailbox, which likely contributes to my missing magazines) even though she looks fine to me so out of meanness I think they should have to maintain the property. But that's just my theory, I don't suppose any of us are required to do any of it. So, Valentine's Day, huh. I do know that I’m being taken out, but the restaurant is a surprise. Last year I was happy with Artisanal, but I'm always nervous with the taste of others. A couple months ago I was subtly dropping hints about wanting to try AZ (for such a spendy restaurant they certainly have a homely website) and James did catch on, but it was already booked up for New Year's Eve, it makes me wonder if he's remembered. I suspect a different restaurant choice because so far I've been given the near useless hints the place has a one-word name, is below 14th St. on the east side and doesn't serve American food. AZ doesn't fit at least two of those, so it's anyone's guess. I just hope it's not some manly meat place, and really, I should just be grateful to be taken out at all.

2/11/03
So, has everyone gone out and raided the hardware stores for duct tape and plastic sheets? Apparently I've been living in a bubble because while aware there was a nebulous orange alert in effect, I didn't realize we were supposed to be stocking up on provisions and taping up all windows and doors to keep chemical weapons out. The news is nuts, I swear. I just had to turn it off and get out of the living room. If I can't even keep cold, gusty wind drafts from freezing my apartment, how the heck am I supposed to keep anthrax and other assorted biological warfare goodies out? If we get attacked, we do, I don't see the point in fretting. Avoiding the subway is not an option, oh, and you're supposed to be looking for suspicious items like mayonnaise jars in subway stations because you know, terrorists could put sarin gas in them. More brilliant tips from Fox. Back to more pressing problems like my lips that won't stop swelling up. Sunday the right side of my lips started itching, puffed up huge and hard as a rock and wouldn't go down for hours. I just started feeling the left side of my upper lip starting to get itchy and big. It's clearly an allergic reaction to something, but I have no idea what. I just ate some coconut-spinach soup I made, and last time it happened I'd eaten two Malaysian-style shrimp. The two dishes probably have coconut milk in common, but I've been eating that for years. Oh, I know, maybe my lips are reacting to the nerve gas leaking around the cracks in my back door. I figured my taxes last night and I knew it'd be sad, but I was totally shocked at my income (including unemployment) for 2002. It was by far the least amount I've earned in the 4.5 years I've lived here. It even comes close to my Portland income, which was low, but in line with the cost of living. Would you think it'd be possible to live in the most expensive city (some could argue that's San Francisco, but allow me to wallow in self-pity, please) in the country on $16,000? It's not really, and that's why when I checked my balance today, it was at -$72. It's so evil how if you even just barely don't have funds to cover one transaction (Sunday, I spent $4.32 on a pack of what I thought were way overpriced maxipads. I was thankful that I wasn't knocked up, but I didn't realize how expensive those pads would end up being. With the $30 insufficient funds fee…well, you can do the math) they debit your account $30, which causes a domino effect where of course all subsequent transactions don't have the money to cover them, plus an additional $30 is deducted. And there's nothing I can do until Thurs. when I get paid (it's also my last day at work), so I can just hope that the two bounces are all there is. Oh, and I owe federal taxes (haven't done state yet) on that whopping salary. Huh, it always baffles me how that can be when like everyone I know makes 4-5 times more and they always manage to get money back, thanks to the handiwork of accountants. I could give a rat's ass about "American Idol," but it's hardly less idiotic than the news. My favorite tonight was Clay Aiken, the red-headed, Rick Astley dork, who's all pasty, but sings like a big black man. He's been trying to make himself over with spiky hair and by losing his glasses, but his true roots show when on his FAQ he lists Peter Cetera as his favorite male pop artist. He also works with mentally retarded and developmentally disabled teens. Oh, and did I mention he did Journey's "Open Arms" as his song tonight? He'll never win. I can't figure out that new show, "Less Than Perfect." First off, it's not very funny, it's actually kind of loathsome, but the cast is vaguely interesting. My grandma mentioned liking it at Thanksgiving, which means absolutely nothing to you, but speaks volumes to me. It's got Andy Dick who doesn't bother me and that icy, mean lady character from "The Pretender" whose name I can't remember, it was Miss Parker or something. I used to think she was really bitchy hot on that show, but now she just seems sort of average. What I can't figure out is how they gave a fat actress a main role, and if she's even really fat. The lead character is the fat girl from the short-lived, "Zooey, Duncan, Jack and Jane" or whatever the name of that show was, and also the fat girl from "Popular." I can't tell if she's lost weight for this new role, or if she looks the same and it was simply a matter of hamming up her fat girl roles in the former shows. I think she's lost weight, to still be the fat character of course, because there's like sidekick, butt-of-jokes fat for TV, then spunky protagonist, root-for-me fat for TV, and there's at least 25 pounds difference between the two. I've never hear them refer to her as being heavy on the show, and that's why I'm trying to figure out if she's supposed to be the fat chick or not. I think so, even if they don't come out and make an issue of it, because she's employed in a subservient assistant role where she has a hard time lying to cover for her boss, she can't stand conflict and can't speak up for herself, she can't pick up men or can't even act sexy properly in a strip aerobics class (though her large black friend can because she's sassy like that. But she's not fat large, but that strange, short, round shape where the bust is so enormous it makes one look overweight, like if they had a breast reduction they'd turn out to be a size 6, not 16). Well, the title says it all. It's not "Nearly Perfect" or "Almost Perfect," it's "Less Than Perfect," meaning not quite, never, which might be more descriptive of the show than the main character. And her name is Claude, as in dirt clod, oaf, dolt. Oh jeez, I'm supposed to be writing a paper comparing online and print reference sources, not rambling about TV shows I've only seen twice and have irrationally firm opinions about. One more thing I forgot to complain about that's actually relevant because it means I can't upload this entry. Yesterday I came home and my phone line was all scratchy sounding, it still works, but it's so loud and fuzzy that it's near impossible to hold a conversation. I absolutely cannot deal with the phone company right now, there's no way I can take off work for like the millionth time while they putz around for hours, obviously not really fixing anything. As long as I have a dial tone I will deal (I'm hoping it just has something to do with all the ice and will clear up on its own – yeah, right). But the serious annoyance is that I can only connect to the internet on maybe 1 out of 8 tries, and once I connect, it lasts for about 45 seconds before refusing to go to sites. And at 10.7 cents a goddamn dial-up (Verizon's stupidity, not Earthlink's), it's starting to piss me off. Hey, those dimes add up.

2/7/03
I’m really not obsessed with health and aging, I swear, but my fancy was caught by that Real Age test that everyone seems to know about all of a sudden. This girl in the office with the same name as mine (I've never known many Kristas, but I was annoyed all through grade school because I started 2nd grade in the middle of the year [after being removed from a freaky Christian private school where I got into trouble all the time] and there was already a Krista in the class, this shrimpy, daughter of the pastor of our church, Krista Teats [uh oh, using last names again] so I became Krista G. for years. We went to the same school all the way up to high school graduation, at some point I lost the G. Serious tangent that I think I may have mentioned before: Freshman year I had a crush on this new scrawny, geeky kid from Texas, Don E., and we'd talk about Douglas Adams books and pass notes to each other in Geometry because we were the only two freshman in the class and you have to stick together. At some point I wrote him this brief, confessional love note with invisible ink so he could read it later, but not in front of me and I called him later that day (so weird, I would never do that now) and he told me he had a thing for Krista Teats and broke my heart. He was also very Christian and I figured I was too much of a bad seed for him, but the next year he started dating Alice Rae, this total rocker, smoker, druggie who was older than us and the rumor was they "did it" and it was all his idea. So traumatizing. Anyway, I recently Googled Don, and apparently he now writes down-to-earth, accessible Christian books for teens, and not using his last name is pointless because you know I’m going to link to his book, Jesus With Dirty Feet.) was going on about how her real age is 25 (I'm pretty sure we're the same age in real life). I'm no longer Krista G., but "Good Krista" because I'm quiet and dilligent (really I'm just bored and irritated) and she's "Bad Krista" because she's constantly talking (coworkers made these names, not I). She's nice, but irksome because she's one of those naturally tall, thin, blonde WASPy types, reminiscent of Jenna Elfman from "Dharma & Greg," who thinks it's amusing to go on and on about how much junk food she eats (she's always eating candy and McDonald's chicken mcnuggets). For some reason guys think it's cute when skinny girls eat like pigs, like that means they're headstrong and confident and they're so not concerned with what people think of them and you just know an insatiable appetite for cookies means a voracious sexual appetite, right? Then my friend Jessica mentioned this test and how she was disturbed that her real age was 33 (we're also the same age). So, of course I had to take the test and figured I'd be somewhere in my mid-fifties or something, but I ended up 32.9, which is still almost three years older than I should be, but .1 year younger than Jessica, which is sort of odd because I'm sure I'm much unhealthier than she is. I broke down and ate a burrito last night, carb-crazy filled with rice and beans, not to mention the tortilla, of course. Do you think I'm going to go to hell? Don E. might have the answer to that.

2/6/03
Thankfully, no one in my program has said “libary” yet though I have heard “axe” for ask, which has to be one of the most irritating aspects of NYC-speak. Anyway, I’m here to talk about seemingly useless medical products, not to berate the vernacular of future libarians. I don’t know when it started, maybe a few years back, but all of a sudden there was rampant advertising for prescription drugs like some previous ban had been lifted or something. Right now I’m being haunted by that Advair diskus that’s plastered everywhere, the subway, bus shelters, taxi cabs, in ads before movies, it’s crazy and I didn’t even know what it was for until I bothered to look at their website (apparently the advertising barrage worked). One could guess it’s for asthma since it’s an inhaler, but how many Americans have asthma, anyway? Obviously, quite a few, or else the ones who do like spending oodles of money on little purple misshapen things called diskuses. Maybe it’s necessary for some folks, but what baffles me more is the sheer amount of over-the counter drugs that seem to serve no purpose. There are all these genres of treatments that have eluded me, either as a waste of money for duped consumers or for people with legitimate need and I hadn’t gotten old enough to feel their pain yet. Well, it’s 2003, and I think I’ve finally entered that scary world. Like I never understood what the big deal with heartburn was, or what it even felt like, until a couple weeks ago when I ate a bunch of Buffalo wings (low-carb friendly, you know) and like an hour later got horrible chest pains and thought I was having a heart attack. Nice. Do I see Mylanta in my future? It also recently occurred to me that since the new year I have hardly gone to the bathroom, I mean I don’t think it’s normal to not take a crap for like five days straight. I just never go. I eat, it doesn’t come out. And I wonder why all this effort I’m putting into low-carb eating isn’t giving the dramatic results I’d hoped for. Every wonderfully healthy low-carb item I’ve ingested for the past month must be sitting in my bowels and fat cells. Beautiful. And perhaps more disturbingly, I have not had a period since the new year. And unless you are a financially-stable, emotionally-strong, baby-lover (which I will never be) that is not a good thing. So Tuesday night I found myself curling up with the Metamucil and EPT (actually, it was Rite Aid brand, but don’t tell anyone. James doesn’t trust generic brands. Now that I think about it, I’ve always dated guys with generic brand issues. My last boyfriend would always buy the most expensive name brand, even if I’d insist it wasn’t better, but he had money/depravation issues because he was raised in an orphanage). I’m not pregnant, as it turns out and I’m still not pooping either. This is insane, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m actually gaining weight, what with all this crap stuck in my gut and ovaries. I don’t want to become one of those people who buys all that hideous commercial stuff. What’s next FDS or Preparation H? I fear my 40s.

2/4/03
It just occurred to me that part of yesterday’s entry may be confusing. I mentioned a new look meaning the new domain name www.scaredycatstalker.com, but duh, how would you see or know that since this, the old address still works, too. Anyway, I now have a simpler URL.