The Inner Rantings of a Disillusioned Never-Been

Postatem obscuri lateris nescitis.

Trust me, I don't.

With the latest terrorist warning on the agenda, any transportation SNAFU has got to look suspicious. Like the downed power wires at my station, on my rail line, this morning. . . NJ Transit, you poor dumb bastards, July can't even treat you right when it's got less than a day left.

Oh well. This just gives me that extra incentive to file for my 15% "refund" for the trials and tribulations of July. I wish they'd pay me for nearly getting shoved over at Memorial Day by that bastard getting off the train at the Airport.

SOAPBOX DAY

I was thinking the other day, mostly to myself, partially to Gary, if I was deluding myself into thinking that some of the folks I used to hang out with really did enjoy my company or if they were, in the immortal words of my brother "pretending to be nice to a dying, bitter old lady" . . . or, as he's often said, " 'everyone' hates you".

Of course, this begs the question as to why anyone would hang out with me to begin with if they found me that reprehensible that they "hate" me. I mean, it takes a great deal of effort to truly hate someone. . . for me, it's nearly three times the effort I put into loving someone.

I could also look at this from a different point of view, and figure that what their true feelings were/are doesn't really matter, because I know how these folks operate. . . and they're willing to talk shit about even their nearest and dearest friends because that's just what they do. And, because my brother wants to hear me trashed, they trash me.

In which case, I don't want to hang out with them anymore anyway, because that's just plain mean and nasty. You don't talk about your friends behind their backs like that and then get all sweet and nicey-nice to them to their faces. I call that being immature and two-faced . . . as well as COMPLETELY and UTTERLY 5th-grade.

I started the 5th grade in 1989. In the event that nobody noticed, it's no longer 1989 and I am no longer in 5th grade, nor do I choose to associate with anyone who still is.

The last person I hung out with who hadn't changed her tune since the 4th grade now lives in a trailer park in Florida, didn't even finish COMMUNITY college (in FLORIDA), can't hold a job and blames her mother for her lack of money and unpaid bills/rent. . . I haven't spoken to her since I was 16. My best friend, Juno, used to live with her . . . until this lack of personal responsibility drove her INSANE. We have both moved on in our lives, because our circumstances dictated the changes, but she never had to and, we suspect, she probably never will.

Weekend. . .

Matt and I went to visit with my mother this weekend.

My mother lives down the shore, in the Wildwoods, which means that on high-traffic weekends, like Memorial Day, the 4th of July and Labor Day, it's nasty-packed, wall-to-wall people from all over the tri-state area. . . but on weekends like this one, it's populated but not wall-to-wall people.

Which is how we found the Boardwalk. . . crowded but not cramped. This was odd because the weekend was GORGEOUS beach weather - low humidity, sunny & warm, with a slight breeze . . . OK, so the ocean was 50 degrees, but that's not a big deal, considering I wasn't expecting Florida-temperature water in New Jersey. If you do, you'll be disappointed until September or October.

I had a true mini-vacation, because we only spent Friday night at my mother's. . . the bed kinda sucks and Matt wasn't feeling so good, so we didn't sleep so well. But that didn't stop me from waking up early, getting my breakfast, teaching my mom to play a card game and putting my bathing suit and sunscreen on . . . all before 10am.

Of course, this was after I death-marched Matt all the way to the Boardwalk (which doesn't "really" start until you hit Wildwood-proper. . . and that makes it about 25 blocks to get there. . . and it goes on for about a mile and a half after that. . .I think. So, in total, we walked about 4 or 5 miles. . . a figure which can be amended as long as I can find the actual measurement of the length of the Wildwood boardwalk (the second oldest in NJ. . .Atlantic City has the oldest, built in 1870).

The one thing I like best to eat on the Boardwalk in Wildwood is a frozen treat called "Polish water-ice". It's along the lines of an Italian ice, but soft and smooth like soft-serve ice cream. Matt indulged me and let me buy the biggest water ice I could finish, after the wretched pizza and T.G.I. Fridays spinach dip we got as a snack to get us to Mom's. Next time we go, no pizza. I'm sticking to fries and hot dogs. Or, if we get there early enough, pasta at the Ravioli House. . . or, if Matt's feeling better, no spending money on food and we eat at Mom's.

On Saturday, we went to the beach. . . Mom lives about a block away from the entrance to the public beach, but you can cross the street and hit the dunes and the jetty. The sand was all sparkly and warmed up, the waves were a little on the white-capped side, but that was mainly due to the wind (which changed from a breeze once we got close to the ocean) and the jet-skis out on the water. I went into the water about up to the tops of my thighs, mainly because I was teasing Matt, because that water was COLD-COLD-COLD even for a "polar-bear" like me.

After we got bored with the beach, which was a lot quicker than we'd thought we would, mainly due to the water temperature, we went back to Mom's to shower, change and pack up the car for our trip into Cape May.

Cape May is about 15-20 minutes away from Mom's house, assuming you don't get stuck waiting for the drawbridge over the bay. We did, but it was kind of cool to be able to listen to Matt's latest sample CD from work and watch the fishing boats and the tourist riverboat go out to the open sea. . .and the water was SO blue, and it looked more clear than it has in a few years. . . either that, or it looks prettier when you're sitting in the front seat and aren't clouded in cigarette smoke.

Matt had never been to Cape May before. . . I showed him my favorite little shops and bought my 2 pounds of fudge from the Fudge Kitchen, wrangling for my pound of "free" taffy, to bring to the office, although they don't deserve it, and my sampling of my favorite flavors of saltwater taffy from Fralinger's. . . and we bought me some new dresses. He's been asking me, sometimes subtly, other times not so subtly, to please treat myself with more respect. Please dress up a little, take a little time with yourself, buy a new dress or two. We bought 5; I already have an occasion to which I can wear one, unless the dress-code is a little down from what this dress is (I think it is) . . . and, if I get a jacket, I can wear another to my Dittles's wedding in September. I feel good about the purchases, but don't know where I'm going to wear all of them because they aren't overly appropriate to wear to work.

That's one of the reasons why I don't usually buy clothes when I don't "need" them . . . if I don't wear them, I feel like I wasted money I could be spending on things that are truly necessary. . . like phone bills, rent and food. But this isn't a rant about my finances.

Anyway, I dragged Matt to my favorite seafood restaurant, McGlade's on the Pier. They serve whatever's caught that morning and, sitting on the beach, watching the waves crash in and the sun setting couldn't be a more wonderful way to spend a meal. . . which just proved to Matt that he likes seafood, if it's served fresh. I had a wonderful grilled tuna steak with pesto sauce and green beans and a twice-baked potato; Matt had grilled flounder. I'm not big on flounder, hence my ordering the tuna. . . which Matt tasted and learned something about tuna - it's yummy-yummy if it doesn't come from a can - and gave his compliments to the chef on my meal.

After dinner, we headed up to Atlantic City for a little gambling. . . the nickel slots and quarter-poker machines at the brand-new Borgata kept us occupied for about an hour. Then we waited around trying to get into a $5 blackjack game (no-go), and had our free cocktails. . . served by this REALLY hot Vietnamese (?) waitress with really nice tits. I had never been on the gaming floor at a casino, so this was a bit of a shock to my system. . . lots of lights, noise, smoke and people. . . I think I'll be better prepared next time we go lose a few dollars but, overall, I was cold, tired and crampy. . . and didn't really play too much. I lost $10 at video poker, and watched Matt play a couple of slot machines, but it made me dizzy-dizzy. I napped on the way home, and Matt bought me a brownie sundae at Dairy Queen.

This afternoon, we went to Asbury Park, because Bruce said to.

It's a sad place. And it's made even sadder by the abandoned Boardwalk casino, which has the mark of what I've heard referred to as "seashore renewal" on it - fire. Haunting this formerly beautiful resort town are the memories shared by many older people and immortalized in Bruce's music. . .and if you walk about 100 feet past the end of the Boardwalk, you're in another town, which resembles a cross between Cape May and a New England seashore resort. . .upscale and pricey. And we had lunch there. . . it was good, but not $13 good.

I think we're going to keep going back to Asbury Park, because amidst the ruins of memories, there are bits of new growth and vitality. . . for example, The Stone Pony, the famous club-bar, is still running, but across the street, the empty Boardwalk, prefaced by an open space overgrown with weeds and separated from the road by a chain-link fence and graffiti-ed outbuildings, reminds you that there are few businesses that can make it out here. And there doesn't seem to be any reason why not. . . other than politics. I'm familiar with that kind of politics; it's here in my town, in Newark (where I work) and in Jersey City, where I used to spend more time than was good for me. . . corrupt beyond all belief, but, if it's an election year, things happen.

Overall, I had a great weekend and look forward to having more time to get out of the house again sometime soon.

Ramblings. . .

I find it incredibly amusing to note the advertisements on my site's banner. . . today, when I logged in, they were for brownies and fudge . . . oh, and breakfast health cookies. Which makes me feel like my "diet" is going very well.

Of course, it doesn't appear to be a diet by "traditional" standards (read - "my dad's long struggle with weight") but it seems to be working just fine for me so far. Although, I'd like to do something about my overall protein and calcium intake, because I don't think I'm balancing my carbs with enough of either. . . fish would be absolutely ideal, but the closest fish market smells like. . .well, fish. That's no good. Fish should never smell fishy if they're fresh. Of course, this now explains my sushi "craving" and my mad desire to go eat at McGlade's in Cape May.

I had my measurement day today at the gym. My body fat went down (YAY!) by a whole 5% and I lost a total of 6.5 inches. And this is after 1 month, 3 times a week. . . and, starting in 2 weeks, they're open on the weekends. So I can start going 4 times a week. . . with Halloween coming up, I'm not in any hurry to stop exercising. Plus, I'll be able to look at all kinds of slinky costumes this year that I haven't had the guts to wear in the past. . . like maybe The Baroness:



Or maybe Jean Grey:



Or, I was really hoping for Elektra:



At any rate, the dress I want to wear in three weeks will fit just fine. . . and I was worried it wouldn't.

Food for Thought:

"Of course the people don't want war. But after all, it's the leaders of the country who determine the policy, and it's always a simple matter to drag the people along whether it's a democracy, a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism, and exposing the country to greater danger."

Interesting, eh?

Collected on the Internet.

Tyrannosaurus Rex



Ever since I can remember, dinosaurs have been a MONUMENTAL part of my life. . .until I was 10, I wanted to be a paleontologist, like my idol Dr. Bob Bakker, one of the men who Michael Crichton used as his character-models for Dr. Alan Grant in his novel Jurassic Park. A novel which I read FIVE TIMES IN A ROW before I found another book to fascinate me as much.

I remember my first dinosaur book as vividly as if I had received it yesterday. . . everything except for the authors & editorial staff. Which is fine, considering I was probably 4 or 5 when my dad brought it home for me. When you're 4 or 5, you don't really pay attention to details like that.

When the American Museum of Natural History re-did their dinosaur halls, I was in college before I got to see them. I have since been back to visit them four times. . . and plan to go again when I attend the current 'Chocolate' exhibition. . . two of my top-ten in one place: Dinosaurs and Chocolate.

So, you can imagine my excitement when I heard an announcement on the radio for an exhibit running at Liberty Science Center about Tyrannosaurus Sue. My eyes got all wide and the first words out of my mouth were "No Way."

"Sue" is the most complete skeleton of this Cretaceous predator EVER found in all paleontological history. She's 45 feet long, and not missing very much. It's astounding. The T-Rex has haunted our nightmares since its discovery in the 1800's, yet, we really know very little about them. Predators' bones, like early mammals and birds, seem to be rather fragile and few fossils are found.

Matt promised we'd go see her. . . and I can't wait. =)

Change is. . . not all bad

I think having a bigger bed means I've finally joined the ranks of adulthood. And the fact that I purchased it with The Boy I think presents itself as an interesting step in the development of our relationship.

My next step to changing the way I live (like I'm still in college) will more likely than not be learning to straighten my apartment as I mess it up. . . as opposed to my "yeah, OK, I'll do it, lay OFF it!" approach. Because then I'm setting myself up for raging at the people who comment on the place's lack of organization.

We'll see. I've only been here two months.

Bruce

Matt picked me up from work yesterday because we were going to the Yankees/Indians game in the Bronx.

Or so he'd gotten his friends to play along and tell me.

Once we were headed for Route 3, I got suspicious. OK, so it's technically bypassing the Turnpike traffic if you want to get to the GWB, but the place we picked it up is much closer to . . . Giants Stadium.

"SURPRISE!" Matt grinned. We're not going to the Yankee game, we're going to see BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN.

THE one-and-only Bruce Springsteen and the incomparable E-Street Band.

I had never been to Giants Stadium before last night, nor had I ever been to a professional rock concert at a venue this large.

I could barely take my eyes off the stage and didn't stop dancing until I had to. . . the show was amazing.

For my first rock concert, I couldn't have asked for more.

Now, Matt has a special connection to Bruce and his music. The fact that he chose to share this experience, the E-Street Band's first appearances in Giants Stadium in EIGHTEEN years, with me really proves that he feels I'm pretty special to him, too. For three whole hours, I had the most intense emotional and musical experiences of my entire life to this point. We saw parents and their children in attendance, folks old enough to be Matt's parents (he's older than me), folks old enough to be MY parents, kids my siblings' ages. . . Bruce speaks to everyone.

I have a deeper understanding of his musicianship and showmanship now than I did before. And I'm awed by the range of his influences, scope and talent. . .and that's not even starting on the Band. Who are AMAZING performers.

My summation of the evening - one word: Wow.

Spider Angry. Spider SMASH:



Godzilla has NOTHING on Spider.

BTW (quoted from the site) :

DC comics proposed removing all the tiny figures from the piece in light of the anniversary of the attack, but [Darick]Robertson objected. "If the World Trade Center was knocked down by a giant man in a black suit shooting a laser beam from his eye, then I'd say fine, cut it. But if we're going to sanitize everything to the point that we can't even be slightly reminded of it, then I wanted to see a sweeping removal of all flame, firemen, destruction, ect from all DC covers. No more reprints of the Death Of Superman, because Metropolis got knocked down in there."

My sister

My sister is 17. She will outgrow this. Then, she'll be 18. She'll outgrow that, too.

I love my sister, which is why I complain about her. We don't see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, mainly because we're not the same age, but the ones where we do, I cease to wonder whether or not it were actually aliens that left me on my parents' doorstep, rather than the story behind my Senior (high school) "birth interview".

Be that as it may, my sister is an alarmist. She's also an agoraphobic, xenophobic social butterfly.

Yes. I realize that was a contradiction. But teenagers are contradictory. It doesn't make them bad, it just makes them teenagers.

So anyway, my sister and I were speaking this weekend. Most of the conversation went really well, until she tried to tell me I should get in touch with someone I haven't physically spoken to in over 7 years, and the last contact I had with her was shortly after September 11, 2001. I started to tell her that this person is distancing herself from me, and it's better for her psychologically to do that. . . as it's her doctor's orders, mind you. No, well, if my sister were me, she'd get in touch with her.

This is an odd thing. I used to be absolutely inseparable from this girl when we were little. I mean, you never just said one of our names; you said both of them together. Like peanut butter and jelly or peas and carrots, we were a team. Then high school happened and I went to the public high school while she went to this shitty, all-girls Catholic school in the ghetto.

Not having cars and living in New Jersey where we grew up made it well-nigh impossible to even talk on the phone, let alone hang out together. So we started to drift apart.

She stayed friends with someone I needed to distance myself from. We drifted further.

Her parents pulled her out of regular school and put her into a home-school situation. She graduated high school before I did and then went off to college. In Ohio. Needless to say, we continued to drift.

I threw myself a graduation party at our friend Juno's house, this girl was supposed to pick me up at my house - several miles and busy, un-sidewalked streets away - and take me there. This girl never showed up. She ditched me for a GUY. And then spent the weekend in Connecticut. Yeah, that pissed me off. I mean, really, imagine being late to your own party! It's kinda silly, isn't it?

Turns out, after spending a semester in Europe, she finally got a chance to think for herself. This was a new experience for her. She apologized to me for standing me up, but, well, the damage had already been done. We exchanged a few letters and e-mails over the next few years, between her decision to leave school in Ohio and transfer to Clemson, but they dwindled. . . finally, she wasn't returning anyone's e-mails and couldn't return anyone's phone calls because she didn't really have phone service. (read: Her parents paid for an 800- number so she didn't bother to get long-distance service) So. We lost touch. This happens.

To tell the truth, even though we were best friends when we were little, we've grown up and in such different directions that, well, sadly enough, we've outgrown each other.

But in the chaos that followed the day the entire world went insane, she thought of me. . . of course, last she'd heard, I was working in NYC, but the company moved to Newark barely 3 months after I started with them, so I was safer than I would have been had I been in Manhattan that day. I had a familiar place to sleep and didn't have to buy food that night.

The last pieces of information we exchanged weren't about ourselves. They were about other people. Two people who'd died in the Towers and the person I'd disassociated myself from years and years ago. These were the only things that remained of all the things we had in common.

And my sister wouldn't understand this because. . . she's 17. She'll outgrow it, I know, but in the meantime, it's difficult for me to deal with like a rational being. Ugh. Teenagers!

DAMMIT!

Did I mention that I hate having wide feet?

Check these out:



These are probably the single hottest pair of shoes I have seen in quite some time, but I think that my feet are too wide to wear them comfortably. Plus, they cost $213. When I have that much money to spend on one pair of shoes, and not worry about whether or not I'll be able to pay my phone bill, maybe I can consider trying them on. . . but I am POOR right now.

This might change, but, for the time being, I have bills, rent and food to pay for, so sexy shoes are kinda out of the question. *scowl*

Work Sucks.

Yeah, OK, it's a given that if it weren't sucky, we wouldn't call it "work". But work sucks.

I asked one of my managers today if it were just me or did we have more work this summer than last. . . she told me I wasn't hallucinating. Ordinarily, this would be a good thing, but, since it involves my workload, which feels as though it's quadrupled over last year's, it's not. Add this to the lovely, long list of projects I have in addition to my normal workload, and I think I'm justified in feeling stressed.

I haven't reached "overwhelmed", but it's only the BEGINNING of the month, so there's time. There's always time.

Compliments. . .

I just received one of the biggest compliments I have gotten in quite some time today. For being myself, not some wigged-out, overworked code-jockey. . . for offering an insight.

Despite its being all but ignored by the people at whom it was directed, I feel good that it made an impact on the Boy. Thanks.

I heard a rumor. . .

So, evidently, there's a rumor travelling around the office that I'm going to be on Jeopardy!.

This isn't entirely untrue. I mean, I don't know if I'll definitely be asked to play on the show, but, my name is in the contestant pool for the 2003-2004 season.

I've been getting the "congratulations" pats on the back from my editors and coworkers, which, of course, makes me feel justified in being intelligent. It also gives me a little glimmer of spotlight to call my own. I've been clawing at it for years. . .oh well.

We shall see what comes of this, of course. I just don't want to get my hopes up too far. . .it'll be all the more disappointing if I don't get a call.

But then, there's always next year!

COMPLETELY OFF TOPIC:

This is a picture of the dress I want to wear in a month -

I hate temperature extremes.

I work in a building where the average internal temperature is less than 50 degrees (Farenheit) at any given time. I know this because my fingers and, when I wear sandals, toes, turn lavendar, blue and grey. So I freeze while I'm working.

Then, while I'm waiting for the elevator - the only decent way to get to the lobby, by the way - I suffer through heat and humidity, as if I'd been outside. Then, the elevator isn't air-conditioned either. . . and I walk out onto the street. . . into the filthy Newark street. And broil.

Concrete seems to be highly conductive in the summertime, while, of course, in the wintertime, it seems to be highly reflective.

It's not summer that gets me, you know, it's the temperature extremes. If it weren't over 90 four days in a row, going on five, maybe I'd be less cranky about it.

I'd rather it were freezing outside, because you can always put another layer on but there's a limit to how much you can take off

Put your mind to it, go for it, get down and break a sweat,
Rock and roll, you ain't seen nothin' yet. . .

I joined a gym last week because I feel fat. Not that I am fat, you understand (although, according to the BMI, I'm about 60 pounds overweight . . . who the FUCK are they kidding? I wonder if they have Slovak hips.) but I could stand to lose a couple inches. So I joined a gym.

A brand-new, for-women-only gym. With diet and exercise counselling, cool machines, music and a friendly staff.

I went back today. I will continue to go back, hopefully more than once a week (I want to go THREE times, but, my sunburn prevented THAT this week). . . it's close enough to the train station that I have no excuse not to go, even after work, unless I end up working until 8 fucking 30 again. . .ugh.

I really enjoy my workouts. I don't feel fat, I feel healthy and energetic. Plus, I have fun. All these things will keep me going back for more. . . and I'll be a size 6 in no time. Even on the bottom. Which makes me feel sexier.

So I got all sweaty and smelly at the gym, came home, and treated myself to a bath.

Ahhhh.

Home spas, a treat for the body and the mind.