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08.13.02 -

Tuesday

Guess what? I'm running JAGUAR, baby. Grrrowwr!! Rrrowwr!!

Um. I mean, I just got Mac OS 10.2 installed at work. Woo.

I declare today Wrinkly Clothes Day! That way, I look like I'm all patriotic and like supporting my country's choice of holidays, instead of looking like a fucking slob who can't figure out how to operate an iron. I just got this crap back from the dry cleaners, and 3 hours into my workday I look like a Kleenex fished out of the bottom of an old lady's purse. That's what I get for combining a cheap 100% cotton shirt from Old Navy and a halfway decent linen skirt from Banana Republic. It's the worst of both worlds!

So have I told you I have discovered the crack cocaine method of caffeine delivery? We have this espresso machine at work, and up until recently I've been piddling around making foofoo latte drinks with all kinds of gooey flavors. Well, that little period has ENDED, my friend. Now I'm taking my espresso like Clint Eastwood drank his whiskey in Unforgiven - with a horrible grimace and a shudder at the end. Oh yeah, a straight double shot of Good Morning Sunshine, unadulterated with such frivolities as "milk" or "decent flavor". I'll probably burn a hole in my stomach, but I'll go down swinging, dammit.

Frankly, I like being overcaffeinated. I like the jittery thing my foot does, and the machine-gun rapid fire of my fingers typing. I like the clenched jaw I get, and the vague sense of tunnel vision.

I like drinking, too. I like the mellow, liquidy feel of my muscles relaxing with a glass of wine. I like the giddy talkiness that hits you after a stiff gin and tonic. The occasional railroad-spike-in-your-eye-socket morning - yeah, not so much, but when Imbibed Responsibly, booze is a good thing.

This is actually from today's McSweeney's:

"The trick to avoiding depression is figuring out which states of mind require vodka and which require coffee. If you can do that, you are saved."

That's...that's perfect.

My vices could be worse, really. It wasn't all THAT many years ago that I was hoovering stinging powder derived from the extract of some poisonous drugstore nasal inhalant up my quivering nostrils before donning white pancake makeup and heating up a black eyeliner pencil with a match to ring myself with enough glop to be mistaken for a dead racoon and then hitting the dance floor to swirl 'spookily' around to This Mortal Coil while inhaling smoke from a Capri Menthol, ya know.

Yeah, those were the days.

Not.

I was such a rebel. Oh totally! I was SO! I was like totally unique and tortured and draped myself in tattered black lace and listened to Skinny Puppy and inhaled smoked drank anything I could get my hands on and no one knew my pain.

And now I live in a Seattle suburb with a husband, an Labrador, and I wear Gap clothing and hot-iron my hair and I have only the loosest grasp of current events and I can't dance for shit and if I see a girl with bright green hair and 40 rings in her nose I TOTALLY STARE.

I am exactly the sort of person I used to hate!

Anyway.

:::

Holy balls, that coffee was potent.


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I have moved. - 1.03.2005
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