fuck fuck fuck

I can't do this.
I can't pull this off.
Can I?

See below, recently arrived in my inbox:

Dear Lucinda,
Thank you for your continuing interest in Arcadia Publishing and the position of Southern California acquisitions editor. I would like to invite you for an interview to be held on April 13 or the morning of April 14 with myself and publishing director Jane Elliot. We will both be flying into Los Angeles to conduct interviews, though we have not yet established exactly where they will be held. I expect that we won't be too far from LAX.
If you would like to interview with us for the position, please respond to me via email about which of the following times would be most convenient for you:
Tuesday, April 13 at 10am, 11:30am, 2pm, 3:30pm, 5pm,or 6:30pm or Wednesday, April 14 at 9am or 10:30am.
Thank you and I look forward to meeting you.
Regards,
Christine Riley
------------------------------------------------------
Christine Talbot Riley, Publisher
Arcadia Publishing
580 Howard Street, Suite 302
San Francisco, CA 94105

I'm a horrible adult. I have orange hair. How can I possibly get this job? I'm terribly irresponsible and immature. I have no business getting this position. At all.

But I want it like crazy.

Fuck. Color me in for a fucking letdown. I'm gonna walk in there, they'll exchange a horrified glance, and it'll be all over, and I'll feel more retarded than ever.

My ambitions are always at direct odds with my actual ability to achieve them. It's never that I can't perform the various functions that I feel I deserve: I'm extraordinarily intelligent and capable. It's that I have some equal and opposing sort of inertia, somehow deriving from a desire to never quite grow up.

I think it's cause I was never quite a child, and so now I am eternally fucked in an impossible race to recapture it.

driver's seat blues

One thing I've come to discover about life lately is that we want to not be in control of it. I think many people go around wanting someone else to give them the answers, tell them what to do, what's right and wrong, etc. I know I do. It's fun to take vacations and let other things and people be in charge for a while. But you always have to come back to yourself and put the little pilot back into her seat behind your eye sockets and have her be the one pulling all the levers and pressing the buttons.

I've found my various ways in life of abdicating control: drinking, drugs, relationships. I think many people in America use jobs--work--to tell them what to do. Television, media, pop culture, all living your life for you, influencing your decisions.

Sometimes it's hard to be in the driver's seat. Sometimes you want to see the scenery. This weekend was fun. Now I'm back at the wheel again. I think I'm okay with that.

Theory Radio takes it all off

Theory Radio's Strip-a-Thon was a smashing success. Flesh and paint were stripped, dancing dogs took off their duds, balloons were burst and strawberry fields were forever--or as long as they lasted before people ate them.

Myself, Normal, and Vanessa:



Yes, that's me in a black wig, with my sword.

;)

I think I'm gonna buy a hula hoop.

When I get money. I'm still broke as fuck. Stupid car, stupid curb, stupid rental van. Bleh.

Other than the hula thing, tho, I think I'm in hibernation. I'm not even drinking lately. What's going on?

WORST.FUCKING.WEEK.EVER.

You burn too bright
You live too fast
This can't go on too long
You're a tragedy starting to happen
Don't make those promises
Don't tell me again.
-elbow, "red".

today is quite possibly the most beautiful day in recent memory. i have a photo to prove it I'll post shortly. Driving to work today was like driving through all the clouds in heaven.

It is also apparently the day for really expensive cars to cut me off.

Don't fuck with me people. I have two swords, a baseball bat, and a can of gasoline in the car. And I'm hung over.

But it *is* a pretty day.