I needed space. That is why I have not been updating much.
Ok, so, rather, I needed a space bar. That is to say, one night in a startling clumsy (startling because I was absolutely sober, of course) move, I managed to knock my keyboard off of my desk, causing it to smash into a million (read: dozen or two – hyperbole you are a pal!) little pieces scattering all over my apartment.
I recently rescued the “w” and “t” keys from a rather ornery dust bunny dormant in the dark corners underneath my bed. So, that is taken care of.
Other than that, a few unnoticeable keys have not been recovered. So with that, all I have to say is, “I do not care where you are “F5” - what have you done for me lately?!”
Attention “scroll lock” and “pause”: not since the DOS age has anyone needed your services! Off you go! Live free!
The space bar – that is another matter. Anyone who frequents ann-frank.diaryland.com knows I am a fan of the run-on sentence but I would like to think that is rather charming in a 4th grade-too-excited-to-go-to-the-bathrroom-to-pee-instead-must-tell-this-story-right-away kinda way. And yes, I already abuse the hyphen almost entry. However, I really doubt you’d come back often if everyentryllookedlikethisnowwouldyounotyouwouldnot!
So. The space bar is back. And I am back.
Or rather, I switched out keyboards, replacing the busted one with the very same kind. Only this “new” one I bought for two bucks at a thrift store about a year ago which says volumes about how old this computer really is – that the keyboards to my computer are now being sold at two bucks a pop at thrift stores and not only that, but well, I guess it also says I have the foresight to realize most things that wind up in my care turn up busted. Therefore it is always a good idea to have a spare.
Which, should you ever wind up browsing my CD collection, is why I have three copies of PJ Harvey’s album “Rid of Me”, several copies of Morphine’s album “Cure for Pain” and an extra few of various Jesus Lizard things laying around.
However, really, that is another story all together. We do not have enough time to cover all of my little neurosis, now do we?
Also, it is 58 degrees in my apartment right now. And if you did not know, that is legally not right. Even in the days of Cabrini Green anything under 62 was punishable by … well I shouldn’t complain because I am sure those folks never had the privilege of going across the hallway to knock on the door and asking the neighbors to please crank up the goddamn heat. *
Which I do.
And I did. The nice coupling unit who moved in across the hall ** said it was set to 70, so my apartment should be warm. Would I like to take a look at the thermostat because we are not liars? No thanks, I believe you. Okay have a good night!
Which I guess was nice of them, because had it been them coming to me, I would probably had said something like: Perhaps you should spring the 3 bucks for the goddamn WD40 so you can grease up the goddamn storm windows and maybe pull them down for once? They are there to eliminate drafts, you know.
Yes, I am using the lord’s name in vain here, but y’know what? I am okay with that because if the she wanted me to be warm and un-cursing perhaps my goddamn storm windows would not be stuck?
Are you hearing me lord? We have a heating problem here!
Hey. Know what? In my almost two week absence here I never got the chance to tell you I bought a pair of false eyelashes.
Why? Because they are goddamn flirty and fun, that is why!
And though I am not sure the lord would really accept using her name in vain to justify such a purchase, I will say it was fate. Short story: saw Goodfellas again, became shortly obsessed with hoop earring, bouffant ‘dos and of course thick eyeliner and lashes. Found myself at Target later that day and…Poof. A buck 89 later, I am the proud owner of falsies!
Of course, knowing my make-up skills fall no farther than Carmex and mascara, I should have known it the whole application process would be too hott for me to handle. One test run (do not worry, I never really plan to wear them like, outside) and a few blinks later, the left one was running up my eyelid like a centipede on fire. And suddenly, I had a third eyebrow.
In short: not pretty.
So, you know, even though my pal Sarah assures me the only way they will work is to kinda spackle them on with gobs of liquid eyeliner, I just know I do not have it in me.
Conclusion? Sadly, I will never become the perfect 60’s Mafioso housewife.
So, let’s recap in TeeVee Guide fashion, shall we?
This entry: Sober young girl recovers broken keyboard pieces from the clutches of killer dust bunnies braving 58 degree temperatures all the while looking stunning in her centipede false eyelashes.
From now on, I think I will start every entry with such a recap – you know, just because it would save you about a thousand words in muddling text for you to pour through.
Thank you TeeVee Guide!
However, one thing I will not comprise. You all go and welcome our very own Chicagoan and pitas.com refugee, the famous and glamorous libboy , to diaryland, won’t you?
Because he is one. smart. cookie. that I just adore. So, you know (no pressure) maybe you should, too.
*for those of you just stopping by, I go through this explanation every year. I live in an old building. Four units in all. Two thermostats in all. I do not live in one of the “controlling the heat units”, leaving me to beg Oliver! style (more heat please!) every year.
* *Remember how I told you the Fireman moved out? Yeah, well 3 months later, the coupling unit moved in. On December 28th to be exact. Yeah, that is the exact day I had my big obnoxious birthday party. The one I threw mainly because I thought no one would be across the hall to complain about my obnoxious friend-noise. Welcome newly hating-me-forever-now neighbors!