19: Your mom, your mom, your mom is da bomb!

We had a fire drill this week. When I was at Brearley, I loved fire drills. They could happen at any time. The alarm would ring, and we would leave class in a somewhat orderly fashion. We’d crowd the sidewalks on East 83rd Street, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the foxy neighborhood firemen. When they would appear, hanging from their red trucks and shouting at us to move back onto the sidewalk, I’d swoon.

Fog to the left of me, fog to the right of me — it’s kind of romantic, really, the fog rolling around like cows in a pasture. If I could find some French onion soup and a good piece of gingerbread, it would be easy for me to make peace with this foggy day. The closest I’ve got is the tin of clam chowder I’ve brought for my lunch. Filling — yes. Romantic and mysterious — no.

Maybe I’m taking Mary J. Blige’s “Real Love” too close to heart. But Mary is so strong and so wise, how could I not listen?. “Real Love” is probably Mary’s finest song, though a strong argument could be made for “Happy” or her cover of “Let No Man Put Asunder”. Could you imagine what she could do if she covered some old Chaka Khan? I know it must seem like I have music on the brain, but I need it to keep me sane. Consider my day:

    5:30 am — Alarm clock sounds.
    6:00 am — Get out of bed
    6:02 am — Shower with overpriced though totally essential products (Aveda Shampoo, Kiehl’s conditioner)
    6:10 am — Emerge from shower. Mourn the amount of hair shedded. Get dressed.
    6:15 am — Ogle Larry Potash and Paul Konrad on the WGN news.
    6:22 am — Play “eeny meeny miny mo” with shoes. Decide to wear red Puma Clyde’s, as per usual.
    6:27 am — Walk out door.
    6:28 am — Return. Forgot Walkman
    6:30 am — Bid “good morning” to neighborhood whores.
    6:35 am — Miss 6:35 North Ave. bus as there is no light or Stop sign at corner. Spend precious seconds standing on wrong side of avenue.
    6:45 am — Catch 6:45 am bus. Spend ride listening to NPR and looking out window for new hookers.
    6:53 am — Get off bus at Sedgwick. Wave “hello” to newspaper man.
    7:00 am — Get on inbound Brown line train. Acclimatize self to overwhelming scent of Drakkar and Tommy for Men. Count Trixies. Examine complexion in window.
    7:12 am — Get off train at Quincy stop. Avoid revolving gate and exit station through swinging doors.
    7:13 am — Walk up Adams to Wacker Drive. Fight hordes of eastbound suburbanites rushing to their jobs.
    7:15 am — Get into elevator in office building. Cross fingers and hope that elevator is not bumrushed by other tenants of the building.
    7:17 am — Get to office. Log into phone system. Hang up sweatshirt. Wave to co-worker Jeremy. Squint at fluorescent lighting.
    7:30 am — First AOL IM message from brother — “Do you have ‘Shake Ya Ass’ by Mystikal?” Reply in the negative. Taking full advantage of office network bandwidth, download mp3 of song. E-mail file to brother.
    7:45 am — Read gossip on pagesix.com. Learn that Britney Spears has gone public re: relationship with the ugly one from N’Sync. Realize that the New York Post is not proper news. Consider getting subscription to New York Times or The Economist.
    7:57 am — Josh M. comes in with extra large cup of coffee.
    8:00 am — Take three calls in a row. “No, we are not the [redacted]. No, we do not rule the internet. And no, we don’t know who fried your motherboard.”
    8:20 am — Go to bathroom.
    8:27 am — Wonder where co-worker Matt is.
    8:30 am — Market opens. Matt walks in — train was late. Again.
    8:32 am — Answer phone with cheerful yet businesslike demeanor. Redirect angry daytraders.
    8:35 am — Inform callers that [redacted] information is “having issues”.
    8:55 am — Talk to Kenny in Miami. Refuse his invitation to “party Miami-style with the boys at [redacted].” Sigh. Pass phone to Khloe.
    9:20 am — Go to the bathroom.
    9:30 am — Work on documentation for internal web site.
    9:31 am — Stop work on documentation. Begin writing “news from the flip front” two days in advance.
    10:10 am — Get first weird link of day from Josh.
    11:04 am — Download “Girl, You Know It’s True” by Milli Vanilli. Listen then delete immediately.
    11:23 am — Go upstairs to 20th floor for can of Squirt. Avoid web project manager.
    12:05 pm — Take strange yet entertaining call from one of the following: Kevin, my father, my brother, Jacinda.
    12:30 pm — Rescue “Girl, You Know It’s True” from recycle bin.
    12:59 pm — Look at watch. Realize that it is one hour until lunch.
    1:15 pm — Look at ottomans on furniture web sites with Khloe.
    1:39 pm — Go to bathroom with Khloe. Discuss co-worker’s flatulence.
    1:45 pm — Go out for cigarette.
    2:00 pm — Go upstairs to kitchen with soup and tin opener. Heat soup. Read Tempo section of Tribune. Avoid eye contact with cute programmer type. Remind yourself that he is married.
    2:49 pm — Return to desk. Stare out window. Compliment Rob on his t-shirt/leather pants.
    3:10 pm — Work on internal web site. Remind self of unrecognized genius. Revel in the possibility that one day, maybe, people will just “get it”.
    3:20 pm — Check salon.com for new Lynda Barry comic. Sigh when it is nowhere to be found.
    3:29 pm — Read Camille Paglia’s column. Feel guilty afterwards.
    3:40 pm — Go to bathroom. Reapply lipstick — Stila Andie for good days, MAC Viva Glam III for bad days.
    4:05 pm — Turn off computer. Give Khloe expectant look.
    4:30 pm — Leave office with Khloe.
    5:30 pm — Get home in time for “The Simpsons”.
    7:00 pm — Put on “Remedy” by The Basement Jaxx. Listen to “U Can’t Stop Me”. Dance around halfheartedly. Clean room.
    7:30 pm — Phone rings — Maria, Kevin, Andrea, brother, Celi, Seema, Andrew, or (in very rare instances), older sister. Engage in meaningful though brief conversation.
    8:00 pm — Vegetate in front of television.
    9:30 pm — Check e-mail from mobile phone. Delete three messages from Lynda Barry mailing list.
    10:00 pm — Eat leftover fried rice from Yu Choy. Watch “The Simpsons”.
    10:30 pm — Read some David Sedaris.
    11:45 pm — Fall asleep.

I watched “High Fidelity” Wednesday night for the fifth time this year. I would have pushed for something else, but Kevin still hadn’t seen it. I had to squeal in delight when certain Wicker Park locales sprang into view. John Cusack is adorable, from his huge pores to his crooked teeth. It seems unfair that he is romantically involved with Neve Campbell, who can only show emotion by wrinkling her brow and squinting. And she’s so young. And Canadian — it doesn’t seem right that he should be dating a squinty Canadian. Maybe she’s blackmailing him, as she has no real talent or beauty.

Bitter? Yes. Deluded? Certainly. But should that disqualify me from being John Cusack’s love monkey? Hell no. People lesser than myself have been able to find love — and if not love, then sex — and with very little trouble. I should only find it so easy to shop for socks. Jacinda, Andrea, and I had a very interesting discussion about sex and all that crap last week and how those of us who ain’t gettin’ any shouldn’t be down. I don’t remember details, but we did reaffirm our friendship and support for one another. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I feel I best summed it up by ending with the following thought (feel free if you want to use this as your new e-mail signature, or use it as the epigraph on your tombstone):

“If I were a guy, I’d fuck me, and I know that if you were a guy, you’dprobably fuck me, too. And for that, I thank you.”

I am so cool.

Jasmine “Here Comes the Judge” Davila

“Everything’s coming up Milhouse!”

PS: Hey Kev, forward this to the adorable Mr. Fischer, okay? And tell him that I’m thinking Yankess in 5 (so yeah, tonight’s the night)

PPS: Hey everybody, should I start posting this shit on the web instead of e-mailing you? If I just incorporated this into my web site, I could include all sorts of neat pictures, etc. But then that would take a long time. Whatever. Let me know.


~ by Jasmine on October 26, 2000.

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