I take back what I said about Bush coming to his senses. Of course we can win the war on terrorism—it would be bad politics to say otherwise!

Now Kerry's in on it too,

"The way to win the war on terror is to fight a smarter, more effective war on terror," Kerry said. "That begins by electing a president to bring other nations to our side to share the responsibilities."

Now, that doesn't mean a thing. Has anyone yet defined what 'winning' actually means in this case?

I am missing the Cure tonight...

The apartment is finally finished. Jason's traumatized the landlady one last time by being naked (not that she saw him) and probably won't be coming back tonight. We were expecting her to show up early and start judging the place while we were still cleaning.

I got a transfer with 'ZIM' circled on it. Then every one of the Canadian orders was labeled, 'Zim', 'Zim', 'Gir', 'Dib', 'Tallest', etc. until the last page that said, 'I am not a freak'.

Today left on my chair (in Invader Zim font) was just a giant "ZIM". I have a feeling someone's trying to tell me something...

In Invader Zim font no less...

INVADER ZIM

VOLUME TWO

8-31-04

TOMORROW

BUY IT HUMAN SO I MAY PILFER IT FROM YOU

Jason is still the best roommate I've ever had, but after trying to clean the old apartment, I don't think I'd ever want to live with him again.

** Bush admits a total victory in the war on terrorism might not be possible. ** At last the man comes to his senses! You cannot win a war on terrorism, or terror, because you cannot win a war against a concept. Unless you go totally 1984 and start eliminating words from speech to control thought, concepts will exist and be malleable enough to suit the situation as long as necessary to keep fighting a "war". (Is terrorism blowing up buildings, or is it protesting the government?)

Besides, just look at how well we're doing in the war against drugs...

A protest is being planned for the day of Bush's acceptance of the Republican presidential nomination. To participate, Thursday, September 2nd, go to Amazon.com and order a copy of the book 1984. It's about six dollars in paperback, and I notice the cover is all new and updated compared to my old used copy.

I forgot to switch my cell phone to silent, since no one ever calls me anyway, and my phone rang. Who are you, 1-206-448-5317, and why are you calling me at work?

I've really got to get out of this place now. (Let's search the archives and see how many times I've used that phrase.) I got another written/oral/caution/warning/something-or-other about being late, but the dates on it are from over a month ago! I thought I was being good and I'm being warned about July. At least my boss is nice about it—"So I guess I'm supposed to show you this, and tell you not to do it again, and you're supposed to promise to improve and I send it on..."

Yesterday Paul asked me if I'd like to practice my alphabet, meaning he'd like me to put his blues in order. I asked him if I get a sticker if I do it all right.

So today he gives me a sticker that looks like a packing label, with the edges torn off, and an 'A+' written on it. I stuck it on the wall of my cube, cause I'm special.

The Bubble Baba Challenge

I just paid a dollar to change my addres with the post office online. Technology is amazing in small ways sometimes. I paid it with my WAMU debit card that I no longer use but had a couple dollars laying around in the accound.

Jason and I decided tonight that the best way to clean out the fridge would be to drink all the cider in it.

A clipboard carrying person outside of the Starbucks corporate headquarters asked, "Do you want to help defeat Bush in November?"

"Umm... sure!"

I knew this peaceful, even sharing of orders would never last. This led into what must be my misheard quote of the day though, "It works great. Just don't take your shoes off." That one threw me, because I did take my shoe off, while she and most of the office was at lunch, to get rid of a rock that was bothering me.

I know they're a staple at every company: people who just don't want to do their job. I'm counting three right now.

Lou complains whenever he doesn't have his "backup", one of the Rosen-managers who takes some of his work for him. (On the other hand, he complains if someone does too much of his job too.) He's a classic example of 'if you spend as much time working as you do complaining, you'd be done by now.'

Joanne is getting even worse about not totaling her orders or getting authorization numbers for credit cards (or writing down shipping dates or instructions...) If you complain to her she'll say, "Do it yourself. I don't have time." The word around the office (when she's not there) is she's too busy stealing everyone else's work to do her own.

Now half of the credit department is on vacation, leaving me having to call Mike about a customer who arrived while his order was still on hold. His response, "I don't know." Umm... what do you mean, 'I don't know'? I just told you so. Then he describes his time spent on the phone, says he doesn't have the order because it might still be on the printer and sends me away to the temp that isn't even answering her phone. Meanwhile a customer is physically standing downstairs waiting for his order to be released (or not, as long as an active decision is being made) and I'm being told, "oh, I'm too busy to deal with that."

"Your life is like a Friends episode." – Tom.

"Luke-is-the-Sexiest-Thirty-One-Year-Old-Straight-Guy-On-Capitol-Hill," says a flier posted on a telephone poll. Luke must know he can't compete with all the sexy gay men on Capitol Hill.

The carbonless paper for the printer is supposed to come in today. Big excitement here. Lou is complaining that with the way things are going pretty soon the orders will rip themselves apart, he won't be needed anymore, and "we'll all be replaced by rorbots."

In a company where a salesperson asking for email gets treated like a little girl asking for a pony, Lou will be long dead and gone before we have to worry about the rorbots taking over.

Selina told me this morning that my company was on fire and it was on the news. It was a small thing across the street though. No "snow day" for me.

The salespeople are going crazy with calls asking if we're okay, but no actual orders seem to be coming in.

Purple is the new red. At least this is good for me if office supply stores are going to start stocking more purple pens.

Walking into work I always pray that Karla won't show up that day—a sick day, a car accident... Today she wasn't there. Turns out she's on vacation and of course never mentioned anything to me. Our new boss is probably going to say something to her about that...

Andrew kidnapped me after work and told me I had to do something fun instead of clean. He didn't think far enough ahead to know what something fun would be, other than not cleaning, but I got the night off from the old apartment.

While I can't be as concerned about getting another "Doug" (Weird Doug) n the Cash Counter as Ted, who actually has to work with the guy, I'm afraid that's the case. My second observation about the new guy, a warehouse transplant, (my first being that he looks like he's trying to work while drunk) is that he can't spell the word 'vinyl'.

My hands still smell like bleach and I notice my fingernails are very clean.

I'm back at the old apartment cleaning. I've spend the last couple hours literally sitting in bleach and mildew (black water and spilled cleaning products.) It's amazing what almost pure bleach can do for a wall though. I don't have a good towel here to wash off but at least I should fit right in on public transportation.

I just started reading An Unquiet Mind which Shannon gave me for Christmas. (A while ago but some books want to wait until they're ready to be read.) I've only read one other book on manic depression, Daughter of the Queen of Sheba, which is drastically different. It was written by the daughter of a woman who was so far into the extreme of mania to be delusional (convinced she ran a business, had a long-distance lover, was the Queen of Sheba.) A very interesting story but there was nothing to relate to.

In this book I'm already recognizing parts of myself, while ultimately more extreme, of course, because no one's going to write a book about being bi-polar II.

Now and then we would talk about the possibility of taking antidepressant medications, but we were deeply skeptical that they would work and ware of potential side effects. Somehow, like so many people who get depressed, we felt our depressions were more complicated and existentially based than they actually were.

It would be nice to work near the library or a park. I don't know how many times I've paid $6 or so to a restaurant mostly for the privilege of having somewhere to read and relax for a while.

I was looking at the readme file for the Moogle program (a crafting database for Final Fantasy.) I don't know if this was intentional or Engrish:

Moogle for Windows is the application which searches a synthetic recipe. Please use for a synthetic life.

Goals for the night:

Set up computers, Violescious and possibly Boingy.
Start unpacking clothes.
Start unpacking bathroom.
Deal with Freecycle email.
Email about futon on Craigslist
Cancel utilities for the old apartment.
Update Happy-clicker. Explain to Selina my meaning of 'not a morning person'. (I don't want to exist to the outside world, let alone interact with it.) Bring empty boxes back to old apartment to move small kitchen appliances.
Actually spend time with my boyfriend?

I just wasted nearly an entire work day solving a logic problem puzzle out of my book. I hate not having a net connection.

Whatever calm truce Karla and I had just ended, as usual with Karla throwing something down on her desk [her reading glasses], dirty looks, and me mentally throwing my hands in the air wondering what I did wrong this time.

Andrew did not get me out of his shower however. Selina picked me up from the old apartment but declared a claim on the shower first, with the shower being my salvation at the end of a night spent in a dirty apartment where I feel like I start sweating the minute I walk in the door. I might have to just leave a towel and soap at the old apartment, especially once I start cleaning the mold off the walls.

I keep feeling like I belong in a crime scene photo. 'This is the victim after the incident...' Every time I get undressed I find new bruises, huge ugly ones on my thighs, hips, arms. Casualties of moving.

Ted gave use of his truck Friday (the one with the bumper sticker that says 'Yes this is my pickup/No I won't help you move') and helped move my furniture. I spent the rest of the weekend packing and moving more with the car the moving part is nearly done, except for my bike, some random things to get rid of, the entire kitchen...

Andrew should be putting my furniture together today so I can sleep in my apartment for the first time, and he gets me out of his bed.

It looks like I'll stay happily brain cancer-free.

"Their study of brain cancer patients and cancer-free adults the same age found that the risk of developing the disease appeared highest for people born in January or February and lowest for those born in July or August."

Ted was reading the newspaper in the Cash Counter with a front page article says that gay marriages are being annulled in San Francisco. "That's going to cause gay riots in San Francisco," Ted said, which started a conversation between the boys I ducked quickly out of. I avoid political discussions at work and this one would have me dragged in for a while if I allowed myself a response to this one...

"I don't understand why they have to be married like the rest of us," Ed said. The 'like the rest of us' not necessarily said outloud, is still implied strongly enough that I hear it in my head. "They can have their civil unions and..." Ted agreed, saying that bringing marriage into it brings in religious issues.

So why would gay people want to get married (like the rest of us?)

First of all, marriage is not just a religious institution, as much as people want to divide it that way. It is a religious, spiritual, and/or societal contract, pick and choose your own. Not many question my desire to be married someday (as long as it's to a man of course) without any connection to the Christian (or other) church. (I have no intention of submitting myself to my husband, unless it involves safewords and a chance to switch!) And I do—I want to have a ceremony that's meaningful to my relationship, and a label that's recognizable to society.

Yes, a label! People seem so afraid of labels these days that they forget what they are for. It would get much too tedious to explain this is the person I have these feelings for, do these activities with, do or don't have sex with with a certain frequency, with this level of commitment for this long... So words like 'boyfriend', 'husband', 'friend', and 'fuckbuddy' serve their purpose. Denying someone access to a common label denies them access to that place in society. "Oh he's not your husband, he's just your domestic partner."

In fact, I think this may be the root of the problem. People don't necessarily care what happens between two people in the privacy of their home if they don't have to think about it, but allowing it a label means having to accept it as valid and even equal. This is what really scares people.

I could run off and elope, with Andrew or a complete stranger(!), have a drive-through wedding in Vegas, and we would be married. I don't think the government's place should be any more than handing out pieces of paper saying that this couple (or triad? or..?) is legally joined. But as it is, we call a civil union for straight people a marriage, laws are written to recognize marriage, and that isn't going to change without straight riots in Florida. So why can't they get married like the rest of us?

The interracial marriage comparison has been made a lot since this has been in the news, but it makes sense, especially for people who are advocating a separate-but-equal style of relationships. Acceptance is when we no longer have to question why "those people" would want what we take for granted.

Since I've been purging stuff for the move I've been joking that I want to have a take-my-stuff open house. Just put some neon orange stickers on the computers, the furniture, and anything I specifically want to keep, and let people go at it, sort of a sanctioned burglary. I just managed almost as good.

I started listing tons of stuff on Freecycle, starting with a bunch of binders and sheet protectors that had been holding art school class stuff. (I must have gone crazy with the sheet protectors in school...) I still had my first quarter Color & Comp notebook! Drawing & Perspective, Print Production, Advanced Graphic Design... Selina will recognize these classs.

The guy who wanted my binders noticed that I was trying to get rid of a lot and asked if he could just come over then and take a look. He ended up leaving with nearly everything I was trying to get rid of, except for a couple things that hadn't made it to the free pile yet or I thought should go to a better home. His family's having a yard sale anyway so anything they can't use will go to it.

I called Qwest to disconnect the phone line and told them I'm moving to Massachusetts. If you're moving outside of their 14-state service area they are that much less likely to try to sell you into keeping and moving your account.

Karla's email resolved. She printed out a copy and left one next to me (by that time I'm terrified because it's no longer my paranoia that says it's about me.) She was actually suggesting we cut back the walking to once every half hour, while I'm in charge of dividing the bins, and all work including Canadians and futures will be split evenly between us. This is the first thing to make sense since... probably since I started working here!

Change at work, even good change, makes me nervous and right now I'm nervous enough to drop things!

Karla is typing another long email, I think, to our boss(es). It's making me nervous, even though I don't even have a net connection to get me in trouble now, and I can't think of a thing I've done wrong. It makes me think of the letter I almost wrote yesterday.

I complain about being treated like I don't exist at work but this is just ridiculous: Lou goes over to Carol, the guardian of the sacred "whites", looking for paperwork. Carol tells him, "It's all over with Rebecca. She's putting it in order for me." So Lou walks over here, and asks Karla if she has any whites. No, she tells him, it's all over there [with me]. Lou then looks at one of the stacks of paperwork next to me and asks Karla if it would be in there. She tells him of course that she wouldn't know...

I think I must have cooties or something and never knew it. Did anyone save their cootie detector from elementary school?

I came very close to writing a letter to my (new) boss about my working conditions. The plan of committing to a serious job search as soon as I get moved isn't enough to keep me going. Apartment stuff won't be settled until the end of the month, with packing and cleaning taking priority of my life.

Just in Andrew's shower I realized that I've very likely taken my last shower at the old apartment. I've most definitely spent my last night there since my bed is now in pieces against the wall. I've still yet to do either at the new apartment.

Wireless at work may be gone for good. What I heard from the receptionist (who also used it to connect with her Palm) is that whoever the router belongs to found out people were using it, and so might not bring it back after all, whatever sense that makes.

Despite my intense dislike of the low-carb industry, a month or two ago I bought some "Carb Smart" insta-soup along with my regular carb-inated insta-soup to compare. It took me this long to get the nerve to try it. My favorite part is how the individual soup packets are plain white with no markings, so no one can see your wrappers in the trash and know you're eating low-carb.

Jason left me a caffeinated brownie for work this morning. Unfortunately it's a no-caffeine week but it's tempting me.

The Blue Angels are back! I share what I suspect is a relatively common view of the planes: There's a enough reasons to hate them—they're too loud, cost too much money, disrupt traffic, and are a blantant display of militarism—but I like them anyway!

The wireless was horribly deceiving. I woke up my laptop and the connection was green. It's just left over from home.

The icon stayed green, and stayed green, long enough to say it's really, really back.

The icon went red.

Even more than yesterday morning, I feel like my body is about to self-destruct. Now the reasons are layering on... My stomach flu-like sickness still hasn't been resolved. My period is getting close and while I'm on the pill, which means my body shouldn't even know it's getting close, it's telling me I have no chance of trying to skip it. And, the beginnings of a sore throat yesterday is feeling like a real sore throat today. *Sigh* an August cold...

I found out what happened to the wireless. The person who is responsible for it, it's actually someone's pet project, has "borrowed" his router back. It'll be back, I'm told, but I have no timeline for it.

The wireless is down at work again. I am hoping desperately that it's just a glitch and will be back up by noon or so (a nice round number.) In the meantime, time is moving so incredibly slowly with nothing but a book to get me through work.

Andrew and I moved 9 boxes of books, a pair of rollerblades, and a cube of stuffed animals to the new apartment. I keep walking around it trying to get used to the idea that it's mine. It still has the new apartment smell (carpet cleaner) and everything.

This is a day asking for sick leave if there ever was one. Nothing physically or mentally pressing, it's just that I would really enjoy going back to bed for a few hours. Companies should offer 'I just want to sleep in' days as a benefit.

I signed more paperwork and handed over the first month's rent yesterday. Got keys. The apartment is officially mine. I wanted to put a single box of macaroni in the cupboard until I move in to feel a tangible "claim" on the empty apartment.

Selina, Walker, and I ate takeout sitting on the floor, with forks scavenged from Andrew's apartment. I found I can still connect to his wireless network from up there. I left my ice cream cookie in the freezer so that should cover tangible evidence.

I still feel bad about taking the bigger room after watching Selina go over hers with a tape measure trying to figure out how to squeeze her furniture in. Even though I did the entire apartment search, did the roommate search, secured the apartment, paid all of the rent and deposit up front with the intention of paying for it all as long as necessary, and planned a trade of the big room for the parking spot. It was my apartment first and I feel guilty because Selina doesn't have room for her plants.