2004-08-17 - 9:36 p.m.

Well, well, well. We've all acquainted ourselves with Peter Parker's favorite colors in the crayola box now haven't we? Man. That thing caught on like wildfire. Sure, I IM-ed it a bit here and IM-ed it a bit there, linked it in the entry and then all of a sudden - BOOM! - front page of USA TODAY. Ok. Well. Not yet. But you just wait . . .

Speaking of jazzberry jam, I had some root beer today and BOY HOWDY do I regret it. That soda's ripped through me faster than a wolverine at a leprechauns' laundromat! Yeah. It's that bad. So yeah. I want to kill myself now. Since I can't go 6 minutes without running downstairs to the W.C. Or in the case of driving, pulling over and hoping not to accidentally come across any poison oak. Or in the case of working, hiding in the Playmobil section until the problem "works itself out".

"Jesus, Mary & Joseph! What in the figgity-fuck is that foul stench?!"

So yeah. I have a rumbly in my tumbly. I drank 3 gallons of milk, per Rick's advice, but so far it's done nothing but exacerbate the problem. I'm starting to think Rick doesn't have my best interests at heart. Also, while eating 14 "Tropical Flavored" Tums may sound like a good idea in theory . . . it's, you know, not.

There was this lady at work today who was in a wheelchair. I don't think she was trying to be hip - I think she really needed it. You know, to get around and shit. Anyway. I swear to fuck that she kept purposely trying to get into people's way today. Granted, I've seen Durham downtown's with better flow than the aisles at the Wallakers, but this half woman/half machine PARKED her wheeled ass right in the middle of the back of the middle row for like an hour today. (In layman's terms: between the dollhouse furniture and the dress up, which pretty much blocks easy access to and from the back room) She kept seeing me precariously carry ten banana cream pies to the back room and wooden pirate ships a-plenty to boot! But did she care? No. She just kept spinning around wildly trying to prove that centrifugal force works in that her spittle balancing dangerously on her bottom lip wouldn't projectile itself on to my face. Gosh darn that go-getting granny - it worked! I remained spittle-free! Well, at least until Dottie showed up later looking for, I quote (hence the quotation marks), "some small gray fish that I can paint if they're not gray but so I can put them on some shelves in my store for the people to buy if they like fish. But not colorful fish. I already know they don't like colorful fish." In case it wasn't obvious, Dottie is the case study that caused medical experts to coin the phrase "BAT SHIT INSANE". The "shelves" in her "store" that she refers to are for her imaginary doll house people. Let me clarify. She has built, or has plans to build, an entire town of miniature people in her basement. From what I can gather, she already has several main houses, a gas station, a pet store, and a candy store. These "people" that live there - mostly disembodied dolls she finds in the Toys R Us dumpster, broken McDonald's toys scooped up in the Food Court, or pieces of lint - have fuller lives than most soap opera characters. She tells me when they're fighting, flirting, or merely "moving away". (Which means she either lost one, or in a rage over not being able to find her favorite shoe, threw one in the fire) But usually, she just gets all the materials (usually from pestering the folks at Jo-Ann Fabrics until they just throw free yarn and popsicle sticks at her until she leaves), builds half of her project and then forgets about it and starts on a new one. Last month, all she talked about was the "B.B. Ranch." (Named after "Bobby Bob" she claimed. Of course?) She kept asking if we sold toy hay. And every day we told her no. Well, some days I'd tell her to check with Ann Taylor LOFT, but that's just because I'm an asshole. But all she did all day every day in the month of July was fantasize about what the B.B. Ranch was going to be like when it was done. She was steadfast that "no sheep be allowed at the B.B. Ranch". Why? Because "they're liars". Of course? Then, last week, she's all about the fish store and the B.B. Ranch is gone in a puff of geriatric smoke.

Dottie - In animated form

Apparently Brett is in the new ATT ad that's appearing nationally. Good for him. It would be even better for him if he was still the cool Brett that we all first met and not the self-righteous, full-of-himself, West Coast bound, prick that he is now. For shame. Ok. That may be a bit harsh. But I don't like being fooled. I haven't really wrote anything about Brett since he and Monique broke up out of respect. But I'm pissed that he fooled me into thinking he was such a great guy. I'm pissed since I consider myself such a good judge of character. I'm pissed because I so quickly considered him someone I could see being friends with for the rest of my life. I'm pissed because he tricked me. I guess he tricked all of us.

And yes, I'm fully aware that "self-righteous" and "full-of-himself" are close enough to be redundant. And I don't care. Go write non-redundantly in YOUR online journal.

Fuck . . . I have to . . . go see a man . . . about a horse. A very fast, strong and persistent horse.

God almighty, I'm foul.

It's been real,

Laser Lemon

Jazzberry Jam is my new standard skin color for everyone I draw. I love it that much.

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