What does a popular television show do when the host goes on vacation? It goes into reruns. So I, (Jeff} present to you, the best of Jocelyn's pita. Or not necessarily the best, that means I have to read it all, but the best of those I randomly pick.
Oh Henry! is the largest 85-cent chocolate bar, at 62.5 grams. For this reason I believe the company's claim that they are "the King of Candyland" is completely justified.
You know what I hate?
(Well, yes you do I know, but add another thing to the list.)
When you're in a car and you find yourself looking at someone-- on the sidewalk or in another car-- and they smile at you and you're so surprised that you can't smile back before they look away.
This happened to me today. We were driving to the University to pick up my mom, and I was looking out the window with this glazed post-closing look on my face, and this guy at one of the outdoor tables at the campus earl's grins at me, and then looks away while my brain is still going, "whoa... that guy just smiled at me."
(It wasn't like a sexthing though. It was just being friendly. This feeds into my fear that I am going to go to university and never see my friends and not be able to make new ones either and have to listen to my walkman at recess like i did in elementary school.)
(But universities don't have recess. phew!)
Now. I am having a shitty day-- to the extent that I feel like I am the subject of a cosmic Discovery Channel documentary (that one was for Courtney) so you'd better email me telling me how beautiful i am.
today I am magis mutus quam piscis, quieter than a fish.
I am psychologically and emotionally fine. I am psychologically and emotionally fine. Really.
two years ago: "I see from the remnants of dry cement on this man's trouser-leg that he recently had some yard work done by stonemasons... We should do something fun next weekend, like go paddle-boating."
one year ago: "Cam, Jeff and I made french fries from scratch. Cooking with Cam is fun. He tends to be a little showy. He tossed the fries around in oil in the lid of a wok, we threw in all the fun-sounding spices, believing those fries that fell on the floor were necessary sacrifices for the culinary fry-making process. What's the word I'm looking for? I'll probably never remember. For a necessary death: it sounds like stand-by, maybe. Or it's the same type of word. Whatever."
I think I Might have been thinking of "casualty," although that doesn't make too much sense, does it?
My parents have an inherent, ingrained (not inbred) fear of software. My father, who jumped on the XT bandwagon back when it was actually kind of leading-edgy, has remained on that badwagon even though it has become conspicuously motionless and the wheels are rotting out from under him and moss is growing inside the instruments belonging to the band-members. Our family still owns a 286 and two 386es, and my dad uses those. He has no confidence in his own abilities in Windows, Mac or (for that matter) anything released after DOS 6.2. As for my mother, she is capable in Word, but refuses to branch out into operating systems, preferring to duck behind that "can't one of you do it?" guise. Every time they buy new software, installing it is my job. No one believes me that it's not hard. "All you have to do is put the CD in the drive (you know, the cofee-cup holder) and then press NEXT a bunch of times. It's not DIFFICULT, guys. I am confident that someone besides me is able to carry out this task. Installation wizards are MADE for people as stupid as you."
No. Only I. When I move away from home my parents will (a) never install anything new on their computer and (b) never change their clocks for daylight savings time. Oh, and the VCR will never, ever get programmed.
february is a fairly significant month, although no one
has a birthday in february. seriously. no one i know has a
birthday in february, and i am not exaggerating. my dad in
january. my sister: april. nicki: june. jess: july. chris and
alex: august. jeff in september. meghan, angie and cam in
november. me and my mom and chandra: december. no one in
february or march. let's see. in order to have a baby in
february you'd have to have sex in or around-- or in and all
around and even on top of (ha) may. which is in the spring.
which is when everyone (apparently, according to all the william
blake poems i've read) is having sex all the time. does that
seem suspicious to anyone else? no february babies? call davaid
duchovny AND his nose.
no, no birthdays, is all i'm saying.
february fourteenth is valentines day. angie has been
counting down since the beginning of february. we (that being
the valentines we, chris and i) don't have any plans yet, but
we'll probably make some at the last minute. last year, for
valentines day, chris and i went to see celebrity. big mistake.
we were the only couple in the theatre. there were us and a lot
of people sitting by themselves, observing the five-empty-seats-
in-each-direction rule. it turns out that, on valentines day,
everyone who is single and miserable goes to a movie made by
someone less single but (apparently) perpetually more miserable:
woody allen. i am so funny.
valentines day is a holiday for lovers (and the people who
make those little chocolates and heart-shaped gift boxes and
greeting cards and patricia barber CDs). it always ("always"
meaning "in the past few minutes which is all i'm thinking
about") makes me feel kind of triumphant because two valentines
days ago, i had someone to pick out all the "my girl" message
hearts for me (chris) and last valentines day i got to sit IN A
MOVIE THEATRE WITH SOMEONE'S ARM AROUND ME (chris and his arm
also) and this year we're going to do something better. we don't
know what yet. i already said that. but i mean, i'm not such a
failure. i always assumed (when i was in junior high) that all
my valentines days would be spent locked in a tower made of that
fake wood siding, naked, chewing on my hair when i ran out of
"cool ranch" doritos and watching reruns of hollywood squares.
(i never realized what a cool show that was. they're actually
INSIDE SQUARES. oh my! thanks for telling me that earlier, you
assholes. also, you can feel the tension as the less-celebrated
celebrities attempt to assert themselves and whoopi goldberg just
laughs in their faces.)
anyways. so: a third CONSECUTIVE triumphant valentines day.
also, and unbeknownest to most people (but knownst to me),
chris's and my anniversary is at the end of february. i mean, i
don't know when you're supposed to start officially counting
exactly, so we're very vague about it: "it's at the end of
february." it seems like we're just doing it to be humble and
not seem like we're boasting but i don't think anyone actually
knows. we certainly don't. we just made something up basically.
end of february. yup. anyway, two years. that's something.
that's almost twelve percent of my life. that's a big something.
i guess that's it pretty much.
i mean, love... it's like...
i rock, right?
. . .
we were supposed to go see "beaten to death by gorillas"
last night, but the show was apparently privately booked or some
such fascist nonsense. chris called and left a rambling message
on my answering machine. "you or i will have to call
everyone and tell them... what? oh, never mind. angie will do
it." thought (a): i don't think he's ever left a message
on my answering machine before! i'm so excited! swoon.
("i don't think i've ever heard you sneeze
before!") thought (2): he's with angie. angie and chris
and cam (presumably? hopefully?) are over there
(somewhere?) doing something fun like... well...
something, and i'm sitting at home replaying the messages on my
answering machine. see how my brain makes me and it mars me?
shot through the heart, and you're to blame: you give looooove a
one year ago today: "mmmmmmm mmm,,,,,,,,,, (sorry I had to
clean the salsa out of my keyboard.)" "My horoscope in TRIBUTE
magazine predicted an improvement in relationships, so when Chris
came back from the washroom Cam and Jeff told him I was breaking
up with him."
angie loves my pita! angie loves my pita! *virtual happy
dance* DO YOU LOVE MY PITA? THEN WHY DONíT YOU SIGN MY GUESTBOOK? HMMMMMMMM? ITíS DOWN THERE AT THE BOTTOM. ITíS PRETTY HARD TO MISS. ITíS PURPLE. NOW, BEEEYOTCH!
"my body will become so hairy that if horizontal, it will be able to move like a ciliated Protozoan."
My name is Jocelyn... I am sixteen years old. I am an honours student in grade 11... I can spell and do simple sums, I have received the occasional compliment on my sentence structure, I like to sing and I read a lot. I know all about Napoleon and oxydation reactions. I can use dychotomous keys; I can draw Punnet squares and play badminton. I know the rules to chess. I know elementary-level HTML, CPR, and I speak french. At this point in my life, I have been loaded down with a staggering amount of information that is quite useless to me because I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.
My name is Jocelyn... I stayed home from school. The day was far too beautiful to be spent inside the past's vision of the future-- a box with pipes sticking out its sides, resembling a shoebox with toilet paper rolls connected to its ends with Scotch tape. My school is, indeed, the past's future: a grey and white box, poised on a flat green lot, a perfect Lego reality: a spaceship permanently readied for takeoff, a sterile box ready to blast its occupants into successful careers as businesspeople and engineers.
The past invisioned a future without windows, a future without light. This is, perhaps, what frightens me most.
I read a good term for husband today in Marquez: legal despoiler.
found quote: "Her cousin and her boyfriend are always disrobing on my futon." -Not Elvis questioner
I. I said I'm still dreaming of fish. ["in literature, birds are ideas and fish are souls, and... metaphor surrounds us--and... all you need to do is be still and to ask, and the right metaphor will always present itself to you." -Douglas Coupland, THE GERMAN REPORTER] she said something about fish; answering in kind, answering in fish, flicking their tails, squirming, straining; fish are things that your subconscious hides from you. you have to catch them while you're sleeping; you have to catch the fish by its nonexistant neck. you have to spear it. with your tongue.
i told her once: i want a painting of a fish, glinting off-silver, its tails and fins torn, burnished, like balloons, like ribbons; its body, taut except for its swollen belly, moving helplessly with the pull and toss of the water; for that is what i dream about. she looked at me as if her subconscious had filtered out everything i just said, blinked once under heavy lids, and suggested we get ice cream.
she said dinosaurs once lived here. she said i smell carcoal and chalk; i smell the future on the rocks. as we turned around a corner in the trail the world opened before us and we caught our mutual breath. the sun shone super-brightly off endless brown water as if we lived in a fantasy novel; it seemed unimaginable that sunlight filtered through the cement strata and mirrors on mirrors should be so headachingly bright. i said we should be outside; i said we are outside. she said i don't want to think about it but we're all so easily replaceable. i said don't think too hard about that, and she said i feel like a shit saying it, but today feels like it could be the first day of the rest of my life.
II. darkness seems to swallow sound; the passing of busses seemed miles away, as if the sound was reaching us across a great distance. all around us, though, on all sides: a wall of water and sound. this is a first-person story and i don't know what i looked like, but i can imagine, i have a precedent; i look better in near-dark, which sounds like a terrible insult but isn't. my hair is stringy around my face, carrying more weight than usual; my glasses are fogged up; and everywhere, on both of us, is the fresh smell of rain. it's running down both our faces and off our hair and soaking our shirts. the sand under our sneakers-- mine black canvas and his brown-- is wet and sticks to our shoes. the only light comes from a phone booth on the other side of the park, swallowed up by the darkness and the water and the night. the metal ledge (for the phone books) presses into the small of my back. i close my eyes. i never imagined.
one year ago i wanted to know WHO WAS YOUR FIRST CRUSH?!? but no one answered me. i'm asking the wrong questions in the wrong places. i wonder if life has a question period. it reminds me of a james thurber quotation: "it is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers."
i wonder where is my holly mcnarland tape. i'm in the mood for a little angst, someone else's perferably I made a new pitas template. It is orange-red, which is what made me think of the sad tomato; also, Chris might read it, and i try to impress him. it makes me feel right at home. the two pieces above i just wrote right now, as a substitute for all the interesting things that didn't happen to me today. now i have to go watch this hour has 22 minutes. name the song lyric: if the divine master plan is perfection, maybe next i'll give judas a try
She reminded me: on that emode site was this quiz purportedly for guys: are you suave? One of the questions was "Do you use her name a lot in conversation?" Since Chris took the same quiz he asked me if I actually LIKED it when he says my name and if so do I prefer Jocelyn or Joce. After the intitial shock of hearing him say my name, I like it.
I am in the midst of writing something long. Until I put it up here is something short. that makes glorious fucking sense. "I'm taking a break from the long entry. While I'm resting maybe I'll write a short entry."
Oh, yeah: I figured out where everybody is. They're at school, while I'm at home all the time.
Countdown to the Teletubbies at Macdonald's: 3 days and counting
Why is it that everyone wants to get a dog, and then when we do suddenly my mom is working every day and my sister STILL hasn't emerged from her room? I've been suffering bites (the cayenne didn't take), smelling puppy-farts and getting my face licked ALL MORNING and she can't even come downstairs? Fucking bitch. I don't know why I expected that she could be trusted with any responsibility. After all she's never been trustworthy in the past.
sorry. i'll go back to being my normal likeable personable cheery springtime warm-weather melatonin-drenched hygienic peppy self now.
I know that you're away at this very moment, but a little bit of you is still anchored here by my heart. (Unbuttons the first few buttons of her blouse and points to the approximate left breast/nipple area).
If Joce were running this site, there would probably be a "Merry Christmas!" and even possibly within close proximity, "FUCK!"
I imagine San Diego is a very happy place right now. Unfortunately, for San Diego, Jocelyn cannot remain there for long... eeee!!
well, I went Christmas shopping yesterday with some of my girls, which was fun... although I have to admit my trip wasn't that successful. I bough something for Alex, and something for Jeff, although NATURALLY I won't say what since there is always the offchance one of my friends besides Angie will visit my webpage and get a bit surprise. (probably not though.) The reason I have linked to mastermind toys is that they have a lot of really cool Lego, and (since my birthday is coming up) I just wanted everyone to know.
Also, Angie is still working on her page. There's a relatively nice picture of me now. Do you think my nose looks big?
I think it's silly that CGI scripts have to bo so complicated.
We get to go make cookies at Miss Ament's house soon. I am very very excited. Also, it is almost my birthday (2 weeks). I'm excited about that too! Weehee! This is my favourite time of year. Shopping for Christmas presents is fun, but it also makes me wish I had oodles of buckets of money so I could buy everyone all the cool things I see that they would like. I could easily spend hundreds of dollars at Christmastime, and I would enjoy it. But I don't have hundreds of dollars. In fact I have this many: 0. That is why I am a loser.
We went to see a play called Zastrozzi which had no family dysfunction in it, so I liked it.
No time for Deletia. No time for old friends. must... finish... second-last week of school... please shoot me.
Well, I am still finding this amusing, more than 24 hours after the fact, and for someone with my attention span, that is, as we say, "really something".
I need to have a destructive relationship.
I spent my whole evening vaccuuming things. I vaccuumed my desk and my dresser, and my keyboard. I accidentally swallowed the "c" and the "l" keys (well, not me, the vaccuum) so I replaced them with the supplementary 1 and 4 from the number pad. good problem-solving, Jocelyn.
I'm bored. I'm so bored. Everything is boring today, even this browser-based page editing, and especially "courier". maybe i can change my default font. i am sure netscape will let me do that if i cajole. arial would be nice. that won't help with the "everything else" problem though. maybe i can use my font as a metaphor for my life. maybe i can change everything.
deletia is on a one-week hiatus which, knowing my tendency for procrastination and my dangerous streaks of depression, will probably be more like a month or two. I would liketo take a moment to retrieve the scattered lobes of my brain and replace them in my skull.