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Printers are incredibly boring to watch...even when they make funny noises. shhhhkt. shhhhkt. shhhhkt. *rip* shhhhkt. *rip* mmhmm... j.s. |
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Monday, April 28, 2003
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I'm feeling much better now thank you. Amazing how just one phone call can douse all that angst inn'it? *grins like a retarded monkey* G'night! =] j.s. |
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Hi there, So, you'll never guess what I've been doing for the past 30 minutes... Browsing the personals on Yahoo.com. Yes, that's right. And now my question is...exactly what possesses people to do this? Now before you leap to calling me a hypocrite, yes I did look at a bunch of 'em, and yes I did even see a girl who I thought was pretty cute and sounded interesting. Okay sure, it was basically because she referenced "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead" in her bio, but the "Match-O-Matic" thingy still picked her as my closest match despite the obscure reference. (The poor dear...) But I digress...my main point here is...personal ads on the net. All fine and good... But who would pay $20.00 a month simply for the right to these peoples' email addresses? Are there that many desperate folk out there with no other venue? I suppose there would have to be... And besides, how weird would it be to get emails from people you don't know who are interested in you based solely on a couple of pictures of you, and what you typed once in a box not entirely unlike the one I'm typing in now? I guess I've somehow developed a narrowed eye where online personal descriptions are concerned. I'd really hate to see the kinds of people who'd be interested in me after reading the random drivel I write.. "Oooo...nothin' like a man who isn't afraid to do 'The Dance of the Exploding Pigeons' in public...oh my. Hope he posts them pictures soon..." Yipe. Another thing that kills me are the "200+ lbs.," "divorced," "2+ kids" women who put ads up there demanding men who are in the "$150,000+" bracket. Hey, you bet. Shoot for the moon sweetie...I'll be ready on the other side with a camera to catch your fall and sell it to FatChicksinPartyHats.com Princess Snackwells. **shakes head** Sigh, any more of this requiring $150k ridiculousness and I'm going to be seriously disappointed in just about everyone... Bah, I've had enough...and I'm exhausted. G'night. j.s. |
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Okay, the "About the Authors" link works...now I just need to learn a bit of HTML and put something up there with my own idiomatic levity...perhaps a picture too. Though it's going to be tough to beat that Rip Taylor pic from yesterday...damn that guy is cool. I've already noticed a difference in the load speed of the site and in the publish times... Also, according to my blogstats, over 50 people have hit this site in the past 24 hours. *blink* I don't even know 50 people. *blink blink* This is a little unnerving. So...erm...yeah. How's it goin'? Hi. Me? Pretty good, pretty good...just workin', you know... mmmhmm...workin'. .... Okay you people have to leave. I can't talk with a bunch of strangers looking at me like that. Go on. Go. Thank you. So I've decided that it is imperative that I go shopping today. The weather is warming, my wardrobe is geared toward Utah livin', and the Galleria she's a callin'. (Body strong...will....weak.) I'm thinking a few pairs of linen drawstring pants, (Nantucket Red may be last summer's color, but I still love it...for obvious reasons) some linen button-ups, a pair of raw canvas Vans I saw at Katy Mills last weekend that have haunted me since I saw them. And, of course, anything else that leaps off the rack and demands to be taken home along the way and will prepare me for the equatorial heat. Yay! That's sure to improve my consumer report...try and deny me a bank account now you Bank One cokkass. Hmmm...been a week since Erica left...perhaps I should give her a call tonight. Oh, and while we're on the subject, I keep hearing more and more about this girl from you guys, and while it is true that she is a wonderful person, I'm thinking I should probably tone down the discussion of her on this site. I mean, she has no idea the stir she caused. (I've heard applause from some of you...) In fact, if she ever saw this I'm sure she'd think I was some kind of compulsive, analytical misanthrope with too much time on his hands and a penchant for broadcasting relatively personal information to anyone who'd like to read it. ... I'm not sure if Derek is heading into the office today, but I might try to badger him into coming shopping with me...oop! Think I might hear his voice now...yep, that'd be him. Damn..too busy to shop. Should be a crime. =] Talk to you guys later. *runs off flailing in a sale-induced frenzy* j.s. |
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Sunday, April 20, 2003
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All smiles again...she called. =] Happy Easter everyone. j.s. |
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Thursday, April 17, 2003
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Okay, I have a little time now... So, if you need a recap, you can read back HERE regarding what I had to say about Erica when I first heard she was coming into town. She arrived this past Monday. I couldn't be there since I had a prior late dinner/drinks engagement with my Mom and Brent. (Oh. Yes they offered me the job. Yes I took it. For the time being anyway.) Tuesday turned into a very late night at the office, and I was briefly considering not going out once the clock hit 10:30, but she called me again, demanding to know where I was. I decide, "why not?" and head to Sam's Boat to meet her and her friend. We hug. She exclaims how I look exactly the same. We talk a bit, hit the uncomforable silence stage, her friend would talk, etc. The whole thing went relatively well. Her friend then informed us that she was getting tired, (I'm still not convinced that this wasn't per some hidden signal from Erica that I was, in fact, safe and okay to be around. Or it could just be time for my paranoid delusion medication again...) and we drove her back to the hotel they were staying in. Erica, refusing to be deterred by her friend's torpor, wished her goodnight and she and I went to Sherlock's Pub to catch up a little more. You know, there is just no subtle way to enter a room with a 6' 2, blonde, stunningly beautiful woman on your arm. Heads swiveled like Linda Blair in a house of mirrors when we walked in. A few said "heyyy.." to her in that leering, disgusting voice that only intoxicated men are capable of, one had some lewd comment which she "pff..whatever"d at and ignored, and one guy even came over and hugged her from behind, prompting me to stand up and glare him into a quivering he-puddle. He backpedaled and almost tripped over the barstool next to us. Apologizing and muttering something about how he thought she was someone else, he scurried off. (Right. And there are a surplus of 6' 2 blondes that frequent Sherlocks. You bet.) Anyway, after the initial ruckus died down, we had time to seriously catch up over a few drinks. And it was very, very good. She's finishing her bachelor's degree in Textiles at F.I.T., and has a litany of really interesting (to me anyway) insights on fabrics/fashion. We briefly touched on former relationships. I mention Yvonne, she mentions her two former fiancees, we commisserate on this as well. Things are going really well, the glances at one another become slightly more lingering. (You all know what I'm talking about.) The conversation turns to how glad we are to finally have caught up after all this time... And it was at this point that she raised the only red flag in the entire time we spent together, and began talking about how she really wanted to get married after she graduated from school, and start having kids. **And Jeremiah slams on the brakes** "Oh...er..." Now before you say "issues," this is an intelligent girl, heart-leapingly beautiful, impossibly endearing, (she flew to San Antonio just to spend time with her grandmother who has Alzheimer's...how unassailably sweet is that?) one whom I have years and years of history with, and, if I could get to know for longer than a few days at a time, I'm positive I would be very comfortable around. In fact, the notion of having a serious relationship with her is one that I might actually entertain if I could just get a little more than a couple of days out of every 5 or 6 years to try to get to know her... But, even having given that admission, it was enough to bring the ol' Jeremiah guard that we all know and despise back up. And I backed off. Shortly thereafter, I'd decided it was time to go and drove her back to her hotel. She called me on my way home to express her desire to see me the following day, and to bid me a safe drive home. (Like I said, she is very, very cool.) I agreed, promised I would leave work early to spend time with her, and drove home feeling better about myself than I had in as long as I can remember. I caught a breeze of her perfume as I took my shirt off to go to bed, and a pang of long dormant...what do you call those things...oh yeah...emotions, welled up in me. I even caught myself thinking about her as I drifted off to sleep. I know..."awwwww"... Shut up... -Cut to yesterday.- I briefly stop by the office, explain that I am not staying, and head to her hotel. We hang about the room for a bit, and then go to Houston's. (The site of the Sadowski-sighting in days prior.) A few glasses of wine later, we're relatively relaxed. No, make that buzzed since neither of us had eaten anything yet that day. As a result, we get to more relaxing conversation...our schooling, love of fashion, our families, her current Dr. boyfriend (!!!) who apparently does a lot of blow and refuses to marry anyone until he's making 150k-a-year, (pffft...New Yorkers.) the fact that she thinks I'm a "really good-looking, sweet guy." (cringe) All fine. Right up until the date of when Yvonne and I broke up comes up again. "You really haven't dated anyone since her?" "Er, I had a 48 hour whirlwind romance with a girl in Rome the following March. Does that count?" "Maybe. March of what year?" "Er. 2001." "Oh my God...and no one since? "No." "Jer, you can't tell girls things like that." Beginning to get embarrassed, and thinking I'd crossed some line I was theretofore unaware of, I ask, "Uh, and why not?" "Because it will make them want to ravage you right there." "Mmhmm..." Pause. "Perhaps I *should* be telling this story more often then?" Laughs, smiles and a nod. "Yes. Go out, meet people, date, and for God's sake get laid. And I'm going to keep tabs on you to make sure..." Yadda yadda...more relatively sheepish conversation about my less-than-stellar love life of late ensues. We decide it is fundamentally unjust. I smile and say I'll be sure to something about it. Her friend calls as we're just moving on from this subject. She's ready to go to the Galleria. And despite my assurances to the contrary, they really want to go to the Cheesecake Factory. "Um...but there is a really great cafe right down Westheimer in Montrose..." They bring up the Cheesecake factory again. I drop it, say that would be great, and head off dejectedly to a chain restaurant. Sigh. Dinner was good. Mojitos, bruschetta and chicken marsala. Bailey's and coffee for a digestif. After which, I was not necessarily in the Land of the Drunk, but I could see it without a telescope if you catch me. We wander about the Galleria for a bit, things are nice. And then. 8:00. Time to get her to the airport to catch her flight to Dallas. Sigh. So off we go. We get to the passenger drop off and begin to say our goodbyes. She says she doesn't want to leave. I concur. Heavy sighs. Downcast eyes. I open the trunk and get her bags. (Sufficiently flustered by this point, I also proceed to lock my driver's side door, leaving my keys in the ignition and my car running. Thankfully she didn't lock hers otherwise I'd have been locked out of a running car directly next to the airport. The airport gestapo would not have found that as cute as she probably did.) And then she left. I got about 2 minutes away and immediately started missing her. So I called her, and said so. And told her that I had to see her soon. Brief talk about when classes finish, and her forthcoming trip to L.A. after this semester, she says she'll be back in NY the first week in June. I briefly consider that her boyfriend will be there as well...and decide to drop it. If she's not worried, neither am I. I instead say that sounds great. Call me when you get to Dallas to let me know you landed safely. "Okay sweetie..." That was the last I've heard from her. And I've been walking with a smile on for 24 hours now. Wow...long narrative there. Sorry about that. But it's basically for posterity anyway, so I'll remember in better detail. And I'm sure you married folk who read this are thanking your lucky stars to not have to concern yourselves with this kind of thing anymore. Bah I say. Bah. Speaking of which, I also mentioned a very brief version of this story to a guy who knows me pretty well, and who works at my Mom's office. He seems to think her attitudes toward settling down are "awesome" and informs me that I'm getting on in my years and should, in fact, be looking for that sorta thing. I believe his tactful way of saying it was, "Your fucking clock is ticking big guy." "Yeah. Thanks." Okay, it's late. And I have to take Mom to the airport early tomorrow. Take care all. And I pity you if you've made it this far through this posting...you should all go outside, or read a book, or go shopping, or something...go on. Go. j.s. |
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Hi. I spoke to my wayward partner in northern randomness today. (i.e. Jenny.) She and Jeff, Kami and Shelley were all heading up the canyon to go rock climbing... I really miss her. When she called it brought into stark focus just how solitary a life I'm leading these days... Though now that I think about it, that happens everytime I see her ID come up on my cell phone...and even moreso when we hang up. The rare instances that I get to speak to her for any extended period of time are truly among the favorite bits of my life, and she is counted among the very few people that I would do anything for...and do it with a smile. I'd fight lions for that girl. (Of course, not that she would espouse that kind of behavior.) And yes before you ask, we are just friends...and destined to remain so. For good and ill. You M.E. regulars will recognize this jeremiad from months ago when I was in my house in Baltimore. I'm not sure exactly what I said back then, but I'm sure it was something along the lines of what I've just typed. Yeah...same old show, new venue. Try the veal. **Smoke Break** BRB. Carcinogen intake...complete. In other news: Derek and I have a dinner meeting with my Mom and Brent on Monday. I'm going out on a limb here, but I'm guessing it's to discuss our present positions in ParrishShaw + Co. and to discuss our future in the organization. It could be a "you're kinda cute...we'd like to keep you," or it could be a, "you are one strange bird Jer...go forth and spread your suckage somewhere else." Your guess is as good as mine. D and I spent the better part of the evening in an electonics UberMart, with square footage roughly the size of Michigan. Being there made me ponder the things I might like to have...and those which I currently do not have. Which is to say, basically everything I looked at. A TV, a DVD player, new computer, laptop, new PDA...and that's not even mentioning my ongoing obsession with owning a Mini, and eventually having cubic space of my own in which to dwell. Enough $$$ to fly back to SLC on occasion... And, in an interest to appeal to your collective capitalistic sides, I'll also be able to afford to finally get rid of the ad-banner on this site, and thus be able add pictures, sound, and to make my promotional "Rub the Cow" stickers. Not to mention starting my newest endeavor, www.flyinghelmetedpaladins.com. Don't ask me what this will be, for I do not know as of yet...but it's going to rock. (I mean, how can one go wrong with a URL like that? Exactly. It's a goldmine I say. A GOLDMINE!) Anyway, I mention all of this only to prep you all for the decision that may come in the very near future. Specifically if the aforementioned conversation this Monday turns toward the offering of a full-time position. That way my answer won't come as a total shocker to you all. Honestly, the way I currently feel is that it just might be time to shed my robes, plant my walking stick, and become a part of the world the rest of you live in. Well, maybe not reside in that world...but at least visit it more often. I'll still rail your ass six ways to Sunday in a little Q3A, and EQ2 STILL looks like a great way to spend a rainy Saturday evening to me... =] I'll keep you posted. j.s. |
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Friday, April 11, 2003
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Oh and another thing...those of you with an unhealthy obsession to obscure music, like me, might find this kinda cool. I'm seriously thinking about ordering a few and putting 'em in frames...they'd make interesting hallway pieces for the apartment that I don't have... The Shame of Rock and Roll j.s. |
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Sunday, April 06, 2003
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**VERSION 4.0** I'd like to take a moment and talk about spas if I might. Thank you. So, Mom makes an appointment for me to have my eyebrows done at 1:00 on Saturday. (I hadn't had them waxed since Utah and they were getting a bit unruly.) I, of course, forget completely about this and proceed to get hammered on whiskey sours the night before. The phone rings at 12:15. "You're on your way to the spa right?" "mmnpfff?" "The appointments I made, you're on your way right?" ""gllfrrgle." "Good, see you when you get here...bye." :Arrkp." *click* So I drag myself out of bed, stagger into a shower and head toward an impending brow wax. Or so I thought. "Can I help you?" "mmnfJeremiahShawgghereforbrowwaxnnn" "Yes Mr. Shaw, your wax appointment is not until 3:00, your massage appointment is scheduled for right now. Here is your locker key, and if you'll just follow me..." "Argf?" At this point I was so confused that I was happy to just have someone else tell me what to do and where to go...so I followed her into a room with 5 other women in what looked like white lab coats. Modern day survival skills gave me a jolt into acuity. Women in lab coats are not to be trusted... "I know who this is!" one says. "Good, because I'm not entirely sure myself." "Ho ho...good one. Not feeling good are we?" "No. Hangover." "Ohhhh...well we'll work that right out of you." So this is the part where I start to get really nervous..."hangover" and "work" only go together when saying you are suffering through one and going to be late for the latter. (Pizza is here...mmm...pie.) Ooookay. So I am then instructed to go into the locker room, shower again, and change into a robe and sandals. I do so. Then they tell me to wait in the "Relaxation Room" and my massage therapist will be with me shortly. Right. Now, I don't know about you, but my idea of relaxation equates to things bearing similarity to the following... Hammock + Beach Beer + Sailing Adirondack Chair + Nantucket Car + 610 Loop +3 a.m. + "This Mortal Coil" CD etc. Note that nowhere in that list does it include sitting in a 10x10 room, with 5 other predominantly naked people in robes, and staring out the window at a brick wall while eating seedless grapes. Which is exactly what I was doing. Until...Karen arrived. "Jeremiah?" "mmnff?" I say, through a mouthful of grapes. "Hello, I'm your massage therapist Karen. Follow me please." "Rrrright..." I step in tow and follow her down a narrow hallway with doors on either side...you know, the kind that Scooby Doo would run in and out of in random succession with ghosts chasing him and vice-versa? Just like that. Except they have little stone slates hanging next to them with titles for the rooms like "Tranquility," "Centering," "Harmony" and the like. "We're going to do a deep tissue massage on you today...try and work out some of the toxins your muscles have accumulated." "Ah. So this is 'De-Tox' then?" I grin. She doesn't even look back at me, and instead begins cracking her knuckles. It sounds like snow covered tree trunks breaking. At this point, I become even more nervous. I glance at the "Harmony" slate next to me and briefly ponder snatching it off the wall, cracking her over the head with it and making a break for it. I decide that this is a bad idea, since it wouldn't take long for her to call other little white lab coats with impossibly powerful hands. I keep walking. 'Here's our room. Step inside, take off your robe and get under the sheet with your head down in the facerest. I'll be right back." "Rrright." It would do now to mention that "Facerest" is a strange term which has nothing to do with actual resting. It is, in actuality, a miniature padded toilet bowl lid that you simply stick your face in. It sits uncomfortably against one's forehead and chin and squeezes the eyes together in a way not entirely unlike a vise grip moving imperceptibly slowly. You aren't conscious that your eyes are popping out of your skull until your peripheral vision reaches approximately 270 degrees and you can see your own ears. --Moving on.-- I do as she asks, and lay there nekkid. I become concerned that I might have a natural male reaction to a woman rubbing me down with oils, and worry about her asking me to turn over under this sheet, thus creating a "big top." (Or "just-right top" in my case...shut up.) I have time to ponder this for a second, when the door opens and Karen walks in and dims the lights. The massage starts. And I must admit, for the first 10 minutes it was great. Just your average massage with oils and such. It was so nice that I was thinking I might make this part of my hangover regimen. Then, all hell broke loose. Karen began pressing deeper into my back...then deeper...then deeper. To the point where it felt like she could have given my lungs a juicing if she'd liked. I managed an, "ow?" and looked back up at her. Now, it was dark...but I swear that Karen had mutated into something large, green, and vaguely resembling Lou Ferrigno, that was happily crunching my back into Elmer's paste with a mad gleam in it's green eyes. "Turn back 'round pleez..." came a low, gruff voice. "Okay, but that kinda hurts." She muttered something that sounded like, "Good. Hulk smash." and went back to work digging a trench along my spine with her elbow. (Presumably for when my internal bleeding became external.) So, to make a long story short. She basically used every muscle in my body like Silly Putty, smacked me on the ass, turned back into Karen and said. "That's it Jeremiah. Please get dressed, sit in the steam room for 10 minutes, then head to your eyebrow appointment." "uggggg" "Have a nice day." "owwww" "You might bruise a little...that's normal." "ahhhhh" "Bye Bye." And Karen was gone...an appointment with Reed Richards I assume. I never thought I'd actually look forward to having hot wax placed on my eyelids and ripped off...but at this point, I was. And thus ends my trip to the spa. The kicker is that we paid almost $200 for the privilege of having the shit beaten out of me by the She-Hulk. It makes no sense to me at all. Oh, and I apologize about it taking me so long to write all this up. I actually had it finished yesterday, but the blog lost it for whatever reason so this is my second go round with writing it. Talk to you all soon. j.s. |
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Thursday, April 03, 2003
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Cluck.
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Tuesday, April 01, 2003
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I have come to a conclusion that is going to shock many, er, no...make that ALL of you. I am going to raise chickens. Yes, "really." I saw a program on PBS late last night, The Natural History of the Chicken and it spoke to me in a way I never would've imagined. I mean...they truly are beautiful, proud little creatures. And I can't honestly think of a more meaningful existence than cooking chickens that I raised from a hatchling, and selling that which I don't eat. I looked on the Net today and found a small plot of land near Sealy, TX that would be the perfect size, to start with anyway. Once I've raised my first few hens I'm sure there'll be room there for an upgrade. I also spoke to a loan officer at Bank One today, and loans for agricultural purchases are at a amazingly good rate. According to Elis, the loan officer, It shouldn't take long for the loan to go through, and it looks really good since I'm saying that I've worked at my Mom's company for 13 years. (Who is going to say I haven't?) Besides, doesn't our government subsidize this kinda thing? I can't believe how much the weight of all the ridiculousness of my life (and everything I've been writing in this thing for the past 8 months,) has lifted from me. I'll still keep up the M.E., and let you all know how I'm doing, but I'm willing to bet it will be awhile before I have an Internet connection set up out there. Wish me luck, and know that you will all be in the hearts and prayers of myself, and my flock. Love, Jeremiah John Shaw |
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