obfuscated girl

can't raise a baby on motor oil

This office is quiet. Entirely too quiet. Everyone is either on vacation or recently retired. Even the Temp Who Sings To Herself And Is Fucking Crazy isn't here. It makes me think that it's going to suddenly turn into the plot of some coed slasher film and a man with a giant scythe and a black hood is going to behead those of us who are actually here, cubicle by cubicle. I have seen too many films, had a terribly overactive imagination as a child, and my threshold of scared is really, really abnormally low.
This is my second-to-last day at this assignment, and I can't say that I'm sad. Or scared, like I was a month ago when this was originally supposed to end. I need a break. I'm tired all the time now, and the insomnia is seriously getting out of control. Of course it would be nice if my break coincided with Matthew's the rest of the fucking world's, but, you know, whatever.
I have no New Year's resolutions. I thought for a few minutes that I was going to work harder at being happy, or that is more consistently happy, but isn't that sort of an oxymoron? And furthermore, I know that everything's relative, but I look at what's going on in Asia and I have the fucking gall to be sad about my life? And I tend to break promises--not to other people, but to myself, all the fucking time.
One more note: This website is also going on a break. This assignment has made me kind of...well, I have a rather adverse relationship with the Interweb right now and I am sick of it, so I am going to try and be Interweb-less for a while. It won't actually start until the job ends (because if I didn't have some occassional source of stimulation I would bang my head repeatedly against the desk and I have one, possibly two New Year's parties to go to and facial bruising really isn't that hot right now), and we'll see how long it lasts. I have no idea. It seems like I look at the same things every day, and there is so much going on in the world and I need to find other things to do with my time. For a while. That last sentence sounded horribly sanctimonious but I don't know how else to put it.
Let me catch myself and add that the tradition every New Year's Day is to listen to--well, "New Year's Day," and if I feel like it I may post that here, so I don't want anyone coming back and going "HA HA YUO LYRE." (Yes, that last word is some sort of made-up Old English word.) Another way that you can catch me in my web of lies and deceit is by adding my BRAND NEW AOL screenname to your list of Buddies, or whatever you crazy kids call them, and messaging me and going "HA HA YUO LYRE YUO ARE SO ON TEH INTARDORK:"
sarahnonetheless.
(I really enjoy being harassed by anonymous strangers and I'm still curious as to whether anyone actually reads this, so please feel free to. can of worms.)
Insert obligatory remainder of holiday wishes for good here.

cumbersome.

Twelve Things I Learned This Christmas*, in no particular order:
1. Ryan may actually be hotter than Seth.
2. My little brother chats with someone on AOL Instant Messenger who calls him/herself SordidMorbidSoul and that is just very weird.
3. I have not actually lost any weight. Yet. I said yet, fuckers.
4. Christmas is when you celebrate the birthday of Santa Claus.
5. The thing I like best about being relatively stable with my finances is not my ability to buy crap for myself, but to give really good presents to other people.
6. My hometown feels smaller and smaller every time I go back to it.
7. That said, it's still kind of pretty in a very quaint, liberal, bucolic sort of way.
8. The Arcade Fire sounds much better on headphones.
9. If you make up jokes involving Jewish rappers and the word "challah" and tell them to my dad, he is most likely not going to get it.
10. It is possible to like a movie when the lead actor is a Scientologist/midget and you have figured out the Giant Plot Twist within the first fifteen minutes.
11. I really really missed my copy of Good News For People Who Love Bad News.
12.The Wu-Tang Clan ain't nuthin ta fuck with.

*not in the Top Ten section because it's a list of twelve, duh

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Someone actually found this site by searching the phrase "Adam Brody naked" on Yahoo.
Sorry about that, internet. And Adam Brody.

the new workout

There are two new links, one under music and one under general reading...
Please watch this video. It makes me so happy.
Le Tigre--"Deceptacon"
In other news, all my Christmas shopping is done, ma ha ha ha ha, I(We The Temps) am(are) going to be completely unsupervised for the remainder of this job, yesterday after the forty billionth time in a week of not being able to sleep for more than four hours because my brain has decided that between 11:00 p.m. and 2:00 a.m. is the best possible window of time to worry about my future, global warming, what's going to happen to Claire on Lost, etc., so I broke down and bought Tylenol P.M.; I was considering adding a link to the main page to my newly created Amazon wishlist, because like in every other thing ever I was the last to discover the beauty that is Amazon, I had just finished rejecting the idea ahnd then discovered that the Suicide Girls do it so the question is now again open and posed to whomever wants to answer it,
uh, the end.

you eating crazy cheese like you would think i'm from...liverpool

You know...this is getting a bit out of hand.

come for the "hello," stay for the "ok go now"

The top ten has been updated.
That's really all that I have to say at the moment. I, like the rest of the unprofessional internet, am going to be updating sporadically/somewhat on hiatus this week because it's the baby Jesus's birthday and all and I'm going out of my mind home for the second half of the week.
Also: Someone found this page by searching "throat closing" on Netscape. This fact amused me so that I am considering adding "Fucked Up Search Of The Week" as a permanent feature.
Also: the promised link to me in print can be found somewhere in a page that is on my links page. The modesty and crypticness is killing me, y'all.
I'm not sure why I'm still awake.

roflmao, &c

also: The Arcade Fire--Jingle Bell Rock
(I think they might be drunk.)

and:

here is a picture that I found on the internets that I plan to revisit several times over the next couple of months to remind me why I should not hate Jim Carrey for what (I am convinced) he is going to do to A Series Of Unfortunate Events:

(isn't that a great fucking picture??)

don't dare believe the good news

I did not actually write this post at 12:15 a.m, by the way. I couldn't sleep again and was therefore looking for pictures of ninjas to post here (for real) but none of them seemed to work, so I gave up and put in a blank post (how minimalist, yet Angry Young Woman) and went to bed.
I called my sister on the way into work this morning and left a "MERRY CHRISMUKKAH!" message on her machine which is a) possibly the most retarded thing I have done in a while and b) belied how tired I actually am. Which is really, really, really fucking tired.
And the good news is that I am taking Monday off work to stay overnight in Chicago with the Matthew while he completes a two-day series of looking at houses. This is very pleasing because I love Chicago (as the casual fan of this webpage will recall), I love hotels, and Matt is pretty okay too.
I am two stamp-things away on my Bally's 'Twelve Days Of Fitness' (bwah!) card to being eligible for prizes WINNING EVERYTHING ALL OF IT GODDAMMIT IT'S MINE MINE MINE.
Apparently the testosterone my body is producing is going to my head.
Coming soon: Actual changes to other parts of this webpage. I swear.
Link to Me In (intarnet)Print, Again.
More songs and crap istead of just tired ramblings.
Naked pictures of Adam Brody.

great,

I think I may be allergic to MSG.* There is a Holiday Party Potluck Thing going on in this office as I write this, and I stayed away from it at first because, you know, I'm a temp. But a couple people walked by my cubicle (god, I hate typing that) and were all, "Get some food! Get some food! One of us! One of us!" (er.) So I did, and yea was grateful, for all that I hath brought for lunch was a yogurt and some peanut butter crackers.** Until I finished eating this thing with ramen noodles and green onions and my throat started closing up. I swear I'm not imagining this, either. Throat closed a little (but obviously not enough to debilitate me), eyes felt puffy, I think I can feel the veins in my arms filling with little pillars of salt...
The moral of this story is that I had better get another decent job after this one, because if this is indeed true I now physically, literally cannot afford to go back to eating like a goddamn student.
*-Food allergy experts, please feel free to offer your wisdom here. Another thing that I can't afford to actually check out this problem with, like, a professional?Yeah. Insurance.
**-That should read "hopeful, wistful yogurt and peanut butter crackers. This whole working out incessantly thing is reaching new levels of insanity. Levels that I appreciate and am feeling no small sense of pride about, but I still need to see a nutritionist or something, because I'm still completely lost--other than the fact that I know I need more calcium and much, much more protein. And guess what people without insurance can't afford? Well, we can afford peanut butter crackers...

like some sort of particularly confusing zen koan

Dear Matthew:
After reading this review, I have decided that even the most sadistic part of me would not actually be satisfied by seeing this Closer movie even though I have been chanting "Queen Amidala is a stripper" and bouncing up and down intermittently ever since I learned of its existence. You are off the hook. However, this means I still hold the girl-movie card. Sleep with one eye open (or substitute something more appropriately threatening here. A threat that might possibly involve the words "Bridget" and/or "Jones." ).

and he can see no reason cause there are no reasons what reason do you need to die?

well,
the weekend was good, at least. (Upon confessing to Matthew while watching Chinatown this weekend that I love Jack Nicholson but also fear him, Matt then spent the better part of the weekend trying to instill fear in me. It was fun. Also, Chinatown=REALLY REALLY GOOD MOVIE.) But this morning was to my knowledge the first cold snap of winter and it took everything I had to get out of bed. It was the type of cold that snapped at your cheeks and made you question the actual, practical worth of human evolution if we're not equipped on our own to withstand this shit.
Also too, most of you who read here probably already know this but the boy has almost definitely sold his house and will know by the end of the week for sure. And while i am very very happy that he got the asking price and all, also? OMG WTF THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING.
And now I am sitting like millions of other 'Murrikans in my cubicle, staring blearily at a computer screen and wondering once again how exactly I became a functional adult and whether or not I can retake the test that deemed me so.
Here is a picture of an emu to take my your mind off of things:

And here is a song off Lindsay Lohan's new album. !!!!! Imagine, if you will, a child of "Paranoid Android," "Overprotected," and...uh, Alize? Anyway, I wonder if she's aware that the riff is totally fucking stolen. Sample lyric: "only not lonely when I'm lonely by myself." super extra deep, y'all!
Lindsay Lohan--"Disconnected" (via Stereogum)

weekend update

This job is slowly sucking out my soul through a tiny imaginary funnel. The notion that I'm probably going to end up at something equally stupid when this is over isn't helping anything. The fact that I spend all day listening to social workers tilt at various windmills over the phone makes me sadder than I can put into words.
(I don't actually have all that much to say; I just felt the need to check in somewhere.)
This week was a blur of gym equipment, bad cappuccino, paperwork, computer screens and the Apprentice. (I'm so mad at The O.C. right now. I don't even want to talk about it.)
And still it feels like it's been raining forever.
I have no idea what's in store this weekend, but right now I feel like I need it to be something grand.

< /dorothy parker >

edit: "For a similar effect at home that would result in equally insightful commentary, simply hire a duck, wrap it in lamé, give it a shot of scotch, and let it run free in your living room."
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

dear people who allow their dogs to do their business in public and don't clean up after them,

allowing me to traipse through the public unwittingly and somehow obtain the business deep in the cracks of my shoes and not realize it until nearly 24 hours later because i am at the cactus club which smells to high heaven of bar:

I hate you.

augh.

dear rain:
Why aren't you snow? IT'S FREAKING DECEMBER.
love, me.
PS.
If you're not careful with this weather bullshit, I might not even be able to enjoy this.

I don't even think I'm going to be able to watch it tomorrow because I am, as noted previously, OBSESSED WITH LOST. (who wants to tape or Tivo or whatever you crazy kids do these days A Charlie Brown Christmas for me? Please? PLEEEEEASE?)

there is exactly one person in the entire universe who will get this. maybe one and a half.

OMG I AM GETTING LAID SO MUCH I CAN HARDLY STAND IT.

anyway.
this, however, is not a joke:
freefiona.com.I was having a nerdy internet discussion today about Courtney Love which brought to mind the Fiona Apple Rule, which I instituted after the seventy millionth time Fiona Apple thanked Maya Angelou in public. There was also the matter of this album title: say it with me: When The Pawn Hits The Conflicts He Thinks Like A King What He Knows Throws The Blows When He Goes To The Fight And He'll Win The Whole Thing 'Fore He Enters The Ring There's No Body To Batter When Your Mind Is Your Might So When You Go Solo, You Hold Your Own Hand And Remember That Depth Is The Greatest Of Heights And If You Know Where You Stand, Then You Know Where To Land And If You Fall It Won't Matter, Cuz You'll Know That You're Right.
Hence the Fiona Apple Rule. It's basically "If you have a microphone in front of your damn face and you're not singing, shut the fuck up because you a crazy bitch." And yet I bought it, and ended up loving it and tentatively forgiving Fiona for her sins. And now comes the website with a fairly heartbreaking story about how it's being kept from release because they claim there's no marketable single. and I am tired of hearing about record companies doing this shit. So go to the website, read up, sign the petition even though it probably won't do anything. And in case you forgot how good she was (no guide vocals! nothing written by the Matrix! for serious!):
Fiona Apple-"Never Is A Promise"

whatthehell?!?

Ted Leo interview in New York Post-Page Six.
You know--the gossip column written by crazy old ladies.

on scary guys with piercings, macaroni and cheese and feeling like you are twelve again.

Today was an impulse-ish (I CAN FEEL YOUR DISAPPROVAL RADIATING FROM WEST ALLIS, SO JUST DONT EVEN START WITH ME) slash Christmas shopping slash sweating profusely at The Gym to Check Your Head slash feeling vaguely lonely day. Wedding #2--actually, Nondenominational Dinner In Celebration Of The Fact That Two Crazy Kids Got Hitched #1, is on New Year's day and due to several factors which I am waaaaay too ashamed of to admit here I have decided that I need to basically look hotter than I have ever looked in my life. And lose twenty pounds. In a month. This has led to the purchasing of a completely gorgeous fairy princess dress that would be perfect if I somehow managed to grow seven inches before January 1 or learned to walk in heels. Yeah. Returned that today.
But what I did find today was earrings for the imaginary dress (helpful!) and bought them, trying to ignore the fact that I wasn't sure if my holes were even open anymore, because I NEEDED THEM and they were SO PRETTY. This led me, post-sweaty, to that one hipster piercing place on Brady Street, where I got my piercings reopened by a very nice gentleman with seven piercings up the length of his nose, whose inner monologuist I was sure was shaking with laughter at me because I didn't want my forehead or forearm or foreclitoris pierced. (I shouldn't say that. He really was very nice.) I also added a double piercing in my right ear. Living on the edge, this one.
I can't really say why I did it, as I'm sure a lot of people have problems explaining the exact whys and wherefores of their decisions to modify things on their bodies other than "It looks cool" or "I like pain." Also, in my case it was a little of "I have everything [within reason] else pierced, whyfore do I neglect my ears so?" What struck me about it as I was sitting on the doctor's chair, Ani Difranco in the background, was how very young I felt, swinging my legs back and forth because they couldn't touch the ground, fearing the pain and yet thrilling at it, even though it was minor. (Actually I think I screamed when I was twelve.)
There's really no point to all of this musing. It was just for a spilt second, for maybe the 3,000th time in my adult life, I really wished I could go back.
Oh, and the macaroni and cheese part as advertised? The next time you make it, put maybe 2 tablespoons of seasoned breadcrumbs in when you're mixing everything else. it is fairly tasty.
Song For Yuo: Tori Amos, Silent All These Years"
Which is relevant because some asshole said it was Tori Amos featuring Ani DiFranco, stupid asshole,
and also because its effect is that of making me feel twelve,
but in a good way.

w00t, part 2.

yes, I am 26 and fucking taking quizilla quizzes...

Modest Mouse The Lonesome Crowded West
What essential indie rock album are you? brought to you by Quizilla
In other news, I am exhausted. My headache is gone, but I don't know when I am ever going to learn that drinking on an empty stomach and me do not, and will not ever, mix, ever ever ever. I am also the proud owner of a harmonica and an instruction manual for it--and if last night taught me anything it is that no one--NO ONE--has more harmonica-soul than drunk white girls.
Stupid alcohol.

dear hangover:

I totally fucking hate you.

w00t.

They have extended my temp assignment through December 30.
That is all.

i will kill you, commit suicide, and then kill you again

I'm pretty fucking well exhausted right now. I was considering preparing an essay on why sometimes ponytails make me feel murderous, but I can't think right now beyond "ohmygodohmygodohmygod." See, I am on the computer because I was/am searching for a forum that will allow me to nerdily discuss the episode arc of LOST (I learned it's an acronym! omg that MEANS SOMETHING!) and I just can't bring myself to join Television Without Pity or Ars Technica. Tonight? best. episode. ever. All of my friends and the boy (all of the boy?) have failed me in their lack of love for this show, and right now I'm totally scared from the part with Locke and the...THINGS in his EYES, and the Claire and the screaming, and I have NO ONE WHO WILL HUMOR ME. And yes, there are forty million other, more soulful things that I could be doing with my time than dissecting or longing to dissect a television program. I know. I know. Shut it.
It (the show) did provide me with another very good reason to never ever have a baby: Knowing my luck, I will carry the Demon Seed and end up on a goddamn desert island, and people will want to steal the baby and inject it with things, and I have a very low tolerance for pain and there would be no anesthetic, being on an island and whatnot, and if your dreams when you are pregnant are indeed extremely lucid, it's best just not to think about what my dreams would be like, because they're fucked already.
Here is your MP3-ical reward for making it through this nonsense:
The Mountain Goats--"International Small Arms Traffic Blues"
That's it. I'm going to go collapse now.
PS. If you want to be my LOST-dissecting internerd buddy, please email or PM me your application form by next Wednesday. I promise I won't tell.

if a website falls in the woods...

does anybody hear it?
It feels strange not writing anything at all for an entire day, having updated three times on Monday. The problem, of course, is that I don't really have that much to say. This is my second to last day working at this job and the nervous and the jittery are back, full swing, and I would really really hate for this to turn into My Unemployment Diary The Sequel, because that shit even bored me. (And because I'm not at home I can't include MP3s to make this entry slightly less boring. Sorry, kids.) But it's not like this is the Great Depression and I'm a stockholder or anything. I'll get another assignment. Right? RIGHT???
The only other thing that I have decided to report is that Bally's ("The Gym") is running a contest right now: if you go to the gym twelve times between now and Xmas you are eligible to win Fabulous Prizes. I have decided that I am going to win one. See, according to the law of averages, I am way overdue, unless you count that one time that I won tickets to "A Christmas Carol" by calling in to Wisconsin Public Radio and answering a question about that one O. Henry story (you know, that one) correctly. The Fabulous Prize that I have decided I am going to win? A trip to Hawaii. Y'all can go ahead and congratulate me in advance in the comments section. Although it does mystify me somewhat that the trip would be to Hawaii and not Bali, because they're, you know, Bally's.
[/second post in a row concluding with a horrible quasi-pun]