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I had a fabulous weekend. I will write about it later, if I can get it to fucking save on this piece of crizzy they call a fucking computer. Kind of makes me want to go back to pen and paper.

This caused more debate than I could have imagined. She dragged me up to the top floor of the building to consult with a nun on the issue. The nun verified my statement which earned me mega points with Mamma Boricua.

Over lunch, I mentioned that I need a haircut and her face lit up as if she were my own mother. Then she harassed me about it the whole rest of our time together. I didn't have the heart to tell her I'm not going to have the length taken off; that I'm just going to get a trim and a shape, and perhaps some color.

I have so much work to do today that I may lose my cooks. I had wierd dreams about everything last night, including work, where, in my dreams, I was forced into a new field with my same bosses however, and it just got wierd and perverse.

More later...

Today I am fit to be tied. "Jacked for Jesus" as me and my homegirl like to say. I might as well have coffee dripped into my veins through an IV. I get up, up, up, I get down, down, down, and the next thing you know it's Monday morning and I'm back in the vicious cycle--only having been lead to believe I was even out of it momentarily.

~

I was born by the river...in a little tent...oh and like that river I've been runnin' ever since...

Hail Holy Queen Maria, it's Friday. This clothes-horse lady that makes me laugh a lot and that is also a friend of my bosslady, says to me today on a smoke break that she never used to feel like she was "workin' for the weekend" but these days that's exactly what she's doing. I could relate, and it sucks. I do this shit Monday through Friday because it is a sad fact of survival. I guess it's progress that we are not in a Hobbesian "state of nature" and I even fear that all the craziness and international plotting and planning and veiled hatred is going to eventually lead us into such a state. (They call me "doomsday" for a reason. But I so called 9/11 before it happened--you can ask Roberta Glass, so mark my words.)

~

Anyway, I talk to this lady on Delphi Forums sometimes, and it has come up on occasion that she has many quality survivalist skills. She's picked them up from things like camping and what not. I think that is very admirable. I myself do not enjoy camping but have always understood how it could be fun to others. And while I like to think if push came to shove I could kill my own food and build my own shelter, but last night while watching Survivor I wondered...I wondered.

Speaking of Survivor Thailand's season premiere last night, the poll at CBS for popularity of the players lists Jan last. Jan, though, is my pick--she's my favorite. I'm not sure why, but there's something about her I just love. I think it's that she's a mature kick-ass woman who teaches. Also, I like her picks for her tribe. I think they are clearly the better of the two tribes, judging of course from only one episode (even though they were the first to have to oust somebody). They have the older, wiser bunch who seem to know more about "roughing it". And to me it seemed like they fought less among each other, unlike their younger, hipper opponents. Plus they have the two black folks--Ted, who is very charming and team-oriented, and Ghandia, who kicks major ass (even though she lost the knife puzzle thing).

~

Oh geeeez I'm really gonna start bouncing off the walls up in here. I threw back a D chased it with coffee and have been jonesing for ciggerettes one right after the other. I jsut want it to be 4:45 so I can be en route to Queens where I can buy a six pack, smoke a jizzy and get fawked up. Yup. Everybody's workin' for the weekend.

However, you can play a pivitol role in my success by purchasing my love and affection via my shiny, new Amazon.com wishlist. I'm sure a lot of good-hearted wealthy benefactors stroll through these parts...it will give you a warm, fuzzy feeling so just go for it!

In other news this site has somehow crossed over to parts of another of my sites, and now their like fraternal twins. I'm not too sure what's going on...you might be missing information here that is here.

LaWanda Page (Aunt Ester of Sanford and Son fame) died last Saturday, or so says the New York Post. What a loss. Sandford and Son was just a little bit before my time, but I caught reruns a lot growing up. And the ironic, comedic element she placed on Rupaul's "Supermodel Of The World" single was brilliant and priceless. "Sell the product!" Rest in peace Lawanda Page.

More later...I'm jacked for Jesus right at the moment and being forced to go smoke a cigarette. Something bout those little pills, the thrills, the chills, they yeild, that kills a million braincells...

I did a lot of things yesterday. Laundry. By myself. Not drop-off service, baby. This is becoming a trend for my weekends.

I bought a TV/DVD/VCR combo for 400 smacks on Ebay.

I visited my cousin M where I discovered that Writer's Market published by Writer's Digests has misinformation in their "The Only HTML You Really Need To Know" section. I did some work on the application process, I went to Manhattan to my homies' apartment in the fabulous UWS where I watched the Sopranos. It was good.

Sitemeter reveals that someone has searched Google twice for "Greensboro Sex Hotel". Sadly, they will not find much information here regarding such things. However, I could tell a story or two about the Triad area. Maybe I'll save that for the hidden entries.

Speaking earlier of the application process, I emailed a professor I havn't spoken to in 100 years to ask for a letter of reference. This was Friday, and, to date, she has not responded. Must be jogging her memory?

In other news I am miraculously at work on time after a kind of live-action night, and an inner battle over whether to go out on the town last night or not. Thankfully better judgement teamed with sleepiness and beat the quick-if-not-instant gratification gene.

More later from the cube...

As for the Facial Hair Crisis 2002, I marched my little white ass up into Genovese and bought some facial hair depilitory (like Nair, but for your face) that is for black men who have razor-bump problems.

That shit works wonders.

I'm in a wierd mood today. I used to have to be the receptionist on Tuesday mornings but now it's Friday aftertoons, which means I have to stay up in this piece for an extra 15 minutes today. Curse the desk! When the Human Resources lady asked me to do the switch, I agreed, just to be nice, but I was reluctant. She said, "That's not going to interfere with your party schedule is it?" I said, "Of course it will." She of course things this is all a joke. Then she says, "Oh come on, you're not partying at 4:45." To which I replied quite seriously, "The minute I punch out, the party has begun."

In other news, my friggin electric shaver died earlier this month, and since I was relying on Norelco to give me that close, clean shave, I don't have any strait-razors in the apartment. Therefore, I am very grizzly at the moment. I am afraid to shave now because my skin is so sensitive--which is part of my dependency on the electric shaver. So I'm researching how to conquer a thick beard. Most people reading this, I bet, don't have facial hair and won't be able to help. Curse the blog readership! (Just kidding of course.)

I'm going to start posting words that I look up from time to time. Call it "a word a day" if you will. Today's word is philanthropy, for which I needed the exact dictionary definition.

More later. Gimme a clix, will ya?

The weekend from which I am emerging was out of control. I took the GRE on Saturday morning at 8:30. It was quicker and easier than I expected and I'm glad I rocked it out in such a timely manner. So for those of you who are wondering about time and preparation involved for this dreaded ordeal-of-a-test let me give you a piece of unscientific, slackerly advice: You don't have to take the friggin' Kaplan course or spend hours upon hours strategizing and timing yourself. The GRE is easy. This from someone somewhere above the 50% mark. Hahahahaha...

After the GRE I spent a little time on my grad school application at my homeboy's house--it was an "application party"--and then bought a pair of women's Fendi pants. They are so hot though. I love finding a nice, tight pair of women's pants that are marked down to a fraction of their immense price tags because somehow they got made longer than the average lady...and long enough for me, the artist formerly known as Jolly Green.

Saturday was also S.D.A.'s birthday. We went to eat at a Greek place in Astoria. Very nice. I scrounged up a bunch of drugs and alcohol so S.D.A. and The G.E. came back over to my crib where we sucked most of everything down. There was only more fun to be had though at Luxx, where I had a moment of burning up and met a new friend in the friggin rafters who was ready to get as rowdy as me. It was lovely.

I was out till like 7:00 in the morning having a good ole introspective time on a long walk through the vast Trail Of Seed (as I like to call it) in my neighborhood. Then, as if it were all a sleep walk anyway, I slept till eight in the afternoon and have been up ever since. So in my sick and twisted universe it is actually 10:00 PM right now.

I watched Sex & the City and Anna Nicole last night. Anna Nicole is a fucking lunatic nutcase that I think is in on the joke but thinks the "joke" is completly serious. My feelings on her are hard to explain. But you know I would give her a bump of the good stuff in a heart beat. I am ashamed of this--but secretly, I want to replace Kimmy and ride around in limos, with my only responsibility being making sure Boss Hog doesn't get into trouble or danger.

On my mind: Am I making the right decision? Am I following the right fork in the road? Am I losing my shit? What does the future hold? Should I wear my hair in a pony tail? How cool will living in a dorm again be?

On a final note, this morning I kicked the Letters Of Recommendation process into full gear with my bosses, so I should be a student in no time. Everyone cross your fingers that I get accepted to one of my two programs so I don't have to go into hiding.

I take the GRE tomorrow morning at dawn's ass crack at Penn Plaza. I have not prepared at all. I'm just going to wing it. I should do fine, right? I hear it's mostly analogies and math... (famous last words?)

Spam, junk mail, telemarketing--it's all the same thing. Annoying, among other things.

I hate these calls as much as the next guy. Credit card companies have all sold me out, calling to offer services and products, knowing I have credit to charge them to. As a matter of fact, all sorts of places have sold me out! There's a new trend in telemarketing. If you are like 99% of the population, when you get a telemarketing call of any variety, you hang up. Maybe you politely decline, maybe you yell at the poor sod who is just trying to earn a buck, maybe you are sympathetic to him but of course not interested--but, chances are, you hang up on him.

Well, about this new trend. It infuriorates me more than the regular variety of telemarketing.

(Now, please note that I've done this job on more than one occasion. I have been a telephone interviewer, where you ask recipients about their personal bidness for "market research purposes" or for Time magazine polls. I have done proxy calls where you call to urge shareholders to vote one way or the other on matters of their stocks that they don't really understand, and you--the caller--don't really either. I've also had a few little stints of selling things like insurance or electronics, some part of which benefits some good cause. I've never lasted in any of these jobs for more than a month, though, because I hated pissing masses upon masses of people off.)

Ok, ok, the new trend in telemarketing. Have you noticed that you are getting a lot more hang up calls these days? And a lot more telemarketers actually leaving you messages on your machine, of course from numbers that are "unavailable" to your caller ID? Yes? Well this is because the masterminds behind a billion dollar industry (which I can't figure out for the life of me because how the market researches get any kind of accurate information or how the product-marketers get any kind of high sales totals eludes me because everyone hates them) have come up with a way to force you to listen to what they have to say.

Here's how it works. They program your jillions of numbers into a computer. The computer dials and dials, and if someone answers it can tell--and it hangs up. But it can also tell if a machine has answered, at which point it leaves the marketing message in a friendly human voice, as if the "caller" just happened to miss you.

This recorded voice often even apologizes for having missed you, and the most obnoxious of them all apologizes for leaving the fucking message that the evil marketing geniuses are in no way sorry for their computer leaving.

A sample of these messages I've come home to include:

1) The one where I've won a sattelite dish. (I live in a g.d. apartment, for crissake.)

2) The one where I've won a luxurious, all expenses paid vacation. (Clearly, a time-share scandal.)

3) The one where a man's voice tells me, "I'm calling about your cell phone account" (of course they assume that everyone in NYC has a cell phone which I do not) and how he can lower my rates.

4) The one where the friendly female assures me that happy, debt-free times lay ahead if I call her 800 number to hear about the "debt counseling" they can give me.

And the list goes on.

Well, this has been Yours Truly reporting from the field. Unless for some reason you get a lot of "unavailable" or "anonymous" calls that you do in fact need to receive (like myself), I highly recommend the "block unknown callers" option, available from your phone company.

Home Star Runner is my new favorite website, and Strongbad rules.

Enjoy the day off work.