The other half is doing.

I have been doing, doing doing doing. A lot of it. I am doing so much I don’t even know where the end begins and the beginning ends.

Oh, alliterations, how I covet thee.

I have decided to launch my url somewhat publicly on that in-a-net dating charade I am a member of–I wish it was called in-a-net meeting so I wouldn’t quite feel so shady about doing it. It’s a fantastic way to meet weirdos, that’s for sure. I especially love when I am out with some dude and he gets weird about the questions I pose which might hit a little too close to the belt, err, heart. They all seem to be so nervous about being stalked. It cracks me up, because I am clearly too focused on having fun–common sense would dictate that stalking anyone is a total waste of time.

Actually, that’s almost bullshit. I am just too entertained by my own antics than to waste them on other people who clearly don’t recognize nobody is as interesting as I am (I’m playing, but come on, stiff boys, loosen up already!). I am however kinda putting myself out here to be stalked, I guess. But let’s just hope everyone shares the same iota of common sense that I ride the lights on. And if they don’t, well, I am no weak little flower, I will fuck you up. That’s my warning. I won’t keep it up forever, but as B and I discussed earlier…the only bad publicity is no publicity (so fucking cliche, but it’s true). I am not even trying to publicize my dating needs, but more about the writing entanglements…the dating stuff is just something that may happen via these routes (in-a-net) or many others. I really don’t care. I do me, I am good.

I was stalked once, however. Well, my apartment was broken into by someone who liked me a little too much, let’s say. He got into a coke rage with my upstairs neighbor and broken into my apartment. With a large rock. He crashed and crushed the door somehow. And then he was in. My dog…Asa, my girl I lost in December, clearly wasn’t guard dog enough since he plied her with a can of Alpo, which is like twinkies for dogs. No nutritional value, all filler. And then he took some of my photos, and some of my comics, and some of my little china vases…the moron who did it left his hat on the floor in his rage rummaging through my things. So when I found it, it was quite obvious who did the thing. The funniest part was he did it on a Thursday evening, so when I returned on Friday and called the police–well let’s just say you never want to be thrown in jail on a Friday. The douche gave me all of my stuff back, though maybe he still has a photo, who knows–though I am still inclined to think he was insane to grab what he did. Little vases, my “special comic books,” as he said. How did he know what I considered special? Nothing was worth any money. His name was Bobby–but shortly thereafter started referring to himself as, get this “Butta Jones.” He didn’t want the association with the event since his name was easily tied to it, given Bobby just wasn’t a common moniker in the circles we ran. Butta, oh man, he begged me not to prosecute, since he had a son and all. And me? Well, as long as he stayed far the fuck away from me, I was good with it. My neighbor never did coke after that with him as far as I knew, given it cost the landlord money to correct the splintered and rage shaven door back to something resembling an entrance.

I am so excited to have friends I am almost ready to jump out the window. Not literally, exactly, but I have plans for the next two days…and through the weekend as well with the family. I am starting to feel human again though I still say NY was way easier to maintain human contact entirely.

Oh yeah, and for those of you who might be wondering about those 2000-2003 blog updates? I am doing them. Tomorrow afternoon. They will be up by the weekend. I also now am using my little smart phone to be smart for me…as in it keeps my appointments and goals. I have a billion story ideas I am giving myself a year to fully exploit. So that’s like one a week…and then there is of course the memoir class I am starting mid-August. Chick’s gonna be writing her face off, that’s for sure.

Also-I got a job. A job doing some lead cleanup and generation for a company out of NYC. I would tell you how I got it, but I would have to kill you. Telecommuting. I got offered it and then had to go through the official interviewing process. That’s right–I didn’t have to look. It’s part time freelancing for now. But it does lock me down at my computer for several hours a night…

The how I got it might be for the memoir, because all in all most of the memoir stuff really isn’t in this blog very specifically. There are just little snippets, doodles of reminders, annotations to keep me in the practice of typing, creating, expressing. The real memoir happens later…and you won’t have to read through 500 posts over years and years to get the meat. It will be spelled out quite literally very soon.

Happy happy days are here to stay…

PS. And because I promised WWII ball stuff…here is a little something: