i don't know where to put this so i'm putting it here

wow, these:
http://www.rivkah-young.de/deutsch/colorium/colorium.html

http://www.ecorazzi.com/2008/11/03/50-cent-and-bette-midler-team-up-to-restore-community-garden/

http://www.whudat.com/news/images/50-cent-and-bette-midler-open-community-garden1-big.jpg

one co-worker to another: "i heard you wipe your ass with rainbows."

http://www.flickr.com/photos/djll/sets/72157608369709836/?page=1

i narrowly avoided being spit on by a chinese with a limp

oh god oh god oh god the crazy christian junk collector neighbor is hollering to the liberal former union organizer neighbor about how barack obama is going to form his own security force of black panthers it is so painful ow ow ouch

http://home.hetnet.nl/~paslen/fit/fibonacci.gif

lol i just remembered--hadn't thought about it in years--that we used to measure rooms in japan by how many tatami mats they were. i got good at eyeballing them too: "oh, that's gotta be a 6 mat room."

(everyone measures them that way. nothing special except i got damn good at it)

oh shit i just spelled Dennis as DENACE. maybe i am loosing my mind

maybe you have a screw lose

"that girl, she got a screw to lose."

i got a work email with the subject line "Yellow Card" and was all "WTF did i do wrong??!" but it turns out i have to edit something that is printed on yellow card stock, which goes by the colloquial name "Yellow Card"

http://www.washington.edu/students/osfa/images/73346730_4.jpg

congrats btw

http://i221.photobucket.com/albums/dd118/embarchie/ashortguideto.jpg

The last years, the ones in Paris, were obviously more represented, but small fragments of my past lives, in different hearts and places, found hospitality beside them. Each of them was a potential gate to my past life, to use in case of sentimental or emotional needs, or in case of a sudden lack of references, or just for fun.

That pile of luggage hid a high potential of experiences, a surplus value deriving from their actual space-time location and from my mental state. The casual condition was linked to the travel I was starting.

My train arrived and I went towards the cabin I had booked. After some time my train departed. When it started moving, the pendulum of my life stopped for a long extra-dimensional moment.

lol @ my dad's wife: if you have to put reminders around to listen to your hypnosis tapes, they probably aren't working

kind of supports your theory that they're going to disappear into an ashram.

if she doesn't forget.

i took this of the tv why because i am 14
http://i221.photobucket.com/albums/dd118/embarchie/1227667087.jpg

i must be 14 too b/c i laughedoutloud

i drove across the lake this morning. when i got up, at the house, i could see that low fog covered the lake. i couldn't see the city. it seemed like i was looking out at the ocean. when i drove across i drove into the fog bank, on the bridge, the fog surrounded me and i couldn't see the suburbs in my rearview. then the university and then the city came into view, all lit up, sun shining, fog gone.

co-worker: "the burger place has pumpkin shakes now DAMNN BOOYAAH IT'S LIKE DRINKING A PIE!"

coworkers are going crazy over this right now:

http://www.meet-an-inmate.com/

so this is what it would be like if i had a board to myself. just...writing to myself. for myself. um. that would be boring. it'd be like playing drums by myself.

i've written really really long things, like non-internet ones; that makes sense for the by/for myself. this though, what would be the point.

maybe i'd take a picture of myself every day. if it were really private.

on saturday night i was the boss of the place and i ran shit like a hellof tough captain of a ship but things happened, things worth recording:

a woman had a stroke and we had to call 911.

a man wandered in at intermission, accosted the service staff, then plunked himself down on a sofa in the lobby. i got called--in the middle of my reports--and went in and sat with him. at first he was belligerent, maybe drunk, when i was standing over him, but then i sat across from him and we got to talking. it turns out he was crazy. (i was 98% sure at that point he wasn't a patron). he told me about his house in Kona. he wouldn't let me touch his ID. he explained that his ID was a secret ID, from the CIA, with codes on the back. as we chatted i waited and wondered where security was. they'd been called at least 5 minutes earlier, an eon in crazypersontime. at one point we were talking and chatting and laughing and turned to the head usher (there were about 15 people watching this all go down) and yelled WHERE IS SECURITY?? and then turned back to the man and he kept talking like nothing had happened. lol. security eventually did show up and picked him up by the scruff of the neck and ran him out the front doors. turned out he had a restraining order and was not allowed on campus for 5 days. i was sick through all of this.

hi jergins, you are not just writing to yourself, i am reading your posts avidly.

lxy's home soon so we'll get to hear all about portland i hope!!

no, i can't post till i vacuum.

oopsie.

i can't post till i vacuum.

see u in 2012!

lol!

oopsie again.

hi lxy! i hope you had a beautiful time in portland.

hihi estela! yes i did thank you!

(i vacuumed, by the way. hurray me.)

excusemeiamrightherejeez

oh shit wrong thread after all that

what i wrote in my report
• A few minutes into the second act I was called to the grand lobby. A man had accosted Savor staff, calling them names. I remembered him as soon as I saw him, having shooed him away for smoking too near the door. He’d given me grief at the time, and as I approached I was ready for more. Unsure whether he was a patron or not—my gut said no—I stood over him, asking for a ticket. He was belligerent to begin with, but then I sat down, and the two of us sat there eye to eye and he calmed some. He told me his name, Alan Wallace King, and about his house on Kona. He showed me the secret ID the CIA had given him. When he paused for breath I asked for the ticket he couldn’t provide, the name of the friend he couldn’t come up with. As he talked I turned to head usher Jim, standing with a group, watching me, and hollered out, “WHERE IS SECURITY?” That didn’t faze Alan Wallace King, He kept talking. Five minutes later, an eternity in crazy person time, security showed up, forcefully ejecting Mr. King out of the venue onto the street and into the night. It was then that we found out about the restraining order, and that he was not allowed on Seattle Center grounds. Good night, Mr. King!

do you think the cia will be mad that you ejected him?

max i don't think he is really a cia agent

ps jergins nice report!

i guess i misunderstood the story i thought he had a cia id

fresh fires

an apple the size of a house

http://post.thestranger.com/images/blogimages/2008/12/05/r_1228521626_los_carpinteros.jpg

a hearse took my parking spot