I went to the local Borders and picked up an application. I don't know if they're still hiring seasonal help, and I'd really like to end up working full-time, but I figure I'll give it a shot. I know someone who works there, so I have somewhat of an "in," I suppose. Everyone says that working retail really sucks, and I would assume that they're probably right, but a job's a job. And if I'm gonna work retail, I might as well work at a bookstore.

I spent almost two hours talking to Brian last night. He went out and bought a webcam today, so now I can sit around and watch him while he watches me. There will be no cheesy couple cam page, though. I like this boy, but I refuse to descend to the depths of lame-osity. I'll keep my lame-osity private, thank you very much.

P.S. Jack Saturn thinks I'm a stone cold playa. Or the female version of him. Same thing, I think. He's got the couch, I've got the pimp feather. We are two irresistable people!

Busy at what wasmy work. I got fired yesterday.

I'm not going to talk about it, mostly because I'm tired of talking about it, but I'm going to be fine. Yes, it was the second large hit to my self-esteem in two weeks, but I'm cool. Really. I'll be back up on my feet in no time, and everything will be great.

What would I appreciate? I would appreciate email. Say something funny. Say something supportive. Tell me your story about being fired. (I promise, I will tell mine eventually--it's written and everything--but not now. Not yet.) Bitch about your job. Do whatever. I'll write back this time, heaven knows I have the time.

I have plans, and I'm gonna be okay. I also have a lot of very wonderful people in my life who are making all of this a lot easier. I'll be able to finish all the schoolwork that's been piling up--including that master's thesis that I've been "working on" for the past 10 months. And I'll be applying to library school at University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign for fall of next year. And hey--I'll be posting more often for your reading pleasure.

It was 1987. Not that it makes this excusable, but...anyway. I was a freshman in high school, and I was a Big Fucking Geek. I'm talking thick glasses/bad perm kind of geek. No braces. My teeth were actually straight back then. No boys would pay attention to me except the ugly ones with bad B.O. and greasy hair, and, even though I was a Big Fucking Geek, I still had standards.

There was one boy in the band (yes, not only was I a geek, I was a band geek) who every girl liked. He was a heck of a musician, and everyone thought he was hot. There were rumors that he had sex with the most popular girl in the class during the 8th grade trip to Washington, D.C. He could date pretty much any girl he wanted--girls would fall all over themselves to go out with him. And there I was, Big Fucking Geek me, with a monster-size crush on Mr. Popularity.

I obsessed over this guy. Like, pathetically so. Hung pictures of him on my wall. Went to school a little bit early every day so I could stand in the hallway outside the band room and stare at him. For an entire year, I secretly wished that he would look at me and suddenly decide that I was something more than a Big Fucking Geek with a bad perm and thick glasses.

Of course it didn't happen. This isn't a fucking fairy tale, kids. But you know what? I'm glad he didn't. Because then there would have been photographs of Big Fucking Geek me with a guy who HAD A MULLET.

And I am talking about a hardcore mullet. I went to Mullets Galore and found his mullet classified as a "minitruckmullet." It was short in front (duh) and curly in back. At its longest, the curly part reached his shoulders. And when I saw the description of the preferred clothing of the minitruckmullet--"The preferred attire of this species is Oakley Razorblade sunglasses, a turtleneck shirt with a gold cross and chain (hanging proudly), accompanied by tight fitting Guess? jeans"--it fit him to a T.

What if I never outgrew my 13-year old tastes? It scares me to think about it...

I've decided to try something a little bit different today: a theme day. Maybe this can evolve into something catchy and amusing like "Themed Thursdays," complete with reader submissions or something. We'll see.

Anyway, people tend to tell me their secrets. I guess I look trustworthy or something. For the most part, I am. But sometimes, secrets burn a hole in my tongue and I just have to spill because they're too good to keep quiet. So what I'm gonna do is this: I'm gonna spill some dirt. I won't name names. (Well, except my own, and I plan to tell more of my own secrets than anyone else's.) A few people out there should be very, very nervous right about now, but I reassure you--I won't name names, I won't let go of any identifying characteristics, and even if someone asks me personally if it's you, I won't tell. Your secret is somewhat safe with me.

Now, on to the dirt. Did you know that I, Nanette, am a hopeless romantic prone to mushy thoughts and sighs and pink fluffy hearts? Well...I am. So when Hellsbelle pointed me in the direction of girlboy, it made me feel all warm and squishy inside. So warm and squishy, in fact, that I even submitted my own list, which should appear in about three weeks. (I'll keep you posted.) The amazing Andrea wrote a boy list, and she is so awesome cool that she deserves a boy who is everything on her list and then some. There's some absolutely adorable stuff here, and it's bound to make even the most jaded and bitter of you smile.

You could always IM me (nanetteamplified) and talk to me. Hey, it worked for Brian...heh.

Speaking of David Foster Wallace, I know Bob is planning to read Infinite Jest sometime in the near future. And I'm actually in the midst of emailing him about it. See, I've started reading that book three or four times, but I keep putting it down because of school or my short attention span or whatever. Every time I've started, I've found myself wanting to discuss the book with someone else who's reading it. (That's what happens to you when you're an English major--you develop a need to *discuss* everything you read.) So I was thinking, maybe, of a mailing list, or (if there's enough potential readers in the Chicago area) a reading group. I want to read this book. I loved Girl with Curious Hair and The Broom of the System and all the other assorted essays/short stories I've read. So, would you be interested in tackling Infinite Jest with me? Let me know.

Speaking of prizes, I still have to judge the Cleverness Quiz. Lucky winner, whoever you may be, you get the Christmas present I bought just last weekend for my most recent ex. One person's loss is another person's gain, that's what they always say. I'll post the winners within the next couple of days or so.

Which one of you people goes to University of Chicago and spent quality time watching the webcam last night? Just wondering. Let me know.

For the record, it is far less pleasing and cathartic to delete folders full of email files and webcam photographs than to burn/shred/tear up paper letters and destroy/stick tacks in/maul/deface photographs. So the next one of you goddamn boys who is going to pull your patented Stupid Boy Shit Designed to Make Me Bitter, I want some paper letters and photographs. Please. I thank you in advance, you soulless bastard.

And to think that we just did that "7734" thing. That's nothing.

Thanks to Marques Williams, who is now a senior in high school. Hard to believe, really...

Last March, I went on a trip to New York City. One of the highlights was an amazing dinner at a restaurant in Little Italy. I had the most delicious gnocchi al gorgonzola--it was just amazing food. Possibly better than kissing boys, which is something that I do love to do. So I told Ray (my traveling companion for that trip), "If anyone makes me gnocchi al gorgonzola, then he is The One* and I will run away with him and spend forever with him being disgustingly happy."

Time passed. I found some gnocchi. Ray was going to cook me gnocchi al gorgonzola, but we couldn't find any gorgonzola cheese at the grocery store. While the gnocchi in alfredo sauce was yummy, it wasn't gnocchi al gorgonzola. I know that someday Ray will make some little Massachusetts girl very happy. He's a dear, sweet person and, if I was the sort who pined over exes AND if I hadn't relinquished my right to pine because I broke up with him, I would probably be sitting here pining over him as I type this. But there was no gnocchi al gorgonzola, so...that's that.

So then I found gnocchi and I found gorgonzola and I decided that I would cook my delicious dish for Aaron. But the night I was planning to cook it, I ended up fleeing his apartment in a hyperdramatic fury. Thus, my plan to seduce him with my amazing cooking skills was thwarted. Perhaps this explains...oh, nevermind. Anyway, no gnocchi al gorgonzola for him.

I brought my ingredients home. The cream went bad. I had to buy fresh cream. And tonight, I finally cooked the gnocchi al gorgonzola for my mom and my brother. Nobody is seducing ME with their cooking skills, nor am I seducing anyone with MY cooking skills. It was some damn good gnocchi al gorgonzola. Here I am, boys, love me. I've got mad cooking skillz, yo.

---

*Not that I believe in The One, it was just something that Ray and I would joke about on occasion. But that raises a good question: Do you believe in The One? Go to the Forum of Doom and let me know!

I'll try to reconstruct it as best I can.

While you're waiting, I'll let you in on a secret. You have to manually reload the image until some kind soul decides to make a page for me. Anyone? Anyone?

Oh, and here is a gratuitous mention of Brian who claims that he doesn't get mentioned in my weblog enough. He knows two of my secrets (he knew *three* until I revealed the secret above) so I had better appease him.

I am Charwad. I live in the rivers of Korea, and my diet consists mostly of bats, rocks and industrial runoff. I can shoot sledgehammers. I have propellors. I can spit tahini. I can throw bricks. I can breathe Dr. Pepper. I can spit ice bolts. And my natural enemy is Shatbra.

My hangover is finally gone. It's about time. I ended up going to bed at 9:30 last night, which is some kind of record for me. I *never* go to bed that early. But Brian wore me out with all his "big monkey" antics on Saturday night, though. It was his goal to keep me up all night. It didn't work because I was too drunk to stay awake.

Speaking of Brian, I know the identity of his secret crush. I'm not going to tell who it is, but she's totally cool.

Highlights of yesterday evening: Brian declaring himself "the big monkey." "You are an EATMOSHITS!" Not being able to keep my mouth closed for any photographs. Anything that happened before 5 AM or so, which was when I woke up and started feeling like complete shit.

A couple of people received drunken emails from me last night. Sorry about that. Heh. My self-control was a little on the...uh...nonexistent side last night.

Now I've gotta do something about this stomachache, and I've gotta do some homework. Bleh.