Finally!

The experts have determined what I've been saying all these years. Although I think my work day falls below the average 1.5 hours.

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/05/31/fashion/31work.html?ex=1338350400&en=d5a0793d6d4dcf12&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

Chu-chu-chu-changes

Does anybody read this thing? So hard to tell. With Typepad I was able to see if someone had stopped by and it didn't bother me that people hardly commented because I knew that they were out there.

That being said, expect a mass email update my friends. Things are changing. Again.

Adult Confessions

I like honking at stupid people. If only there were an equivalent for when you are outside of your car.

Public Transport

I took the Metro into downtown yesterday. I relinquished my car to the service department once again in hopes of them actually doing something to fix the problem of the heated car seat. Hot Crossed Buns, The Sequel. But, I digress.

So I'm on the train and I suddenly remember all the fun games I would play in my head while traveling around NYC. Like: Who smells like piss? Who will help me if the junkie attacks? and How many people have touched this pole?

Who needs Meth?

Not me. I took a Claritin-D yesterday. Had my name registered and all as an allergy medication taker. You see, over the past week my allergies, which began in my 20's, were out of control. Sore throat, sneezing, constant 'ah-hems'. I drew the line at plugged up ears.

No more - allergy. I'm going to buy some drugs to take of you. And I did. And damn, drugs, you have taken care of me, too. I was so lit yesterday that I could have jumped off a bridge. It's a good thing LA doesn't have any water.

So I wonder to myself, who really needs methamphetamine when you can take a Claritin-D?

Dirty Laundry

Latest school project...makes it seem fun to be a graduate student. Handmade paper consists mostly of dryer lint - Dirty Laundry. Dryer sheets cover each page.
























Sock
You were left alone.
Left
to bear the burden of disdain.
What good are you,
one without the other?

It seemed right.
You thought you would be together forever.
Right?

You are tossed aside, rejected
when all you did was stay.

Nostalgia

nostalgia |näˈstaljə; nə-| noun
a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations

(more later...)

myers-briggs

For fun, I took a personality test last week. I've taken them before. And I have a great story about a potential employer who made me take a number of personality tests. But I haven't been able to write it in a funny way. So instead, I give you this.

The most recent results: INTP (Introversion/Intuition/Thinking/Perceiving)

"Seek to develop logical explanations for everything that interests them. Theoretical and abstract, interested more in ideas than social interaction. Quiet, contained, flexible, and adaptable. Have unusual ability to focus in depth to solve problems in their area of interest. Skeptical, sometimes critical, always analytical."

I'd say it's all pretty true except the last line I would change to always critical.

Memories...

Shit. Confession time. I have had, um this is hard for me, many unfulfilled Blogger accounts. That is blogs I've started - with the best intentions - but never really wrote anything on.

Why does this matter? Because I had to deter for this account from the typical user names that I usually 'user'. I don't know my user name on this account!

I tried a few names that I have used in the past and that is what Blogger pulled up, my past - a part of me that I have never completed. How, you might be asking, am I writing here and now? The beauty of modern technology. I have my/this blogger account memorized on my home computer. But it doesn't show me my user name and thus, if I don't figure it out I will never be able to post from work.

People, this is a tragedy because it's almost summer. And my job is bore-ing in the summer. What am I going to do???

Yoko Ono

Yesterday I threw away Yoko Ono's New York City address. I was trying to find my birth certificate so that I can get my astrological chart done when I came across a stack of papers I've had since my job in NY.

I taught 3-day art workshops in high schools throughout the boroughs. Day 3 consisted of bringing in a working artist (read: artist who makes art for work) to talk about their art and to collaborate on drawings with the students. As any non-profit would, they tried to get high profile artists to participate in the program to help with exposure and funding.

They gave me a list of potential artists, one of them being Yoko. For really big names on the list there was a box that said, so-and-so will contact. That meant - not me. But still I had this document of addresses, phone numbers and emails to some well known people. Naturally, I kept this when I quit the job.

I never intended to do anything with it, really. Obviously I didn't. So, finally, yesterday, I threw it out. It was a clutter reduction baby-step. And I'm sure all those artists will sleep better because I threw away their social security numbers, too.

Oh Canada!

Ok I admit it I did something...illegal? Well, I'm not sure what you would call it. Here's the story...

I recently bought a laptop and was searching and searching for a cool yet functional backpack to put it in when I traveled. And I found one, yay! It was a fun green color with not a lot of frills and fairly inexpensive. Double yay! I went to buy it and couldn't pull down my country where it said country. I read closer, only sold in Canada.

I was upset as only an American consumer could be. Why couldn't I purchase what I wanted. After huffing and puffin I decided on choice two. A more adult looking black backpack.

It arrived via the US Postal service and it was huge and awkward and terribly rectangular. But I used it anyway until my boyfriend told me I looked like a Japanese school child. I knew the bag had a familiar look to it. I pictured myself in a uniform walking amongst all my former students with my carefully organized rectangle-pack.

I returned it and came up with a great idea. I would ask my friend from Canada who had recently moved here if someone in her lovely country could purchase that bag and mail it to me. I would in return mail them a check for the bag and the shipping fees.

It was done. And about 2 weeks ago I mailed Paul a money order I got from the Post Office and I sent the envelope - also bought at the post office - Registered Mail (the most secure way to send your items). Paul never got the letter.

I've been running around talking to several different postal employees filing reports and trying to figure out what to do next. Until I got this email today:

Hi Cori,
I got a letter in the mail from Canada Customs (the border guards). They have confiscated your letter (I am serious) and they have asked me for permission to open it. I will agree of course, and we will see what happens next. Worst case maybe they will charge us some strange customs duty or something. I will keep you posted.

New Digs

Hey, I'm still here. I had to move web blogs because I was outed.

(For those of you who weren't able to read my last typepad post. A friend linked my full name to my blog. Google got a hold of it. How do I know? Because someone googled my name and linked to my blog.)

I started the blog as an extension of the mass emails that I used to send out to friends. And, like most other people, to rant and rave about life. I kept my name short, Cori. Although friends and friends of friends knew that it was my blog, I never wanted my name linked to the site for obvious reasons: employers, my students, my family, my stalkers - all people I'd rather not have reading about my life as posted to the world.

In having to make this move, I realized that I have lived in Los Angeles for just over three years now! That's a record for me. Usually after two - I'm outta there. Sure I've moved three times within those three years but let's focus on the big picture. I'm starting to settle down.