2002-07-28 - 9:27 p.m.

Hey all. I'm in a good mood - and that only happens once every few years - so WATCH OUT! [Also, if tales of geriatric genitalia horror stories creep you out, then the exit is the 2nd door on your left. Oh, the twisted people that Google will send my way now. I'm just asking for it. It's bad enough those Jason Giambi fans won't leave me alone.]

Ack! My ravioli's boiling over! But that's ok! That just means it's almost time to eat it! Hooray . . . (fill in the blank: either "Hooray, it's Summer!" or "Hooray, I Can Read!" Votes will be tallied and reported at the end of the entry.) In the mean time, I got me some ravioli to eat . . . be right back (or as C-Slop is fond of saying, BRB, or in case of emergency, BBL!)

---2 hours later---

Mmmmmmm - ravioli. So, after starting some IM fights, eating, talking on phone and watching the one of the best Brak Shows there is ("Mr. Tickles", which is tied with "Bawk-ba-gawk" for #1), and watching Sealab 2021, I am back. I love Adult Swim. Specifically Brak and Sealab (the one where Sparks gets all the crew hooked on drugs) - although Harvey Birdman: Attorney at Law is getting better. Of course I'm always loyal to Space Ghost. I can't say anymore to convince you people how great these shows are. If you can't get past the fact that they're ANIMATED then you suck at life. This is where I'd normally make an anti-ovary crack, but I think we all remember what happened the LAST time I mixed cartoons & ovary critiques. . .

"I have the energy of a bear that has the energy of 2 bears!" - Marco, after first taste of Spark's synthetic drug, Stimutacs, on Sealab 2021

"Be forewarned: Three hams will certainly kill him." - Thundercleese, on Mr. Tickles feeding instructions. "Ham on, Ham-Eater!" - Brak, the next morning, feeding Mr. Tickles, from The Brak Show.

Ok, so one more Sunday story before I get into the nittier grittier part of the entry. So I played CTR for a while today. I love CTR. Love it. But what happened to me today while I played it was reprehensible and should get me banned from the human race. I was playing a course where I majorly screwed up (trying to get on the underground railway short cut - Harriet Tubman was NOT involved) and the first three places? Sigh. 1st - Coco, 2nd - Pura, 3rd - Polar. And I was playing as Tiny. I know, the fact that I lost to them as TINY only makes it worse. Anyway - I obviously restarted, sad in my knowledge of not only what I created/witnessed, but in knowing that I would be forced to share it with you all. . .

-Cortex, Tiny (me), that smug bastard Polar, and that rascally Komodo Joe-

Right, so I don't remember anything about last Wednesday other than getting comics (League of Extrodinary Gentleman Vol 2! Yeah!) and getting Chinese Food with Andrea. So there you go. Although I'd like to take this opportunity to state that I think it was a bad decision on the Chinese Food place (the one on Rt. 1 in front of Wal-Mart) to take away the self-serve cones by the ice-cream machine. Bowls are all well and good - when dealing with scorpions. But those cones were a major pull. If the apple slices go, it's the 99 for me. Except not. Since I signed a deal in blood with Rick, Karen, Nicole, and Adam that we shall never frequent the 99 for as long as we live for fear that we shall come in contact with Gina's stoney gorgon glare.

Right, so let's try this again - Thursday. I'm at the ol' Central Ave bus stop. No Theo in sight. He's always there before me, so I know he must not be taking the bus today. As usual, the elderly are out at full force right after 5 AM every morning, so the fact that they stroll Central Ave in droves at 7:30 AM is no surprise. [Ok - this just reminded of this thing that I meant to mention in my journal WEEKS ago, but due to this already expanding prologue, I will make it brief. I was walking into the food court real early a few weeks ago and there was this mass of like 30 elderly people. Not too big of a surprise, since the mall is like gremlins in water every morning as they hobble around. But, they are usually spread out - the congregation thing was new. And they had a boombox. And it was blaring Big Band music. And they were exercising to it. God helped me, as I walked past Taco Bell, a tear of mirth traced down my cheek.] Ok, so bus stop. There I am, as disheveled as a boy could be. And tired. Of course. And when people are tired they yawn. Simple, right? Well, I'm staring off into space, waiting for the overcrowded COAST bus to show up and these two elderly ladies walk by me. One of them stops. She is like 3 feet away from me and just points at my face. And I'm like, "Good . . .morning." And she says "Didn't get much sleep last night, eh?". And, scared that yet ANOTHER old woman was stalking me and watching me while I sleep ["Guilty!" - Billie], I nervously said, "No. No I didn't. How did . . .", and she cuts me off and says, "I could see you yawin' for miles." "Oh." I said. "You know, I don't know about you", she said, shaking her head as she began to walk away, "I just don't know about you." LIKE SHE FUCKING KNEW ME. The stupidest part was that I thought this would be the strangest part of the day.

So I get to work, and as usual, after turning the lights on, and placing my bets with the other mall employees just how late Michael would show up that day (Thursdays are "Double or Nothing" days since there's no managers on Thursdays - oh wait, that's not just Thursdays . . .), I put my music in the stereo and blared it so loud that Ann Taylor herself was spinning in her grave. I go to Dunkin' Donuts to get a bagel for breakfast. As usual, a dead pig could take customer's orders faster than the clod at Dukin Donuts and there's a line all the way to Lady Footlocker. That's right - I said LADY Footlocker. So I get in line and these two woman get in line behind me. I can see them out of the corner of my eye, since I am at a curve part of the line (seriously, you'd think I was waiting for Adam Sandler tickets at the Whit this line gets so long). One of the women is probably late 30's, the other one seems like late 120's, but more than likely, is a more youthful 90. So they are blithering and blathering about some photos that the younger woman (who I will call Brenda) had taken of her daughter (who I will call Brenda's Daughter) and Gamma (which is what I am calling the old crone) is crowing on and on and on and on about how similar Brenda and Brenda's Daughter look. The next thing I know, the Grim Reaper grabbed me by the elbow - whoops, false alarm, it was just Gamma. She whips me around (as much as Gamma can whip someone around) and demands that I tell Brenda if she indeed looks like Brenda's Daughter (despite the fact that Brenda wasn't really disagreeing with this sentiment). You'd think that I'd just expect this kind of shit to happen to me by now, but anyway, I look at the little wallet size photo of Brenda's Daughter and, sure as I'm sittin' here, they looked alike, and I told Brenda so. "Oh, why thank you, that's so kind of you to say." Well, I didn't really think it was as much KIND, as it was EXPECTED of me to say, but whatever. So Gamma is like "Twins! Wouldn't you say?" And I stammer back, "Well . . . well, I - I don't know about TWINS!", kind of laughing. And Gamma stares in my eyes with the ferocity of a drunk coydog and flatly states "Twins." And I, just wanting to get my fucking bagel and get the HELL out of there, am like "Well, yeah. Twins. I see that." So I turn around to order my bagel, only to realize that I can't, as there is still like 5 people in front of me. Argh. So I am forced to continue to listen to Brenda and Gamma drone on and on while I try to do something to distract myself - like scrape all my freckels off until I bleed. And then the following transpires:

G: Oooh, that heat. It was so hot. I don't like that heat.

B: I hear you.

G: What about your animals? They don't like that intense heat. How did you animals fare? What about your animals?

B: Well, they didn't like it too much. You just have to try to keep them cool and keep them hydrated.

G: Oh yes, yes. I agree. And your dog? How did he feel about the heat? [Apparently, Gamma considers "Pet" and "Dog" two different things]

B: Oh um, well, like I said, we made sure he had lots of water, and made sure not to take him in the car, you don't want a dog in the car in that heat.

G: Oh no, no. You can't have dogs in cars in the heat.

Z's Brain: {Dental Plan, Lisa's Braces, Dental Plan, Lisa's Braces, Dental Plan, Lisa's Braces . . .}

And then -

G: And what about your pussy?

Z's Brain: {Dental Pla . . .WHAT?!}

B: . . .

G: Your pussy? How did your pussy handle that heat?

B: Um, oh. Well, you know. Like . . .like the dog, you want to keep her cool. Keep her hydrated. She doesn't like the heat at all.

G: Oh no, I bet your pussy doesn't like the heat. I can't imagine what your pussy must have been like in the heat, just horrible I bet . . .

B: (quickly) Yes, well, anyway, so yesterday. . .

G: Your poor little pussy.

Ok, I so couldn't handle myself. If she had just stopped at the first pussy I might have been able to hold it in. Even if she had said "Did you pussy hide under the deck?" or "Does your pussy like to catch mice?". But I could not handle this older than dirt woman talking about "what your pussy must have been like in the heat". And there is no WAY that the rest of the line wasn't listening. At this point, it is my turn to order and I get the meanest look ever from Carol, aka - the manager that would be shown up by a dead pig. She had heard the whole conversation too and was giving me this look because she knew I heard it too and was like, "What would you like sir?" all snidely - LIKE IT WAS MY FAULT that GAMMA DECIDED TO GO ALL R-Kelly on the Dunkin Donuts line at 8:30 in the morning. Whatever.

[But . . .not . . .quite]

So then Carey and I got in a fight with this guy about Playmobil. He was a dick. And he CALLED THE PLAYMOBIL COMPANY ON HIS CELL PHONE to complain. Dude, if you know Playmobil's # off hand, (and I've worked at a toy store for three years and I don't), you need more help then I can give you. He was such a fucking asshole. But I'm not going to go into all the particulars of it as there's only really only 4 readers who would understand it, and 1 was involved, 1 knows it already, 1 is going to hear about it on Monday, and I can tell the Garden State Lolita when she moves back. So there. . .

By the way, "Jim's Sister" and "Fat Tuesday" won the pool that day with the correct bet of 9:59 for when Michael would show up . . .

The Clearance Sale started on Friday. ARGH. Can't stop talking about G. Crapikers. Trying to STOP. Ok. I was alone. More elderly crap. Arguing with me about a Rocking Horse. It was marked down from $90.00 to $30.00 and the asswhore was trying to HAGGLE me lower. Which I would not do. And I repeatedly apologized (that's right, because in retail, the more fuckass a customer gets the more you have to just keep saying "I'm sorry sir" despite meaning "I wish you would get an earwig infestation in your bowels"). And he says "You know, for someone who says he's sorry as much as you, you don't ACT sorry and you don't LOOK sorry!" And then I killed him. But the fake cops (security) couldn't find me, as I was hiding out with Liz, who had come to visit on her way from Maine to Mass, in the corner of the Food Festival (TM) with an abundantly tomato-filled wrap from Au Bon Pain. By the time I got back to the store the fuzz had returned to doing what they do best. Flirting with Customer Service employees.

So Saturday was the loooooongest day ever. I was at the mall from 8:30 AM to 9:30 PM. Some of that was my fault yes. But it didn't make it any easier that Tim and Ben were livin' it up Swamp Monkey style in the hometown of Effie Wooley herself, Bridgton, Maine. Ahhh - but someone needs to wrap presents for all the little bitchcock customers at G. WeDon'tPlayFavoritesHereButReallyWeDoillikers. Carey got to interview me for her thesis paper and she used a tape-recorder, so that made me feel all famous and important. Her paper is on Marxist Feminism. So you can see why she came to me! Wait. . . Plus, Dottie (one of the myriad of toothless old loons that visit my work on a semi-regular basis) confided in us that she had the mystical ability to communicate with tigers, but moreso baby tigers. Why babies? Because "they trust me more" she informed us. Becca finally got her CD, "Chocolate Covered Cheesy Fries" that I made for her as a belated "sorry I was such a dick when you got your haircut" present. She seemed to enjoy it. If she can ever get further than Track 1. I must have checked Yahoo News every fucking 15 minutes Saturday to check the progress of the Mining Disaster in Pennsylvania ["Wait . . .there's a Pennsylvania now? You *know* that I don't ever watch the news!" - Andrea]. Although, the headline "Thousands of Squid found on California Beach - Over 3 Tons" kept making me smile throughout my cyber-vigil. I really thought they weren't gonna make it. Glad I was wrong. I was going to go see Austin Powers 3 that night, but my overpowering laziness kicked in and I didn't. But it still made it worth it in the long run. Although the bad news always comes with the good news. And as usual, bad news can almost ALWAYS get traced back to that viciously violent vixen Linda Frink (of "Linda Frink, Mall Office" fame). ["That's it Zach, make the journal more insular." - Zach's Brain, "Ok - ummmmmmm, Twin Ash!" - Zach. "You just *don't* get sarcasm do you?" - Z's Brain. "Yes I do. You're talking to the person who wrote a deeply personal English paper that involved Barney Miller and Debbie Harry." - Z. "That's not sarcasm, that's irony." - Z's Brain. "I thought irony was rain - on your wedding day." - Z. *POP* - Z's Brain.]

So Ben and I went and saw Austin Powers this afternoon. I enjoyed it. I have to say that it is MUCH BETTER than Spy Who Shagged Me. The first 15 minutes are fucking hilarious and I am extremely happy it wasn't ruined for me by someone beforehand. So I won't ruin it here. All I can say is, don't let anyone tell you about the movie, it will honestly ruin some of the best parts (ie - Annie telling me the end of "Of Mice and Men" and then getting mad at me for getting mad at her since I was too stupid to "see what was coming anyway"). Seriously, even if you have swiss cheese memories like Andrea or Fred (or Dr. Sam Beckett), you will still remember the surprises if you are told. So just go see it and don't give someone a chance to ruin it.

Oh yeah, and I never cut my nails. It was 6 weeks on Friday. Ben is getting mad that I haven't cut them yet. Man, first he gets me to wear pants on a Sunday AND buy fat free cheese thank you very much, and you think that would please him?! But no. But he's right. I do have to cut them. I just know I can't do it the good way. I will only be content if it ends in a bloody, unzestfully clean way. Besides, I hear that the Lady Deathstrike look is in these days. ["That's it - you've done it. You've finally told a joke that absolutely NO ONE will get except for you. Nobody. Not work, not family, not New Hampshire, not Mass, not Maine, not California, not Ma Bell. Happy?" - Z's Brain. "Yes." - Z.]

We close with a quote. It was spoken to Ben, by me, earlier this evening at the grocery store: "Grapenuts are like showers. You think you don't want one, but when you finally have them, you're like 'Hey, that's not too bad!'."

How do I start these fuckers at like 9 PM and end at 1:30AM? How is that possible? Mmmmmmm, oppressive heat and the {always, sometimes, never} punctual Wildcat Transit tomorrow. I. Cannot. Wait.

The Winner of the "Hooray Contest": "Hooray, It's Syphilis!" [Hmmmm, seems to me a certain H. Hunt stuffed the ballot box with a write-in vote.]

ONE MONTH UNTIL MY BIRTHDAY!!! I like presents.

It's been real,

VT-1000

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