I don’t really look in the mirror until hours later, in the bathroom at work. My hair is such that it looks like Lucille Ball exploded on my head.

My admin job is boring, but there’s nothing to complain about. It’s very low-stress. I realized a long time ago that if I were to allow the status of the copy machine to dictate my life, then my life would be dumb. So, I don’t worry.

My left shoe is currently held together with packing tape, because I wore through it in such a way that the sole is hanging on by just a few rubber filaments. The tape crinkles when I walk, and it sounds like I’m wearing a diaper on my feet.

The logical solution to this would be to buy new shoes. Generally, however, I don’t like shopping.

I went to buy some pants recently, and saw that if I go by the sizes available on clothing racks that women of my girth are supposed to be at least six inches taller than I am. That is to say, I could find plenty of my size, but not in my length. I can hem them, sure, but it’s odd to me that a normal size such as mine is not available in my length, but there are SIZE ZEROS FOR ALL!

I don’t feel bitterly about that, but really. Who the hell is a size Zero Tall? Are you out there? Are you OK? Do you want a donut? No, wait … where’d you go? Don’t turn sideways or I won’t be able to see you.

So, clothes shopping can be painful, but shoe shopping isn’t so bad, save for the expense.

These shoes smell like crotch.

A conversation snippet from this evening:

Friend T: Kelly, you really have to toss those shoes. I can smell them from over here.
Me: I know. They stanky!
Friend C: You still look good, though.
Me: True. And it’s all about image. You can’t smell image.

Shoes are going into the garbage. Out with the old, in with the new. The tape stopped holding the shoe together, anyway. It was quite the ghetto cobbling attempt.

Speaking of ghetto, that’s where I work.

1. I’m walking to the bus, and a guy catches up to me to bum a cigarette. He’s a skinny, junky-looking fellow, and his complexion is a strange combination of dark and sallow, so that the furrows in his face look purple.

“I’m homeless, boo,” he says. “Can you spare anything?”

“Sorry, man,” I say. “I don’t have any change.”

“I don’t need no change. I need fi’-hunned dollahz.”

“Well, I definitely don’t have that.”

“Heh.”

2. A couple of women were fighting outside my office building the other day. One of them was swinging a blunt object at her opponent, missed, and hit the windshield of one of my co-workers who had parked by the sidewalk. I like my coworkers, but am I wrong to think that’s a little bit funny?

3. Downtown a few months ago, a woman follows me, catches up to me, and talks to me until I agree to buy formula for her sick baby. We go into a couple of grocery stores before finding it at a 7-11. I only had the cash to buy half of what she needed, and couldn’t take out any more because my bank account was mostly empty.

When I told the lady that I couldn’t help her beyond the one carton of formula, she got nasty. Followed me out of the 7-11 to the train, yelling at me the whole way.

I can’t say I blame her.

AWESOMEST THING I SAW YESTERDAY:

I was waiting for the bus after going out for coffee and knitting with friends. A bunch of punk kids were walking down the sidewalk, when one of them tackled another and tore his pants down. As the pants-ee hit the sidewalk, I heard him yell at the pants-er, “You spanked my asshole!”

Did you know there's a feminine depilatory cream called “Nads”? I giggle every time I see it, because I’m twelve.

As a movie-watcher, in terms of how movies are gauged by people who call movies “films,” I’m very hit-or-miss. I’m not picky at all, and I can almost guarantee you that most movies that people reference on a regular basis are not among the movies I’ve seen. This isn’t because I’m anti-establishment or anything, I’m just oblivious.

I pick movie rentals by walking around and looking for something with a pretty cover and an interesting title. As such, even though I don’t actively seek obscure films, I’m great for referencing films that no one else has ever heard of.

One thing this haphazard renting practice has taught me:

Movies filmed and produced in the northern UK are depressing.

The covers will often tout them as being “UPLIFTING!” “A TRIUMPH OF THE HUMAN SPIRIT!” “A TRUE COMING-OF-AGE-GEM!”

But, don’t be fooled. These same Limeys would likely credit “Schindler’s List” as being “THE FEEL-GOOD MOVIE OF THE YEAR.”

The movies in question are quite good, don’t get me wrong. But when you pop in a DVD, expecting it to be a light-hearted British farce, and it turns out to be about incest, deceit, and sexual confusion, it depressed you a lot more than it would if you had been prepared.

It’s kind of like taking a big swig out of a cup without looking, and finding out that what you were expecting to be chocolate milk is actually orange juice. You know?

Look before you swig.

One more thing ...

DIARYLAND! I'm not mad at you for eating all of my images. You are the Little Server that Could! You think you can! You think you can! You think you can!

Good night.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Arm-in-Arm Down Burgundy - 09.05.05

Motivated! - 08.25.05

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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