I doth protest
Today, the KCRW traffic reporter said, "and there are some protesters that are, uh, protesting something."

I've been boycotting our local NPR station, KPBS, because not only are they on their THIRD FREAKING WEEK of a membership drive, but I noticed earlier this week that they were membership driving over special All Things Considered daily vignettes commemorating Nelson Mandela. And membership driving over Bob Edwards! He's leaving Morning Edition! And I didn't find out until today when Ted Koppel wished him all the best and hoped he'd enjoy not waking up at 4am! And also: THREE FREAKING WEEKS!

So some truck drivers decided to stop their trucks in the 405 traffic lanes this morning, bringing people's morning commutes to a grinding, protesty stop. Even if they were protesting to Give Five Million Dollars To Julia!, I'm don't think I could have got on board with them had I been trying to get to work on time in Los Angeles this morning.

Most protesters totally give protesting a bad name. I don't even mean the calibre of eco-terrorist type protesters. I just mean the lame people that perpetuate the commonly held view that protesters really have no idea. People do simplistic chants, scream, dance, etc., and otherwise weaken their rational, well-thought-out cause. I really know they mean well, but I can't help but put myself in the other side's shoes for a moment and realize that nobody is taking the protest seriously.

A wonderful friend of mine, rebecca, was telling me about her church's participation in the Women's March in Washington last weekend. I was so moved by her account of the UUA (Unitarian Universalist) leader's pep talk. He asked them, regarding women's reproductive rights, (paraphrase) "to march as people of faith, since we need stand up and to take this issue (and the word of God) back from the religious fundementalists." Faithful, passionate, thoughtful, and beautiful.

This I can get behind. I can put myself in the other side's shoes for a moment but not feel embarassed for the protesters. I can imagine them feeling provoked and perhaps a little threatened - a decent goal for a protest.

But using your truck to STOP TRAFFIC? In LA rush hour? Not exactly faithful, passionate, thoughtful, and beautiful, is it?

idiosyncrasy
Sure, there's the whole urban sprawl thing -- the sea of matching red tile roofs/rooves and silver SUVs and matching blonde mothers driving the gap-clad children to soccer practices or McDonalds or the nearest grocery store, all of which involve freeway driving -- but the one thing I hate the most about living in a new suburb is the GODDAMN SPRINGY COIL STOPPER THING AT THE BOTTOM OF THE BATHROOM DOOR.

house is where the heart is
Dear person looking at this site from the house.gov server,
My husband thinks that the government is monitoring me, and I'm on the fast track for deportation.

I'm pretty sure it's just my sweet political insider friend (hi!), but still, he has a point.

My green card only has a little sticker saying the August 2003 expiration date has been extended for another year. And it's still in my maiden name - you know, someone who doesn't exist anymore.

So, if anybody is "listening," I'm cool. USA is A-okay! Buy American! Can I? I'm Amer-I-Can! What's sick is women dressin' like men!

thousandfold
i had a really rough time yesterday afternoon. i shut down while erik and i were making dinner, as i tried to ask him questions about what he wanted to cook. he wasn't answering. that's mostly just his thing. he thinks before he speaks, and sometimes this translates into thinking instead of speaking. obviously, if you know me, you know that's far from my thing. i do all the talking in our family.

regardless, yesterday i wasn't going to have any of this thinking vs. talking business. i told him that it makes me feel like what i say is stupid and insignificant when he doesn't answer my questions. and that it makes me feel like less of a person. i sat in the dark dining room while erik finished making dinner. when he came through and turned the light on for me, i went down into the darker living room and lied down on the couch. if i hadn't been so hungry, i would have just went upstairs and climbed into bed. sleeping would be easier than living right now, i thought to myself.

we ate dinner quickly, mostly in silence. i told erik that i felt like i was depressed because wanting to sleep when you're not tired just so you can avoid being awake isn't normal. i went back downstairs to the couch and stupidly started trying to figure out what was really wrong, because somebody not answering a "do you want to stir some peas in with the couscous?" question totally shouldn't make me feel like this. i started doing inventory of what sucked. erik's joblessness. me being tied to a job because the salary is survivable for two people paying a super cheap sort-of-rent payment. not feeling like i do anything meaningful. living in a place like san diego where we're shunned to the suburbs with non-like-minded people because there's no way we can live anywhere remotely metropolitan. and the wax-lady telling me, "your belly is so hard!" and then after noting how huge it was, she asked, "are you sure you're not pregnant?" yes, lady, i'm sure. i just have a giant, hard belly.

erik sat with me on the couch and told me that he's sorry that he makes me so sad. this wasn't so much salt in any sort of wound, it was more like mixing sugar in rotten milk. i cried with him for a good long while and told him what was bothering me as best as i could, and he told me that he would get a job cleaning toilets for me, if only he could. he doesn't have any experience cleaning toilets. so my Feeling Sorry For Myself bout had turned into Let's Make Erik Feel Sorry For Himself Too. sadness while in love is inherently shared by everyone involved, but i still couldn't help but feel lousy for turning it around on sweet erik. it's confusing for us both. why isn't enough to love each other as much as we do? why is one (or both) of us still not completely happy? i caught myself thinking that sure, i wouldn't have some of these problems if i wasn't married to erik. but i would rather take these problems a thousandfold than live a life without him.

i know i need to see a therapist or something to help me work through this, but it seems so ridiculous when 75% of the time i'm totally happy! it's like when you make an appointment to go to the dermatologist for bad skin, and the day you go you have the clearest, glowing skin in the world. the doctor basically chides you for wasting her time and tells you to get over yourself. or when your car's X is doing Y, and that doesn't sound too good, so you have your dad take a spin in it to see what's wrong. inevitably, the X doesn't Y for your dad and he sends you home and tells you to stop being paranoid. on the drive home, the X starts Y-ing again and you glance in the rear view mirror only to notice a little red zit forming on your forehead.

16 hours in San Diego
boys and guinness. "Dublin Square," downtown/gaslamp district


Hyatt Regencia on the harbor. formerly amazing views from the top, where i try to take all visitors and first dates. it's now almost completely closed off unless you're a "client" of the bar upstairs. or, unless you walk around pretending like you're looking for your friends and/or a table.


three tracks. fun with heels.


it's dimly lit, but this is the walk heading back towards the gaslamp quarter from the harbor/convention center area. Julia's Dream Home, the "city front terrace" high rise, is right along this path.


and now it's saturday at the California State Parks Foundation's earth day work projects. we picked trash along Torrey Pines State Beach. if you're ever going to pick up trash, i highly recommend a) doing it at a beautiful shoreline, and b) doing it on one of the most beautiful days ever.


after the clean-up, we only had a few hours left before our lovely out-of-towner went home to Mississippi, so off to Balboa Park we went. here you have the Natural History Museum. obviously.


children, playing! fountains, founting! Reuben H. Fleet Science Center, sciencing!


erik, or e-rock, as i've taken to calling him.


many of the buildings in the park were built for the 1916 Panama Exposition, to celebrate the first fleet to go through the canal's first american port. it was quite an ordeal, involving building this entire park, bridges, bringing in WATER for a RIVER beneath the bridges, etc. despite all that, it's very very impressive, and apparently, the exposition was a lovely bash. they built the exposition buildings in homage of old(er) spanish architecture.




did you know that San Diego's sister city is Yokohama? and that the two cities have a theme song? i didn't. erik, however, has known this whole time. freaking information-hog. this book/plaque/thing is located at the Japanese Friendship Garden area of Balboa Park, right by the yummy Tea Pavillion where we shared sushi and nondescript packaged japanese treats.


and finally, the botanical gardens. it's one of those places that, everytime you walk by, it just demands a landscape-oriented photograph. i must have dozens of this same picture. and i always say, "next time, i'll break the mold. i'll do some funky framing."


the end. there'll be another installment of this tomorrow.

nuggets

i heart gmail. yes, we're all talking about it, i know. but i still heart it.

i do not, however, heart the new blogger layout. it's less inspiring. it looks like the mac format. this could be a really good excuse for why i didn't write anything yesterday, but i'm not really one to displace blame.

however, the dog totally ate my post yesterday. or, my printer acted up. or, i promise, professor, that i wrote the paper! my computer crashed and i hadn't saved a back up!

perhaps one of the biggest surprises of the year is that i'm drinking PLAIN lattes. turns out that vanilla lattes aren't really that much tastier. here's to an extra 50 cents in my pocket each day!

i'm resolving to carry around the digital camera and document as much of my life as i can without coming off as a total poser. and don't worry, i'm not going to start with boring photo essays. "and here's my favorite aisle in trader joes! and here's where i park my car at work! and here's the inside of my fridge!"

actually, i think the inside of a fridge is a really telling indicator of personality, health, habits, cleanliness, and milk-type. maybe i'll post that. i like non-fat or 1%, by the way. or oat milk. someday i'll find a coffeeshop that serves oat milk lattes...

i've been attending a month-or-so-long study on human sexuality through the lutheran-episcopal campus center at SDSU. last night, in our little group, i was sharing a bible with my fabulous friend brian, who is actually a recent convert to conservatism. someone was reading from another version, and when they read sentences like "so that we may know him," our bible had the word "carnally" at the end in italics. now, in the bible, italics don't necessary mean stress or emphasis. it's more of a "this word may or may not really belong here; look below for other options" sort of thing. but i couldn't help looking at brian with a psycho look in my eyes and saying "CARNALLY" in italics. the first step to understanding the human sexuality debate is to engage in a mature dialogue, you know.

i'm secretly considering capitalizing my sentences in the future. would i alienate you all? i love the look of all lowercase sentences. the letters are so round, so lovely, and the sentences are so symmetrical. capital letters are so harsh and hideous. i'm against them all. except W, Y, U, I, O, P, K, X, V, S and Z. and sort of M.

my lettuce is growing into cute little sprouts! i'll try to take pictures this weekend. the potted vegetable garden looks so lovely so far. i have bamboo stick teepees to trellis the tomatoes and squash, and lovely glazed earthtone pots. i'm attempting to grow tomatoes without scary tomato food or "fish emulsion." i just used soil rich with compost, so hopefully that will cut it. but really, fish? emulsion? sick. do i have to be concerned about the tomatoes i eat in restaurants?

everybody buy Elbow's new CD, "Cast of Thousands," and list to number 5, "Switching Off." repeat. then you'll feel like me for the last TWO WEEKS. i'm not really sure what the rest of the CD sounds like yet. also, it's like homework. there'll be a post about this song later.

i got an email from matt grace with bullet HTML tags at the start of each paragraph. it doesn't get much better than that.

strength
my favorite part from Edwidge Danticat's "Breath, Eyes, Memory."

We left the next day to return to Croix-des-Rosets. Tante Atie had to go back to work. Besides, my grandmother said that it was best that we leave before she got too used to us and suffered a sudden attack of chagrin.

To my grandmother, chagrin was a genuine physical disease. Like a hurt leg or a broken arm. To treat chagrin, you drank tea from leaves that only my grandmother and other old wise women could recognize.

We each gave my grandmother two kisses as she urged us to go before she kept us for good.

"Can one really die of chagrin?" I asked Tante Atie in the van on the way back.

She said it was not a sudden illness, but something that could kill you slowly, taking a small piece of you every day until it finally takes all of you away.

"How can we keep it from happening to us?" I asked.

"We don't choose it," she said, "it chooses us. A horse has four legs, but it can fall anyway."

She told me about a group of people in Guinea who carry the sky on their back. They are the people of Creation. Strong, tall, and mighty people who can bear anything. Their Maker, she said, gives them the sky to carry because they are strong. These people do not know who they are, but if you see a lot of trouble in your life, it is because you were chosen to carry part of the sky on your head.

covenant
yesterday, lovely friend sarah and i had a great discussion about friendships. basically, we both agreed that the mark of a great, lasting friendship is when you can go a week or two (or more!) without hanging out or talking all that much and a) nobody holds grudges and b) you're just as close as before, and you can jump right into the same levels of chumminess, insight, caring, and camaraderie.

it was a great moment, and we both got excited that we're on the same page with this. i look forward to having sarah in my life for a long, long time.

however, i couldn't help but wonder if i'd just agreed to stop calling her or something.

roam
i added a new gallery link in the right sidebar. it includes two hikes from beautiful, dynamic san diego county. really, sometimes i wonder why i don't completely adore this place.

the first row of pictures flaunts a trip to the anza borrego desert's carrizo badland mudcaves on 4/11/04 to hike and spelunk. the second row is from friday 4/16/04. we climbed up poway's mount woodson after work. it was basically straight up, but the sillhouette of the microwave towers against the setting sun was beyond worth it. also, we may or may not have hitched a ride back down in the darkness in a univision download tech's truck.

these pictures were taken with our yet-to-be-mastered, or really, i-think-it-still-has-the-default-settings gateway DC-T50 digicam.

that last sentence was one part informative, two parts disclaimer.

any excuse to use "let X equal..." in everyday conversation
yesterday, my coworker joel suggested mixing a white chocolate peanut butter cup in with coffee. i had just praised my vanilla powder/hershey's caramel kiss combo. anything to spice up the disgusting free coffee.

i told joel that it had to work. a hazelnut soy latte works.

let X=[nut component].
let Y=[dairy or sort of dairy-esque component]. yes, we all know that the "butter" in peanut butter isn't actually butter or dairy at all, but neither is "non dairy creamer" cream-related.

therefore, X+Y+coffee=MMM.

however, joel took issue, made some comments about dairy making the world go round, and me saying how we'd need to factor in hormone-usage in dairies in order to enjoy the coffee at it's true cost. somewhere along the line, vanilla was added in. don't get me wrong. vanilla is an integral component of my standard coffee enjoyment.

joel's updated equation:

X=nut component
Y=dairy component
C=coffee componet
V=Vanilla
chuf=cow hormone usage factor
MMM = pleasure

MMM = (X+(Y-chuf)+V)+2C

however, vanilla was a totally unscientific, last minute add-in. i mentioned it as a side regarding the fact that nut components and dairy components could still = mmm without the added coffee component. i really should have said that you could have hazelnut and warm milk and it's tasty. or drink a glass of milk after eating peanut butter. it's almost necessary! but regardless, the addition of vanilla renders our methods uncontrolled. therefore, we need to eliminate the V from our equation.

this way, the presence of enough V wouldn't eliminate CHUF. that's important. while vanilla is inherently excellent, the cows don't seem to care. we'd need a serious dairy industry reform factor (SDIRF) or possibly even a dept of agriculture overhaul factor (DoAgOF). these factors are rhetorical and immeasurable at the current time, therefore the (Y-chuf) factor can only result in the addition of a MMM depreciation value, of (-guilt) to counter the CHUF.

therefore, without V: we have

X=nut component
Y=dairy component
C=coffee component
CHUF=cow hormone usage factor
guilt=CHUF resultant
MMM=pleasure

[X+(Y-CHUF)]+2C=(MMM-guilt)

technically, dependent upon each individual's personal threshold for dairy industry-related guilt, PEANUT BUTTER CUPS HAVE TO TASTE GOOD IN COFFEE. i dare someone to try it.

hallelujah
i was nineteen, going on twenty, and in a long, dry relationship. nobody is supposed to be in long, dry relationships at all, much less a nineteen year old.

loneliness wasn't such an issue, but i think i tricked myself into thinking james left a void. there were so many things imperfect about him, so many things i expected and needed, but didn't receive. under normal circumstances, it was a void, but i used it. it was nothing more than a rationalization.

we might kiss
when we are alone
when nobody’s watchin’
we might take it home

i met d on a beautiful spring day. his san diego padres had was slightly too big, and it made him look geeky and cute at the same time. james and i weren't doing very well, and he was getting ready for a stint at a dot com in san francisco. we weren't on a break, but i had checked out.

d and i clicked. we started spending our time together, and before long, there was cuddling on the couch during a cheesy eighties movie and "accidentally" falling asleep and spending the night together.

we began a long, hidden romance. looking back, i have no idea how i did it, how i pulled it all off without a) being found out, and b) crumbling.

we might make out
when nobody's there
it's not that we're scared
it's just that it's delicate

when i did happen to see james, i was cold. guilty. the cloud of being satisfied by the love of someone else hung between james and i. shadows, cast on both of our faces, revealed themselves through complete sexual and emotional shut down on my behalf. i developed reflexes that plagued me long after this storm settled, reflexes that make me flinch when i'm touched and, for a moment, i try to figure out a way to get this person away from me without really revealing how i'm feeling.

so why d’ya fill my sorrow
with the words you've borrowed
from the only place you've known

despite d actually telling me that i was in the process of hurting him, it really did take me five years to realize that i wasn't the only one suffering. i was so self-focused, so fixated on the fact that my life was so complicated when in truth, i didn't even deserve to have one person want to be with me, much less two.

why d’ya sing hallelujah
if it means nothin’ to ya
why d’ya sing with me at all?

i began telling d i was falling in love with him. actually, i was already there. the most fucked up feeling in the world is to then turn around and say "i love you" to someone else.

we might live
like never before
when there's nothin’ to give
how can we ask for more?

we'd spend hours talking about authenticity and the quest for intellect and spirituality and lightheartedness all wrapped up into one handy, witty package. but i later realized that those discussions of authenticity were nothing short of hypocrisy. i thought he was that grounded, perfect person, and i may even have told him so.

we might make love
in some sacred place
that look on your face
is delicate

i was so taken by how important i was to him. he would move mountains for me. d eventually asked me why i couldn't just choose him. i couldn't answer. i didn't choose him, and i must have known that all along. i dragged someone into a whirlwind of void-filling fake poignancy and beautiful moments and we both ended up frustrated and betrayed.

so why d’ya fill my sorrow
with the words you've borrowed
from the only place you've known

my words were but hallelujahs praising empty temples of comfort and stability, praising false idols of my own happiness. words of dishonesty that broke myself and the lives of two other people. and that makes three too many people for that sort of thing. i have only ever spoken of this with one person before. when d met his soon-to-be-wife, something like a year later, i spent a long night in a tent somewhere with her in utah trying to downplay the whole thing, trying to reduce any raw feelings between us all. it didn't really mean that much to me, i said, musing on how utterly, joyously perfect they were for each other. it's hard to say how honest i was being. it felt like i was lying to her that night, but at the same time, i was still convincing myself that my time with d had been nothing short of using him and betraying him.

but there was a reason to sing with him, i'm sure of it. everything always means something. always.

why d’ya sing hallelujah
if it means nothin’ to ya
why d’ya sing with me at all?

INTERNET, I MISSED YOU!
this codependency thing is really starting to be a problem. it's only been about 70 hours. and i had a little psuedo-fix with lovely friend craig's GPS devicey thing in the desert saturday afternoon.

speaking of the desert, yes, there was a great spelunking. tales and pictures to follow from some karst/pseudokarst good times. but until then, i just need to open a few more internet explorer windows get my equilibrium back. (you know, i was so damn tempted to write e-quilibrium just then, but seriously, that might have been the most pathetic, geeky thing i've ever done.)

for shame, julia! for SHAME!
julia: dude, they have free coffee over there.
joel: what? free coffee?! where?
[walking]
[pouring]
joel: ew.
julia: yup. hey look, it's folgers! bad times.
joel: what, folders isn't fair trade?
julia: [laughter]
joel: it's unfair trade! entire rainforests were cut down for that cup. old growth forests, gone.
julia: at least three farmers were exploited.
joel: how many species went extinct for your coffee?
[julia raises her conflict-laden cup to pay homage].

bread and chocolate
it's one of those days where all i want to do is EAT. i thought to myself, "what exactly is it that i'm hungry for?" "what am i craving?"

in order: bread, chocolate, nutella, nutella on bread, bread, hot bread and butter, hot bread and butter followed by some chocolate, a frothy vanilla latte topped with whipped cream, bread, chocolate, chocolate orange, and maybe a real orange, but i think that orange craving could be easily satiated by a piece of chocolate orange.

i'd never really thought it through before and outlined exact cravings. it just makes me realize how few foods exist that combine my chocolate and bread needs into one handy item. this is a serious problem! a huge hole in the market! think of the dollars i would recirculate for the sake of the perfect gourmet bread/chocolate combination!

also, the concept of recirculating dollars makes me think of Empire Records.
Joe: What's it DOING in Atlantic City?
Lucas: Recirculating.

i need help.

maybe
recently, i've been resorting to listening to KCRW (LA's NPR station) through the static on my commute home. KPBS, the local station, ends it's All Things Considered/Marketplace coverage at 6 for a local arts/stuff scene show that is only sometimes interesting, and that's about the time i get in the car these days.

last night, All Things Considered aired a story about a german sex shop's new female-oriented endeavor, called "Mae B." the play on the english "maybe" suggests a coquettish, innocent image.

basically, it's a fabulous idea. they've revamped the idea of an erotic goods store to look and feel more like a pretty, hip, and trendy women's boutique. there's nothing sleazy about it. (frankly, i don't think men should be allowed in the store, but maybe we're not ready for that yet.)

until very recently, there really hasn't been much opportunity for women to explore sexuality and erotica. and interestingly, it's not so much because it's frowned upon. it's more due to inaccessibility, intimidation, and a little shame. i'm sure most women have been to sex shops in large groups, buying gag gifts and various penis-necklaces for bachelorette parties and what have you, but YOU WOULD NEVER BUY ANYTHING FOR YOURSELF. and you certainly wouldn't go alone later. "it's for a joke," you tell the cashier, as if they care. "uh huh," they respond. they hear it all the time.

the lesbians are decades ahead of the rest of us with this stuff. "toys in babeland," a new york city shop, was (i think) developed by and for lesbians, but have developed what is probably the most accessible collection of heterosexual "aids" i've ever seen. and of course, plenty of "individual" stuff. (heeeee!) they have very unsleazy instructions and tips on the site! about the female orgasm! about the M-word! and it's not porn! (i still wouldn't open it at work, though.)

the women's sexual enlightenment movement is looking very promising. in the last few years, "Sex and the City" has made "the rabbit" a household name. women-only sex shops are having grand opening galas with well-dressed, well-scrubbed twenty- and thirty-something clientelle munching on canapes and discussing the latest dual-function intimate electronics. we're definitely on the right track. sex is no longer a dirty, shameful, sleazy, back-room, male endeavor. and it's totally cool to talk about sex with your friends.

and hearing the NPR correspondent talk about vibrators? EXCELLENT.

it's high time for some bullets.

guess who's going to coachella this year. julia and erik.

guess who didn't have to pay for their tickets. julia and erik.

guess who's headlining!!! radiohead!

i always feel compelled to put a question mark after a "guess......" sentence. it's a command! albeit a command thinly veiled as a question.

radiohead's nice dream has a secure spot in my all-time top five songs. and that post is one of my all-time top five posts.

the last time we saw radiohead, the beta band opened for them. thom yorke didn't speak, but if he had, i know he would have pronounced it "beeeeeeeeeeeta band."

we began our potted vegetable garden last night. we haven't planted anything yet, but we've gathered most of the materials. we're going to grow tomatoes, lettuce, and zucchini, and try our hand at some cilantro. give me sunshine, make me happy.

i have two bags of compost in the car. let's hope it's done rotting.

speaking of cilantro, i love that it tastes as remarkable as it smells. i love the way the scent lingers on your fingers after you cut it. if they ever made Eau De Cilantro perfume, i might just be their target market.

my coworkers and i want to write a romance novel using biblical language. lots of "begetting" and "knowing" and "there was a great _____ing..." and "and ____ saw that it was good." for example, jackie suggested, "there was a great burning in the loins." or it may have been a great throbbing. i can't remember. the best part is that i feel only slightly heretical.

speaking of my coworkers, my favorite ones all found my blog. and yes, they're on my all-time top five favorite coworkers list.

balance, definition 8a: "weight or force of one side in excess of another."
this morning, on my way to work, i wanted to see if i could pick up the Los Angeles station for Air America Radio. i had written it down on a little piece of paper at home, but thought i could remember the station number. 1170. i tuned to 1170, and i caught someone in mid-sentence, saying that france likes having alliances with dictators. i thought, "oh, sweet, it's a parody."

man, they were GOOD. ...talking about how french people say that american soldiers are cowboys and not only shoot everything in sight, but also kill cows. then they mentioned that france used to be a huge help to us in the cold war, revealing soviet espionage secrets, etc. but since they're saddam lovers these days, they're not only useless to us, they're betraying us.

i started to feel like they were taking the parody too far. nobody thinks like this! where's al franken to change the subject?!? i expected him to butt in and say, "enough about france! you know who i hate? ann coulter."

they paused for a traffic segment, saying they'd be back to discuss the french economic problems, what with them not wanting to work a full work-week and sucking up government hand outs and all. after the traffic segment, they did a radio call sign.

Fox News.

home alone
the house is dark and silent, though it's not like you make too much noise anyway. absence, noted. boredom and fear and paranoia and loneliness combine. i regress to a former me - bachelorette type antics of leaving dishes on the (coffee) table, watching television to kill time and thoughts, leaving clothes on the floor and hair in the shower. the bedroom is large, the sheets crisp, clean, white, perfectly tucked and folded. the bed is empty except for the care bear and totoro stuffed toys you tucked into your side before you left. i climb into the cold bed and realize i married the sweetest geek in the world and i'm ready for you to come home now.

and this is how i say...
this is what i sound like.

i'm not sure how accurate a representation this is - i forced myself to not talk like drew barrymore. the last time i did something like this, someone said, "i was totally waiting for gulia to follow julia." anyway, i have better taste in men*.

i also have to add that there are many forms of "dude" interjections in my vocabulary. the sample included is an amalgam of "introductory filler," "expression of sympathy and shock," and "you just stepped on my foot, assclown."

enjoy, and talk back.

*ariel, don't you dare bring up which of the saved by the bell boys i had a crush on. now's not the time.

DAMN THE MAN
the scene: large downstairs breakroom. 4:30pm. heavily populated by late shifters on their first breaks, and unshifted engineer types antsing for some ice cream or coffee to make it through the evening.

the cast: jackie, hungry and befudgesicled. julia, sleepy. coffee machine, poised and ready, except for the "out of order" post-it, taped to the dollar bill feeder.

act 1.
i think i'll just push some buttons and see if it responds. really, a pink post-it note taped to the dollar bill feeder isn't very convincing. anyway, i brought coins. i press buttons, and it asks for 50 cents. still, the pink post-it glares at me from the corner of my eye. perhaps this is when the pink post-it first began to realize how weak i am when it comes to vanilla and coffee together, and how much a sucker for civil disobedience i am. momentarily defeated, i sit down with jackie as she gnawed at her fudgesicle.

act 2.
i plant the seed of the resistance in jackie's mind. i tell her, "WHO ARE WE TO BLINDLY FOLLOW COMMANDS SCRAWLED IN BAD HANDWRITING ON PINK POST-ITS!" "and also, what if it's just telling me the dollar bill thing isn't working." jackie then tells me that she made the sign yesterday after the machine ate craig's money. and that she had originally put it front and center, but moved it to cover the dollar bill feeder for better visibility. again, momentarily defeated, i continue to watch her fudgesicle gnawingness

act 3.
i tell jackie i won't let this hold me back. KILL THE MAN! i pounce from my chair to face the machine. i shake out my wrists a little and peel the pink post-it from it's perch. [i totally didn't intend for that to be an alliteration; it just happened. and i certainly didn't intend for it to be an onomatopoeia. i apologize.] i shake my wrists to brace myself for the impending revolution. i put in a quarter, two dimes, and a nickel in no particular order. jackie starts saying, "well, apparently craig used coins yesterday and it still ate his money." i press the first button. jackie speculates, "maybe it's out of cups and is just going to pour it down the drain?" i scoff at such an accusation. i press the second button. fade out.

act 4.
fade in. cue coffee machine noises. the clear plastic door closing. the swishing and release of ingredients. the aroma of sweet vanilla and coffee. people stare. i turn to jackie. "well shit. you're right." we walk upstairs, jackie laughing, julia permanently defeated, the coffee machine drain full. the spotlight shines on the evil coffee machine as the curtains close around it.

act 5.
julia goes back downstairs with the red-lined pink post-it that reads "out of order cups. no really, I MEAN IT."

the devil is in the details.
really, what's worse? that someone might say "y'all" in the first place, or that they might spell it "ya'll"?

or, perhaps, saying "you'uns" takes the cake.

my coworker and i have had many an email banter about the lack of a suitable english-language plural "you." joel, it looks like our hunt is over. you'uns it is.