forces are conspiring to keep me from writing.
The reading went well. Ms Shelley Jackson was very nice and I was the second word ever to get the certificate and manuscript.
The story is called "Skin" appropriately enough and it's about a mythical land where skin grows over everything. Of course it's confidential and I am contractually bound not to reprint it in any way shape or form, but if you come over, I will let you read it.
Because I like you.

I joined a community at livejournal called "mortal work of art" and it's chock full of other words who are in various stages of the process.

This heat wave we have been having seems to have broken but it's still really hot where I work because there is no air in the basement.
We have fans in our cubes and a huge fan by the door, but it's still always hot. Bos has a electronic thermometer thing and it usually says about 74 or so with 56% humidity. That may not sound too hot. It wouldn't be too hot if you were outside with a breeze, but in the stuffy, dusty basement, it's hot.

Oh, I reworked and posted the story of the toilet over at Ubersite. It was my first post on a rather brutal forum. I've been reading for a year or so but never had anything I thought was "Uber-worthy" before. I actually got a pretty good reaction, if a low review score and a nice guy said I did good! Yay me!

Date: Sun, 23 Jul 2006 01:44:53 -0700

From: "Shelley Jackson"

Subject: SKIN goes west

Dear Words, future Words, and other friends of
the SKIN project:

My new book HALF LIFE goes on sale on Tuesday!
I'll send an official announcement in a few days,
and of course I hope that you will all support
your hardworking author (and the endangered cause of
literary freakdom in general) by buying a copy,
or two, or three. (Pile enough of them up and you
could make yourself an igloo, or a podium!)

But here is even more urgent news: I am reading
in Berkeley, San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle
THIS COMING WEEK, July 24-29. Please come. And
step up and introduce yourself after the show!

Words, I will be bringing with me a limited
number of copies of the story and certificate--the
very first ones off the press. ("Press" being my
inkjet printer and a sewing machine.) If you have
already sent in your photographs and form, or can
bring them with you when you come, I will give you
your stamped, signed copy in person. How about
that?!

I hope to see you there.

Cordially,
Your Author, Shelley Jackson


WEST COAST READINGS:

Dog Eared Books (I used to work there!)
900 Valencia St (@ 20th), San Francisco
(415)282-1901
This Monday, July 24, 8 PM


I can see this store from my window. Well, I could if that dumb building wasn't there.
I don't have the hard copy of the photo of the word. I have a xerox copy. I wonder if I showed up with that if she would spit on me and rip the word out by it's roots?
I think I'll try it and find out.
It would be nice to meet her, anyway and if I could have a signed copy of the story, to finally be able to read it, to circle my word...
hehe.



  


In case you don't know, I am part of a literary performance art type thing that has to do with about 2000 people getting a short story tattooed on them, one word per person.

Not for the Faint of Constitution

Down the hall to the bathroom. Longtime readers will know it's always an adventure and I never know what I will find there. Once I found a wig full of vomit. Good times.

The other day was just an ordinary day. Nothing exciting or out of the ordinary happened until I went to release my final pee pee of the day into the wilds of the San Francisco sewer system.

I saw...

This...



  

  

  

  











I ran back to the room and grabbed my camera. I got these lovely dark and blurry shots and then I peed on the whole thing and flushed it. It went down with out making much of a fuss, only taking two flushes to be entirely gone.

If you can't tell what that is floating in the bowl, I'll tell you.
It's prawns, carrots and potatoes.
How it got there, I don't know.
Just thought I would share it with you.
I showed the photos to coworkers #1 and #2. #2 who is always there with the quips, quipped "Only you would think to get a camera and take photos of that."

Oh, one other thing. What are the moral implications of taking an urn with human ashes in it and keeping it in my cube at work? They can't be sold on eeeeebbbbaaayyy. I'd hate to see Anne get thrown in the trash. She died in 1985 at the age of 53. In LA.
How she got here, no one knows.

I layed down on the grass in the park and he sat next to me. He stuck his finger in the hole in my pants and tickled my tummy. I looked up at him and he was smiling at me.

My buddy Art who lives all the way over there in Utah sent me a pizza
It was very good. I had pesto, black olives and feta.

What a great birthday present!

My buddy Hell (whom I am not linking to in order to preserve her percieved anonymity) Got me some sox. One short pair with pink and black stripes and one Misfits pair also pink and black, these are and argyle pattern with the white Misfits skully face in the black squares. I think these might turn into gloves.

Can't write anymore, eating pizza...

I have been using that Veet stuff. It's really good. Better than Nair, anyway. Comes with that cool bladeless razor. It's like a squeegee for your armpits.
It says on the can "do not use on breast nipples".
I'm just wondering, what nipples can I use it on?

I had lunch with Bos today. We went for sushi and semi-business chat. She told me some stuff that I needed to know and thanked me for all the help and whatnot. It was hard, but nice, too.
She said she was pushing for me to be an assitant manager. She showed me what the cap is on my salary in my current position and told me she is trying to get me another raise for my next review.
I wish I would not have had to pee so bad when I left work or I would have brought the paperwork she gave me home so I could read it more.

Thursday.

I looked behind my curtains today and found a bunch of jewelry that I had forgotten I hid. Three gold rings and a silver and amber brooch. Pretty exciting stuff.

Thanks for the birthday wishes, everyone.
It was a quiet and uneventful five days off. Erik made sure I wasn't alone and was fed and kept me in beverages and kisses.

Then it was back to normal. Work and work and work.

I need a new tattoo. Maybe I could get something pierced. I need something.
I was digging in a drawer the other day and found my knife. I tried to cut myself but couldn't get the job done.
Lame. I don't want that anyway.
I suppose I could pluck my eyebrows. That would hurt.

You know what I am going to do? I'm going to bring some sewing with me when I go to his house this weekend. I have a couple of things that need mended. That's a good idea.

666, the feedback score of the beast

It only happens once every thousand...

I answered a question from a customer today by copyingsand pasting words from the FAQ that boss worte herself. I cc'd her on the email and I got a response from her that said, "excellent response." That made me feel nice and warm and fuzzy inside.
I think I want to have something made up to put in my cube that says "what would (bos) do?" (replacing her name, of course) so when she's gone and I'm wondering what to to I can look at that and think, what would bos do?
wwbd. I think it's catchy. Not original, of course. But I think it would work for me.
Co-worker #2 came to me with a question today while she wasn't there. Someone was asking for the shipping total and the total that #2 had was $20 over what real shipping should be.
In the business, we call that "pure profit". Buyers call it "gouging". What do they know?
Anyway, he was asking me, in a moral kind of way, should he just charge them the extra $20 or should he change it, the buyer was asking for a total at 7:30 this morning (this was around noonish. While #2 was asking me and I was thinking of my new WWBD bracelet, the buyer went ahead and paid the amount, which was $20 more than he should have.
Well, that solves the problem, right there. Once he has paid, there ain't much we can do. Add a few dollars of insurance and think of the queen. I mean, think of all the times we eat postage because of undercharging.
It may not be fair, but hey, nothing is fair.
If the buyer had waited, he could have saved $20.
I don't know what his situation is but, whatever. Out of my hands. $20 never made or broke anyone, really. Except in extreme situations.

Hell loaned me Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but I am going to wait to watch it this weekend with E and Jr.
Don't tell me how it ends.

Today for lunch nothing really looked good at the deli, so I ordered the vegan salami on rye with swiss and sprouts and onions. Just because I had never tried vegan salami before. I didn't ask, but I'm pretty sure it was the wheat gluten kind. I think there is some kind of tranquilizer in vegan salami. After lunch today I felt like my chair was kind of floating. Twas rather strange, but it didn't last long.

I have Friday and Monday off. Yay, four day weekend. What the heck am I gonna do with myself?

write, right? haha. I have been thinking of that all day. It's been awful.

Self-portrait Thursday.
This is my gargoyle. He doesn't have a name, but he has lots of personality. I like his horns. I love his teeth that are definitely of the vegetarian type. Nothing but grinding there. I love his claws. Good for climbing. I really love the fact that his chain is broken but he still comes to his perch. And hollers at people. I like that he hollers at people.

Erik is finally back in town. I missed him so much. I miss Jr. I miss Mill Valley.
I hope I can go spend the weekend out there.

I have a huge bruise and a scratch on my butt. I don't know where it came from. Around ten am today, I plopped down in my chair and went "OW, what the heck...?" I stuck my hand down the back of my pants and felt around in the general area (sometimes having a cube IS nice!) and felt a scratch and thought, "oh, great, I've finally got herpes. Wonderful".
When I got home I took my pants off and grabbed a mirror. Jeez, what I saw! A HUUUGE bruise and a scratch. Scratch is about three inches long and the bruise is shaped like a birds head.

I know! Unexplained bruises. What is that about? Maybe I accidently sat on a bird?

My boss announced today that she is resigning.
I knew it was coming but I didn't know it would be this soon.
She launched the new project, staffed it, trained the staff, showed that it could make money and now she is leaving the non-profit to move back into the private sector.

She will be with us through the month of July and hopefully will be able to train her successor.
I don't want to train another manager.

I'm very sad.

Have you ever had a dream where you are searching for some tiny, minute, something, but your eyes won't work right so everything looks like fish eating marshmallows or your fingers turn into worms and you can't pick anything up?
I had one of those last night. I was dreaming about the Aztec calendar and trying to figure out how you read one.

What day is it here? Month? Year?
Maybe they kept track differently or something, but where do I make a note that I have a doc's appointment next week? What day does July 22nd fall on? When is Columbus day? How do I mark my upcoming vacation?


I went out this morning foraging for coffee and brandy and I ran into someone who used to live in the building. Nice enough guy. Andy is his name. He's one of those old school G's with the chinos and the plaid shirt buttoned up to the top button and the dark sunglasses. He needed a haircut. He walked with me to the liquor store. He was kinda annoying me because he kept apologizing and trying to explain himself. He called me "babe" (which does not bother me in the least) and then spent the next ten minutes explaining why he called me babe and how I shouldn't be offended by that because he calls everyone babe, remembering names gets him in to trouble, apparently.

WHO THE HELL CARES?

I told him he could use a haircut. I just didn't think he looked as dapper as he could, you know? He said, "but the ladies like me with long hair"
I said, "fine then keep it." This blew his mind!
"Well, I suppose I should shave my head then, would that make you happy?"
"Where in the heck did that come from? All I said was I think you could use a haircut." Freak.

We finally got to the open store and the counter guy was apathetic but appreciative.
Andy said at one point "you have to excuse my wife" referring to me. I'm not sure what I needed to be excused for, but I said "yeah, when you see his wife, excuse her".

Then we started walking back towards homebase. I told him to stop explaining himself and he explained why he needed to explain himself.
I got to my street and said, "I'm going this way". He replied, "You're leaving me here?"
"No, I'm going this way, this is where the coffee is."
"You're leaving me here?"
"No, I'm going this way, this is where the coffee is."
"Fine, leave me here"
"OK, Andy, nice seeing you."
"Bye, Babe!"
whew.

Oh, yeah, great news! My annoying, yelling all the time neighbors moved OUT!! No more yelling, no more mud puddle in front of his door, no more having him make a huge show out of opening the door for me.
God, I hated that guy.
He didn't go far, I saw him out my window this morning, making a big show out of opening the door of the laundry across the street for two women carrying a bag of clothes.
A DOOR THAT WAS ALREADY OPEN.

I don't like it when men put on this show of "chivallry" I probably spelled that wrong, but you know what I mean.
If you are right in front of me and I have an armload, please do open the door for me. There is nothing wrong with being polite and holding the door for anyone, but if you are sprinting across the compound to grab a door that I could easily open for myself, or making me rush across the compound because you are holding a door for me for no apparent reason... Why?

One of my co-workers, the transitional employee (TE), when we were moving, started insisting on helping me with doors, lifting, etc. Things I don't need help with. I have been in the pushing large objects through small spaces business for a long time. If I need help, I will ask. If not, get the heck outta my way! You aren't impressing anyone with your outdated etiquitte.

Is it just me? I hate being treated like I'm weak.
I'm strong. I know I'm not as stong as most men but I'm pretty skankin strong. And I'm not shy, either. If I need help, I won't hesitate to ask for it.
I told the TE, "I'm sure there are better ways to spend your time than holding doors for me when I don't need them held".
He replied, "Can't I just be a gentleman?"
"No. You can't. Go spend your time working, you aren't getting paid to be a gentleman."
Seriously. I was hired for this job partly because I can lift and carry 50+ lbs. Correctly. Without hurting myself or anyone else.

When I was walking down the street with Andy he made a big show out of asking me to walk on the inside and I refused.
"What do you think, I am not capable of walking along the outside edge of the sidewalk? Do you think I may fall off the curb? Do you even know why you want me to walk on the inside? Trust me, I can navigate a sidewalk from either side. Ambidextrous, I am."
"Buh, buh buh" he sputtered as I purposely walked as close to the curb as I could.


Please, any men who are reading this respond and tell me why you are holding on to these archaic "gentlemanly" things.
Also tell me how come when I have to go home in the dark, alone there are no big, strong men to escort me? Because I need that. Maybe they can show me the gentlemanly way to use the big knife I carry.

Sally, I don't know if I could really go to the store and let someone measure me. Brrrr.
I just imagine some lady (or worse, some hot chick) handling my boob with her cool, papery smooth hands (or worse hot, sweaty hands)while we hide behind a curtain, me naked from the waist up and her fully clothed and thinking god-knows-what and I get the same feeling I get on the ferry when I'm sober.

Queasy and Scared.

This series ought to get me some hits if nothing else.

Enough about my chestal region.
I will not mention it again here until I get the perfect bra. A quest I may document somewhere else. But not here.

Phototoxicity.

It's a word. Look it up.
Be sure to wear sunscreen or sunblock tomorrow. Even if it's overcast. Bring a hat, that's even better.

Here is a photo I took of the cube I started moving into today.
It's huge size.


  


It's all nice and greeny blue and the walls are soft so I can stick pins in them. It's a great little photo studio. See the mannequin torso on the wall? she hangs on a pipe perfect height for photos.
I am very happy taking photos here. I pinned some clip earrings to the wall, which worked very well.
No one walks behind me and kicks my chair. Everyone kicked my chair. Now no one kicks my chair. It's bliss.

See my Sailormoon back pack? Yes, you can be jealous.
It says
PRETTY SOLDIER
SailormoonR

The R is unexplained. Maybe it means "registered tradmark". I dunno.

I'm still not sure what I'm doing tomorrow. Going to a park somewhere and trying to watch fireworks, if there isn't too much fog.
They do look cool behind the fog but seeing the explosions when it's clear is better.

The lovely Sally pointed me in the direction of Layne Bryant where I thought the size chart would be more gentle. No such luck. According to Layne, I am a 38DDD. Also known as a 38F.
(Audible sobs)
I like this one the rest look like maybe it's a war on breasts. Maybe boobs are the enemy and must be kept in check at any cost.

Oi.

I remember the first time mom took me bra shopping. Neither one of us really thought I needed one. Heck, I still don't think I need one, but gravity rears its ugly opinion.
We went to K mart. In the little Oregon town I was raised in, K mart was a cultural hub.
We got a sales rep somehow and I tried on a bunch of little tiny bras. None of them fit. They were all too big. I think I was about 13. It was a very traumatic experience. Me, mom and the sales rep woman all cried a little.

I think ever since then I have had the mindset that I was flat-chested. It was true until around 1997 when I was running down a flight of stairs and it hurt. That was when I really bought my first bra. Not just for show, not padded, not just a prop for some sick sex game. A real bra with under wire. It was a B cup.
Ten years in a B cup. I guess we had a good run.

In a more disturbing development, I have started comparing boobs on the street, something I never did before. I will think, "oh, there, now, that is a D!" but then I’m all confused. "No, that must be a J or something cuz that woman is way bigger than me." That is the way my mind works. Separate things into categories. All those years of retail brainwashing.

I don’t know what to think anymore.

I guess I have some body image issues.
Face it, JJ you have huge knockers.
My 38B is still my most comfortable bra.

I will keep you posted.

In continuing the thread of being totally floored my measureing myself the other day, I offer you this:

Saturday morning. I'm on my own for the weekend because Erik has to go out of town. When I got home last night there was a notification that a package had come for me and was at the post office.
I got up early and watched Saw, which is a good movie. Plenty of blood and guts, which I love, but also a psychologial thriller with a nice twist at the end that you have absolutley no clue is coming. I won't give it away, but I will say that there is a scene with THE BEST use of a toilet tank cover, EVER. Hands down. I was cheering. 8am and I'm alone in my room cheering. You know that has to be a good movie.
So, I get up and put on my pants and a ball cap, cuz I don't want to comb my greasy hair, and then I make three trips up and down my stairs because I keep forgetting key components. Cell phone, cigarettes (of which I smoked none while I was out) and last but not least, the little note you have to have to get the package. Mrs Dumass? That would be me. der.
Finally, I hit the street and it's gorgeous out. Overcast, cool and empty. I walked up 20th to Capp St, took a right down to 22nd and then a left over to South Van Ness and another couple blocks down to the post office. Great walk. 'Specially when there are goodies at the end of the trip (and there always are).
Today I got another one of the Vera Bradley bags I have been pigging out on lately. Woo-hoo! Still three more coming. And I'm bidding on another. I think I may need an intervention.
Egg is yelling at my window right now. Gods, I wish he would leave. Ok, he's gone. Where the heck was I?

Oh, yeah, intervention.
I was on 23rd street and wondering what I should do for the next coupel of minutes. Not really wanting to head home yet. Then Wal gr eens loomed up in front of me on Mission and 23rd. Ah, yes. Spending some money at wally's always makes me feel better.
I wander in and the place is dead. Just opened. A midget works there. He had a long ponytail. Midget? Little person. I don't know what anyone wants to be called anymore. That's not the point.
Right past the first aisle, the one with all the yummy lotions, is a bin, or a speed table, depending on how into retail operations you are. It's full of bras. 3/$10. $3.99ea. Hmm. I sense an experiment coming on.
You know where this is going don't you?
I dove head first into the bin of ugly brassieres, desperately searching for a 40DD.
There were none. There were 44B's which sort of made me sad (and made me think of that quote who's source has long been forgotten "for a fat chick, you sure got some small tits". Lovely).
There were lots of 38B's which I already have a bunch of so I didn't look at them twice.
The closest I could come up with was a 38D.
A very respectable 38D with slightly padded cups, a double hook, back closure, non-adjustable straps and no underwire. White.
Translate this into JJese and it sounds a lot like "a bra I would not be caught dead in".
So I bought it. I also bought some Wal proxen and an eggnog flavored ice pop.
Then I wandered around the neighborhood some more, the ugly bra burning a shameful hole in the Wal0greens branded bag. I tied the bag onto my belt loop so I couldn't see it anymore. Then I went to Whole Paycheck, I mean Wholefoods, and got some $9 mouthwash and $7 deodorant. It's ok. I am a grown up and can afford to buy myself nice stuff that I like. I don't have brats around that squirt the stuff down the sink. I was so poor for soo long and buying toiletries at the 99c store. In the words of that broad from gone with the wind, "God as my witness, I shall never go hungry again!" or something like that.

On with the story. I got back home and tore my shirt off. I had to pee, but didn't want to wait another second to put the huge, ugly bra on and prove for once and for all that I am NOT a DD, go on, quit it, it just ain't true!

The thing fits like a fucking charm, pardon my cursing and my mixed metaphor.
Now, can someone tell me why? Why?
Why does my 38B, and my 36B and this new, ugly 38D all fit me just the same?
What the heck is going on here?
Is there so much inconsistancy in the world of over the shoulder boulder holders that it doesn't really matter? Will Victoria's Secret ever have a cute racerback with an underwire and a front closure, in my size, on sale?
And while you are answering questions, can you tell me why people stand in doorways when doorways are for walking in and out of? And why, when they can see you coming, do they just stand there looking at you rather than get the heck out of the way?

That's all I got. Thanks for playing.