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kenya '99


divide by zero


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I've been
The current mood of at
since March 1st, 2k!

deletia : endgame
Tuesday, September 12, 2000 @ 10:22 p.m.

final scores:
Meghan: 25
Jocelyn: 11

University hipness points are awarded for doing things i like: using terms like "corporate redundancy" (especially when these terms are made up on the spot) and complimenting me. So far Meghan is better at this game than I am.

If I knew Meghan didn't read this I would now blubber about the pharmacist, but since she does, and she and only she knows what a ridiculous girl I am, I won't mention how he offered me a ride home and really loves me... really!
Saturday, September 9, 2000 @ 09:14 p.m.

as if karma were biting me in the ass for complaining about the computer industry, today i learn that in order to run the Sims expansion pack (which i already bought) you have to have a pretty fast processor... and available memory... and hard drive space. i ignore these types of conditions, but at the moment, my Sims play is so slow i'm seriously considering buying a new computer. (my parents have refused to chip in, even.) I mean, a low-end but better-than-what-i-have currently (read: about 20 gig hd, 128 MGs of ram, 24x CD-ROM (or so), and 500 (or so) processor, without monitor) will probably only set me back about $600. Which is still a little more than I have.

What pisses me off is the knowledge that I would buy this new computer, and it would promptly vanish into the Badley hardware vortex, and when I move away from home my parents would conveniently have forgotten that I paid for it. Besides, I wouldn't have a monitor.

Anyway, there is my certainly less-than-interesting blurb for the day.

This morning my parents tore up the carpet in my basement and when I hear their voices, discussing the future of our rec room, they echo in a crazy way, as if I were hearing voices from behind time.

I should have held a final foosball farewell party. After all, our days of hanging together in my totally ugly basement are over. RENOVATION! INNOVATION! um... escalation?

Now the room will be neutral: greys, near-browns, soft taupe, cranberry fibres, blue, green. Purple. Burber carpet. Off-white walls. The sparkley ceiling's days are numbered. We're even (gasp) going to get a new couch. cause every couch has a memory... and that one, especially. The trick is to keep breathing.

I bought a home design magazine today, while at Staples. I really love that kind of stuff. I'm aching for my own apartment, so I can paint it and buy stuff for it and invite my friends over for dinner parties.

Question: if I want to move to Montreal, and go to McGill, and take up smoking, and become a writer, why am I sitting here thinking about buying a new computer? Why am I HERE at all? I mean, if you really think about it... am I being wise (prudent), or merely a coward?

Well, there's today's download from my brain. Please keep reading.

oh, yeah: i got my own free domain name, a href=""> from Of course, that's the hardest word in the world to type, so no one will ever go there (exospherowhat? forget it, i want to read more pamie, it easier to remember) and I fear they will host me with ads, so fuck 'em, anyways. So, why don't I go back and delete this paragraph? Because isn't a reason!

oh no...
Friday, September 8, 2000 @ 09:51 p.m.

search-engine referral: "oh no, what is this, something down there smells like fish!"

ooohhhhh, i kick ass.

read the next entry over that way, too. >

i think even when i'm 18 and can hang out legitimately in campus pubs i probably won't because i feel fucked up-enough all the time as it is. i mean, the last thing i need to do is inflict more physiological causes for confusion on my grey matter. loving you has made me bananas...

loving you has made me bananas
Friday, September 8, 2000 @ 09:35 p.m.

The fact that I have 78 kinds of lip balm and chapped lips is some kind of metaphor for my life, i'm sure of it. i mean, throw me a frickin' bone here people!

i bought the last of my textbooks today, and, still in the black, a new rope-tug for my dog, who has demolished the last of the My Little Ponies that remain from my childhood. He chews their hair off first, then demolishes their bodies, and we take them away once he starts to eat little pieces of hard plastic, because they make him throw up. I also bought two non-required books in the past two days: THE SECRET PARTS OF FORTUNE and THE BIG SLEEP. Let us first remark on the significance of these titles. One, I will buy any book whose title is a line from Hamlet, even if it costs $40; two, I will buy any novel marked "vintage crime," particularily if it was made into a movie starring Humphrey Bogart, which this one was. Vintage anything gives me a big warm feeling inside. Three, I will buy any little booklets of astronaut stickers, regardless of whether I will USE them. I am awaiting the day when I will get credit for owning so much cool, unusable stuff, when some similarily materialistic and shallow-- yet tall-- handsome man will fall in love with my dinosaur stickers and unused Sea Monkeys and my bust of Mozart and so on and promise to buy me all the Pez dispensers I could ever lust after in my heart.

Reading Raymond Chandler is a surrealist, postmodern daydream. I feel like I am reading a careful parody, but the words are in fact what has been parodied for sixty years-- lines like "dead men are heavier than broken hearts" are not in fact references to Raymond Chandler but ARE Raymond Chandler. I mean, imagine dreaming that dream-- we are so used to adulterations of this type that the original and honest goes easily unrecognized by us. (Like when the phone rings, and I wait for a "for this option press 1, for that option press 2..." message, only to realize I'm speaking to a human being.) Today in anthropology our prof was talking about how when civilizations become more advanced, or more complex, the roles of their members become more defined. This is why I do not have to learn to fix car-engines.

Anyway, I think our culture must be the most advanced of all-- because we have not only advanced specialization, but people whose specialization is thinking about advanced specialization, and we have ceased to create anything new. We out-think ourselves, cause new problems, and then have to out-think old thinking to solve these new problems.

This is essentially what is happening with computers. If software developers could limit the size and computing power their software requires, then hardware developers could stop making newer, faster processors to keep up with software-- and then, inevitably, advancing a little further past what we need, leaving room for advancement in software. This is increasingly interesting to me. For example, I bought this computer four years ago, when 166 processors were still acceptable, if not cutting-edge. How does an industry that replaces itself every six months mean good business? Well, because consumers are willing to keep up with it-- and are willing to replace THEMSELVES, to varying extents, every six months-- for the sake of "progress". (I mean, how often do you buy a new couch-- "because the old one just isn't soft enough"-- or a new copy of William Shakespeare's complete works, because they've printed a heavier edition?)

Sometimes I think the main reason I have this website is so I can occasionally go into hypothetical, Microserfs-style-post-industrial-rant mode, and no one complains, at least not to me.

Angie and I talked on the phone for awhile, and I botched an attempt to explain that although I am possibly in love with the too-old, uninterested (non-cute? ask Meghan) pharmacist, I am not nearly as in love with him as I think I am. A nice thing about me is that I fall in love with different people about eight times a day, but it's mild, casual kind of love, and I am completely in control of whether I mentally perpetuate it, whether I build on it; this is the source of my overwhelming loyalty, perhaps; my inability to "get over it;" its origins are emotional, but its sustenance is psychological, and I don't know how to spell sustenance, in case you didn't notice. I am the one who talks myself into really being commited to anyone, and once I've done that, then I can't talk myself OUT of it without approximately the same time to do it in-- one year, or two years, or (fuck you) two and a half years.

Anyway, the thing with Andrew is a case of a simple crush which I have been mentally escalating, not out of any particular feeling for him, but rather out of loneliness and boredom. And I can step back from my brain and see how that might seem pathetic, but I firmly hold a belief that every person on this planet is more or less like me, and they can choose to admit it or not, and that's their perogative.

I've done my duty now.

You know, I could be wrong. I could be utterly and completely wrong. I could be some kind of freak-- my brain could be wired wrong-- I could be lacking some important chemical, or have too much of another, and that could be why I can never be outside when it's sunny... but the point is that I could be completely CRAZY-- I could be a maniac-- I could be different from everyone else, and I wouldn't really know, would I?

But that's culture. It saves us from ourselves and each other. It gives us ways to act. That must be a system we implement without even knowing it. Maybe it's just as well, I don't know-- how important is it that I know how normal I am?-- not very.

Besides, I already know I'm not normal, because I have felt this way for as long as I can remember.

I think I'll go be in love with my anthropology prof for awhile now. See you kids.

just figured i owed someone an update
Tuesday, September 5, 2000 @ 10:30 p.m.

orientation is, as meghan pointed out, like summer camp. i hated it. i hate doing cheers, stomping my feet, talking to people i don't know, and "being a good sport." i hate icebreaker activities. i don't really even like beer. university isn't going to be like this, is it? guys?

however, we did get invited to a frat party: "there's a hot tub!" Five good sport hipness points for us. However, we said no. subtract 1,205 hipness points, leaving us with a grand total of... -1,200 university hipness quotient points.

i am in love with the bruce peel special collections library. that was the neatest thing we saw on our tour, i thought. glass rooms on glass rooms, full of very old books. that turns me on, because i am strange, and i'm sure among these thousands of students there must be someone like me.

when i hold my lip this way, i feel like angelina jolie
Friday, September 1, 2000 @ 03:30 p.m.

Should I learn to play the harmonica? (I am completely serious about this, so no voting just to skew the results, please)

what i want:

  • a graphite-coloured ibook special edition
  • dirty girl cosmetic products
  • emily merchandise
  • unamerican stickers
  • a boyfriend.

scientists discover 0.3% difference between reality and imagination
Wednesday, August 30, 2000 @ 10:14 p.m.

fact: the pharmacist at lynnwood is madly in love with me.
myth: i am batman.

you thought just because i wear glasses, right? well, think again.

of course, if i were batman, would i admit it?


so, we're back where we started from.

the pharmacist phones me up on the inter-store intercom line when business is slow. also, he sticks his tongue out at me everytime he catches me glancing in his direction.

there are no backrooms in my store that have lockable doors however, making quick blow jobs very dangerous. for this reason, i feel that an inter-office (inter-retail?) romance would be relatively unrewarding.

also, i am bullshitting all of you-- verbal fencing-- to hide a heart that is intact, but still smarting.

congratulations Meghan, on your new employed status. you are well on your way to making your first million!

Tuesday, August 29, 2000 @ 10:25 p.m.

cut to interior of ARP post office. father and son are standing on one side of the counter; jocelyn is standing on the other.

Slow boat to china-- the slowest rate.

Logically, I type in "China" as the country code and get the rate table. "Um, that will go for... $44.60." Father turns to son. "Are you serious? I can get it couriered for, like, $10. Forget it." The leave.

Afterward, I realize that probably, I shouldn't have taken the "China" bit quite so seriously... that probably, the package was actually going within Canada. Bit late, though, wasn't it?

In come language centre of my brain, the word "china" made some little-used neurons very happy. And I made a customer very unhappy.

In retrospect this seems super-funny, in that irresponsible, temp-hell kind of way.

Tuesday, August 29, 2000 @ 12:08 p.m.

two things: a Meghan, you kick. ass. totally. totally.

b Angie: i have a problem, and I need your advice. How do I get tough, set-in stains out of my fine washables?

addd-ddd-ennnn-ddddummmmm: i also love anything that has to do with vibrators. stolen link from nathaniel posting on

ARP update
Monday, August 28, 2000 @ 09:19 p.m.

when semi-attractive, totally built, but tired-looking men in their early thirties tell me I am "much prettier than the sunshine girl," I just take that at face value. This is the key to ARP zen contentment.

mercury at last
Sunday, August 27, 2000 @ 09:29 p.m.

horizontal scrolling. you know you want it, baby.

more purchases: about a boy, a novel by nick hornby; and a little card with a painting from WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE, which my dad is going to frame for me. i find myself buying things i think i might need when i move away from home. i've been sewing all day, and came across more fabric of the kind my curtains are made out of-- trippy orange. i put it aside-- "for when i move out." my mom didn't even pause.

i mean, if you walked into my trendy montreal walkup, and saw a little maurice sendak art card, you would want to fuck me, right? that's all i wanna hear.

did anyone NOT read that book as a kid? i adore it.

Sunday, August 27, 2000 @ 09:25 p.m.

I'm up here, clicking happily away, because at the moment Tom Ripley, aka Matt Damon, is murderizing a semi-attractive British guy, and as my sister used to say: scary part, scary part! if he kills gwyneth next, i'm going to be very put out.

i think it might be safe to go back downstairs now.

Oh, never mind. My dad just came up to tell me that was the end of the movie. What about unresolved Gwyneth issues? (at least she didn't die, i guess.) What about ME?!? I paid $5 to rent a movie, half of which i didn't even watch because someone was being killed on-screen? i mean, that's just bad business!

i also bought caribbean cooler flavoured lip gloss, a huge giant bottle of peach-hydroxy skin cream, and three kinds of lifesavers today.

observation from work: there are not as many $10 bills in circulation as you might think.

today at work my parents came up to my till-- in the pre-6oclock lotto draw rush no less-- to ask, in french, for commemorative coin sets. the people behind them in line thought they were crazy, and so did i, although it made me laugh.

thinking about money makes me tired.

meghan: did you apply for the job at lynnwood? and, i still have your pink CD out from the library. i will pay you back the overdue fines. i love it too much to possibly put it back into circulation. Also: do you still want to go see centre stage?

in the safeway parking lot i decided that the top ten ideals i value are:

  1. willingness to be true to oneself
  2. willingness to be good to those one loves
  3. personal responsibility
  4. loyalty
  5. honesty
  6. willingness to look for joy and happiness
  7. willingness to see the humour in life
  8. the ability to believe in something larger than oneself
  9. personal morality/integrity
  10. blue rodeo
no actually, i just couldn't think of a tenth one. i was rehearsing these on the way to the drugstore tonight in case there was an entrance exam, or something.

what are yours? tell me.

random moment: barry (the pharmacist), wandering in the nervous dreamlike way he has, through the aisles of the drug store, stops to check the expiry dates on the dairy products-- at least, i think that's what he was doing-- and brings a yogurt container over to me as i'm emptying my garbages with a request: that i shake it. i shake it. it, er, rattles. whatever is inside is so hard it makes a rattling sound against the container. we look at each other. "okay," i say. and he-- get this-- puts it back on the shelf. we're both too afraid to open it and see what happens to yogurt that makes it HARD.

i was going to get a chocolate milk today at lunchtime-- i brought a sandwich instead of going to macdonald's-- but checked the expiry date: the 25th. it's the 26th. and i thought, well... i sell these overpriced dairy products all day, but would i actually want to risk it, myself? i put it back in the cooler and bought an iced tea, instead, and sat in the back room, reading MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL and talking to darryl. i am in love with darryl because he doesn't have a career, or a university education. do you know what he does? he works part-time in a post office, and buys CDs, and lives with his parents. i wish i had his lack of ambition.

but not i, no-- lately i find myself dreaming more and more of a run-down but charming walkup in some no-doubt economically depressed but culturally enriched neighbourhood in old montreal. today i resisted buying house and home magazine-- with staff discount-- just because i love the pictures of fashionably overgrown gardens, hip-again old furniture, and oh-so-trendy (but quick) design ideas to incorporate into your own two-car two-job two-kid two-hundred-channel universe.

and is it fair to sell stuff i would never consume myself-- ie milk-- without offering customers a warning?

does this law of morality apply to cigarettes? lottery tickets?

today i met some australian people who were here on vacation. i always think that everyone with an accent is automatically ten times more sophisticated than i am-- even if they come from a former british colony much like this one, and are in fact slobbishly dressed and ten years old.

i have a bottomless desire for french vanilla body lotion. i have always wanted to smell delicious. perhaps this is what i mean about searching for joy. if smelling good makes me happy, why should i not smell good? what exactly is the definition of luxury when luxury is quality of life? i mean, i could buy things i really need, but (a) what do i really need? (b) what good is money anyway? the more you have the more you worry about it and (c) i really, really, really like smelling good.

perhaps this is because as a little girl i never wanted to wear makeup-- and now i feel uncomfortable with cosmetic products, so i attempt to capture the sense of physical self-improvement without actually altering anything about myself. because, i now own four kinds of body lotion. i imagine i smell confused.

Angie informs me that the way to pick up useless, asshole rebound boyfriend is to hang around in Hub Mall, smelling good. my problem is that useless, asshole men are almost never interested in me, unless they are drunk. I'm an acquired taste. im anchovies, and not everyone likes those hairy little things.

someone from marigold, which i actually liked before today, emailed to ask which province i'm from, since they're looking to replace a few of their featured journallers. my response? "what province do you need me to be from?"

it turns out they don't need someone from alberta, but still, it's kinda nice to be asked.

What happened next
Thursday, August 24, 2000 @ 09:49 p.m.

I took Toby for a walk to the big open field near my house, and as we walked and twilight turned to dark I lost my keys. Then I stood on the log marking the beginning of a very dark trail-- familiar in daylight, now cast in murky black-- and thought about how angry I was that I didn't get to go to Nisku or wherever the fuck it was, and how pissed I am that everyone seems to have a good time even when I'm not around. Then i REALIZED i had lost my keys, retraced my steps in a vague sort of way, and actually found them again, a miracle in a big, dark, grassy field, especially considering that Toby and I had been barrelling around, giving the monkeysnakething a run for his money. there they were, nestled in the grass, and I have a triumphant shout and Toby looked startled. The reason I found them, I think, is that I had, with tremendous foresight, placed some bonnebell lipsmackers on my keyring, and it happened to be one of the shiny ones (kiwi slush), and it twinkled somewhat in the near-perfect dark. once again, lip balm has increased my quality of life in a significant way.

am i ever tired of being left. i hate it when people (when i say people i mean chris, of course) do things i love to do, without me, and then selfishly ENJOY themselves. of course i realize how ridiculous i am being, but i haven't had a ridiculous fit for awhile, so i am entitled.

i also hate the word "entitled". i thought i was entitled to something. or: i used to have a title.

Thursday, August 24, 2000 @ 07:22 p.m.

The Sex MinitTM
Dr. Jocelyn

Sex Myth #1: Semen is nasty.

Not so! In actuality, semen is Nature's Boost Meal Replacement-- a great source of vitamins, high in protein, and-- for people who, like me, dislike orange juice-- it contains citric acid! And, at only 20* calories a shot, it doesn't have to be a guilty pleasure!

(Keep in mind that orgasms are also a great way to burn calories, although you have to be the one having them, har har.)

*depending on your man.

Sorry. This is how I amuse myself on my days off.

I had a bath, then remembered how hard it is to wash your hair in the bath, so I had a shower immediately afterward. I get an F for good water usage.

Also: i put too much peppermind foot lotion on, and this overwhelming gagging reflex kicked in-- like when you use too much mouthwash and it's just SO FRESH YOU CAN HARDLY STAND IT!

Thursday, August 24, 2000 @ 01:30 p.m.

Wow. This new design looks terrible, but the fact is that I am far too lazy to care, let alone try to fix it. So, I guess this can be a site for sore eyes for awhile.

Wednesday, August 23, 2000 @ 11:12 p.m.

Tonight my favourite pharmacist (the original one) came back and asked me to elope, but i had to tell him no because i work on saturday. that was about it.

my life is essentially like an episode of ally mcbeal, but with fewer attractive men, fewer lesbian encounters, and more SimCities.