Begin at the beginning...and go on until you come to the end: then stop.
Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, 1865
Chapter 12 "Alice's Evidence"

Ach.
I make more money now than I did this time last year. I make almost twice as much as I did the year before that.
I talked to a friend of mine the other day and he says he still makes $10 an hour. I was thinking "damn. I can remember living on that and supporting someone else, too".
Then I remembered that he has a trust fund and just got back from gallivanting across Europe and didn't feel as bad for him.
As you may well know, making more money incites spending more money.
I'm not supporting anyone now and my rent is still low. I still spend about the same amount of money on food and cigs and booze.
Suddenly, I noticed a large build up of numbers in my bank account. I thought to me, "what do you want? What would you spend all this money on, girl?"
I answered "purses”.
I went along with that for a minute or two, but now I pretty much have all the purses I want.
I am considering offing a few in lots on eeeBBBaaayyy to offset the teeny little fortune I spent.
See, I bought a bunch of them (purses) in lots. In order to get the styles I really wanted cheap I had to concede to taking the crappy ones I did not want. As you can imagine, I have quite a collection of beautiful, discontinued, rare, Vera Bradley bags. Many of which I do not want.

Ok. Pants. Tops.

My punk rock regalia were not going over well with the upper ups at my job. I started wearing real clothes that made me feel like a tool instead of clothes that made me feel comfortable and like me. Well, to work anyway.



Underwear.

I hadn't worn them for a few years. I had maybe two pair. You know, like for wearing with skirts and such.

I had recently found a pair of low-rise, boy cut type things and I was pretty impressed with the fit and comfort.
Since I love buying things online, I googled around a little and found a sale at Victoria's Secret for the same style, on sale, in my size.
I bought five pair.
I waited anxiously for the package and when it arrived, I was thrilled!
Beautiful, well made panties with my name on each individually wrapped package!
Oh, the colors! Oh, the stretchy cotton! The knowing I was wearing VS from now on!
I kept buying them. Last time I counted I had 15 pair. That was just the ones I counted after doing a load of wash one day. I had more at home and I have bought more since. I don't really know how many I have now.
I'm just going to say "enough".

Bras.
Most of you are aware of the search for the perfect bra that I have been on. I haven't written about it here much after the original trilogy (or maybe fourogy), but the search has gone on.
I lusted over the VS Body By Victoria full-coverage racer-back.
One day I was on the eebbb, just poking around, you know, and found three. My size. Buy it now price, $14.99.
One blue one black one buff.
I snapped em up.

I still have not received them. Before Friday would be nice, but after Monday is fine too. How is that for flexible?

Pants. I bought one pair of work pants and one pair of play pants.
The work pants work just fine, thank you. The play pants were about a mile and a half too long in the leg.
I just took them to the tailor's today to be altered.
Capri, or cropped, whatever you want to call it, they needed to be hemmed from 33" inseam to a 22" inseam, because if you know me, you know I hate wearing long pants and only do it when forced. Violently.
$10 for a hem. She said she could have them on Saturday, I countered with, "Oh, I'm gonna be out of town Saturday", she slipped right into the role and said "how about Friday?" I think I may have said "I love you" but I probably did not.
It was probably more like "please take good care of my jeans, I love them so much and I trust you will do a really good job". She said, "I'll do my best".
God, woman, don't do your best, just do it right. 22" inseam with a 5" cuff and the original hem showing at the top of the cuff. Easy, right? No, or I would have done it myself. Denim is so hard to sew. She has a machine.

Shoes.
One of my new pairs of shoes have been mailed. I check my eeebbbaayy compulsively to see if they have marked the items paid or shipped. Arrgghh.
Seven things coming in the mail. Well, three packages, actually.
Still.

Come on, Mailman. Do not be slow.

New boss starts on Tuesday.
I am getting better at handling customer complaints.

Lunch hour of the beast, yet again.



Some cable. I don't know. Don't ask me.

That is my hand model and behind her is Ann. Well, whats left of Ann. She helps me out with pictures. I use her as a firm base for the camera. I think she would have liked it that way.

I:
switched the hard drive from my old computer into a new machine. Same brand, same age, same model, just not as used. The keyboard is smooth as silk and the screen is much brighter and clearer. It also isn't covered in stickers and grafitti (graffiti?).
thanks to art for buying me the machine last year and thanks to my sweetie Erik for showing me how to do it (very simple. practically silly).

got in a fight with my co-worker yesterday. It was very frustrating and nothing was solved. It almost got violent. What, almost? It got violent. No punches were thrown but some other stuff was. By him. He didn't talk to me at all for the rest of the day yesterday and only spoke to me when he had a question today. I know he doens't read this, but I'm very sorry, CW#1. Please clean up after yourself.

am feeling very frustrated with the job right now. I have had all the stuff my boss used to spend 50+ hours a week on thrust upon me with very little training. I asked my bigger boss if we could talk about it today but he was very busy in meetings so I didn't get to talk to him today. Tomorrow, I hope.

didn't do anything with collections today and just let it rest. No one emailed me to tell me how much I suck except one guy who's package was mailed to UK and hasn't arrived yet. He asked me what I intended to do about it and I resisted the urge to reply, "What do you want me to do, go out and find the shit and hand deliver it to your house, you limey prick? Take it up with the Post Office and Fuck You Very Much."

am feeling a bit depressed about the whole thing and cried all morning while not answering emails. I just posted all day. Like I was hired to do.

won three auctions on eeeeBBBBaaaayyy last night. Only came up to a hundred, with shipping and all stuff I need. No purses. The buckle on my shoe broke yesterday so I got two more pairs of shoes, including one triple buckle Doc Marten mary jane which will replace the ones that broke last year. Long time readers will remember me sobbing over the broken shoe. Thanks to Brin for finding the trip buckles for me! Love you sweetie!

also won three VS BBV racerback full coverage bra's in a size 38C. Are they the perfect bra? They may well be. Stay tuned. They should be here by late next week if I can get the MO into the mail by tomorrow morning.

must go to the store and get some stamps. Dammit.

went to the store after work today to get my usual. Chammomile tea with two airplane bottles of Bacardi Rum in it. The daughter of the owner was working the reg and I poured my little bottles into my tea like always. I'm always afraid that the cup will get spilt, and today it did for the first time.

think I now know how to say "son of a bitch" in arabic.

forgot to buy stamps while I was there so I have to go back. Sigh.

went to a funeral in GGP last weekend. Jimmy the Scumfuck OD'd. He was clean for a while then got drunk and someone gave him some dope and it was too much.

didn't know the man. The funeral was beautiful and very organized yet chaotic. Like most punktions at the park. There was BBQ and a life-sized effigy of the dead guy made of pipecleaners. I swear it. Jr grabbed the head after it was all over and they have it out in MV now. Sitting on top of the lamp. By the couch.

fell down at least three times at said funeral. I think the falling may have weakened the buckle on the shoe that broke.

went out and had drinks and played pool with Egg, Monday night. It was fun. All the wonderfulness of the Eggman without me giving a shit.

feel a little guilty (for no reason other than I am dating Erik and shouldn't go out with other guys) about going out with E. There was no sexual tension at all, just good natured joking and fun. Egg asked me if Erik could play pool and I said yeah. Then he said he wanted to go out with me and Erik and meet him and all that. Why not? Well, no babysitter is one reason.

don't have much else to say. Sorry it's been over 10 days. I miss you, too.

Oh!

got photos from wenchie of the trip to Montreal last year (year before? I don't feel like thinking). Great ones. Some that were scanned and already shown and some that need to get scanned and shown.

'm not very photogenic, but I think some of them came out nice.

that's it.
Love,

I spent far too many years wondering what this man was saying while singing this song in spanish.
It's a nice sounding, sort of light ska type of song off of the 40oz to freedom album.
It took me about 30 googleseconds to find this:


No importa que se lleva, porque todo se quitara
(it doesnt matter what you wear, because youre going to take it all off)

Ay, no puedo verlo, ni el figura
(but no, I cant look at you, not even your figure)

Cuando empecemos, no me dio cuenta
(when we began, I did not realize)

De que luego, tuviera que pagar
(that afterwards, I would have to pay)

Pero si se cambie, me voy a acostarme con ti, con ti
(but if things change, Im going to lay down with you, with you)

No me propongo predicar, vive y deja vivir
(Im not trying to preach, live and let live)

Pero el amigo es un condon en el bolsillo
(but a mans best friend is a condom in his pocket)

Yo no soy medico, no soy chapusero
(I am not a doctor, I am not a joker)

Solamente soy pobre, y ya estoy tan solo
(I am only poor, and now I am so alone)

Pero si se cambie, ella seria la mia,
(but if things change, she will be mine,)

Para ser poseido en propiedad, en propiedad
(to have as my property, property)

Ive got to get it on with you, oh what can I do?
(I would lay down anytime with her, with her)


Lovely weekend.
I will never forget the way he smells or the feeling of his chest on mine.

This is Fiction, by the way.

I was 16 years old and I was a junkie. A recovering junkie who liked to get high.

I was raised on a farm but moved to the city after dropping out of high school. Ran away is more like it.
I went to live with my sister to get a job and make a life for myself. Fate had other plans for me.
Fate was 28. He was my boyfriend. Fate taught me how to drive a car and how to shoot up. Fate also taught me how to rob liquor stores. Mom and he got along really well.
She was the yang to his ying, and Fate the ying to her shriveled up old pussy.

Fate was passed out on mad dog at eight in the morning. I was 16 years old, had been to the big city, had gotten hurt, seen Fate beat up by cops, heard him tell a girl just my age who was working at a Baskin Robbins that he would kill her if she didn’t give me the money. Now Fate and I had moved back up north to Mom’s house in Oregon. Trying to clean up.

I was bored out of my mind and I knew that Mom was having sex with my boyfriend.

This went on for weeks. I was 16 years old and I was bored.

It was eight in the morning. He was passed out from drinking Mad Dog 20/20.

Do they still make that stuff? I remember its sweetness. I remember the fuzzy coating it put over my head. I remember kicking heroin and being glad the liquor stores in Reno were open all night.

However, right then, in Oregon, I was bored.

I poked Fate a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t paying any attention. He snorted and turned over.

I reached in his pocket and got the keys to the van.

Then I went and took a shower. Leisurely like. No need to hurry. Mom and boyfriend were old, drunk and fucked out. No one waking up here anytime soon.


I was 16 and sober.
And Oh. So. Bored.

After the shower I called a couple of friends to see if anyone wanted to hang out. I didn’t get any firm responses, but just wrote it off as being too early, everyone knows I’m out, they’ll show up later.

That is how my mind thought then. I thought I could change the world if I wanted to.
Reagan was in office.

I did not have a license to drive a car, but I knew how. I had driven the drunken asshole out of many a tight situation and could work the pedals and wheel quite well in my 16-year-old mind. I just thought I would go to town and get some booze, head to the park, hang out for a while, party with some old friends and then drive home.

No big deal, right?
Except that little girl that ran in the road.
I remember every detail of her.
Her face, her eyes were brown. Her hair was in two ponytails, one on each side. Her ears were pierced but I can’t remember her earrings. Little gold hoops maybe, or something dangly.
She was wearing a green tee shirt and red pants. I thought it a bizarre combination at the time but as the years go by, it seems less and less odd.
Her little shoes. One flew in the air over the van. The little red flasher light was still going and I could see the face of Big Bird, laughing at me.

I had just left the liquor store.
I bought two pints of peppermint schnapps.
I downed one in the parking lot then started the van.

The store was three blocks from the park I wanted to go to.
I still don’t know why that little girl ran out in front of my van. I never looked to the right to see if her parents were there. I guess someone must have been there, she couldn’t have been more than 6 years old.

I drove one block to the first and last light before the park.
I was looking in my side view mirror to see if I could change lanes when she ran in front of me.
I looked forward just in time to see her tiny rag doll body, dressed in red and green, the colors of stop and go, fly to the curbside and just in time to see the flashing shoe fly over the top of the van.
Fates van.
I stepped on the gas

I was still 16 years old but I wasn’t bored anymore.

My mind sort of slipped into automatic. Maybe it was the pint starting to affect me. I don’t remember driving out of town or the five miles of highway home. I pulled in the drive and parked straight enough in the regular spot. I went in the house and didn’t see anyone so I went back to the bedroom where Fate was still asleep. I threw the keys on the bed next to him and went to have another drink.
Mom was in the kitchen drinking coffee. I helped myself to a cup and liberally dosed it with schnapps then handed the pint to Mom. She drank it straight from the bottle and passed it back my way.
“How you doin?” She asked.
“I’m fine, just woke up.” I lied.
“Oh, I thought I heard the van?”
“Well, it wasn’t me, have another drink.”
“Ok, ok. Don’t get nasty.”
Then we just started talking, chatting about nothing really. I don’t know how long we were talking but it could not have been that long because there was still some booze left in the bottle.
A car pulled up in the drive and Mom looked out through the curtain slit.
“It’s a cop! What did you do? Tell me now and don’t lie. NOW!”

I told her the whole story in two sentences.
She looked at me and said, “you tell them it wasn’t you driving the van. You picked up a hitchhiker and they were driving because you don’t have a license. You told her to stop but she said she had a warrant and wouldn’t stop. She drove you here and then walked away.
Knock, knock went the cop.
Who’s there went Mom.
I told him the story and answered his questions just like Mom told me to. As much as I didn’t like her, she was smart and I trusted her when situations were tight.

The cop believed Mom’s story. She never said a word the whole time; just let me do the talking. I got a ticket for allowing a vehicle in my control to be operated without insurance and never heard anything about it again.

I never told Fate.
I was 16 and killed someone and got away with it.

I'm not sure how you feel. I feel lonely a lot.
Maybe you are surrounded by friends and family that make you feel welcome and loved. Maybe you have a cat or a dog or a snake or a fish or a roommate that makes you feel welcome when you come home.
I don't have any of those.
I have some memories of lost friends and family and pets and roommates.
I have hundreds of photos that I really don't like to look at anymore. I keep finding more. It's too sad.
I have hope for the future, maybe I will get some family or some friends or a pet or maybe a roommate that would make me feel welcome and missed when I come home.
In the meantime I hope I get to keep doing what I am doing.
Sometimes it feels like love.

And when I´m far away from you my dear
I miss so much the feelings we share
And I want to hold on to you so tight
Breathe my hot breath down your neck tonight
hold on so long the feeling is real
Only one thing can replace that deal
I find the thing that makes my life surreal
A cheap replacement
Because sometimes it feels like love

someday someday someday
flipper

We still have no manager and things are going all right, but none of us knows what to do with the serious customer service issues.
Co worker #1 had a small fit today because I asked him if he could get it together and try to figure out what to do with the guy who opened a dispute because his item did not arrive.
CW#1 says "I don't know what to do, I don't know how to handle a dispute, I've never done it before"
Me "CW, I've never done it before either."
CW1 "Well, I sent the guy and email on Friday and I'm not doing any more. I don't know what else to do, and I ain't doing shit. In fact, I'm going home."
Me "Bye."
He didn't leave.
The item in question was being shipped to Canada. Sometimes things get stuck in customs when shipping international. You know, since those buildings got knocked down in NYC a few years ago. Nothing has been the same, really.
We have tracked the item to leaving the post office on July 14th or so and that's all there is. So the guy goes and complains to try to get his money back from us. I got the CW#2 to look at the post office website and gather up all the facts he could and I put together a lovely little portfolio, which I pinned to the wall in my cube. I tried to call the buyer and got no answer, so I started a call log, so I could try and keep track of the times I tried to contact him.
Then I emailed him and told him to call me personally tomorrow.
Then I moved on because there wasn't really anything else I could do. Not that I know of, anyway.

CW#2 said to me later, "hey, I got something to tell you"
I said, "is it going to make me happy?"
CW#2 "probably not."
Me "sigh. what is it?"
CW2 "well, they have it narrowed down to four people for the manager position."
Me "Oh, yeah?"
Cw2 "one of them is **Name deleted**."




















I nearly shit.















NONONONONONONONONONONONONO!!!!!!!!!!!!!






This can't happen.
If it does, then my theory that there is a god and he's a bitter old bastard is true.

**name deleted for security purposes. The fate of the universe is at stake. I will now perform a mind wipe on you all. Look at my pen. OooooKay. On with the show.

===========================

I went to Jerry Garcia day at Maclearen Park (I'm sure i spelled that wrong).
It was full of stinky hippies but I sat on the grass with Erik and Jr and Jr Sr (who is Jr's big brother and Eriks stepson, 17, I think def underage and is now living with Erik)drinking yummy beers and flavored vodka and eating greenies, which I shouldn't do, because it gets me really higher than I want to be, but DAMN, they taste good.
There was a Grateful Dead cover band, whose name I can't remember (I want to say Grateful ED, but Im not sure) and I do like the Dead (even though I don't like people who like the dead (well, in a general way. I usually like most people on an individual basis (yes, i do, shut up))) so it was fun.
Jr went and got on stage a few times. He kept going back stage and getting food and bringing it back to us. Once he came back and had a backstage pass thing.
Erik asked him where he got it and Jr said, "oh, there is a whole bunch of them back there, you want one?"
By this time the music was done and the hippies were packing it in, so we all got up and went to the stage with Jr leading the way in his tie-dye shirt and satin pants.

We got up there and dodged roadies trying to get in and get at the passes and the foodies.

And we did.

All the musicians were gone and it was only roadies and crew. The buffet table was loaded with cheese and cracker and vegies and meat and bread.
Personally, I had the munchies pretty bad (terrible invention, that. Munchies that give you the munchies. Oi) and the lady cleaning up the stuff said, "please, please eat as much as you can.

I ate until Erik dragged me away, still filling my plate the last time past the table.

There was this great cream cheese spread with nuts and raisins in it. Sooo good.

Now I'm home.

I had a great weekend. I was happy most of the time.
Jr Sr is a GTA Vice City expert and I got to watch him play. It mad me sad for missing watching Tman play but it was fun. I could say things like, "what would happen if you parked the bike next to that van and then blew the van up? would it blow the bike up too?" and he would just go do it so we could find out. Fun.

Jr has learned a new tone of whine that is particularly annoying. I don't remember ever hearing him use it before and it is piteous. High pitched and long. Also frequent.

I love staying the weekends there. I like being home all week by myself and me and then on the weekend being submerged with them.
Jr Sr is a nice boy. We get along very well.

Have I written enough yet?
NO?

Man, you all are demanding. All three of you.


Oh, hey, I bought pants on eeeeeebbbbbaaaayyyyy.
Who does that? Someone must.

I have a new definition for the perfect pants.

They will have classic 5-pocket styling. I have to have the little pocket for my cell phone. There. I said it.
They will be my perfect size. Not a size too big or too small, but the perfect size. I have measurements now, so I can get them perfect to the inch, mofos.
They will not have flaps on the pockets. This is negotiable. If they are perfect in every other way, and the price is right? I could live with flaps. The perfect pants, will not have flaps on the pockets.
Theperfect pants will have a rise no longer than 11". I could go to twelve, but they had better have magic powers with a rise of 12".
The perfect pants will be a solid color. Black, khaki, certain shades of green, or blue. In that order of preference.
The perfect pants should be capri style with a cuff of 10" or larger, up to 12".
The perfect pants will have an inseam that is 29", but they could be longer, for I have the power to hem.

I think that's it.

My fingers hurt. I'm done typing.

ME!

Poor, dear, neglected diary,

Bos is gone now and I am groping around in the dark trying to complete the tasks that were left behind. No one else knows what to do either.
I have some refunds to try to make, both pretty substantial ones that require detective work.
The bigger boss is interviewing for the position but that doesn't mean the new person will know what to do either.

I wake up happy pretty much every morning. I have been drinking a lot less and washing my hair more.
Since Bos isn't there to deflect it, I have been wearing office clothes to the office, too.
I hate office clothes, they make me feel like a tool. It's not like I hang out in cubicleland and go to meetings all the time. I work in the basement and in the warehouse. I should get to wear jeans if I want.
Anyway.

I have been drinking less. I have been going on with my daily ritual of buying a six pack of good beer and coming home, messing around online for a while, taking a tylenolpm at 8 and falling asleep at 10 or so, most nights.
The other day while taking out the trash, I found eight beers in bags, still in the carboard things.

I always put the empties back in the carboard thing in the bag, that way I can take them to the trash all easy peasy like.

Eight beers! This was in like three bags, I think.

I put them all in one bag and took out the empties with the rest of the trash.

Of course they all disappeared over the weekend.

Monday I bought a sixpack, came home, etc. Got up, went to work and came home with another six pack Tuesday night (I know, this is really boring. it's mine. go on, then). There were still four left in the one I had gotten Monday. I went again through my nightly routine, and also did some laundry, took out the trash, took a bath and rooted through one of my dressers looking for dental floss.

I can't believe that there is no floss in this place.
I need to buy some. For sewing. Unwaxed. I went to the Bell market in MV and all they had was waxed.

You can't sew with waxed, the wax balls up and it's a mess.
Can somebody give me a WITNESS!

Tonight I got home with my six pack, went to get the trash ready to take out and found that I had a whole six pack left.

Now I'm sitting here with a half-rack.

...

There was a time when I would have had a terrible headache tomorrow at work. Probably not smelled very good or been very coherent before 10am and/or three cups of coffee which would have only served to make me jittery and bitchy, not to mention stinky and disheveled.

Don't get me wrong, because I am far from sober. Miles and miles. The bus to sober quit running a while ago. I think I lost my transfer, anyway.

======


I finally got the last Vera Bradley that I bought from eeeeBBBBBaaaayyy.
It's a hanging organizer and it's tight as fuck! (pardon my language. that means realy, really well designed and nicely made) I love this thing. It's replacing my old shower bag that just had one pocket and is falling apart from being treated the way I treat stuff.

This one is in three sections that fold up, ties closed, three clear, zipper pockets inside and one not see-through zipper pocket. You know, for your 'pons and stuff.

You just unroll it and hang it on the hook and la-dee-da, away we go!

It's also apple green which is my favorite pattern right now, after chanticleer (think chicken purse).
It took almost two weeks to get here, but here it is. Good. I can use it this weekend if I go anywhere.