Last week I was going to get a perm

but I couldn't decide if I wanted to go to my trusty stylist who doesn't think its a good idea but wanted to "experiment", or the elderly urban stylist in midtown who does them everyday. While I was accessing the merits of the two, I bought a house.

I didn't plan to. I mean I was taking the number one form of advice, that being- take your time. I was in no hurry. Just looking. Enrolled at the end of the month in a first time buyers program. All the good painful slow stuff. Then there it was: a 10 point beauty.

Second major piece of advice was to get a handy person (guy) to go to my inspection with me. I don't know handy people. Along with hiring an inspector, you should have the option to hire an "objective handy advisor".

Thats all until then. Lets hope if the roof caves in, I incur minor damages enough to afford my closing costs, and thats it.

google goggles

Yesterdays email included about four exchanges regarding rocknroll communiy yoga at Midt0wn. Don't get me started. By the days end, I noticed my google headline ticker offered an ad for:
"Authentic yoga wear - www.shareyoga.com - Inspire your practice with unique, q...".

I refreshed the page a few times, and another about yoga mat discounts, then another one about lucy's yoga. Then one about Warrantys, which had been another exchange I had. I was tempted to start dialogues about some really obscure topics to test it. Ultimately, it doesn't feel like someone is reading my mail. It does seem like there is some code that reads like, "where dumbass types x, run x ad". I don't really care about that. Should I?

Alabaster crashes d0wn (s1x months is a long time?)

Not since my beloved ford e$$cort, have I really cruised listening to the Smiths. I had it banned from my ears as bad pathetic self-loathing break-up music for my 90s. but the ban has been lifted, and I find quite coincidentally, that I am travelling along the same Rolling Road(it never changes) thinking the same things as I once did 8 years ago when I hear words about a heartless hand on my shoulder.

My first boyfriend was O-B-sessed with the band and introduced me to the music--making my first ever "jimmy tape". He painstakingly pulled nearly all of "l0uder than bombs" with some smatterings of his special faves. His tape-recording craft was impecable. Only one song was cut off, and later I would attribute special soar heart-felt meaning to it. When I hear the song now I anticipate the cut off and stopping sound of what I know to be the end, but now it keeps going. I guess I could make some sort of anecdote for that. The song was "Let the right one in".

He also began a very frustrating habit of reciting certain lyrics, just in fascination and identifcation. I would scramble to uncover their meanings as if it was a code. hmmm..."nature is a language can't you read". thats gotta mean something.

I guess when you are 20 you assign everything a meaning thats why love hurts like a big bitchy morrissey. I really think we could have conducted our whole break-up in Smith lyrics alone. I wish we would have. Thats the way a first romance should be. bitter and melodramatic.

king konky dory

so I love my new job. I am afraid to say it, but I do. I have made habits of looking on the bright side too much. Like that whole bit about hearing my footsteps stuff...well its because I am wearing dress shoes I figured out. When I am home I am slumming it in my $15 converse bobos. soundless. the way mother nature intended us to be when we walk for survival in the woods and jungles. heeless. Clacking around every hallway is going to get me hunted down. or maybe I have too much King Kong on the brain.

The other thing that I am being ms. brightside about is the trek out of the city. Its a great way to let the bags slowly shake out from under my eyes when I am driving to work. AND, it allows me to be reminded of how beautiful the city is on my way back in. what is it thats making me so shit-eating grin happy or however they say? I'm worried.

first week impressions

So all my first day mania of different impressions have began to die down. I am slowly becoming acquainted to my new job description and environs. My misleadingly large (and temporary until new space cube) office had me whirling as to what I was exactly supposed to do in there. The only books on the shelves were a really old edition of Elements of Writing Style and Design in the Electronic Age with a clip art illustration of some Rennaissance peeps working on a desktop computer.

One thing that continues to bother me is the commute out of the city. I have always felt compelled to work close-by. I mean its the city right? brimming with activity and industry thats why I chose to live here. So for now I will have to focus on the quiet retreat it lends. When I walk outside I can hear my footsteps. Here, between the Young Unwed Mothers Agressive Debate Club late everynight and the firehouse up the street, my mind is swimming with my own thoughts and the sounds of trouble all around me. Those moments at work even just walking to the cafeteria where my pace is the only metronome for my thoughts for what feels like a good mile away. Pretty nice.

I've also had a 75% cutback on obsessive financial hysteria. What an interrupting cow to my thoughts that was! This is just the first week--when I am sitting home on a paid holiday, I am sure I will have a lot more things to say about Senor 9-5.

first day on the jarb you find:

While heading to Panera bread in the backseat of my new coworkers car, surrounded by countless Simply Red cds, I heard the song on the radio that couldn't have acted on me more in an 80's y6acht rock sense.

I must have relayed 20 times today to all the nice people who asked about my first day-- routine is the key to all my comments. My previous routine was chaos, the consistent routine of drama. now 8 am and conversations about weight watchers. the only conversations I had before were on im about photos, flickr, css, or the occassional ball $having debate.

I am looking forward to sleep right now. Thats what I will think about tomorrow should I have another Bruce Hornsby moment, or even just a memory of that keyboard flourish.

last rituals

Today I had an amalgamation of all my freelance day activities-- Playstation, flickr, elimidate, guitar, and dishwashing. To switch it up, I decided to take a drive even though it was crappy out. It reminded me of an article in Harpers about prison inmates last meals. Heres a sample. dramatic comparision, I know. I am arbitrarily whiny about my great new job, but mostly cause I can't pinpoint whatso upsetting bout it. ps. I had the catfish with lemon risotto and some gingersnaps and a tylenol p.m.