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09.05.2003 - 4:57 p.m.


I had this entertaining moment at work today when a coworker picked up a copy of Mac Directory that was sitting on my desk, and upon seeing the cover which contained a semi-slutty looking woman, exclaimed "Do they have to use SEX to sell this crappy Mac magazine?". To which I cooly replied, "It's funny you should ask that," and opened the magazine to a full page Corbis ad showing a closeup of a baby with its wee little mouth clamped onto a lavishly lit breast.

FYI: a giant picture of a breast, albeit with nipple demurely hidden in a baby's mouth, is Engineer Kryptonite.


Yesterday I went to my third book club get together, hosted by the always-charming Gael, who made these awesome cookies that were really more like brownies and oh man there was artichoke dip and Brie cheese and garlic bread and PIE and fucking lasagna and do I feel a little fat today yes I do.

My friends Peachy and Chiara and Kim were there too, and I am pleased to tell you that after discussing Life of Pi we all had a lively conversation about vibrators. I found myself loudly debating the pleasure-giving qualities of a vibrator that could be set to "chaos" mode. In fact, I am pretty sure I may have yelled something about it being a 'lousy fuck emulator', right there in Gael's pretty living room.

I know, you're totally never inviting me to YOUR book club.

When I finally headed home it was fairly late and there were very few cars on the road. As I was heading down 124th towards my house, I suddenly saw flashing red and blue lights behind me.

Now, here's the thing - I am completely terrified of cops. I don't mean I'm scared they're going to assault me or something, I mean they immediately cause me this overwhelming feeling that I am doing something so illegal that it is maybe grounds for the death penalty.

I slowly drove to the side of the road and my brain began racing for reasons why I was being pulled over. They ranged from ridiculously naive (my gas is low, is there any way he can tell my gas is low, maybe he just wants to tell me to get some gas, or maybe - my car is dirty, maybe he's going to point out the nearest carwash?) to completely full-blown paranoid (is there a brick of heroin on my backseat or maybe an automatic rifle or a dead prostitute stuffed in the trunk or maybe a bottle of codeine/aspirin in my purse that my coworker brought me back from Canada oh my god there IS!).

Waiting for the cop to come up to my window, I was practically panting as I dropped my cards all over my lap scrabbling for my license. When he asked me if I knew what he had pulled me over for, my mouth was getting ready to blurt something about the codeine, and how it was only 15 mg, please don't send me to jail where I would get shanked, when it was like I was briskly whapped over the head with the obvious stick.

"Was I speeding?" I asked, incredulously.
"Yep," he replied. "Do you know what the speed limit is through here?" I looked at the deserted road sprinkled with a few warehouses and businesses.
"Thirty-five?" I guessed.
"Thirty," he said in a tone typically reserved for words like 'malignant'. "And you were going forty-two."

Forty two goddamn miles per hour, at midnight, with no traffic in sight, on a non-residential fucking road. I was really hoping he'd be a decent guy about it, but no luck - he wrote me a ticket, although he did me the dubious favor of knocking two miles off my speeding offense.

I was so rattled I drove the rest of the way home at exactly 29 MPH, which is Unbelievably Goddamn Slow.


In other news, my face smells weird. Come here, smell my face. No, really, doesn't it smell weird?

I'm on a new skin goo regimen. It all started a while back when I decided to try skincare products that you couldn't buy in grocery stores - a big change for me, by the way - and I bought some Origins stuff. Which seemed fine for a while, but I sort of hated replacing anything because it involved dealing with the whole retail Origins cultish vibe where the salespeople are swarming all over you and smearing things on you and just generally not accepting that you just want this ONE facewash, thanks, and they've even got the Origins gumballs which yes, are freakishly good, but I just want to pay now and please stop giving me gumballs and wiping things on my skin.

So next I tried Dr. Hauschka, which had an appealing therapeutic/clinical feel to it, but the moisturizer made my face so shiny it was practically reflective. Plus I was busting out in zits all the time, making me nostalgic for Esprit bags and Guess? jeans and Coca-Cola jerseys.

My latest miracle salve collection comes from the Philosophy line. I'm pretty much in love with it right now - I'm using a moisturizer called, appropriately enough, Hope in a Jar. The only problem is it smells weird. Not bad, exactly. JB leaned in to kiss me the other night and said, "Hmm...medicine-y." It's kind of organic, kind of medicinal, kind of...weird.

"What IS that bewitching aroma, you sexy thing? It is a delectable combination of coconut body butter...Opium perfume...a topical antibiotic rosacea face cream - rrrroowwr! - and something...something WEIRD. I must have you now!"

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JournalCon 2003

8 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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