Journaling: Everybody's Doing It, So Why Shouldn't We?

March 24, 2001 Just got back from the NSync IMAX Experience. Have toweled off and had an imaginary cigarette. Have posted on-the-spot reactions.

March 15, 2001 Have jumped on bandwagon and created a Live Journal. Will be posting daily randomness there, but prolonged rants on various topics will still appear here.

March 5, 2001 Had a conniption fit.

March 1, 2001 March? Who the hell said it could be March? We moved into our new house at the end of December, and we still haven't unpacked everything - as in, most of the books are still in boxes and my clothes are strewn wildly around the house due to my lack of a dresser - and we don't have anything on the walls, although that's mostly due to not having bought nails yet even though it's a very simple purchase, and the bathroom is still only half-painted and we don't have a rug for the living room, rugs being very necessary due to the combination of freezing-ass weather and hardwood floors, and, and...Dammit. Nobody said it could be March.

If it's March, it means my site has been live for almost a month and I still haven't put up the hot/sexy pictures I've been collecting especially for the Pics page. And it means that another month has snuck by without a visit to my girlfriend four hours away. And it means that the very dear friend I'm very conflicted about at the moment will be visiting here again in just a few weeks. And it means my Algebra class is almost at the halfway point, which means I'm going to have to buckle down and learn some new concepts pretty soon. And since the completion of this stupid remedial class implies that I'm ready to move on to College Algebra, March means I'm creeping closer to having to deal with actual math classes. WTF? Un-fuckin'-cool, man. I am not ready. Well, I'm ready to be out of this prof's class, but otherwise, No Deal.

And if it's March, the cool/luscious/silly plot bunnies I had back in late January but never finished writing are getting seriously stale. Some would say - in disgustingly cheerful voices no doubt - What a great opportunity to go back and play with them, maybe put a fresh spin on them! I, Depresso-girl, say to those people, Go fuck yourselves. Sometimes my writing is good, and sometimes it's bad but can be tweaked until it's okay, and sometimes it's putrid. So if I abandoned a perfectly good story idea and haven't even thought about it since January, it's probably because the writing was putrid and I couldn't stand myself anymore. So now I should revisit these messes? Right.

Of course, this all February's fault, you know. February is a seriously sneaky month. First it's spelled all funny, then it only has twenty-eight days, but sometimes it has twenty-nine...all I'm saying is, you can't trust February. It will mess you up every time.

Feb. 23, 2001 D'oh! No rant about the Grammys yet. Coming soon, though. Stay tuned.

Feb. 14, 2001 You know something? I hate Valentine's Day. Oh, not with the white-hot intensity of a thousand burning suns, or anything. But it gets on my nerves. It's 8:41 AM, and I'm already tired of listening to the guys at work say, "So, what'd your husband get you for Valentine's Day?" (Although, come to think of it, maybe I'm just tired of the guys at work.) Nothing, okay? My husband didn't get me anything for this silly holiday, this trumped-up saint's day. But that's okay with me, because I didn't get anything for him, either, and my sense of relationship fair play demands that I do something nice for him if he does something nice for me. (Note to self: And God forbid you should do something nice for him.) (Right. Thanks, self.)

JFalstaff and I play by rough-and-tumble relationship rules. I know this; I accepted and even welcomed it when we started dating. I love being able to be frank about my feelings, and not having to play stupid relationship games. Of course I demand a little delicacy with my emotions, and Fang requires the same, whether he'll admit it or not. But it seems to me that if I start demanding girly prerogatives at this late date, I'm going to have to pay up with something big, like cleaning. Ick. I hate cleaning. (Note 2 to self: Vow you made last night to clean bathroom this weekend still holds. Just so you know.) To be precise, I like quick, easy pick-ups that freshen a room. I hate anything having to do with removing actual dust and/or hair. The hair is the worst, and because of Fang's shaved head, I can rest secure in the knowledge that it's all my fault.

So. Resolved: no V-Day prezzies for JFalstaff or me; must clean on Saturday, even the icky stuff; must re-locate sense of humor (required for dealing with coworkers). Also on the TTD list: join gym tonight (discuss with husband this afternoon); finish typing ill-starred karaoke fic, send off for beta; (hopefully) receive beta on new dark piece and revise, maybe code and post; add to Links and other sections of site; prep clothes for work tomorrow and the immediately-following, much-anticipated SixMileBridge show.

Note: Instead of signing up at gym, had hair color retouched and picked up copy of new SixMileBridge CD that had been ferried to Dallas especially for me. I love my friends.

Feb. 12, 2001 Here is what I have learned over the last four days: coding is hard. And...uh, nope, that's about it. Deciding to teach myself HTML at the same time I went live with my first self-maintained website was, perhaps, not the wisest idea when seen in hindsight. But whatever. Many lost hours of sleep and screamed curses at the computer after I first started, I'm actually starting to get the hang of this dealie. Of course, that is my cue to drop a monstrous tag or something, so I'll shut up about that now.

There will be more journal eventually, I promise promise. I am afflicted with diarrhea of the keyboard. Most times you can't shut me up. Tonight, however, bed calls. Louder than my Portishead CD, which is pretty damn loud. So, uh, see ya.

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