It�s a really good thing I don�t pay for this service.

The Internet is down again at work.

Over at main campus it�s fine of course, it�s only out here in the caves and coves that we�re without technology.

Whatever.

I bet they think that will make me more productive today but the jokes on them.

You see, if I�m going to be productive I�m going to do it whether there�s a net or not. The opposite is also true, if I�m going to be unproductive (at least in terms of what they pay me for) I�m gonna do that whether there is a net or not.

I think I write much longer diary entries when there is no internet beckoning.
I�m always so tempted by the little send box. Or whatever that box says. I don�t read it, I just click it. (I want that on a bumper sticker)

The sooner you go ahead and post the sooner you can start obsessively checking for comments and let�s face it, we�re all really only here for the comments. I don�t know how book authors do it, knowing that all those people are reading what you wrote and not hearing feedback from them. It would make me insane. I check on how many people have read my CSI stuff all the time and though I see the numbers of readers go up I only occasionally see my reviews go up. REVIEW ME! I�m a feedback whore.

Even before I found (I typed we there at first, how imperial of me. I use the imperial We frequently, is that annoying? I don�t do it in speech, only in my diary. Or maybe I never do it and just think I do. Huh.) out there was no (isn�t it weird when people are going along in a sentence and then throw something parenthetical �see I told you I liked the word Richard- in that has nothing to do with what they�re talking about and then go right back to the sentence at hand even though YOU�RE now thinking about the parenthetical remark and have no idea where you were in the sentence so you have to go back and read the sentence without the parenthetical remark only to find another, longer, more rambling parenthetical remark only a few words away?) internet we knew today�s entry was going to be (see? You had to go back didn�t you? It was weird right? It�s like an entry within an entry. Like scallops wrapped in bacon, only I feel kinda like the parentheticals are much more bacony than the non-parentheticals which in the analogy would be the bacon but lets face it, they�re sort of the scallops in the equation.) a mishmash of stuff because I had a running list of junk I wanted to touch on.

When I worked in retail, back before the internet, I used to write letters to COSGRU at work. It seems so quaint now, and so long a process. This was before cell phones and the Internet, my best friend (then) had moved to Florida and we kept in touch almost exclusively via snail mail. Is that insane? How the heck did we do that? How do you find the time to sit down and write a letter, never mind waiting a few weeks for a response? Of course we made it through many years of friendship that way and now we both have cell phones and instant messaging and wouldn�t acknowledge one another if we were trapped in the same phone booth, so maybe technology isn�t such a big bonding device after all.

I lost my point in all of that but after reviewing I remember it (and not one bit of this was the aforementioned mishmash I wanted to get to today). My friend Wim (we�ve talked about him before but you don�t have to remember him, just picture Colin Farrell only way funnier with a cleaner mouth) worked at the kiosk in front of my store and he�d come in and hang around with me on slow days (Tuesday mornings are slower than death in a mall). Wim would amuse me while I wrote to Cosgru and he would leave her little messages on the letter, sometimes upside down from what I was writing and sometimes, if I wandered off to go to the bathroom or take care of an errant customer, parenthetically right in the middle of what I was saying. He would refer to himself as �Parenthesis Man� and after each little note he�d leave a little stick man with a dialog bubble saying, �Parenthesis Man strikes again.�

Hmm. That wasn�t as interesting as I thought it would be.

We march solemnly forward into the random.

An open letter to Jay Manuel:

Dearest, darling, Jay,
You know that I love you more than Prada but for Halston�s sake what was that blouse you had on last night? Your thighs looked like heaven but that blouse was like something off the 9.99 rack in the granny department of K-Mart. I know it�s difficult to find time to be edgy and fierce when you have to dedicate yourself to hiding the nuts stored in Tyra�s cheeks, but for me, please darling, no more floral blouses. Yes?
All my devotion,
OOMM

Had to get that off my chest.

I�m thinking of being Ms. Jay on Halloween. I can do the walk, and I have over processed fried out hair, all I need are some stilts and a strict tanning regimen.

It�s fun how I think of all these Halloween costumes. The last time I dressed up for Halloween was on the cruise 3 or 4 years ago and before that who the hell knows. Had to be the mid 90�s.

Do you know I almost never feel tired in the morning and early afternoon at work, but if I drink Hot Chocolate in the morning I�m ready to fall down by 11:30AM.

I had hot chocolate today. And not the lovely Starbucks �Chantico� which is a cup of heaven, but Dunkin Donuts blah old hot chocolate. Wasteful.

And deeper into the random abyss�

When I turned my phone on this morning I had one voice mail. I thought I knew who it was from because someone was going to call me to chat last night only I forgot (we�re gonna say forgot, really America�s Next Top Model was on ) and I shut it off. I knew that person was busy this morning so I didn�t bother listening to the message until I got to work.

Un-freakin-believable.

It was slave-girl.

Now I think I�ve made it pretty clear to her that I�m not interested in pursing any type of relationship with her, master/slave, lovers, or even just friends.

She claims to read the diary and I did make it clear in the diary that I had nothing more to say to her and that she should vanish from my world.

She called many times in the weeks after that and I never answered the phone, I let voice mail get it and never returned the calls.

It has been long months that I�ve not heard from/contacted her.

She left me a message last night saying that she had been thinking of me lately, that she�s had many changes in her life (which she went on to list) and that she really wants to share these things with me because �We shared everything.�

No.

We didn�t.

I shared everything and you pretended to.

I was honest and you humored me.

I gave you time I didn�t have and you patronized me.

This, dear, makes you a McIntyre.

It�s such a lovely way of saying that in my mind you have disintegrated into many tiny particles of dust and spread far and wide, never to darken my doorstep again.

You won�t be lonely, the McIntyre list grows in leaps and bounds almost daily.
Before I forget, if you aren�t watching the new show Related on the WB you should be. But only if you�re a chick. It�s a chick show, but well written.

Finally (I think) I would like to share some of the quotes I collected yesterday to add to my quote book. They are all television quotes:

From The Young Ones

RICK: Neil, is it really necessary to have the light on when you're in the bath?
NEIL: Well, yeah.
RICK: Why, what are you planning to do - photosynthesize?

VYVYAN: This calls for a very special blend of psychology and extreme violence.

RICK: That's just typical! Five minutes before the most important party of my life and the house is destroyed by a giant sandwich.

From Absolutely Fabulous

EDINA: Inside me, sweetie, inside me, I just know there's a thin person trying to get out!
SAFFY: Just the one?
PATSY: Water? What's that?
EDINA: It's a mixer, darling. You mix it with scotch.

From Animaniacs:

DOT: I'm a little teapot, short and stout. Here is my handle, and here is a note from my shrink. He says I'm getting better. Last week I thought I was a toaster oven!

DOT: All we know is that we like you. We have no taste, but we like you.

From Caroline in the City

CHARLIE: You were mad because I didn't check her references, so I did. Every person she's ever worked for - dead!
DEL: What do you mean, "dead"?
CHARLIE: All right, look. When I was nine, I went to the circus, and they sold chameleons in a box, so I bought one, and I brought it home, and I fed it Good-N-Plentys 'cause I didn't know what chameleons ate. Anyway, three days later, I checked it. It didn't move. I shook the box. Nothing happened. Dead like that.

From Family Guy

PETER: Brian, there's a message in my Alpha Bits. It says "OOOOOO"!
BRIAN: Peter, those are Cheerios.

PETER: Lois, um, go get the medical dictionary and look up "fork" and "lung."
LOIS: Why?
PETER: Time is a factor, Lois.

LOIS: What's going on down here?
STEWIE: We're playing house.
LOIS: But that boy is all tied up.
STEWIE (pause): Roman Polanski's house.

STEWIE: You know, I rather like this God fellow. Very theatrical, you know. Pestilence here, a plague there. Omnipotence... gotta get me some of that.

From King of the Hill (this one might be my favorite)

HANK: Peg, I'm trying to control an outbreak, and you're driving the monkey to the airport!

From News Radio
DAVE: Look, it's only a birthday present! It just means I'm glad you didn't die partway through the year.
DAVE: Would it be impolite at this point in the conversation to just run away from you?

This made me sad I�ve never watched Power Puff Girls
MOJO JOJO: Hey, you kids, get out of my moat. It was not meant to be played in. I must remember to destroy those kids after my breakfast has been eaten.

And finally The Simpsons

HOMER: We're going out, Marge! If we don't come back, avenge our deaths!
LISA: Dad, we did something very bad!
HOMER: Did you wreck the car?
BART: No.
HOMER: Did you raise the dead?
LISA: Yes.
HOMER: But the car's okay?
BART & LISA: Uh-huh.
HOMER: Alright, then.

HOMER: Oh, yeah, what are you gonna do? Release the dogs? Or the bees? Or the dogs with bees in their mouth and when they bark, they shoot bees at you?
HOMER: Maybe, just once, someone will call me "sir" without adding, "you're making a scene."
MARGE: Bart, stop pestering Satan!
BART: Dad, I think I need some fresh air. Can I go to the park?
HOMER: Do I have to sit up?
BART: No.
HOMER: Knock yourself out.
this one contains words to live by from Marge
BART: You know why these clothes are on sale, Mom? Because the kids who wear them get beaten up.
MARGE: Well, anyone who beats you up for wearing a shirt isn't your friend.

And now I have the internet, so feed that comment box will ya?

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