Enter the Jesslair!

God, I was seething with jealousy at kids with allowances.

During freshman year, I got dumped by my cool older boyfriend after making fun of how much money he spent on his "punk" uniform. No regrets

In 2001 I thought AOL was as bad as a tech monopoly could get. I didn't know the real insult would be watching companies build machines that scrape everything we've ever created, flatten it into statistics, and then confidently hallucinate "facts" back at us like a drunk coworker who skims Jira tickets and lies about the status. The pitch was: we'll automate creativity. The reality is: we automated bullshit.

They call it intelligence, but it can't hold a thought, can't remember context, can't do a simple task the same way twice without wandering off into some bland approximation it saw in training data. It's like assigning your most unreliable junior engineer to rewrite your diary, except the engineer never learns, never gets better, never actually cares that it's mangling something that mattered to you.

The worst part isn't even the mistakes—it's the way the systems are designed to double down with a straight face. Wrong answer, confident tone, no skin in the game. That's the "future of work": people like me, who actually lived through this stuff, babysitting a machine that can't admit it doesn't know what it's talking about, while executives pretend this is efficiency instead of offloading responsibility.

Written by Perplexity after I yelled at it a bunch for fucking up.

In 2001 a crush didn't have to be rare to feel impossible. This one was a pretty normal boy with pink hair and a skateboard, and my brain still treated his existence like an unrepeatable cosmic event. Scott Bakula time-traveled on TV; I time-traveled every time he walked past.

speaking of the chelsea doll....k. let me go to j.'s and get it from his van. then he let me chop her hair off with a knife and make her now-and-later wrapper clothing. she is now gutter punk rock chelsea.