Mr. Mixxx has a bad day Saturday, January 27, 2001 @ 10:36 p.m. but pickle.com is an enigma that doesn't taste like chicken. Here is what I did today: woke up in a terribly bad mood because i didn't get to sleep in. usually i sleep in on saturdays when i don't work until 2, but my family started having a loud rambunctous breakfast at 8.30. what is with parents? i mean, don't they GET IT? my dad's semester ended yesterday and he announced this morning at breakfast time, "today i am going to read the classifieds to avoid marking." right-o. oh, yeah, and because i laid in bed this morning calculating how i was going to spend my paycheque, and i realized that after buying a buspass, paying for my perscriptions, buying a linguistics workbook (!), and paying back my various debts, i was going to have about $20 to last me the next 2 weeks. how do i do it? why am i so bad with money? WHERE DOES IT GO, DAMMIT? went to the gym and swam 1.2 km and forgot my conditioner and now i have bad hair. went to the pet store, and bought some things for Mr. Mixxx: a bacterial supplement for his tank, some stuff to prevent fungal infections, airstones, and a new heater. This new heater is causing both of us some problems. I actually had to call my sister and ask her to turn it off while I was at work, in fear that he was getting fried. Instead of having actual temperatures on the thermostat, it has "higher" and "lower", with two arrows. Yeah, really helpful. So anyway, I think we've got it a little more together now, and Mr. Mixxx actually seems better. For the last couple days he's been pouting a lot, sitting on the bottom of his cube, asking me with those sad eyes why I never spend money on him. Today he's livelier. Probably because he's dying: pre-death betta mania. went to work, and nothing much happened. some woman I didn't even know gave me grief about some letter she mailed from our outlet that got to Toronto all mangled and ripped. Oh yeah, that's clearly my fault, since as everyone knows I take all outgoing mail out to the parking lot and jump on it with my golf shoes on, because as an employee of a post office the last thing i want is for mail to get to its destination in good shape. how is this my fault? HOW IS THIS MY FAULT? Does she know how many people must have handled her fucking letter after it left our outlet? okay, in with the good air, etc. etc. one of the die-nasty guys came into my post office, and instead of being my usual witty self-assured self, thus spurring him to inquire, "have you ever considered a career in improvised comedy?", i got flustered and blushed and acted stupid. oh well. that's the price i have to pay for being a post office celebrity, i suppose (the truth is in there somewhere...) He asked me when I go to the varscona, and i said, "Die-Nasty, Theatresports..." and he asked, "What about that stupid Chimprov thing?" Okay. on the way home, i met robbie again, at the exact same place as last time-- i mean, the EXACT same place, in the middle of the same street, as we passed each other on our way home from our respective jobs. weird. then i came home, and i've been putzing around since then, just eating delicious pickle sandwiches and singing along with the hurricane soundtrack and focusing on speeding up my metabolism (12 pounds since christmas-- go me!). i watched the movie l.a. confidential last night. have i mentioned that this is the best movie, like, ever? the first time i saw it i had no idea what was going on and couldn't follow the plot, but this time, not only did i know what was going on, but i had time to pay attention to russel crowe (and kevin spacey). it's always nice to know you're smart enough for the movies. these types of movies are dangerous because they make me want to have sex with attractive people. i think we should all sort of acclimatize ourselves to the idea that we don't necessarily deserrve attractive bedmates, but it's movies like this that make us get uppity. you finish watching a movie like l.a. confidential, and suddenly you think you're kim basinger or something, you know? it ain't right for us regular folks. * so, that's what's new with me. what's new with you? (please email me. why do we all love getting email so much but we're so reticent to send it? i think we should try to feel some email love together now. totally. totally!) * one year ago: "exam week is OVER. now: a glorious four day weekend, glistening with sweat, blood, drops of green fruitopia and dew, ambrosia, still new, smelling of fresh leather, of wax, and of the undersides of clouds." "at sears the other day they had "jocelyn throws," ugly floral printed covers to cover up your even uglier sofas. still, the novelty; the thrill. like a license plate only bigger." "promise me i'm not the geek who fell to earth." * I have this theory that there are certain words that make anything funny. "man" is one, in the right context; "man" itself isn't funny, but stick anything else on the end ("manchair") and it is. "Monkey" and "pants" are two other words that fit into this category. And I think "pickle" is, too. What was that conversation Meghan and I were having? Something about manbitch llama monkey pants? Anyway, you're not the only one who has that craving. "Well... you're funny! * I’m gonna go to sleep now, okay, guys? Guys? This isn’t funny! * * * * * my brain is mucho frito Saturday, January 27, 2001 @ 08:12 p.m. forget it. i don't need you to eat my pickles anymore; i like pickles. * * * * * "you are smarts3" -me Thursday, January 25, 2001 @ 09:22 p.m. reasons today is the best day in the world in which i try to incorporate as many of my friends as possible: I am working on the world's best mixtape for ineffable Meghan An elderly woman, a customer from my post office, left a card there for me, thanking me for my "great customer service". On the one hand, this makes me feel like The Official Retail Geek of The New Milloonium (thanks alex), but on the other, it makes me feel so goshdarned appreciated. In the near future, when Angie asks me "are there any jobs at your store?" in our nightly are-there-any-jobs-at-your-store conversation, I might be able to answer, "yes!" Señor Mixamilliaan Pescado (Mr. Mïxxx) lives on, and I got to ride the bus home with his biological father, Jeff (sorry, I really couldn't find any other way to work you in). When I got to work, I realized my timecard was missing, and I was like, "whoa, where's my timecard?" and Kristan said, "it's off being made into money" (tomorrow is payday). I discovered that orange juice, raspberry juice, and cranberry juice taste really good when mixed together. No spanish for three whole days! I love Spanish, but my Spanish prof drives me around the bend. I got my new February schedule, and I have to work only one Saturday and one Sunday! Que suerte! Improv party! Improv party! (I am trying to work as many links in here as I can, so those bloggy people will think I really am a weblog. This is part of my diabolical scheme to run for Senator in Michigan. Of course, it would be better if I were born in Hell, Michigan, cause then I could be the Senator From Hell, haha. Sorry, but I read an article in the newspaper this morning with the headline, "Experts Confirm Edmonton Hotter Than Hell (Edmonton +2°, Hell -3°) and I decided that I can be at least as gratuitous as the Edmonton Journal.) It's almost the weekend. Thursday is an honourary weekend day. Okay, so that was a pretty lame list. But check out how many lines it took up! I'm a fucking genius! * * * * * is there somewhere we can be alone? Thursday, January 25, 2001 @ 02:04 p.m. "we were talking about mexico, and i asked her, 'do you think it's safe to travel there alone?'" * * * * * i recycle Wednesday, January 24, 2001 @ 08:33 p.m. two years ago: "Water! This is my seventh glass of water today. I am going to form a water habit as a substitute for smoking. Well, I guess I don't need a substitute for smoking. I'll use it as a substitute for food! then, slowly, oxygen... I'll apply my Lamarckian energies to evolving myself anaerobic-ly." one year ago: "[on my theory of knowledge essay]: ...just because i already have some semi-intelligent thoughts lined up about it-- lined up like semi-intelligent preteens at a backstreet boys concert. but, everybody say OY. everybody say EUROFLAN. i LIKE the backstreet boys, and they finally have a new single. I want to be popular. ...actually, there is only one candlebox song i like: YOU. you made love to my harley." * * * * * Bricky Spartin Wednesday, January 24, 2001 @ 05:38 p.m. i am a pop superstar Good idea you shouldn't actually do for today: cut your own hair. I SO want to. * * * * * repeat after me: Wednesday, January 24, 2001 @ 02:28 p.m. I will cultivate healthy relationships with my credit card. * Two new features* that I would like to see on deletia in the near future: Mixxxcam: sure, many other websites have webcams. But do any of them have mixxxcams? I don't think so! From the relative dryness of your own home or work environment, follow Mr. Mixxx as he goes on excellent daily adventures. Sleeping for Beginners, where I take pictures of my too-good-to-be-true-feng-shui bed (once I find my camera and buy a new battery for it), and post them here accompanied by witty commentary and the usual bitter marginal non-sequiturs. This information would possibly be presented in the style of radiohead liner notes, since (for some reason) "Sleeping For Beginners" sounds to my depraved brain like the title of a radiohead song. * in this sense, the word "feature" connotes a certain never-going-to-happen-ness. * * * * * one kilometres is enough kilometres for me Tuesday, January 23, 2001 @ 10:13 p.m. Interesting fact: the Spanish word "pescado," with an 's', means "fish". Without the 's' ("pecado"), the word means "sin". The Spanish word "sin" (pronounced "seen") means "without". Thus, let him who is without without fish cast the first stone. Which actually makes sense, if you're trying to catch fish by throwing stones at them, braining them, and then catching them and grilling them in a light lemon marinade before they can recover consciousness. Does anyone have the rapid fire theatre phone number? Not because I am going to necessarily volunteer to quit my day job, but because I got off work on Sunday. * * * * * but someday i'm going to give up Tuesday, January 23, 2001 @ 03:16 p.m. ok, you know something weird? crosswinds took down my site without even telling me. and now i don't really remember what was on it anyway oh well know something else that's weird i've decided not to use punctuation anymore i'm george bernard fuckin shaw. no capital letters, either. also: i have a crush on mark from riothero (but no link, i'm not easy), and i don't care if everyone else in the world already does. i reserve my right to plagiarize other peoples' phases. * * * * * oh, leave it alone Tuesday, January 23, 2001 @ 02:50 p.m. the other day, trying to make space on my bursting-at-the-seams hard drive (for the sims, of course), i madly deleted my way through several folders and found several executable files that (when executed, as one does with executable files) loaded a variety of pornographic materials. i have to wonder how these got onto my computer. Anyway, I deleted them. Someone-- my sister?-- is going to be very upset. jeff: I think you are right. perhaps you should narrow your focus to homo sapiens sapiens-- homo erectus/homo habilis relationships. what a "jump in the park" fetish that would be. Or, try looking for "anthropornomorphic" I took up computing on an old 286, and so became familiar with DOS and bare-bones file management before ever being exposed to the pretty windows/mac os environment. and the file extension "exe" always made me think of little files, running around in business suits, taking their .sys friends out for lunch and so on. as my english prof said yesterday, "children have an amazing capacity for freshness of thought". so much for call display. when i come home i have "3 nuevo llamados", but all three are "desconocido". i wonder whether kidnapped spanish tourists were forced by the general electric corporation to translate the messages for my phone ("Just write down the phrase 'Long distance' and we'll give you some more gruel.") i'm mourning for slave labour and no phone calls. if i were talented, i would write a song, "the call display blues," and... well... but as you know, my talent extends no further than bad teenage poetry, and even that is a bit of a stretch. * * * * * i am sitting here, quietly judging you Tuesday, January 23, 2001 @ 11:35 a.m. revelation: i kick even more ass than I had originally thought, and-- let's face it-- that's a lot of ass. bad teenage haiku: what are the bloggies? i'm confused, as usual i think i won one. Mr. Mixxx lives on. Vive la revolution! Also: una lista nueva! * * * * * Monday, January 22, 2001 @ 06:55 p.m. sharon likes making mixtapes, and i like her pita. This morning I woke up and said, "buenos dias, senor pescado," and that made me feel happy, at least for awhile. These are the days in between, when everything seems hollow and mean... * * * * * check me out, i'm on fire Monday, January 22, 2001 @ 02:54 p.m. wouldn't the universe make a lot more sense if the word "palindrome" actually was one? hey, you, it's art of the mix! around me everything is just beginning, but i am ending, you are the best ending ever Love, Jocelyn * * * * * Sunday, January 21, 2001 @ 06:36 p.m. Hi. I have a fish now. Its name is Mr. Mmïxxx-- pronounced "mix". Jeff gave it to me. Right now both the fish and me are kinda stressed. * * * * * l < subversive > ? boys [suck] i've been since march 1st, 2000!