Starfuckers Inc. Top 25
I warned ya! DIDN'T I warn ya?!
LW TW Glitterati Peak
- ^ 25 Kristanna Loken 25
8 v 24 Jennifer Love Hewitt 1
- ^ 23 Lucy Liu 23
- ^ 22 Leeann Tweeden 22
5 v 21 Michelle Branch 5
- ^ 20 Stacy Keibler 20
- ^ 19 Tyra Banks 19
- ^ 18 Britney Spears 18
- ^ 17 Ana Beatriz Barros 8
- ^ 16 Victoria Silvstedt 16
- ^ 15 Adriana Lima 15
- ^ 14 Angelina Jolie 14
9 v 13 Michelle Trachtenberg 9
- ^ 12 Anna Kournikova 8
- ^ 11 Heidi Klum 10
7 v 10 Beyonce Knowles 7
- ^ 09 Alyson Hannigan 6
- ^ 08 Sofia Vergara 8
- ^ 07 Jaime Pressly 7
6 - 06 Vida Guerra 6
10 ^ 05 Carmen Electra 5
4 - 04 Jessica Alba 1
3 - 03 Eliza Dushku 3
2 - 02 Brooke Burke 2
1 - 01 Trish Stratus 1
Also receiving votes: Josie Maran, Victoria, Vanessa Kay, Elisha Cuthbert, Rachel Bilson
That'll do it for this month.
Currently playing: Dope's cover of "You Spin Me Round"
1/31/04
1/26/04
Everybody's Somebody's Tad Hamilton (Yes, This Is THAT Post)
leap (v.):
1. To spring or bound upward from or as if from the ground; jump: leaped over the wall; salmon leaping upriver.
2a. To move quickly or abruptly from one condition or subject to another: always leaping to conclusions.
2b. To act impulsively: leaped at the opportunity to travel.
The Leap (adj.): Bill Simmons vernacular for having a breakout moment, performance, or season
Lookitcha.
All hyper and sitting there with popcorn in your hand TELL US WHAT HAPPENED YOU BASTARD!
*sigh*
Well...all right.
I shower like an ex-con on his first day out of the pen. I put on the new shirt I got Friday with Amanda's ever-keen seeing eye and jeans--not quite casual but not quite wearing an Armani suit.
I wait for her. I get there really early which in retrospect was stupid because she's notoriously late and I don't know if you noticed but I've got a small streak of paranoia. But she's on time or close enough and she dressed like I did. Not exactly the same because well that would be creepy and veering into Chaz territory, but a fuzzy gray sweater, jeans, and black boots.
Movie tickets bought seperately. DID pay for the popcorn and the water she offhandedly mentioned she wanted.
So Win A Date With Tad Hamilton. It is what it is, a slightly above average romantic comedy. Kate Bosworth's eye turns different colors which is pretty cool. Topher Grace plays an excellent straight man. Perhaps the fact we were leaning into each other, arms and heads against each other as we were whispering intermittedly played a part in my review, but I was (mostly) paying attention to the flick. Most enjoyed by us--esp. considering this all started over THE joke in Office Space was Gary Cole (LUMBERGH~) as Bosworth's dad.
I think of asking her out then, but there's still more of the evening to go.
Pictures in a photo booth that are currently burning a hole in the back pocket.
We also played pool (she beat me 5 out of 8--one time "Cry Me A River" was playing, one time the 8 ball bounced off BOTH the corners, and another she brought up work and then sufficiently rattled she sank 4 in a row right after. ALL THOSE under protests.)
Bought her a rose.
And we had shakes at Ghiradelli's.
She talked a lot about her jobs and family. I know her better than most of my family now. She talked about being a substitute teacher and we get into a couple discussions of materialism vs. spirtuality, in part thanks to the movie. I lost track of how many of her thoughts I finished after 10. We talked about religion and family and immigration laws. Time flew and flew and flew at Ghiradelli's. I had more fun getting rooked at pool, but Ghiardelli's reinforces the fact while the physical is all well and good, her mental is real and it is spec-tac-u-lar.
There's also this thing where guys fall in love with her the second they see her, but since it was at the earliest the third time I'm going to gloss over it 'cause it don't apply to me no sir.
I'm not going to lie to you and say the possibility of chickening out despite our fun at pool and deep talk didn't occur to me. Cowards die alone. New Butch lives on.
There's only so much I can take, y'know? With that perfect imperfect smile and the bangs and the sort of looking like a Latina Sarah Silverman and the last 8 hours and whatnot.
So, the question.
As Hemingway would put it, hm, the question. The question. Yes, the question.
She doesn't even really look at me. Not in disgust. Bashfulness. Brown eyes coming at me. Any will I had is dead. All that is left know is to obey my heart and these things I feel to be right.
She says "Why?". Not in a "how dare you *mace*" sort of way but a "you think I'm girlfriend material?" sort of way. I put my hand in hers--small and warm and I stare her right in the eyes.
I've only been waiting for this question how long? You think maybe I just might be able to pull this answer out of the recesses of my mind?
[This is DVD commentary, because about .2 seconds after the y got out I sold like a Lexus dealer on the pipe.]
"You're a great person. I know a couple people I'd consider cooler; you're the best person I know. You're nice, but you still have a spine. You're smart, but you're not an intellectual snob. You're cute, but you're not a slut. You make me unbelievably happy. I love when you laugh. I love it when you giggle. And when I'm not making you laugh or giggle, there's this voice in my head that's saying 'I wish Cristal was here so I could make her laugh and/or giggle. I don't need an answer now, this isn't Final Jeopardy. But you are the type of girl that I've always wanted.'"
This just in: AFFLECK AIN'T SHIT, BITCHES.
(This is going down as #1 in the Panthenon of Great Rosser Ad-Lib Speeches. Sorry, wedding.)
What was I going to do, not say anything? I've lived my whole life not saying anything and Kevin, damn his French-loving ass, was right and I said as much to her: if she rejected me, oh, well, I'd still have an awesome friend. But having her for a girlfriend would make me such a better person it couldn't help but change my world.
And by the way, now's her stop. I kiss her and tell her to really think it over. She looks at me with that fucking smile and the rose and thanks me--promises a call--and she's gone.
I look for her.
She looks at me.
It pulls away, with that red rose illuminating the 11:00 darkness as I speed off into the night. I've got a smile on my face to beat the band, Da Band, and Who The Band On Stage. I finally semi pull out of this stupor (because about two hours've gone by and I'm not out of it, and I damn sure don't plan on it going) and the guy across from us/me is looking at me with a mixture of shock and awe on his face.
"She's yours." he says. I can only laugh. "I really should've been writing down that whole part in the middle."
I shrug. "I can sit on the sidelines and watch someone else realize how awesome she is or I can do it myself." We do that aggressively male TRUE nod.
And now I'm here.
There's nothing more I can do or say. She believes or she doesn't. I will say I provided about as flawless a date as can go despite every paranoid fantasy that danced through my head last night. My adrenaline's flying and for the first time all day my heart is producing a Neptunes track (somehow making these posts has become the Vegas pay window of my life for one)...I don't know how I'm gonna sleep. Don't really care. I'm seeing that smile on her face as she smells the rose and remembering with Wonder Yearsian fondness That Look at the end.
The foreperson hasn't spoken, but I do believe the jury is in.
And poor Old Butch. Poor sad lonely Old Butch I do believe is about to get the death penalty.
Couldn't be happier. Almost.
And since others've said it better, I'll let them.
Get busy living, or get busy dying. That's goddamn right... I find I'm so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I imagine it's the excitement only a free man can feel. A free man at the start of a long journey, whose conclusion is uncertain...I hope.
The last lines of Coldplay's "Amsterdam":
Stood on the edge
Tied to the noose
But you came along and you cut me loose
You came along and you cut me loose
You came along and you cut me loose...
leap (v.):
1. To spring or bound upward from or as if from the ground; jump: leaped over the wall; salmon leaping upriver.
2a. To move quickly or abruptly from one condition or subject to another: always leaping to conclusions.
2b. To act impulsively: leaped at the opportunity to travel.
The Leap (adj.): Bill Simmons vernacular for having a breakout moment, performance, or season
Lookitcha.
All hyper and sitting there with popcorn in your hand TELL US WHAT HAPPENED YOU BASTARD!
*sigh*
Well...all right.
I shower like an ex-con on his first day out of the pen. I put on the new shirt I got Friday with Amanda's ever-keen seeing eye and jeans--not quite casual but not quite wearing an Armani suit.
I wait for her. I get there really early which in retrospect was stupid because she's notoriously late and I don't know if you noticed but I've got a small streak of paranoia. But she's on time or close enough and she dressed like I did. Not exactly the same because well that would be creepy and veering into Chaz territory, but a fuzzy gray sweater, jeans, and black boots.
Movie tickets bought seperately. DID pay for the popcorn and the water she offhandedly mentioned she wanted.
So Win A Date With Tad Hamilton. It is what it is, a slightly above average romantic comedy. Kate Bosworth's eye turns different colors which is pretty cool. Topher Grace plays an excellent straight man. Perhaps the fact we were leaning into each other, arms and heads against each other as we were whispering intermittedly played a part in my review, but I was (mostly) paying attention to the flick. Most enjoyed by us--esp. considering this all started over THE joke in Office Space was Gary Cole (LUMBERGH~) as Bosworth's dad.
I think of asking her out then, but there's still more of the evening to go.
Pictures in a photo booth that are currently burning a hole in the back pocket.
We also played pool (she beat me 5 out of 8--one time "Cry Me A River" was playing, one time the 8 ball bounced off BOTH the corners, and another she brought up work and then sufficiently rattled she sank 4 in a row right after. ALL THOSE under protests.)
Bought her a rose.
And we had shakes at Ghiradelli's.
She talked a lot about her jobs and family. I know her better than most of my family now. She talked about being a substitute teacher and we get into a couple discussions of materialism vs. spirtuality, in part thanks to the movie. I lost track of how many of her thoughts I finished after 10. We talked about religion and family and immigration laws. Time flew and flew and flew at Ghiradelli's. I had more fun getting rooked at pool, but Ghiardelli's reinforces the fact while the physical is all well and good, her mental is real and it is spec-tac-u-lar.
There's also this thing where guys fall in love with her the second they see her, but since it was at the earliest the third time I'm going to gloss over it 'cause it don't apply to me no sir.
I'm not going to lie to you and say the possibility of chickening out despite our fun at pool and deep talk didn't occur to me. Cowards die alone. New Butch lives on.
There's only so much I can take, y'know? With that perfect imperfect smile and the bangs and the sort of looking like a Latina Sarah Silverman and the last 8 hours and whatnot.
So, the question.
As Hemingway would put it, hm, the question. The question. Yes, the question.
She doesn't even really look at me. Not in disgust. Bashfulness. Brown eyes coming at me. Any will I had is dead. All that is left know is to obey my heart and these things I feel to be right.
She says "Why?". Not in a "how dare you *mace*" sort of way but a "you think I'm girlfriend material?" sort of way. I put my hand in hers--small and warm and I stare her right in the eyes.
I've only been waiting for this question how long? You think maybe I just might be able to pull this answer out of the recesses of my mind?
[This is DVD commentary, because about .2 seconds after the y got out I sold like a Lexus dealer on the pipe.]
"You're a great person. I know a couple people I'd consider cooler; you're the best person I know. You're nice, but you still have a spine. You're smart, but you're not an intellectual snob. You're cute, but you're not a slut. You make me unbelievably happy. I love when you laugh. I love it when you giggle. And when I'm not making you laugh or giggle, there's this voice in my head that's saying 'I wish Cristal was here so I could make her laugh and/or giggle. I don't need an answer now, this isn't Final Jeopardy. But you are the type of girl that I've always wanted.'"
This just in: AFFLECK AIN'T SHIT, BITCHES.
(This is going down as #1 in the Panthenon of Great Rosser Ad-Lib Speeches. Sorry, wedding.)
What was I going to do, not say anything? I've lived my whole life not saying anything and Kevin, damn his French-loving ass, was right and I said as much to her: if she rejected me, oh, well, I'd still have an awesome friend. But having her for a girlfriend would make me such a better person it couldn't help but change my world.
And by the way, now's her stop. I kiss her and tell her to really think it over. She looks at me with that fucking smile and the rose and thanks me--promises a call--and she's gone.
I look for her.
She looks at me.
It pulls away, with that red rose illuminating the 11:00 darkness as I speed off into the night. I've got a smile on my face to beat the band, Da Band, and Who The Band On Stage. I finally semi pull out of this stupor (because about two hours've gone by and I'm not out of it, and I damn sure don't plan on it going) and the guy across from us/me is looking at me with a mixture of shock and awe on his face.
"She's yours." he says. I can only laugh. "I really should've been writing down that whole part in the middle."
I shrug. "I can sit on the sidelines and watch someone else realize how awesome she is or I can do it myself." We do that aggressively male TRUE nod.
And now I'm here.
There's nothing more I can do or say. She believes or she doesn't. I will say I provided about as flawless a date as can go despite every paranoid fantasy that danced through my head last night. My adrenaline's flying and for the first time all day my heart is producing a Neptunes track (somehow making these posts has become the Vegas pay window of my life for one)...I don't know how I'm gonna sleep. Don't really care. I'm seeing that smile on her face as she smells the rose and remembering with Wonder Yearsian fondness That Look at the end.
The foreperson hasn't spoken, but I do believe the jury is in.
And poor Old Butch. Poor sad lonely Old Butch I do believe is about to get the death penalty.
Couldn't be happier. Almost.
And since others've said it better, I'll let them.
Get busy living, or get busy dying. That's goddamn right... I find I'm so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I imagine it's the excitement only a free man can feel. A free man at the start of a long journey, whose conclusion is uncertain...I hope.
The last lines of Coldplay's "Amsterdam":
Stood on the edge
Tied to the noose
But you came along and you cut me loose
You came along and you cut me loose
You came along and you cut me loose...
1/24/04
From the Home Office At the Precipice Of Forever
DROPPED: Stand Up, 10
[10] A Perfect Circle --> Weak And Powerless (N)*
[09] No Doubt --> It's My Life (8)
[08] Andre 3000 --> Hey Ya (2)
[07] Kelis --> Milkshake (4)
[06] Red Hot Chili Peppers --> Fortune Faded (5)
[05] Big Boi f/Sleepy Brown --> The Way You Move (3)
[04] Coldplay --> Moses (live) (9)
[03] Alicia Keys --> You Don't Know My Name (7)*
[02] the Darkness --> I Believe In A Thing Called Love (6)*
[01] Jet --> Are You Gonna Be My Girl? (1) [4w]
Currently playing: last year's #13, Radiohead's "There There"
DROPPED: Stand Up, 10
[10] A Perfect Circle --> Weak And Powerless (N)*
[09] No Doubt --> It's My Life (8)
[08] Andre 3000 --> Hey Ya (2)
[07] Kelis --> Milkshake (4)
[06] Red Hot Chili Peppers --> Fortune Faded (5)
[05] Big Boi f/Sleepy Brown --> The Way You Move (3)
[04] Coldplay --> Moses (live) (9)
[03] Alicia Keys --> You Don't Know My Name (7)*
[02] the Darkness --> I Believe In A Thing Called Love (6)*
[01] Jet --> Are You Gonna Be My Girl? (1) [4w]
Currently playing: last year's #13, Radiohead's "There There"
1/22/04
We Continue Nobody Remembers That 80's Band But Your Stinking Ass Week On KWBR With Some Timbuk3...
Wellllllll...
Sure, I could regale you about the burgeoning dictatorship with my name, or dabble in some Super Bowl hype, or the new Spanish class I'm just getting into, amigo.
But y'all don't want to hear me, you just wanna dance.
More accurately, you want the latest Cristal updates and the sooner the better. Since the advent of the Comment age, the last posting was the most popular even if that idjit Mike skewered it.
So today, then? Yeah.
So I accidentally went down to pick up my check around the same time she got off work. All right, it was an elaborate plot to see her specifically. AND pick up my check. Worst comes to worst I miss her somehow and pick up a sandwich to munch on during PTI. Like Candide, nothing could go wrong in this the best of all possible worlds.
That's when things started getting wonky.
No check, and I'm about to leave the building when my friend on the east dock says they're throwing a party at the end of the building--the 15th Anniversary party rescheduled because of the wildfires--and there's free food.
MMM...free.
So I amble over there and guess who that's who. I agree to meet her after her shift ends in a half an hour, thus giving me time to gorge myself on sushi, rolled chicken tacos, and Sprite. Thank Self I decided to do this because otherwise I would've missed this entirely. Anyway, she says today she scored her ride so she'll swing by to pick me up. What a pleasant surprise. I should preface this by saying she's notoriously late and I hear the checks been dropped off. So I walk to the back...
...right as she steps into the door I open.
Every so often, y'know. Every so often.
So we stand around waiting for the checks to show up and talk. About 10 people see us talking together which is really going to stem the rumor tide but FUCK THEM stronger message to follow. We get the checks and we're heading towards my place and we discuss Sunday. I proffer a few friendly games of pool after the movie lets out, and she says very fetchingly "You remembered I like pool!" I'm thinking internally I could probably memorize the Klan initiation speech if YOU told me to do it but I stifled the little voice.
We arrive.
But we sit in the car half an hour.
She's going through all my CDs from R.E.M. to More Music From 8 Mile with the chewy Johnny Cash center and putting in some N.E.R.D. and Outkast and we're sitting there talking and talking.
Upstairs.
My little brother and dad say hi and we head into my room.
Sadly, no, that did not happen, inasmuch fun as it would've been.
But I get her orange juice a couple of times, we sit and talk some more, the bed collapses as it's prone to do. I put on some Coldplay. Sadly, no, that didn't happen because of "Warning Sign", "Amsterdam", and "The Scientist", inasmuch fun as it would've been. The "hey, since you're right against her looking at the computer screen why not kiss her?" voice has been sacked. Three hours went by with her in a nod of the head. Yearbook pictures, book collection, past journalism awards all were brought up and shown. Plus, she didn't see my room and immediately vomit. You're entirely right, I should've just asked her to elope right there. I lend her 8 Mile and it's goodbye and I'm not going to see her for two days!
Blast this calendar.
This has to be a date. Who hangs out with someone they work with for 3 hours when they don't have to? My friend on Tuesday was right, we're both single, we're making plans days ahead of time...I told Rob it just walked and talked like a duck.
After today?
It's a fucking duck.
Two days.
Stay healthy.
Get ready.
(Ooh, I could have two of the three resolutions down in the first month. Go go go go go go go meeeeee it's my birfday...)
Currently playing: Blur's "Song 2"
Wellllllll...
Sure, I could regale you about the burgeoning dictatorship with my name, or dabble in some Super Bowl hype, or the new Spanish class I'm just getting into, amigo.
But y'all don't want to hear me, you just wanna dance.
More accurately, you want the latest Cristal updates and the sooner the better. Since the advent of the Comment age, the last posting was the most popular even if that idjit Mike skewered it.
So today, then? Yeah.
So I accidentally went down to pick up my check around the same time she got off work. All right, it was an elaborate plot to see her specifically. AND pick up my check. Worst comes to worst I miss her somehow and pick up a sandwich to munch on during PTI. Like Candide, nothing could go wrong in this the best of all possible worlds.
That's when things started getting wonky.
No check, and I'm about to leave the building when my friend on the east dock says they're throwing a party at the end of the building--the 15th Anniversary party rescheduled because of the wildfires--and there's free food.
MMM...free.
So I amble over there and guess who that's who. I agree to meet her after her shift ends in a half an hour, thus giving me time to gorge myself on sushi, rolled chicken tacos, and Sprite. Thank Self I decided to do this because otherwise I would've missed this entirely. Anyway, she says today she scored her ride so she'll swing by to pick me up. What a pleasant surprise. I should preface this by saying she's notoriously late and I hear the checks been dropped off. So I walk to the back...
...right as she steps into the door I open.
Every so often, y'know. Every so often.
So we stand around waiting for the checks to show up and talk. About 10 people see us talking together which is really going to stem the rumor tide but FUCK THEM stronger message to follow. We get the checks and we're heading towards my place and we discuss Sunday. I proffer a few friendly games of pool after the movie lets out, and she says very fetchingly "You remembered I like pool!" I'm thinking internally I could probably memorize the Klan initiation speech if YOU told me to do it but I stifled the little voice.
We arrive.
But we sit in the car half an hour.
She's going through all my CDs from R.E.M. to More Music From 8 Mile with the chewy Johnny Cash center and putting in some N.E.R.D. and Outkast and we're sitting there talking and talking.
Upstairs.
My little brother and dad say hi and we head into my room.
Sadly, no, that did not happen, inasmuch fun as it would've been.
But I get her orange juice a couple of times, we sit and talk some more, the bed collapses as it's prone to do. I put on some Coldplay. Sadly, no, that didn't happen because of "Warning Sign", "Amsterdam", and "The Scientist", inasmuch fun as it would've been. The "hey, since you're right against her looking at the computer screen why not kiss her?" voice has been sacked. Three hours went by with her in a nod of the head. Yearbook pictures, book collection, past journalism awards all were brought up and shown. Plus, she didn't see my room and immediately vomit. You're entirely right, I should've just asked her to elope right there. I lend her 8 Mile and it's goodbye and I'm not going to see her for two days!
Blast this calendar.
This has to be a date. Who hangs out with someone they work with for 3 hours when they don't have to? My friend on Tuesday was right, we're both single, we're making plans days ahead of time...I told Rob it just walked and talked like a duck.
After today?
It's a fucking duck.
Two days.
Stay healthy.
Get ready.
(Ooh, I could have two of the three resolutions down in the first month. Go go go go go go go meeeeee it's my birfday...)
Currently playing: Blur's "Song 2"
1/18/04
Finally, Some Dap For The Criminally Underrated Timex Social Club (or Wait Until You Hear This One)
Look at all these rumors
Surrounding me every day
I just need some time
Some time to get away
From all these rumors
Can't take it no more
My best friend say did you hear the one about me and the girl next door?
I'm so ambivalent.
Also, girls need to die. I swear, we're going to get the hang of this cloning and the human woman as known will get obsoletified within that generation.
So, anyways, today.
This happens before my shift, right as I'm heading into the men's locker room.
"So how's the girlfriend?"
A girl says this to me. Hey, you know how many of my male coworkers have asked if we're dating or the more blue-collar have you hit that yet? NONE OF THEM. You know why? 'Cause we're men. We drink, we fight, and we don't do cute little do-si-do bullshit on the fringes. But not only did that happen to me then, it happened to me on my break when I was trying to watch football with two other girls. It's so junior high school I feel the inner Lewis Black coming on.
Anyway, we talked about it. But that came later.
I waited for her while watching the Eagles choke yet AGAIN (pause to make sure I'm a safe distance from Philadelphia fans before laughing broadly) and we left together again.
And after some initial hesitation, I finally ask her if she wants to see a movie Sunday.
Yes.
CUT TO: a shocked and crestfallen 1976 Tampa Bay Buccaneers team, passing on the sparkling cider to Michael Dukakis.
CUE UP: stock fireworks footage
CUE UP: "Five O' Clock World' by the Vogues
CUT TO: the 3,472 voices in my head boisterantly celebrating. Champagne is spraying everywhere and a voice is screaming "LESS THAN THREE WEEKS! LESS THAN THREE MOTHER! FUCKING! WEEKS! WHO DA MAN?! WHO THE MOTHERFUCKING MAN?!" One of them rushes behind the turntables and puts on "Got To Give It Up Part 2" while a red gentleman with two cranial accessories is seen shivering and going "You're fucking kidding me, right?"
She's eating the giant peanut butter cup I bought her and laughing at my mini-rant about there being no freaks when I went to the midnight showing of LotRotK and finally as we exchange screen names and e-mail addresses (how ghetto nerd are we?) I feel content. A shitstorm that would've made Moses cringe, but this is why I suffered as I did, because now is all worth it.
I swear one of these days when I start feeling joy I'm going to learn to immediately duck afterwards.
Because the subject of how coupley we are comes up, and it turns out while I've been ducking the stray bullet here and there today the females on staff have turned execution squad with gossip bullets what is W R O N G with you bitches?! She repositions the Buffy & Simpsons & Philosophy books I'm lending her. Just because she thinks I'm cool (*shrug*), we get along and we like have a good mental connection, she says, and now I realize that thing on my left is a rock and the thing on my right is a hard place and those lights aren't the end of the tunnel but a freight train coming my way.
I've gotten a date that may or may not techincally constitute a date.
I ask for so little and somehow get even less. Anyways I'm going to have to talk to my braintrust because the next step is crucial. I need to keep her as a friend because she's such a cool person but the dangling carrot of the possibility of having such a quality woman as my girlfriend...*sigh*
I have nothing more to say that is either relevant or true. Except either I need to propel this gossipy force to my advantage or get these bitches to cease the yappity-flap.
Look at all these rumors
Surrounding me every day
I just need some time
Some time to get away
From all these rumors
Can't take it no more
My best friend say did you hear the one about me and the girl next door?
I'm so ambivalent.
Also, girls need to die. I swear, we're going to get the hang of this cloning and the human woman as known will get obsoletified within that generation.
So, anyways, today.
This happens before my shift, right as I'm heading into the men's locker room.
"So how's the girlfriend?"
A girl says this to me. Hey, you know how many of my male coworkers have asked if we're dating or the more blue-collar have you hit that yet? NONE OF THEM. You know why? 'Cause we're men. We drink, we fight, and we don't do cute little do-si-do bullshit on the fringes. But not only did that happen to me then, it happened to me on my break when I was trying to watch football with two other girls. It's so junior high school I feel the inner Lewis Black coming on.
Anyway, we talked about it. But that came later.
I waited for her while watching the Eagles choke yet AGAIN (pause to make sure I'm a safe distance from Philadelphia fans before laughing broadly) and we left together again.
And after some initial hesitation, I finally ask her if she wants to see a movie Sunday.
Yes.
CUT TO: a shocked and crestfallen 1976 Tampa Bay Buccaneers team, passing on the sparkling cider to Michael Dukakis.
CUE UP: stock fireworks footage
CUE UP: "Five O' Clock World' by the Vogues
CUT TO: the 3,472 voices in my head boisterantly celebrating. Champagne is spraying everywhere and a voice is screaming "LESS THAN THREE WEEKS! LESS THAN THREE MOTHER! FUCKING! WEEKS! WHO DA MAN?! WHO THE MOTHERFUCKING MAN?!" One of them rushes behind the turntables and puts on "Got To Give It Up Part 2" while a red gentleman with two cranial accessories is seen shivering and going "You're fucking kidding me, right?"
She's eating the giant peanut butter cup I bought her and laughing at my mini-rant about there being no freaks when I went to the midnight showing of LotRotK and finally as we exchange screen names and e-mail addresses (how ghetto nerd are we?) I feel content. A shitstorm that would've made Moses cringe, but this is why I suffered as I did, because now is all worth it.
I swear one of these days when I start feeling joy I'm going to learn to immediately duck afterwards.
Because the subject of how coupley we are comes up, and it turns out while I've been ducking the stray bullet here and there today the females on staff have turned execution squad with gossip bullets what is W R O N G with you bitches?! She repositions the Buffy & Simpsons & Philosophy books I'm lending her. Just because she thinks I'm cool (*shrug*), we get along and we like have a good mental connection, she says, and now I realize that thing on my left is a rock and the thing on my right is a hard place and those lights aren't the end of the tunnel but a freight train coming my way.
I've gotten a date that may or may not techincally constitute a date.
I ask for so little and somehow get even less. Anyways I'm going to have to talk to my braintrust because the next step is crucial. I need to keep her as a friend because she's such a cool person but the dangling carrot of the possibility of having such a quality woman as my girlfriend...*sigh*
I have nothing more to say that is either relevant or true. Except either I need to propel this gossipy force to my advantage or get these bitches to cease the yappity-flap.
1/17/04
WAS Playing: "Today Was A Good Day"
NOW Playing: "Trying To Find A Balance"
Y'know, I was rolling like a stone. My favorite convention in town, working my favorite position in the Human Swiss Army knife, producing an excellent day of development and freebies.
But they won't let me have too much fun.
Three sentences is roughly how long it took my mom to completely shit all over everything. I should mention now if I'm living here New Year's Eve and someone's not on death's door I fully advocate you coming out to the 619 and shooting me in the goddamn face. You apply pressure to me to go to school, and I'm going, even though it's costing me triple figures, hours off of my day, and fun things like next week's wake up at crack of dawn go to school get to work come home sleep wake up at crack of dawn go to school get to work. You're obviously mine-stripping my room like this is Room Raiders because the only Maxims I have are under my television. "I could go to jail" I'M HERE NOW. Jesus Tap Dancing Fucking Christ Screaming OW THAT HURTS on the cross. And hey, since you've been off all day how about getting off the computer and out of my room so I can at least set my stuff down and change? THREE DAYS, the Voices are screaming. THREE FUCKING DAYS.
Well, let me get to what was good now that it got chop blocked to shit. Action--they of the aforementioned Best Convention Ever reigning champions of the world--brought the goodness. Staring at hot girls for 6 hours. One of them's getting me one of those Kutcher hats that says You Funken [heart] Me tomorrow. Liked what she saw, dug my action. (No pun intended.) Literally bumped into a guy coming back from break at the pretzel stand with a retro Franco Harris, asked him where he got it. Turns out he's a throwback owner, and FH was going for $160 instead of the $250 retail. And and and I ran into two Japanese girls in Catholic schoolgirl outfits who'd dubbed themselves O-Ren Iishi and Go-Go Yubari.
The fact these reminisences aren't making me happier is, you guessed it, pissing me off even more. "King Of Wishful Thinking"? More like Emperor Of Irony.
So I better bring out the biggest light and cast out the non-hair-rock darkness.
Anyway, I guess in the interests of Keepin It Real the girl's name at work is Cristal, and I'm falling further in every time. She tutors kids bilingually, and she's really nice and has a great giggle but she's not spineless. She has many of the qualities I've been looking for, less the Alba resemblance.
Anyway after rolling through the shift and seeing another one in the offing tomorrow (ha ha you're off the one Sunday there are no playoff games all right fine it wasn't flawless) I'm out the door. And I'm debating whether or not I want to come home or go see if these wild and crazy youngsters are turning the mother out, as they say. Sure I was just there yesterday smoking hookah, going to Hustler and playing pool but they won't be back until September. But Nate's coming to town tomorrow--maybe Monday or Sunday night--so I decide on holding off.
Cristal shows up as I get to the door and asks me if I take the trolley. After I answer affirmatively she says to wait for her and she'll come along with.
Hooooooooooooooooly fuck.
Now I'm borderline giddy. So I help her fill out her timesheet and my friend Logan--he who hath cockblocked me last week this time from Cristal--gives me a quick raised eyebrow. I know what he means exactly. We're right next to each other, both poring over the same little spreadsheet. And yet it looked at least in my mind's overseeing eye like it was a coupley thing. We start going in on the Office Space jokes and leave together, which really looked coupley. I start talking about how to navigate the trolley for maximum effectivity. We get off together (NOT LIKE THAT you dirty, dirty bastards) and pop in a mom and pop since we just miss one. I get into my peanut butter cup addiction, and she buys a couple of cookies.
Now I know we look like a couple, because as I leave I get hassled for not paying for her cookies.
She's 27, which surprised the hell out of me. I look younger than I am too so that's another commonality. I mention Buffy & The Simps & Philosophy and am loaning them to her tomorrow. She mentions "The Stranger" by Albert Camus which by the time I recognize I have read it back in HS and just forgotten about it is telling this story of how a perky woman injected herself into a grumpy man's life and became his girl.
Art, life. Life, art. Oh, you guys know each other already? Huh.
I sat there staring at where she left and before I knew it I was singing "Moses".
Congratulations, Laura. Welcome to the top 5. You're #1. With a bullet.
And then three sentences later...
This is some real could-only-happen-to-me shit happening, here, boy. Did I mention?
Currently playing: Flickerstick's "Fade Into You" cover, live
NOW Playing: "Trying To Find A Balance"
Y'know, I was rolling like a stone. My favorite convention in town, working my favorite position in the Human Swiss Army knife, producing an excellent day of development and freebies.
But they won't let me have too much fun.
Three sentences is roughly how long it took my mom to completely shit all over everything. I should mention now if I'm living here New Year's Eve and someone's not on death's door I fully advocate you coming out to the 619 and shooting me in the goddamn face. You apply pressure to me to go to school, and I'm going, even though it's costing me triple figures, hours off of my day, and fun things like next week's wake up at crack of dawn go to school get to work come home sleep wake up at crack of dawn go to school get to work. You're obviously mine-stripping my room like this is Room Raiders because the only Maxims I have are under my television. "I could go to jail" I'M HERE NOW. Jesus Tap Dancing Fucking Christ Screaming OW THAT HURTS on the cross. And hey, since you've been off all day how about getting off the computer and out of my room so I can at least set my stuff down and change? THREE DAYS, the Voices are screaming. THREE FUCKING DAYS.
Well, let me get to what was good now that it got chop blocked to shit. Action--they of the aforementioned Best Convention Ever reigning champions of the world--brought the goodness. Staring at hot girls for 6 hours. One of them's getting me one of those Kutcher hats that says You Funken [heart] Me tomorrow. Liked what she saw, dug my action. (No pun intended.) Literally bumped into a guy coming back from break at the pretzel stand with a retro Franco Harris, asked him where he got it. Turns out he's a throwback owner, and FH was going for $160 instead of the $250 retail. And and and I ran into two Japanese girls in Catholic schoolgirl outfits who'd dubbed themselves O-Ren Iishi and Go-Go Yubari.
The fact these reminisences aren't making me happier is, you guessed it, pissing me off even more. "King Of Wishful Thinking"? More like Emperor Of Irony.
So I better bring out the biggest light and cast out the non-hair-rock darkness.
Anyway, I guess in the interests of Keepin It Real the girl's name at work is Cristal, and I'm falling further in every time. She tutors kids bilingually, and she's really nice and has a great giggle but she's not spineless. She has many of the qualities I've been looking for, less the Alba resemblance.
Anyway after rolling through the shift and seeing another one in the offing tomorrow (ha ha you're off the one Sunday there are no playoff games all right fine it wasn't flawless) I'm out the door. And I'm debating whether or not I want to come home or go see if these wild and crazy youngsters are turning the mother out, as they say. Sure I was just there yesterday smoking hookah, going to Hustler and playing pool but they won't be back until September. But Nate's coming to town tomorrow--maybe Monday or Sunday night--so I decide on holding off.
Cristal shows up as I get to the door and asks me if I take the trolley. After I answer affirmatively she says to wait for her and she'll come along with.
Hooooooooooooooooly fuck.
Now I'm borderline giddy. So I help her fill out her timesheet and my friend Logan--he who hath cockblocked me last week this time from Cristal--gives me a quick raised eyebrow. I know what he means exactly. We're right next to each other, both poring over the same little spreadsheet. And yet it looked at least in my mind's overseeing eye like it was a coupley thing. We start going in on the Office Space jokes and leave together, which really looked coupley. I start talking about how to navigate the trolley for maximum effectivity. We get off together (NOT LIKE THAT you dirty, dirty bastards) and pop in a mom and pop since we just miss one. I get into my peanut butter cup addiction, and she buys a couple of cookies.
Now I know we look like a couple, because as I leave I get hassled for not paying for her cookies.
She's 27, which surprised the hell out of me. I look younger than I am too so that's another commonality. I mention Buffy & The Simps & Philosophy and am loaning them to her tomorrow. She mentions "The Stranger" by Albert Camus which by the time I recognize I have read it back in HS and just forgotten about it is telling this story of how a perky woman injected herself into a grumpy man's life and became his girl.
Art, life. Life, art. Oh, you guys know each other already? Huh.
I sat there staring at where she left and before I knew it I was singing "Moses".
Congratulations, Laura. Welcome to the top 5. You're #1. With a bullet.
And then three sentences later...
This is some real could-only-happen-to-me shit happening, here, boy. Did I mention?
Currently playing: Flickerstick's "Fade Into You" cover, live
1/10/04
"Lumbergh's gonna have me work on Saturday. I can tell already. And I'm gonna end up doing it, because, uh...because I'm a big pussy...which is why I work at Initech to begin with."
As I've evolved (kinda), I've come up with phrases. First chief amongst them: life, like comedy, is 90% timing.
My personal favorite that I came up with during the Great Depression of 2002 was that which does not kill us may merely paralyze us for life.
Something I came up with last year and sadly seem to lean on when I'm doing things that don't involve staring straight ahead at a screen providing me with entertainment?
"This is some real could-only-happen-to-me shit right here."
To wit, I win an auction for a McNabb jersey and figure leaving a couple hours before work will allow me time to get downtown, send the cash off for it, mayhaps jack a bite and go.
In retrospect? BAH HA.
Both the rides are late by 10 minutes, so in my frustration I go up the block and finally buy American Wedding and fifty billionty finally get Get Rich Or Die Trying.
It is only when I put on "Many Men" that I realize about half the words are missing because they've sold me a censored version. This is like trying to watch Scarface on USA.
I arrive at work, and New Butch has taken over. We're going to ask her out, the days of cowardice are over, and it's a very stirring little speech. New Butch is marching up the escalator, ready to mark the first significant change of the new year.
New Butch is set.
Problem with New Butch: Old Butch's brain is still in him. One look at her and it's like Fresh Prince set off the Neuralizer. So I stammer my way through conversation and she says she'll see me later to return Office Space, which she loved. [Like any decent human being wouldn't, but anyway.]
Prevalent voice in my head for the next hour, strangely enough with a Japanese accent: STUPID! You're so STUPID! And I realize I said earlier the crux of the job is to not go crazy dealing with people at their stupidest but it's so extra stupid today I thought the Republican National Convention from '96 was still in session ha ha ha SNAP. That, plus the Jerry Lewis homage and the shitty trip in and I'm about ready to firebomb the place back into the Stone Age.
Football calms me. It always does.
I see her again before she's to leave and I'm going back to my spot. I tell her where it is so I can get Office Space back from her. Since I didn't celebrate Christmas old school in '03 I then proceed to play "Is It Her?" for the better part of twenty minutes.
But wait, there's more!
'Cause it turns out in the dying hours of the show, incoming attendance has tapered off. Once I was busy up to my eyelids, now is a trickle. Thus the boss decides I can either go home early or stay and possibly get moved.
What the hell am I going to do, leave? She'll be there. She's coming. Plus it's a short shift and I've just come off of my lunch. So I, being the company litmus test I am, opt for staying. She doesn't come. I get moved.
Why is it when I want to get moved I get grief for sneezing but when I actually want to stay where I am...oh, right, my last name's really Murphy, I forgot. So I leave my hour-long forwarding address to a couple other workers in the vicinity and I go. Nothing happens, just exhibitors going outside to smoke and people leaving for the rear parking lot. And it's halftime at New England so I can't watch the game, and I'm getting downright bummed.
She appears. Royal blue with some gold stripes. siiiiiiiigh
Of course she got to where I was as I wasn't there, and after some "can you believe that?" she really liked Office Space. So I start doing Milton and every line sends her into a fit of giggles. New Butch, who had been beaten into the ground by the day's events, suddenly re-emerges. She looks around the lot. I ask what she's looking for, and she's wondering where her ride is. So she decides to call this guy up.
Well, here we go. Time for my heart to be ripped out at high velocity.
"Boyfriend?" I ask, as non-commital as I can make my voice. Hooray B+ in Drama.
"Nope." She has no boyfriend, and sort of lets some apologetic tone in her voice explaining all her friends are hooked up already. I'm trying to figure that out at the same time the voice in my head that sees the Scarlet Letter upside down every waking second is screaming ASK NOW! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL OF US UP HERE, DO IT! DO IT NOW! COWARDS DIE ALONE! But she says he's just a friend.
"Hm." I say, while the highlight reel of my mind plays Billy Madison's reaction to meeting Veronica Vaughn.
We continue talking and just before I can get to if she's doing anything Wednesday for the second time in six months I get a massive cockblock away from a pretty brunette on the east side of the loading dock. At least this was unintentional, but still. Anyway, my friend working east patrol is wondering about the in/out policy in the time remaining, and she goes on his cart back down to base and I am standing there, alone, with the wind chopping me in the chest.
There are no words.
Unless you count expletives.
We talk about football and proceed to do half of Office Space when he comes back because he has no idea what he's done and that's what guys do.
I'm going to give it another shot tomorrow.
Because the law of averages says I can't have another today.
Right?
RIGHT?
Currently playing: Seether's "Fine Again"
As I've evolved (kinda), I've come up with phrases. First chief amongst them: life, like comedy, is 90% timing.
My personal favorite that I came up with during the Great Depression of 2002 was that which does not kill us may merely paralyze us for life.
Something I came up with last year and sadly seem to lean on when I'm doing things that don't involve staring straight ahead at a screen providing me with entertainment?
"This is some real could-only-happen-to-me shit right here."
To wit, I win an auction for a McNabb jersey and figure leaving a couple hours before work will allow me time to get downtown, send the cash off for it, mayhaps jack a bite and go.
In retrospect? BAH HA.
Both the rides are late by 10 minutes, so in my frustration I go up the block and finally buy American Wedding and fifty billionty finally get Get Rich Or Die Trying.
It is only when I put on "Many Men" that I realize about half the words are missing because they've sold me a censored version. This is like trying to watch Scarface on USA.
I arrive at work, and New Butch has taken over. We're going to ask her out, the days of cowardice are over, and it's a very stirring little speech. New Butch is marching up the escalator, ready to mark the first significant change of the new year.
New Butch is set.
Problem with New Butch: Old Butch's brain is still in him. One look at her and it's like Fresh Prince set off the Neuralizer. So I stammer my way through conversation and she says she'll see me later to return Office Space, which she loved. [Like any decent human being wouldn't, but anyway.]
Prevalent voice in my head for the next hour, strangely enough with a Japanese accent: STUPID! You're so STUPID! And I realize I said earlier the crux of the job is to not go crazy dealing with people at their stupidest but it's so extra stupid today I thought the Republican National Convention from '96 was still in session ha ha ha SNAP. That, plus the Jerry Lewis homage and the shitty trip in and I'm about ready to firebomb the place back into the Stone Age.
Football calms me. It always does.
I see her again before she's to leave and I'm going back to my spot. I tell her where it is so I can get Office Space back from her. Since I didn't celebrate Christmas old school in '03 I then proceed to play "Is It Her?" for the better part of twenty minutes.
But wait, there's more!
'Cause it turns out in the dying hours of the show, incoming attendance has tapered off. Once I was busy up to my eyelids, now is a trickle. Thus the boss decides I can either go home early or stay and possibly get moved.
What the hell am I going to do, leave? She'll be there. She's coming. Plus it's a short shift and I've just come off of my lunch. So I, being the company litmus test I am, opt for staying. She doesn't come. I get moved.
Why is it when I want to get moved I get grief for sneezing but when I actually want to stay where I am...oh, right, my last name's really Murphy, I forgot. So I leave my hour-long forwarding address to a couple other workers in the vicinity and I go. Nothing happens, just exhibitors going outside to smoke and people leaving for the rear parking lot. And it's halftime at New England so I can't watch the game, and I'm getting downright bummed.
She appears. Royal blue with some gold stripes. siiiiiiiigh
Of course she got to where I was as I wasn't there, and after some "can you believe that?" she really liked Office Space. So I start doing Milton and every line sends her into a fit of giggles. New Butch, who had been beaten into the ground by the day's events, suddenly re-emerges. She looks around the lot. I ask what she's looking for, and she's wondering where her ride is. So she decides to call this guy up.
Well, here we go. Time for my heart to be ripped out at high velocity.
"Boyfriend?" I ask, as non-commital as I can make my voice. Hooray B+ in Drama.
"Nope." She has no boyfriend, and sort of lets some apologetic tone in her voice explaining all her friends are hooked up already. I'm trying to figure that out at the same time the voice in my head that sees the Scarlet Letter upside down every waking second is screaming ASK NOW! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL OF US UP HERE, DO IT! DO IT NOW! COWARDS DIE ALONE! But she says he's just a friend.
"Hm." I say, while the highlight reel of my mind plays Billy Madison's reaction to meeting Veronica Vaughn.
We continue talking and just before I can get to if she's doing anything Wednesday for the second time in six months I get a massive cockblock away from a pretty brunette on the east side of the loading dock. At least this was unintentional, but still. Anyway, my friend working east patrol is wondering about the in/out policy in the time remaining, and she goes on his cart back down to base and I am standing there, alone, with the wind chopping me in the chest.
There are no words.
Unless you count expletives.
We talk about football and proceed to do half of Office Space when he comes back because he has no idea what he's done and that's what guys do.
I'm going to give it another shot tomorrow.
Because the law of averages says I can't have another today.
Right?
RIGHT?
Currently playing: Seether's "Fine Again"
From the Home Office In the Torn Remnants Of The Spears/Alexander Wedding Invitation
DROPPED: Holidae In, 10
[10] Ludacris, "Stand Up" (9)
[09] Coldplay, "Moses (live)" (R)*
[08] No Doubt, "It's My Life" (6)
[07] Alicia Keys, "You Don't Know My Name" (5)
[06] the Darkness, "I Believe In A Thing Called Love" (8)**
[05] Red Hot Chili Peppers, "Fortune Faded" (7)
[04] Kelis, "Milkshake" (3)
[03] Big Boi & Sleepy Brown, "The Way You Move" (4)*
[02] Andre 3000, "Hey Ya" (1)
[01] Jet, "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" (2) [2w]
Currently playing: Don Henley & the Eagles' "New York Minute" live
DROPPED: Holidae In, 10
[10] Ludacris, "Stand Up" (9)
[09] Coldplay, "Moses (live)" (R)*
[08] No Doubt, "It's My Life" (6)
[07] Alicia Keys, "You Don't Know My Name" (5)
[06] the Darkness, "I Believe In A Thing Called Love" (8)**
[05] Red Hot Chili Peppers, "Fortune Faded" (7)
[04] Kelis, "Milkshake" (3)
[03] Big Boi & Sleepy Brown, "The Way You Move" (4)*
[02] Andre 3000, "Hey Ya" (1)
[01] Jet, "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" (2) [2w]
Currently playing: Don Henley & the Eagles' "New York Minute" live
1/5/04
I Knew Things Were Looking Too Far Up
And Mark Wahlberg, you can go to hell. Straight to hell. *throws down headset*
For all Butchtopia residents, our queen is dead. All hail your new queen.
Currently playing: Mr. Hendrix's "Hey Joe"
And Mark Wahlberg, you can go to hell. Straight to hell. *throws down headset*
For all Butchtopia residents, our queen is dead. All hail your new queen.
Currently playing: Mr. Hendrix's "Hey Joe"
Baby, You Can Ride Passenger Side In My Car
This here what the auto show done taught me:
I now look like Donald Faison, apparently. I myself would be doing Sarah Chalke, but he's there, I'm here.
1,650, 2,100, and 2,531 are not the last three standing records of the world's biggest gangbang, but how many people I took in in the last 72 hours. AND BOY ARE MY ARMS TIRED.
Sitting in the driver's seat of a Benz red convertible, if only for a few brief seconds, makes you feel like a GOD.
If you loan a cute coworker your copy of your cherished Office Space and she gives you her number, then you hear the voice of Daniel Stern and/or the Monkees' "I'm A Believer", you have either knocked off 66% of your goals in four days or it should be accompanied by giant warning bells, decrepit robots yelling DANGER! BUTCH ROSSER! DANGER! and montages of the past.
Having three days off is gooooooooood. (OK, that one I knew already.)
Currently playing: Ryan Adams' "When The Stars Go Blue"
This here what the auto show done taught me:
I now look like Donald Faison, apparently. I myself would be doing Sarah Chalke, but he's there, I'm here.
1,650, 2,100, and 2,531 are not the last three standing records of the world's biggest gangbang, but how many people I took in in the last 72 hours. AND BOY ARE MY ARMS TIRED.
Sitting in the driver's seat of a Benz red convertible, if only for a few brief seconds, makes you feel like a GOD.
If you loan a cute coworker your copy of your cherished Office Space and she gives you her number, then you hear the voice of Daniel Stern and/or the Monkees' "I'm A Believer", you have either knocked off 66% of your goals in four days or it should be accompanied by giant warning bells, decrepit robots yelling DANGER! BUTCH ROSSER! DANGER! and montages of the past.
Having three days off is gooooooooood. (OK, that one I knew already.)
Currently playing: Ryan Adams' "When The Stars Go Blue"
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