Wednesday, January 25, 2006

"DAY ... n. - A PERIOD OF 24 HOURS, MOSTLY MISSPENT." ~ Ambrose Pierce

!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am just RAGING this morning. I’m calling to set up these stupid effing showings and Jane’s taking the client out TOMORROW and this mothereffer doesn't call me back. Hello this is real estate. Do you want to make money, or not? Honestly. And their stupid phone system.... ugh! I had to call like four times already this morning (and have wasted about 20 minutes of my life) trying to get a hold of SOMEONE in this office and nobody's there. Fine. Truck 'em.

Raging? I know. Such an interesting adjectival phrase to describe my sentiments so very early in the morn.

I hauled my ass out of bed at like 7:15am and somehow got downtown to DePaul to meet with my counselor by 8. In fact, I was even there early at 7:58am. *sfx: applause* ::bows:: thank you thank you, I’d like to thank my hair for the fact that I didn't even really have to bother doing it this morning in attempts to get there on time. Anyway.

So, yeah I’m looking at the office and the whole thing is frigin dark. And I’m like are you KIDDING me? I pay $30K in tuition a year for these people to stroll in at the last minute when I’m risking the potential of being late.....blah. Okay fine no big deal. I checked my fury at this point. So I’m staring at the door and I see this sign "please use other door" well where the eff is the arrow indicative of this said other "door"?!

Inquiring minds would like to know.

Okay fine. No other goddamn door. FINE. I start peering in and I notice a woman in the middle of the office sitting at a computer in the dark. (Can we say, short bus special?) so, using a combination of the sign language I learned off the back of the frosted flakes box in 5th grade and my interpretive dance skills I picked up when I was living with the Okalokakeeqoo tribe in south Africa last summer, I choreographed an inquiry as to where this other door is. She then attempted to sign something back but I think she had learned her skills from that of the Lowanayas tribe and somehow there was a glitch in her communicatory transmission. apparently my face spoke above and beyond that of my signing skills so she finally walks over and opens the door (just a crack, though...god knows lots of students in french blue dress shirts with blue pinstripe pants and Farah Faucet flipped hair could be nothing other than deleterious)

"The office opens at 8am"


"It's 7:58 and I have an 8am appointment"

"Well, the doors will unlock in a couple minutes."

Oh phew. I thought those tuition dollars were actually going towards something USEFUL. Well. clearly this new enlightenment that teachers are a head and shoulders ABOVE utilizing a key to grant them access to their offices just sent me into a mode of mollification that no words could do justice.

Tick tock. Tick effing tock. *CLICK* oooh. I guess the great doors of oz have opened. What a party. In my pants. Hooray.

"Hi I have an 8 o'clock appointment with Freidman Whitney?"
"Oh yes. He should be in any minute. I’ll let him know you're here. When he gets here."

Just like that. Pause. 'When he gets here.' ::face assumes another distorted figure insinuating my level of disappointment with the services I’ve received thus far...::

"And when do you *pause* EXpect him?" "Oh any minute now."

Oh good. How reassured I felt. So I sit and fill out my little form that must I guess serve as liability protection to these idiots since we never had to file them before. Basically just a summation of what you discuss. Okay. blah blah name id # whatever. Ooooh. 10 after Mr. Whitney decides to stroll in.

Oooh good. I almost thought he would make me wait a few more minutes while the dark-dwelling troglodyte rolled out the red carpet.

Luckily I did not have to. Fine. So I sit down blah blah. "So what brings you here?"
Hmmm. Me = student. You = guidance thoughts?

"well I just haven't gotten an opportunity to wake up really reeeeally early for a meeting aaaall the way downtown only to be stood up and forced to wait for 15 minutes in oh, gee, I don't know forEVER so I thought perhaps it was time I set one up to do so. I mean, my week just isn't the same without something rubbing me just the wrong way so that I’m a blustering BITCH for at least one day."

My real reaction:

"To find how much longer I have to be in this hell hole."

ATOMIC BOMB HITS A DESERT THUS METAMORPHOSIZING ALL GRANULES OF SAND INTO TINY SHARDS OF GLASS THAT ARE CATAPULTED THROUGHOUT THE AIR AND FALL LIKE RAIN ON THE HEADS OF INNOCENT BYSTANDERS. (Oh was that one a little PC? And by PC I do not mean politically correct but instead MD as in melodramatic....) [it was such an easy shot to take]

And so our conclave commenced. We discussed the automatic "F" I got for my one class where the teacher failed to submit my grades on time (which I finished in due time on my part; however if the teacher doesn't submit anything, the incomplete grade automatically gets converted to an "F" for "fucking idiot teacher" I purport.) And basically he could have handed me a glass of sand and small mallet for "may as well pound this" because there's nobody other than this teacher that I can talk to about the grade. And I have been trying to get a hold of him for over a year now but to no avail; myriads of emails and phone calls have been sent in his direction to of which he responded to ZERO.

Just my luck
As usual
Getting nothing
Out of
Freaking teachers at this
Freaking school.

So my only recourse, apparently is to take off work and to go down to Lincoln Park and find out when his office hours are and stalk him out. because apparently he is a volunteer teacher and odes this out of the goodness of his own heart and because of that he isn't required to make any effort whatsoever to communicate via modern day technologies with his students. [Note: clearly that was facetious; this eff is getting paid just like I won't be when I have to take off work. Take off work to listen to him tell me that he WON’T change the grade. Watch, you'll see in the next episode.]

Oooh good.. Well THAT went so successfully that I was just LEAPING out of my chair to get to the crux of the conversation: when I can graduate.

He starts counting the classes ... "1, 2, 3, ...6,....12....13, oh well just assume you have to take this one over again (::me - tempestuously writhing in my seat::) ... + okay we'll assume 7 classes for your major and .... 21."

Tears #1-8 fall onto his faux wood desktop.

In a quivering voice I inquire "so what's the damage on THAT figure? How long?" "....mmmm well, *mentally calculates* spring summer fall winter fall ... oooh 'bout two years."

Tears #9-153259 fall from my face. Good thing I don't wear foundation or I would have had little lines all over my face from the salty water that sluiced (word of the day! .. On the most positive note of this email) from my ocular ducts.

yadda yadda the rest of this story; nothing worth mentioning after that.

So of course I am absolutely broken hearted. I have worked so hard for the last four years working my ass off at least full time to support myself and my family and trying to play guidance counselor, mom, college girl (which I suck at real bad), student, secretary (yeah that's right I said; admin professional whatever) and oh p.s. that cure for Parkinson’s disease and THIS is what I’m left with:

Running out of scholarships with one to two effing years left. SIX CLASSES I have that they won't count towards ANYTHING. They were communication classes from my old major but c'mon throw me an effing BONE here. Can’t we put ONE of those under the G.D. arts category? Or SOMETHING. But no.

After calling my dad and reporting my findings to him all I got was a "Well, HOW could it be taking so long?" I explain ... "Well, let's be honest here, Jen. School hasn't really been your main focus."

Don't even go there. I won't even dignifiy that comment with the retort it so openly presents.

I need to start researching the market for selling your eggs or kidneys or something else I have two [or more] of. ...I hear the CTA pays big bucks too....

And my date for tomorrow cancelled crab legs on me. P&Ls are taking a turn for the latter.:'(

"The ways of fate are indeed hard to understand. If there is not some compensation hereafter, then the world is a cruel jest." ~ Sherlock Holmes

If this sounds like a pity party parade and you're thinking "God. What's the big deal. Just do it and get it over with." Well, then go fuck yourself. Allow me to repeat: well, then go fuck yourself. Because this is my blog and I'm very pissed off. Am I aware that things will all sort themselves out eventually? Yes. Am I familiar with the expression "Everything happens for a reason"? Yes. Am I aware that it was I that took off a quarter and then decided to change major and blahblahblah painted my own picture of misery as I presently perceive it (damn, talk about alliteration..)? YES. So please spare me comments pointing out the obvious. Just rub my back tell me that everything will be fine (and I'm pretty. That comment never fails to help either.)

>: (

Wednesday, January 11, 2006


"It seemed like you were verbally dressing down an 8 year old in an AOL chat room that didn't know when he was beaten." (on O.B.'s lack of intellectual banter)

"Running, to me, is more than just a physical's a consistent reward for victory!" ~Sasha Azevedo

For those of you who don’t know (like I didn’t until I googled a quote and got this) Sasha Azevedo is some chick who starred in some movies and is an alleged athlete. ((Can you tell I didn’t even bother to SKIM the bio it was so boring?))

I don’t know about you but I definitely don’t reward victory with a jog around the block or a quickie 40 yard dash. Crazy bitch. Maybe those epileptic seizures really did have a residual effect on her brain. Note the operative words .. “consistent” in conjunction with “reward” concluded with an “!” … all referring to, what? Oh, RUNNING.

Eh well.

Life Coach texted me this morning; it made my day. He warned of the lousy weather and suggested I stay home in bed and post scripted a “143” at me. Ha, bed. I wish. He was most certainly right, though…crappy as crappy could be outside. But that's okay because on days like this I feel the need to dress up a little bit in order to compensate for the day's yuckiness. Blue and black plaid skirt suit, banging choker and I even did a little bit of blue eye shadow outline around the eyes and flipped up the hair (Gidget style ... well maybe not, but cute nonetheless). In fact I got a “FABULOUS. You look just FABULOUS today” from the middle-aged-one-of-maybe-three straight men in the office today. But whatever; I think he’s been hot on my shit since he found out I went on a date with another guy from the office last summer (who, FYI, was about 2/3 of his age so I’m not really quite sure what he was thinking…) [OOOH wait. That’s right. I like old balls.]

(Agreed, that was for shock effect, everyone. But you laughed, no??)

Didn't go to bed until 4:30 this morning. shiiiiiiiiitttttyyyyy. Life Coach informed me that he was going to Joe’s Stone Crab tonight. JEAAALOOUS!!! Just as he is sitting down to order drinks at Joe’s I’ll be slowly slipping under the desk in my micro class. My dad always told me “life is unfair.” : (

Last night Rob (my neighbor that has consented to allow me to use his real name … though that’s kind of boring so I’ll have to think of something clever…9th Floor Hottie just really isn’t my style and/or something I would refer to someone as…at least on a regular basis…) came over and wanted to use my iron last night at like 10pm so I’m like sure no problem - win for me because then I have someone to quote"babysit"endquote me and ensure I do my homework instead of eff around on the internet and AIM. Then after I watched him struggle with the sleeves of one shirt for ten minutes I was like okay forget it. Move over I’ll do it. So I ironed his clothes. (I know, someone just CANONIZE me a saint already)

So then its like 11pm by the time this is all said and done and at this point I still have chapters 3,4,5,6 to read/take notes on in micro. But I’m also on this new and improved bo-day thing for summer as part of my '06 resolutions so I don't really know what happened between 11 and 1am in the morning ... I think I was making all my return phone calls or something then I got into a mini-discussion about how Shorty and I aren’t as close as we were when we were in high school. Unfortunately this was at 1am so I couldn’t really devote the necessary and due attention to the issue as I would have so liked to do.

After that, circa 1:30 (a.m., mind you) I decided, hey let's go running - then I won't fall asleep when I’m trying to read my ish

Noter: ish = can be used in many different ways (as emulated from my friend “Angle” which refers in part to the book he recently purchased as the main character’s name is Style and in part to his word for “Style” sometime about 2 years ago) …see that would have been the perfect sentence to use “circa” in but I’m overdoing it so I’ll refrain…

Anyways, in this case, “ish” is referring to the micro hdubs ... hdubs= HW=homework

Okay. So I’m running at 1:30 in the morning in black spandex pants whose crotch has been ripped out (I don’t know why and no it’s not a dirty reason .. they just ripped okay And that was that. And nobody’s going to be looking there while I’m running because DID I MENTION!? IT WAS 2 IN THE MORNING!!) and an obnoxiously orange sweatshirt. run run Rudolph all the way down to Chicago avenue (which, p.s. according to mapquest = .36 miles from my house) and then continued to walk south until I hit Kinzie and I was, okay...time to go home. Then I resumed the running pace once I circled back to Chicago and damn near collapsed on my doorstep sometime around 2:30am. Several of you warned me not to do it but chillax; I turned down the beats on the Shuffle so I could hear my surroundings and psyched myself up to a full-throttle rage in the event that an attacker suddenly appeared out of a dark alley or doorway.

I better look damn good come summer. One thing’s for sure I’ll be a hell of a lot more limber … maybe not Gumby style but, I can honestly say I’ve never in my life been able to do the splits during sex. (mental note…)

After which I proceeded to have nakie time for 3-5 minutes and got in the shower. then I read chapter 3 and was like eff this I’m going to bed. The teacher tends to go off on tangents anyway so I’d be surprised if we made it as far as chapter 4 tonight. Besides ... I might be able to squeeze in some read time throughout the day if I get the other crap done.

Uugggh. My boss is in internet training right now so that means I have another hour and ten minutes to screw around, though I do have a couple things to take care of. She better not think that I’m going to OfficeMax with her today though since I have to leave the office at precisely 5:00 to ensure an on-time arrival to aforementioned tiny class. (get it, tiny, micro.

LOLOL which reminds me … I use to have this .. “friend?” that was going to Africa to do microfinancing. He actually ended up in India but to his credit, he was very, very bright. Graduated from Wharton’s business school and blah blah blah but once I told my dad about him and at a later date he asked of me ‘So, Jen. How’s the tiny banker doing?’ LOLOL. I still get a kick out of that to this day. Obviously otherwise I wouldn’t be LOLing. Well I’m not really but it does make me SOMF? Smile on my face? No, that’s lame. (And I know you’re thinking the same thing, Smiles…who should be thanking me that his/her codename wasn’t SmilIE, ahem for the record…) Don’t worry :-* I still heart you.

Where was I? Ah, yes – Striking “SOMF” from the record. Alright, well I guess I ought to light a fire under things so I can get some read time in…

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

"The world is full of apathy but I don't care."


Perhaps. For those of you that don't read the paper, Jesse Jackson has just added a former Chicago Democrat Congressman, Mr. Mel Reynolds, to his Rainbow/PUSH Coaltition's payroll.

Having the good fortune of working under a woman whom is very well versed in current affairs (and history, for that matter) I was enlightened as to who this Mr. Reynolds really is.

As it turns out, Reynolds was among the 176 criminals that were excused in President Clinton's last minute forgiveness spree. He had received a 6.5 year federal sentence for 15 convictions of wire fraud, bank fraud and lying to the Federal Election Commission. More notably, though (perhaps) he is notorious for concurrently serving 5 years for sleeping with an underage campaign volunteer.

In short: an ex-congressman who had sex with a suboridinate won clemency from a president who had sex with a subordinate and was then hired by a clergyman who had sex with a subordinate.

Inevitably this begs the question? What's Reynolds's new gig?

*sfx: drumroll*


Gollygeegosh. How I do love America.

"No clock is more regular than the belly." ~Francois Rabelais

LLAAAAMMME morning. Stupid training on connectMLS stuff. Which, for those of you who haven't been inducted to the elite echelon of "REALTOR"s [p.s. - there should be one of those little circles with the "R" for "RESERVED" rights or whatever it stands for but I don't know how to do that on a blog...] is basically just a live database of all the available houses and properties and condos and hey, even motorhomes. Nothing like sitting in a room with about 25 women aged 65+ who think that CD-Rom drives double as a holder for their lattes (soy milk variety, of course) bitching about ... "Wait, wait whaaat? I got 32 properties...this is SOO GOOFY!!" waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

In short, definitely unfun.

But an appropriate adumbration (yeah that's right, that was a word of the day last week) ((and yeah, that's right .. it might be being used incorrectly here)) of the afternoon to come.

Here's what we got:

12:00 leave to meet Jane at 73 E. elm to do an illegal (because I'm not licensed) broker's open house

1:00 BOH done

1:10 leave 73 E. Elm and walk back to 900 north.....which puts us at about 1:15/1:20 (I have short legs)

**now is the time I’m suppose to squeeze in a lunch of some sorts...which reminds me I think I only have $3 which means its lookin like a soupy kind of day...**

1:45 pm I have to leave to go to 223 Delaware to commit another illegality and show an apartment to some broad at 2.

after which I will slowly, slowly regress to the office where I'll sit around and chew the fat with Jane (which, for the record, was an expression I learned in spelling class in like ... 4th or 5th grade and one that I a) have never used before and b) was never a huge fan of. I mean, really, wtf does that mean? Chew the fat ... ew.) And then perhaps I'll look into completing some work...or maybe I'll pretend to be working, as is par for the course, and really be emailing, blogging or (omg, yes, I just said that word ... blogging .. as though "to blog" would be an acceptable verb...) I dont know .. whatever else it is that I do to bide my time here on a daily basis.

Guess we'll have to see how the day goes.

Tonight, first quiz in Calculus. Which I should ace seeing as this is round #2 of Calculus I. My advice: Saturday math classes (after you haven't seen a mathbook since Junior year of high school) are probably not in your best interest if you're looking to actually complete and attend the mandatory classroom sessions.

Just a thought...

For now...I must make the jaunt off to see Coco the ridiculously oversized dog at 73 E. Elm.

for some reason i keep pasting in a link and it isn't working!! anyway the site is ... if you copy that in that should work

Monday, January 09, 2006

"The surest cure for vanity is loneliness." ~Thomas Wolfe

Missing you; in desperate need of a big’s just not the same when I hug myself ..... Trust me I’ve tried. Not looking forward to 3 hours with an asshole teacher according to followed by running, sit-ups and lifting. Oh. I talked to Someone this morning that informed me that SomeoneElse has put me "in the freezer" ... which is like kindergarden/36 year old talk for "I’m pouting and not talking to you because ______insert shitty reason here_____." My response was "I’m in the freezer? Funny I wouldn't know; I put him in since Monday ... you know... i figured he had an afficionado for the soft-serve icecream stuff..." and then we dropped that. What’s a backhanded bitchy thing to email him this morning? Keep in mind we haven’t talked all weekend with the exception of an exchange of good mornings on Saturday. This is what my life has become; I am so bored I'm looking for trivial ways to get a poor form of attention from a guy that can't lay the pipe.

Sunday, January 08, 2006


So. Another part of this resolution bull shit stuff was *shocking* to work out. So, I threw on my little spandies (my affectionate term for my spandex pants) the new cheap gym shoes I invested all of $23.99 in from Payless, and an obnoxiously bright orange hoodie (because apparently I didn't think that the spandex alone would suffice to draw unnecessary attention to me).

I kicked my own ass. . . I'll be the first to admit. Running, walking, then lifting my tiny muscles with some 2.5 (or maybe they're 3.5 ... nah that would probably be an overestimation on my part) weights. *le sigh* uugggh. Then came the ab rolling. Put me out.

So what's a nice way to unwind and relax post-aforementioned (that's almost oxymoronic!) torture? Shower of course. Light a little incense, put on the sexy lighting....all good. Well not quite. As I picked up the lighter on the "nightstand" [keep in mind .. hobbit hole...actually I just figured out how to post pictures on this bad boy so one day I'll get papparazzi crazy and do a photo shoot of the abode ... just to help paint that mental picture] and went to light stick #1 - Essence Expressions in scent Ocean ... I noticed that the little metal thingie that's attached to the flint was ... flipped up. Strange I thought, but it worked when I lit it so no loss.

WRONG-O, Buck-o. Not bad enough that I leave straighteners on when I leave the house or forget to turn off the oven and have locked myself out of the apartment innumerable times, but I really took the cake this time. I set the lighter back down on the table and walked away, did a little naked spin (as I often do before I get in the shower) and was about to turn up the volume on the Shuffle docking station (sounds far too official for what it actually is ... which is essentially an output device for the shuffle that serves as a mini stereo system - p.s. thanks Dad!) when I look oer at the incense and think, wait, didn't I just blow that out ... where is that .. what the eff. . . . flame, smoke? SHIT!!! The effing (uber-expensive, p.p.s.) forest green suede tablecloth and table are on fire. Apparently the flintythingieattachment prevented the flame from going out so then I set it down on highly flammable material and poof. There you have it. Another Grade A/Stellar performance from yours truly.

Pictures to come...let me go be naked in peace now.

I love this picture. Too bad Patrick was being a snot and wouldn't sit in for it ...

blonder days of yore...

"It is on our failures that we base a new and different and better success." ~Havelock Ellis

New Year's is an interesting time of year, don't you think? Many resolve to harness his/her dissoluteness: less drinking, quitting smoking, sticking to that work-out regimen...

My vice? Mary Jane.

When people asked me what my New Year's resolution was, I acrimoniously responded "to quit smoking weed." To which all but one of my friends responded "Ha, yeah right! You're the biggest stoner I know!!"

Thank you all for your undying support.

Alright, fine. I'm not going to lie; I guess there is some truth to that statement. My career in cannabis started soemtime midway through freshman year in college. After which, smoking a minimum of once daily became par for the course. And often, at least within the last 6 -12 months or so, it was more along the lines of 2-4 times - once after work and once before bed.

28 Jan 1997 - Mence Powell is arrested for dealing marijuana out of the drive-thru window at a McDonalds in Monroe, Connecticut.

But don't let this paint the inevitably inaccurate picture that such a statement would depict. There are no dreadlocks, no long flowy skirts, and I don't think I've ever even been handcuffed to a headboard, let alone a tree that was marked to be torn down. Rather weed was always my ... leveler? I suppose one might say. I go to school full time and get As with the occasional B and have been working since I figured out that my taste was of the more expensive variety. I worry about things like the annual report on China that Congress presents to the President and miners trapped underground and women that throw their babies away in landfills.

I'll be the first to admit it: I used marijuana to depersonalize and desensitive the reality in which I live. But it has finally come to a point where I almost feel as though I no longer am an active participant in my own life -- not that I am suicidal or anything like that. But, even when I'm not high ... I walk around just "doing the motions."

That isn't the first time I've described how I felt as "doing the motions" ... and finally after having seen it typed on my screen in front of me, I am starting to wonder how many other people out there feel like that. Open up any anti-pot publication and it preaches that the people that the socially and mentally depraved are at highest risk for becoming addicted to weed (I know, to those of you funny does that sound?) Look over the statistics ... if those don't sell you, take your own polls. Stop off at UIC or DePaul University or any of the millions of junior high and high schools in any semi-affluent suburb and ask the questions directly. I think what you find would surprise you. Now chew on this: when was the last time you were at Walgreen's to pick up some of the infamous cure-all, Robitussin. Have you noticed you need an ID that proves you're of at least 18 years of age or older?

I mean, doesn't it beg the question: what is it in this country that has become so Calvinist that kids today perceive escapism to be perforce?

Alright that was my little rant there. I'm over that. Back to the palaver ...

[NOTE: this is my first posting on this blog .. and my first blog ever, for that matter. I've put a little bit more effort into this one, I think ... in fact, I have almost been writing for two hours. Future postings will not be as a crafted and will be far more stream of consciouness so please bear with me..]

But despite the fact that I was (am?) ga-ga for ganja, my schedule this quarter simply doesn't alot for any time to be demotivated: full time work and full time school with an added spice of Monday & Wedneday morning real estate classes (which, p.s. - cost $350 ... translation: don't fuck it up, Jenna). I can't afford for any demotivation - it's time to call it quits.

Well, that's all very nice lip service, I know. But, to be trite, actions speak louder than words.

I lasted four days. No dice.

Yesterday I was having an absolutely awful afternoon. I'm talking crying spells from the minute I woke up (albeit sometime circa 1:30 in the p.m. ...), trips to fish stores (which could understandably ruin ANYBODY'S afternoon) and fighting my way through the hoardes of people in line at Jewel-Osco (point and case). I was feeling sorry for myself all day and finally got a call from a very dear friend of mine [Mouth .. why? because his is so big ... and I mean that in the most loving and endearing way possible .. but let's face it sweetheart, we're both loud as shit.] that always does cheer me up. He suggested I come over and started listing the incentives: getting cheered up, watching random sports games, eating ice cream and cookie sandwiches, and oh yes, relishing the reefer.

Well. It just so happened I had just signed offline with another friend [Smiles], with whom I had established an on-going bet regarding this little boycott of bud. I had left him a message on Friday night indicating that my best friend's [PeaPod .. because her and I are like two peas in a pod, ya dig?] birthday was right around the corner and that she was in fact DEMANDING that I smoke with her on her birthday (well, how could I refuse?)

[NOTE: I just decided I think I am going to give everybody code names; those of you closest to me can figure them out and the rest of you .. listen to me, assuming that anyone gives a shit enough to read about me and my life... if you have questions or comments, then you can ask; but out of respect to the people I will indubitably be talking [shit at times] about..I think code names are the way to go. Additinal Benefit: perhaps this will satiate that part of me that just cries out to be a secret spy...]

Blah blah blah. Yadda yadda yadda. After about 8 minutes of me ranting and raving about how awful and dark and despondent the world is, Smiles calls off the bet.

:-o Doth mine ears deceive me?

Surely not. Well. This was interesting .. this was ... unexpected ... this was .. causing an uncomfortably high level of guilt in me. Apparently which, subsided by the time I got over to Mouth's. Before I got on the bus I called up Green (the dealer...whose real name i couldn't give even if I tried because that was what I had saved him in my cell phone as ...). To my discontent, I was told there wouldn't be any until tomorrow. Yet simultaneously, I took it as a sign from above. Fine, I can stick to this stupid bet. Even if he DID call it off.

Well, well, well. Sitting at the bus stop, waiting for good ole #22NB to roll up and seriously rocking out on the Shuffle to some bad ass beats, low and behold ... my leg feels a vibration. I pull out the illuminated blue screen to see "GREEN" across the display.

Most intriguing ... I thought to myself. I took it as another sign .... "Well, hell yeah I still need that."

*Fast forward* On the north side, three kids - me, Mouth and Noomie -[Mouth's roommate, and if you know him, I know this isn't a good code name...but I think it's cute. Furthermore, such an infinitesimal number of people that know me know him, I think I can pull this off as his codename...] pull out the digi to weigh out our shit.

1.3 grams short.

Goddammit, I thought to myself. I knew this mothereffer was shorting me last time too.

So that was that. I decided that on a recency basis, the last omen to come from above was to be the one that took the cake: after all, everything leading up to this moment happened fora reason so why am I not to believe that this was the ultimate succession?

Nevertheless, that didn't stop me from getting high. Oh, no...definitely not.

In the meantime, my cellie (I promise to God I will never use that word in another sentence ever on this blog, but for the flow of things I think that this has a nice rhythym..) in the meantime, my cellie starts blowing up. Again I reach for the tiny blue illuminated screen: Jack [reference to Jack Kerouac and his novel On The Road .. only because this friend has been travelling a lot recently and I couldn't think of anything better].

Ah yes, the story behind Jack. Jack and I use to date last year, actually, I believe it was indeed exactly one year ago. Our relationship was weird .. we both had a lot of intimacy issues but had a ball together and more or less were head over heels for one another.

So what's the problem? Well, the problem was that simultaneously I felt the need to slut it up more than necessary and ended up doing a lot of really really shitty things to him. After a cathartic afternoon sometime in Spring all communication ceased between us and I didn't talk to him until sometime right before the holidays.

Last night he called me up and started professing his love. But he didn't just stop there and it really wasn't as romantic as it might sound to some.

The conversation was rather caustic in nature and somehow or another led to yet another discussion on marijuana. Jack asked what I was doing and I replied something that insinuated I was about to sit down and get high. After hearing Mouth's voice in the background, Jack went off on a tangent about how all I do is sit around smoking marijuana cigarettes and getting naked for different men.

Funny way to express your love and affection, right? Agreed. However, to be honest, my track record isn't exactly untarnished and more often than not I tend to scumble the lines between simply friends and fuck friends.

Maybe I didn't get hugged enough as a child or perhaps I feel that if I have a lot of little meaningless relationships, I can substitute them for one that requires a modicum of in-depth intimacy. But all of that is purely speculation.

OK, JACK. So. Congratulations. You officially and completely not only made me feel like the asshole I probably (which is probably an understatement as far as single words go but c'mon I think I've beat myself up enough the last couple days..) deserve to feel like, but you have re-invoked a geyser of guilt that is surging throughout my body so vigorously that I struggle to keep my eyes closed as my head lay on this pillow.

On the plus side: since i couldn't sleep I thought about all of this stuff and decided to to take TV up on his suggestion (TV as in Tiny in the song from Death Cab For Cutie....and is also fitting because of his major: film) and write all of these feelings down in a blog.

Thanks, TV.

p.p.s. - I think I'm already giving away too much information as to the who's who behind the code names. Oh well, we'll see how long I can keep this up for..