I <3 Kimchi's Journal

12:27pm: Animal Crossing = Genius? Cast your vote now!
The deciding factor for me was fishing:

"I caught a squid!!! I squidn't!!"
"I caught a red snapper!! Ooooh snap!"
"I caught a puffer fish!! SO beautiful, SO hurtful!"

I think America should really reconsider its foreign policy. Offer to trade Animal Crossing for WMDs and make the world a cuter place.

Did I just say that? No, I squidn't!! ::giggles::

::wets pants::

10:55am: Why it's hard to pwn and be thin and pretty at the same time...
Two weeks ago I went on this crazy diet that my insanely petite Polish mother gave me (big surprise there.) And it sort of worked, if by sort of worked, I mean I ate my weight in yogurt and spinach and only lost seven stupid retarded pounds.

Which made me start thinking that I might need to like, excercise more or something. Which I guess is fine, but not really. I run a few times a week for an hour, and that's great, but I'm not willing to make more time for excercise crap and this is why.

Some people really want to run marathons and climb mountains and swim with fish or something. But I really want to play Warcraft. A lot. I want to get Ruinate to 60 and once I get her to 60, I want to assemble a vast and massive cache of armor and weapons and raid and raid and raid...

Am I a bad/fat person because I would rather play any sort of PC, console, or DS game than work out? I think I might be, but I also don't feel bad about it because while you might be squatting and situpping, I'm brandishing my epic bow and critting for 1300. And that makes me happy.

Which is probably why we should all love and respect girls like the Frag Dolls, who can make a living playing video games while also being thin and very photogenic. Also, we should love and respect Asian female gamers, because they can somehow magically ingest everything in sight and still look waifish. Fucking Asians. If they can make low-carb bread, then why can't they figure out a way for people to get fit while they are sitting on their asses? Jeez, is that too much to ask?

12:59pm: Sucks to be you...
Itinerary: Friday, July 14, 2006

6:14 am - Be woken up by insanely cute kitten clawing my feet, then, when I kick him off the bed, climbing back on and attempting to fall asleep across my face.
6:15 am - Fall back asleep
7:25 am - Briefly regain consciousness to comment on how cute David looks as he's getting dressed for work.
7:26 am - Pass out
7:27 am - Get up. Get patted on the head by David as he leaves for work.
7:55 am to 8:23 am - Try on outfits. Finally decide on the one that makes me look most like a ninja.
9:00 am - Arrive at work.
9:01 am to 12:19 pm - Play and BEAT Trace Memory.
12:20 pm to 12:29 pm - Replay Trace Memory from save point to get the good ending.
12:30 pm - 12:45 pm Eat tuna steak salad while reading webcomics.
12:46 pm to 5:15 pm - Knit sweater.
5:16 pm - Drive home.
5:30 pm - Pack up dogs, computers, David, and possibly a bundle of broccoli. Drive to Collierville.
6:15 pm Let the WoW carnage begin...

::contented sigh::
Life is good. Damn good.

9:39am: /roar
Today is sheer magnificence:

1. Got my IRB application signed, and will submit it on my lunchbreak. My Master's Degree is so close to done!!!!!

2. I bought a DS Lite yesterday, and the man-nerds at Gamestop told me I wouldn't be able to find Phoenix Write or Trauma Center: Under the Knife, but I did, find both... on eBay... for $30. SUCK IT DOWN BITCHES!!!!

3. David and I are levelling our characters at a furious pace, and there will be some joyous Warcrafting tonight at Evan and Robin's. Just one step closer to taming my giant pretty bat.

I just can't see how a day could get ANY better.

2:22pm: What do you think of my cover letter?
Dear Joss Whedon,

I would like to preface this letter by saying that I am not judging you as person. We all make mistakes, especially those of us who are busy trying desperately to gather the funds to make Season Two of Firefly a reality. Very soon, if they know what's good for them.

The purpose of this missive is quite straightforward: to offer my services, humble as they are. But first, an anecdote to illustrate my meaning.

Today at lunch, as I was attempting to get myself comfortable on the black pleather sectional at the local smoke shop (the only place I'm safe from the judging eyes of my coworkers), the excitement of an illicit Buffy tryst made my flesh buzz with anticipation. I put on my headphones, pressed the play button, and settled in for approximately forty five minutes of unadulterated escapist bliss. I was watching the episode "Bad Girls," in which, I'm sure you will recall, Faith accidentally slays the mayor's assistant, who is very much not a vampire. I was reveling in the witty faux-teen dialogue and giggling on the inside at every quip and witticism emanating from Sarah Michelle Gellar's over-glossed lips. That is, until IT happened.

Joss, I must be honest with you. This isn't the first time this has happened. I've noticed little inconsistencies and holes all through seasons One and Two, but I could overlook those. You were just starting out. Angel hadn't gotten his teeth capped. Buffy hadn't taken acting lessons yet. But this time was different. It was too obvious, too brazen an incursion into my lunch-hour fantasy time to be tolerated. The nature of the offense is as follows: When Buffy knocks on Faith's motel room door, the camera cuts to Faith washing a shirt in her sink. Joss, Faith's lips are a natural peach, devoid of gloss. However, when Buffy enters the room and begins to talk with Faith about the ramifications of her recent human-slaying, Faith's lips are red and glossy and tarty!!!! Joss!!! It was REALLY OBVIOUS. Why? Why did you do it? All of two seconds elapsed between this MAJOR makeup change. Why didn't you film this scene in one take? Why, oh why, did you stop filming to put makeup on Eliza Dushku's pasty face and take a poop all over everything that is sacred about sci fi sitcoms? Did you think we wouldn't notice? Did you think we would just forgive you? Well, mister, not me. Not this time.

What you need, Joss, is someone to pay attention. To pay attention, that is, to something other than ensuring that David Boreanaz's chest is not only sculpted and porcelain, but also baby-smooth. What you need is a continuity editor. Joss, what you need is me. Please, your fans deserve a disruption-free Buffy experience.

If you have any humanity left in your Hollywood-glutted soul, you will respond to this letter. You will step up and treat Buffy with the respect such a genius work of art commands. Do the right, Joss. Contact me today.

Sincerely,

Monika Smyczek

P.S. If you don't think you have room on your payroll for a Buffy proofreader, please consider hiring me as an unpaid intern, preferably on David Boreanaz's body-waxing team. Thank you in advance.

10:21am: Neil Postman's "Amusing Ourselves to Death"
I finally read this book. At work, of course. It was published in 1985, but surprisingly, describes our current situation with remarkable accuracy.

The book is divided into two parts. In typical academic fashion, the first part focuses on what can loosely be called Postman's methodology. That is, it's a description of the influences and lenses the author uses to analyze the problem of television turning all our social and political discourses into entertainment. In this part lie the majority of the book's flaws. Some of Postman's logic (specifically, his view on the Lincoln/Douglas debates) reeks of rotten fish, especially when he prefaces his claims with words like "obviously." However, his tracing of the shift from the Age of Typography to the Age of Show Business is overall extremely interesting, and to a fairly uninformed reader such as myself, persuasive and acute.

Part II is where the paranoid whiste-blowing happens, which I'm forever a sucker for. As I mentioned earlier, Postman's analysis is remarkable accurate, even though I'm reading it twenty years after it was intended to be read. We really are awash in a sea of triviality, and there is no need for overt, ham-handed censorship. We as a population make ourselves dumb. Could Postman have predicted the reality TV onslaught? The endless parade of magazines, tabloids, and entire television channels engaged in celebrity idol worship? Britney vs. Justin. Paris, Nicole, Brangelina... ::vomits violently:: LINDSEY LOHAN. According to Postman, it's every malevolent dictator's wet dream.

Postman also provided some possible insight into why I have so much trouble making friends. I will no longer attribute my awkward social behavior and permascowl every time I leave my house to being better than everyone else... I now have a new vocabulary. That is, spending so much time indoors and alone with my books as a child instilled in the me the values and cognitive mechanisms of the Age of Typography. On the rare occassions when I leave my apartment to interact with people firmly rooted in the Age of Show Business, I get all sweaty and nervous and mad. Or something. Who knows.

Read the book. It's short.

10:20am: Dengue Fever.
The mind-numbing lull at work has prompted me to take a more active interest in my interests... It has also left me with lots of free time during which to enjoy bands like Dengue Fever.

I love this band. I love this CD. They even have a myspace page, but it's not so user-friendly. It's OK. They can contact me for usability testing.

They are a bunch of non-Cambodian guys and a Cambodian woman singer who play Cambodian pop music, which actually sounds like American surf/psychadelic music, except, well, from Cambodia. The thing I like best... second best, right after Chhom Nimol's nasally Khmer singing... is the raunchy saxophone playing that I thought you could only find in old, "retro" stag movies.

I highly recommend ordering this. I would offer to burn you a copy, but you should pay money for it. If you don't want to pay a lot, order from here: https://www.ear-rational.com/index.php

11:02am: Congratulations.
I now have a new job. No longer am I a temp receptionist. Oh no. I've moved up the ladder.

Give a shoutout to Archer Malmo's new proofreader.

9:23am: Seeking Explanation.
Those of us who work in office settings know the staple of a business casual wardrobe is what? The structured button-down shirt. Usually, it comes in a tantalizing array of colors, ranging from white to light blue (sometimes pinstripe!!!!) and materials from cotton to a nice poly lend. For all its versatility, however, it has one unforgivable flaw: the booby button gap.

Let's rewind to last October, when I was getting fitted for a bridesmaid dress. According to most size charts, I have the breast size of a Size 6 woman. This is laughable because I am a nice, meaty, robust Size 10. Following this logic, the case should be that shirts that fit me should be loose in the bust area, not tight. Definitely not so tight that there is a gap in the booby area. But lo! I put on this incredibly cute rasberry blouse with white polka dots and it is flowy and loose, but it GAPS IN THE BOOBS. What the fuck?

I would probably be a feminist if this were on some group's agenda. Really. I'm so sick of button-down shirts gapping in the boob area, no matter how loose they are in other places. And I have a small bust!! I can only imagine what women who are C and D cups experience. I thought big breasts were good... I thought they were desirable. Why the hell don't they make shirts to accomodate them???

3:13pm: All Good Things Come on Toilet Seats.
In the vein of recent writings, I will take this time and space to make scathing comments about my workplace.

We have a "community room" which we lend out to various non-profit organizations in Memphis. Today, we sponsored an event for the city of Memphis. That's right. I would like to see their 501(c)3.

So, these people park in our lot and look pissed off because they were here at 7:30 even though we told them we opened at 8:30 and nobody was there to let them into the building. Then, they complain about how cold it is, even though they've left the emergency exit door wide open and the cold air outside is blowing into their meeting room.

The absolute worst thing about these people is the presents they leave on our usually pristine toilets. I have never used public toilets as clean as these, and it delights my heart every time I have to potty at work that I can do it in a stall that smells as fresh as a wood nymphs underarm.

But not today. Oh no. Apparently, the city of Memphis only uses toilets that are covered in pubic hair and big fat drops of neon yellow urine. Oh yes. This is how these people defile the purity of my potty sanctuary. This is how they repay us for letting them use our room free of charge. They drip and shed all over our beautiful bathrooms and don't even clean it up.

Next time you are getting ready to pay a parking ticket or even your taxes, just remember where your money is going...

6:13pm: Random love notes.
So many reasons to love David. Here's another one:

I cry at movies. Recently, I received "The Land Before Time" from Netflix, so I forced David and a friend to watch it with me. Rather, they happened to be in the apartment while I was completely engrossed in a fantasy land of really cute and wuzzly dinosaurs. I started telling David about how when I was little, I had a Littlefoot doll, and I loved him so much. I kept him for many years. He had this oatmeal stain on his butt that I never washed out because it made him unique (and a health hazard, I'm sure). And then I cried hysterically at the movie. End of story.

But it's not really. Guess what came in the mail today. A package for David that was uncharacteristically light (he usually orders buttloads of CDs.) I didn't open it, because, well, it's his. When he got home, I asked him what was in the package, and he told me to open it. There, inside the box, was a fresh, sweet-laundry-smelling, wrapped-in-trash-bag Littlefoot doll! I cried again.

Why this man is so wonderful, I can only guess. No one else on this planet nurtures my mania like David. All hail.

1:08pm: Desperate cry for help.
Dear people:

I have just inherited a DVD/VCR combo thing from Jennifer. I am trying to hook it up to the TV I inherited from her a few years ago. Ok, so, the TV has a Coax connection, and then up front, has a headphones hole, a white hole, and a yellow hole (for those white and yellow cable things). The DVD/VCR thing has SO many hookup holes. First, it's got three in the front, for the white, red and yellow cable thing. Then, it's got more in the back... On one side, it says DVD only, then on the other side, it says DVD/VCR. I have tried all combinations, but it's not working. Any advice? It's really important, because I just got my new DVD from Netflix, and it's "Circle of Friends," and that movie makes me cry, and I haven't watched a Romantic Comedy/Dramedy for a week or two now and I just don't feel right. Thanks.

2:49am: Meet Mr. Grumbles.
While knitting my little shrug thing tonight, I started thinking how swank it would be to write a children's book. Most of my pipe dreams are born in the long minutes when I'm in bed before I fall asleep, but now it seems that knitting induces this twilight state... so ideas come! In any case, my book is going to be awesome. It's got a Polish protagonist, which I'm sure is going to elicit an advertising campaign full of sausage and the obligatory racist jokes that only stupid stupid people laugh at because GUESS WHAT immigrants come here to steal the jobs of stupid dumbasses AND WE'RE SUCCEEDING MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

... and the little girl's sidekick/best friend/nemesis is this little grey shi tzu with an underbite (hmmm, I wonder who the inspiration for that was?) named Mr. Grumbles. I sort of stopped thinking after that, because I became obsessed with Mr. Grumbles, and how cute it would be to actually have a dog that looked like him in real life, and how I would probably drop out of school just to take lots of pictures of him and then later make a calendar and then later make shittons of money and go on Oprah because I took pictures of my dog posing in silly little outfits.

So, in summation, everyone should knit because it will cause you to give much thought to things that probably shouldn't be thought about at length. In any case, if anyone wants to illustrate my book about a little Polish girl and her Mr. Grumbles, you should tell me now because I can only draw stick people. And also trees, but only trees without leaves.

4:48pm: I've got the Captain in me.
I spent the stroke of midnight in a subway station, all underground and watching these two guys peeing off the side of the platform. It was really gross and reminds me how much I dislike urine.

I got to hang out with some really super people, but then some of them got REALLY sick too early on in the night. I think I only drank water after 1 am, and that's probably a good thing because I was exhausted. That's enough barhopping now.

Uncle Joe's attracts some really strange people. There was this one guy who kept screaming and telling everybody he was Croatian and Italian, and then repeated this little rhyme to everybody:

"There's no better sensation in the nation than penetration by a Croatian."

Peppered between these drunken outburts, he started calling me the White Beyonce and telling me how he was really Puerto Rican. The question nagging my mind was, how come I have to spend post-midnight with this guy instead of cuddling my sweetie? It's simply not fair. This is exactly the reason why the world needs to invent teleporters.

So, only two more days until the David. Woo!

2:31am: Diners are the key to Jersey's success.
So, my two weeks in Jersey have been spectacular so far. It's been one big giant Hudson school reunion. It's pretty odd, but it's nice to see that people are doing well for themselves. So many Hudson graduates aren't.

In any case, I feel like I have been superproductive. I've gone to many bars and haven't read a page. I composed this extensive reading list before I left and still haven't finished "Arch of Triumph," and I started that right after Thanksgiving. Oh well.

Also, Xiu Xiu has been throwing up ALL OVER THE PLACE. It's the most disgusting thing ever, and at this point, I miss Gato's little kitty pukes. I would take them any day over the shi tzu's gooey brown lovepuddles. I have no clue what's making her sick, but she seems to really be happy once she's done it, and she tries to climb onto my lap with her little chin all dripping with brown awfulness. When she does that, she is probably the most disgusting thing I've ever come into contact with. But my mom won't let me put her to sleep.

The only thing that would make this trip better is if my sweet sweet love dumpling would get his butt up here. Hope everyone in Memphis is having a good end of the year.

4:31am: jet lagging.
back from greece. cold, uneventful, breathtaking ruins, lots of gay men. lots of attractive people in general. bought some nice presents for friends.

i saw the palace at Knossos, on Crete, where the Minoan civilization thrived. the most gorgeous thing was this fresco of bull-leapers. they had all these beautiful frescoes all over their palace. totally tattoo worthy. i like the graceful arch of the bulls horn, which was probably painted gold. i don't think i would ever be a bull leaper though. too scared, and horns are just too phallic.

i can't find my boyfriend, though. he seems to have disappeared. that's no good. i bought his this really great alcohol called raki. it's ouzo without the anise, and it's very much like vodka/sake. wonderful and great buzz. i thought he would like it. one night, he and i drank an entire bottle of sake while playing board games.

oh, and some news. i got hired on by this professor to finish this project i'm doing for a pediatric cardiologist. and it pays. quite a bit. hoo-ray is what i say.

1:57am: Quick Monika Bytes.
I lost 8.6 pounds so far. Which leaves 31.4 to go until I get my new car. Oh my god. You guys realize if I lose 40 pounds I might turn into a mega-whore, wearing mini skirts in the middle of winter and stuff. I'm probably going to lose my personality and get a boob job, but that's still at least a few months away...

I am back in school, going for MAs in Technical Writing and Literature (big surprise... I can't stay away from the useless degrees. Education is like crack!) I love doing homework. A lot.

I'm going to be a substitute teacher.

I turned 22.

I actually found a lady who owns a store called the "Pierogi Palace" and emailed her asking advice on how I can open my own pierogi-only restaurant. I can't believe I'm actually putting effort into opening my own business, because as soon as I go to apply for any sort of loan, I will get laughed at and crushed.

Diet Grape soda is a godsend. That's all for now.

8:57pm: August 15. Where did this year go?
This question has been consuming my thoughts of late. All of a sudden, time seems to be my enemy. It's flying by so quickly and it's mocking me. What have I done with myself for these six months? Nothing. I have done absolutely nothing, and I haven't done nothing since I was about three years old. It's maddening/relaxing. I woke up this morning, walked the dogs, and realized how much responsibility I have managed to accrue. I think I'm beginning to hate it. I don't know when I turned into a poor version of Martha Stewart, but I don't like it. This is my life now, after Danny's death, and I feel like I'm wasting it. I thought for sure him dying would teach me some profound lesson, which, once distilled, would read something hackneyed like Carpe Diem. And so I feel like it should, but it's not. Even my fingertips are torpid, and I didn't imagine seizing the day to look anything like this. I suppose it's a blessing that I'm snapping out of it, but I'm also looking behind me and wondering if all I have to my name is a long wake of mistakes that can't possibly be undone. And time just keeps skipping merrily along, and it won't stop, not even for a second so I can collect my thoughts and decide what the fuck I should be doing. I'm just getting older and older and have nothing to show for it. I'm alive and living, and maybe that's the only thing I should have to show for it, but it's somehow not enough and I don't know what to do. I don't know if I should live for now, live in the moment, do what makes me happy now, or if I should be working toward some grander goal, something that takes time and effort. I don't know if I should be building something because I might die before I accomplish it and then it will all just be wasted time. I have no clue at this point, but my eyes are stubbornly opening and they won't let me sleep.

9:43pm: I've got cute hair but nobody here to see it.
This is probably the first time I've been online in months. It's a wonderful, slightly hedonistic feeling I'm having now, like I'm treating myself to some decadent delicacy and have to keep it a secret. Shhh. Don't tell anybody I've been living in the stone age for the past few months.

I quit my crappy foodservice job. Good. I found a new, slightly better paying, air conditioned job conducive to the wearing of cute outfits. Very Good. I feel like things are going stupendously, but then, a crackhead broke into my car and stole about 2/3 of my CDs. God, sometimes life just isn't fair. I think I really pissed David off when I got upset about it, but to me, they aren't just "things." I go without food to buy cds... I love and polish them... I just never thought anyone would fucking dive through my driver side window and swipe them. Especially without the jewel cases. It's just such a waste. The crackhead won't be able to sell them for anything, so they are just gone, lonely and abused somewhere in downtown Memphis. Poor babies. He even left his vile wino smell in my seats.

3:11pm: Updating very pointlessly:

There is poop scattered all over Xiu Xiu's cage. I don't know how it got there, but I have a feeling I am going to be the one cleaning it up.

Still haven't found a job, and things are looking very grim on that front. I got a "promotion" at work because the other manager was ripping the store off for thousands of dollars, so now i get to work long long shifts many days in a row, with no air conditioning.

I'm on this new diet called poverty. It really works! This is the best part of being absolutely broke. I've lost about five pounds so far, because all I eat is a cheeseburger from work every day. Hahahahaha. I'm just trying to find the silver lining here.

I'm still looking for a place to live, and my dogs are really being a nuisance now, since most places won't rent to me because of them. I don't think it really helped when XiuXiu took a poop on the floor of an apartment I was looking at, either. I guess it's another summer at the Gilmore.

Shh. Don't tell anybody, but I am really really starting to like Sci Fi.

7:00pm: Denouement.
No dice on the job. Didn't get it. Then, my mom stopped talking to me. Then, got into big fights with David where ugly ugly things were said.

But now, there is this huge enormously scintillating future ahead of me that I'd like to talk about some more. I whine way too much on this journal, and I appreciate everyone putting up with it. First of all, I applied for a job at the library, which fills my loins with this deliciously naughty sensation. Like, all the those centerfolds who pose as "Sexy Librarians" or whatnot. That could be me! Somewhat me. Every time I get to feeling really old and worn out, I learn new things. Life is like one of those tinkering toys, and I never have it figured out when I think I do, but that ultimately makes me very happy. I am almost done filling out financial aid paperwork, and the thought of going back to school makes me quiver with rapture. Ah, the pleasure of burying myself beneath stacks of obscure texts and writing brilliant theses that nobody except perhaps my classmates and my professor will read. It is my idea of paradise. I think a lot of my unhappiness comes from suppressing all my goals and whatnot in favor of keeping my relationship with David going. It's much harder to actually pursue my dreams and keep a love affair afloat. But it's the right thing to do, I think, for myself. There has been too much sacrificing going on, and it just leads to more fights and me feeling like a total horse's ass. So, in the wake of disappointing events, good things happen.

To all the Memphis people, I miss you guys, and feel like we haven't hung out in forever. I know you're all busy with jobs and moving and whatnot, but what say you to a nice rooftop Gilmore party?

10:40am: Interview bliss.
WOW!

I'm so happy! I just got back from my interview, and I feel so wonderful and validated... They didn't reject me! First of all, Wiley is like this giant feminist corporation, almost everyone who works there is female, and they don't wear makeup! It's so super! I loved it. They were so nice to me, the three editors, and they just sat in the interview room going over my resume and saying how impressive my background was. Get that! I didn't even know I had a "background" let alone an impressive one. I was so shocked by this positive impression I gave them. One of the women was Spanish, and she was all into the fact that I was fluent, and it ruled. It all ruled so hard. My mom pinned this lucky broch onto my shirt. She wore it all through medical school for every exam. It was given to her by her uncle, Uncle Priest, as he was called by our family. My head is reeling. I had no idea I had this much confidence in myself, and it feels great not feeling like a schmuck. I could get used to this. I don't know what my chances are of actually getting this job, but this interview really helped get me pumped up for the next round of resumes I will submit, and hopefully, I made some nice contacts that I can capitalize on later. By the way, I looked really sexy, too. The best part was my Young Republican hair.

11:15pm: Wisdom teeth.
I pray the oral surgery gods take pity on me and grant me an emergency visit after my interview tomorrow. I will be forever thankful. Tonight, there are a lot of bugs out. They are flitting across my monitor as I write this, and the bugs make me think of dead friend Danny. Sometimes, I succeed in almost forgetting he ever existed, and others, I am acutely aware of his absence. Nothing interesting has happened to me, really, but I can quickly recite a list of things that I'm burning to tell him. Small, insignificant details that I know he would have appreciated. I don't get where they go. It's almost like being constipated. I guess. Perhaps. Maybe not. Sorry, Danny, to liken your absence to constipation. I think he'd forgive me, though.

10:36pm: Porn.
I just found my boyfriend's porn. It all started out harmlessly enough. I was looking for some video files on his laptop, since that's where a lot of my anime lives, when I found a vast store of unpleasantly surprising stuff. I feel absolutely awful. I know it's normal, and that "everybody does it" but I can't help but be upset. A thing like this, most people can brush off and accept. I used to watch tons of porn before I started dating him. All the time. It was funny. But now, finding this so unexpectedly, translates into so many things for me. For instance, none of these women look remotely like me. I know that may be a silly thing to notice, since who really wants to jerk off to chubby brunettes with glasses, but that's exactly my point. My boyfriend doesn't like to. And he's my boyfriend. It's something I really didn't want spelled out for me, you know? I don't get it. I don't understand why it's different than cheating. It's not with me, you know? I am the poster girl for insecurity, but at the same time, I think I am voicing right now what a lot of people feel when they are confronted with a similar situation. At the very basest level, I am not enough for him. Was I supposed to know this all along? Was I supposed to be born with the innate knowledge that porn is ok, that it doesn't mean anything, that it's all in good fun? I don't know why I don't agree with all that all of a sudden. I feel like a prude. Like an extremely unnattractive prude. I really want to be somebody's erotic fantasy, I guess. I want to be somebody's perfect 10, somebody's ultimate. I don't want dating me to be tolerable as long as it is supplemented with images of lanky blond women performing lewd acts within the context of some contrived scenario. I wanted to think he was different, that his aesthetic tastes were different, but goddamit they aren't. He likes what 99.9% of American men like, and I hate that. Because I'm not that. So this is going to go on for the rest of my life, and probably in every single relationship I have, until we're old and become swingers. We watch all these visual stimulii and reenact them in our bedroom, trying to pump and thrust the passion and youth into a shriveled shell of a romance. Everything is downhill once you need aids to spice things up, to keep things exciting, because it boils down to being bored. When he comes home, I will have to pretend I didn't see it, and that everything is fine, that when we have sex, that's enough for him. The sad part is, even if I nipped and tucked my body to perfection, I still wouldn't be enough. At this point, I question my own sanity, and my ability to be in any relationship. I don't if these are normal thoughts, and I don't know how to make them go away. Acceptance is most likely the best way, just get over it. But I know I can't do it, because I'm not that kind of girl. I just want to be told I'm beautiful, is all, that I'm just as beautiful and alluring and erotic as that woman getting penetrated by her boss on her lunch break. Really, I don't think I was made for this kind of stuff. This makes me want to go to church.

2:32pm: The 80s got me a job. Sort of.
So, today was interview day. Yesterday, I went shopping for the perfect outfit, which of course, I didn't end up getting. Instead, I wore this pretty flouncy skirt with a nice black top (that exposed the cleavage I don't have) and a WHITE BLAZER. OH GOD. How very 80s chic. But it looked cute. I am not used to myself wearing these businessy clothes, and it made me feel fidgety and sweaty, because blazers and super hot weather don't always mix. But anyway. The HR lady really seemed to want to me to work at Wiley, which made me feel safe and wanted, like I was in the womb. She made me do a letter writing exercise, where I had to write a hypothetical letter to a man whose manuscript was missing two chapters. I felt like typing, Hey FUCKO, send us your fucking chapters or else we will shit on your grandmom's grave.... but then I thought, these people don't have that great a sense of humor, so I just did like I was supposed to. I get really nervous. It sucks. I stutter and tell inappropriate jokes... but this time, I didn't do that. I am rambling now. Ok, point is, I think I really want this job. They want me back for a second interview in two weeks... WOO HOO!!!! This time I really will wear the perfect outfit, because I'm meeting the three development editors, who will all be my bosses. Yay! (I hope they love me.)