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September 30, 2003

The Real Deal

Burning at the stake. That has to be just a *terrible* way to go. It has to be worse than some other ways, right? Worse than being hit by a bus? Drowning?

I've come up with a great idea - for a razor with 28 blades. Or maybe a million. The Mach Million, I think I'll call it. We can market it as the closest shave since the razor with 27 blades. It weighs about four pounds at the moment, so it's still in the early stages of development. Some bugs still need to be worked out.

We're waiting for the right moment to bring it out. I think this one's going to be a real moneymaker. Oh yes.

Posted by kati at 09:05 AM

September 25, 2003

Enough Excitement for One Day

A girl had a seizure in my history class today.
Even now as I type this, she is lying unconscious on the floor, with the professor and a campus policeman trying to wake her up. She slumped over in her chair, passed out and wouldn't wake up, and when the teacher left to get some help she started convulsing and fell to the floor. The paramedics are on their way and I know that there is not much I can do, but I hardly think it's right to actually step OVER this poor girl's limp body to get out of the room. They're calling her name, shaking her, trying to get her to come to.
Now there are lots of firemen in the room. One really cute fireman. This girl's been out for a good 10 minutes now. Another ambulance is pulling up outside.
They're asking her if she has diabetes, if she's on drugs, if she's been in a car accident, but she's not really conscious so I don't know how she can answer them. The cute fireman is wearing purple gloves.
Now there's about 12 uniformed officers of one type or another - cops, firemen, paramedics - in the room.

She's coming to a little it looks like. They're asking her what hospital she wants to go to. They're putting her on a gurney, giving her oxygen. Wheeling her out. Well, I guess I can leave now without having to climb over her. Damn, the cute fireman is gone, too.

Posted by kati at 02:26 PM

September 24, 2003

Washing my hands

I think that most of us, at least many people that I know, assume that when we reach a certain age in life, certain levels of decorum and/or courtesy become standard. This is not to say that we can't still act like children or assholes, or both, on occasion. We know we can, and have, many times. But even with this, one assumes that after middle-school the days of petty, unprovoked hostility and confrontation are over.

"You can't come to my birthday party anymore,"
The public birthday party disinvitation, ahh yes. Perhaps we've finally moved past all that.

Perhaps not.

I have recently been totally shocked (saddened, appalled, whathaveyou) by the level of mean-spirited, no-balls childishness that I have witnessed of late. A "grown up person" as old or older than most of you reading this, who is acting like, at the very best, a child.

He's the toddler we all hate, the one who lies indulgently screaming on the Supermarket floor while his mortified mother tries to retain her dignity and fend off accusatory looks from childless shoppers who assume she's a killer.

He's the defensive ugly kid in preschool who punches people for no reason, steals all the crayons, and tattles on everyone just for attention.

He's the simpering, sniveling, grade-school nuisance with a whining voice so shrill and constant that even the most patient of teachers would claw their own eyes out for an excuse to get away. He's the one whose continuous, painful, sing-song complaints can pierce walls.

He's the weasely double-agent who can't be trusted as far as he can be thrown, insecurity so twisting his behavior and appearance that he looks more like a rodent than a man.

And this "spineless little fraction of a man" - to quote a film, goes around pretending that he's the shit everyone's after, completely unaware of his hugely flawed personal character. I've heard that the stupidest people are the ones who have NO idea how stupid they are. They think they're geniuses, which makes them even scarier. Oh the power of denial.

Anyway, the point is: I am over it. I will no longer let this greasy, parasitic individual affect my life, nor will I allow my feelings to be hurt by his selfishness. I've experienced enough of his crap to know that no matter how old he his, or how many more years go by, he will never really be a man. More than anything, I feel sad about his false and pathetic existence. This does not mean that when I achieve whatever modicum of success I am striving for, and he is still living in a cave, that I won't feel totally vindicated. It doesn't mean that I wouldn't dance on his grave in a red dress (no, I wouldn't ... probably), but it does mean that he can fuck off and find someone else to try and hurt.

No that you will ever see this, but you know who you are, and I feel sorry for you... enormous, enormous pussy.

Posted by kati at 05:03 PM

September 23, 2003

I'm sorry ... and you are?

Everything I heard today was on a four-second sound delay,
Muted, muffled, and far away,
And I just didn't know what to say.

Today I was just a little tiny person sitting there behind my eyes, peering out at ... whatever was out there all day. My outward expression must have been that of cud-chewing bovine - docile, placid, unattached. I kept saying the wrong thing, or at least what seemed to me to be the wrong thing, eliciting scowls and gruff voices at every turn. In my mind, I couldn't have been more inadvertently offensive than I was today. What's worse, I don't feel like it's letting up. It's going to get worse before it gets better, that's for sure.

I just want to walk around with my headphones on 24 hours a day, and sing along REALLY loudly wherever I am. I want to drive to Arizona and back just so I can get in my car and go somewhere. Instead, I go to biology. Almost the same really...

Posted by kati at 05:03 PM

September 19, 2003

Drive-thru war zone aviation

I live in a quiet neighborhood. Quiet houses, quiet people. The majority of traffic on our street is just cute couples with cute dogs, who smile and wave at you as you stare at them. Whenever they do this, I know to raise my hand slowly in the air and then keep very, very still.

But even with the friendly pedestrians that have overrun the place, my neighborhood seems a pretty normal one.

...Except at 9:45 and 11:00 every night when the Sea World Twice-Nightly Fireworks Show makes it sound a little like an air raid. Someone jumps at it every single time.

...Oh, and those couple of times a night when the hospital helicopters fly close enough to shake the house.

...And also when that banshee of a little girl neighbor of ours lets out a scream that curdles the blood. She does this periodically every day, for NO apparent reason. It sounds a little like she's being scalded with a white-hot cattle prod. I doubt that's actually the case, though I'd be a good bit happier if I knew it was.


In other news, happened upon a *really* cute indie-boy at the drive-thru photo lab today. Button-up shirt, dark thick-rimmed glasses, shaggy hair, crooked smile. Right there at the goddam DRIVE-THRU photo lab. Taking the initiative, of course, I flashed my winning smile. And as usual nothing happened. But damn, boy was pretty.

Did you know that atop certain hills on the San Diego City College campus, you can turn East and it looks like an aeroplane is coming RIGHT AT YOU??? I bet you didn't.

Posted by kati at 06:45 PM