Laughing All The Way

Wednesday, September 02, 2009

You Can’t Handle The Truth

Today I read a story in the New York Times (I’ll give you a minute to skim). And it made me mad.

The new assholes all over the internet are learning all about the internet. Bitches, we’ve all been here for a decade and now you want to talk about how what you write on the internet isn’t private. Thanks. No really, I hadn’t known that.

My mom has found facebook. She’s my friend. As are a bunch of other people that I couldn’t give a shit about in high school and certainly don’t now. I hide pretty much everyone, especially the girls from college and high school who post all about the meal they cooked for dinner and how their children are now fully potty trained. There is a reason why mommy blogs exist, go get a free blog and leave the rest of us alone. What kills me is that my inclination to post funny things about my day (like imaginary miscarriages - more about that next) has been buried because I know it would offend all these people I don’t even like in the first place.

My mom, new to the idea of the internet, was trying to explain facebook to me. No, seriously, she said: “And you can put little tid bits about your day into the box and people can see it all.” My mom then explained to me how you will be told who else you know on facebook because the magic of facebook (I didn’t try to explain to my mom computer logic and how she allowed access to her email address book, I let it be magic). I was honestly so incredulous about the whole “let me tell you about the internet thing” that I called her back when Bruce and I were driving somewhere, put her on speaker phone and had her go through the details of the internet again. Bruce was equally entertained by the dialogue and when my mom gets to the part of her spiel about how when you post something on facebook you have to be careful because anything you write can be read by everyone else and so it’s not really a private conversation and in fact, everyone in America can read what you just wrote (not getting into the details of how, really only friends can read what you write on facebook, didn’t want to confuse the new girl). Bruce chose this moment to interject “everyone in the whole world can read what you just wrote.” My mom actually squeaked “THE WHOLE WORLD!” She promptly hung up, I am sure to go tell her husband that the whole world can read what she posts on the internet.

On one level I just want to laugh, because a) this is laughing all the way and b) it’s like people really haven’t been paying attention all along. Welcome to Web 2.0 fools. Careful to not feed the trolls. I’ve had such freedom here, posting what I want, when I want about who I want without a care. Facebook is painfully dull because I have to be so cautious about who and what and why and how foul. I’ve never had to worry about snark or scorched earth (remember that guy, I fucked him up! It was fun). I talked about sex, drugs and bikini waxing (more about that later too). I’ve talked about Bruce (who by the way, tried to tell me that he didn’t really know how to text with his phone. The fool has a blackberry for his phone and he can’t figure out how to send a text. Douche). I’ve made fun of my family (see above) and said fuck…a lot. It’s been a while since I’ve blogged with any regularity and I don’t know if I have the brain power to do so again for the time being, but I love the ability to come here and say what I mean to say (John Mayer is annoying - stop twittering you fucking tool). SEE! While my life is far less exciting than when I first started blogging, for instance, I don’t drink, smoke or snort anything (oh but I do take pills yay for pills), I think as I find the next phase of my blogging self I will get back on the writing horse.

The laters:

I was at the gym on Monday and my trainer (who I call the Workout Nazi, something that would offend most of my Jewish family on facebook - losers ruining my good times) kicked my ass and made me puke three times. I had eaten half of a granola bar two hours before and my stomach took way too long to digest.  I was trying to do that thing I do when I am drunk and I am going to puke so I breathe deeply through my nose. Unfortunately all I could do was run to the bathroom and vomit. Hard. So I became that bulimic girl at the gym. It was like college all over again without the drunk whores passed out. I knew that all 6 women in the other stall heard the whole thing. I was prepared with a story. If asked if I was okay, I was going to say that I was pregnant (“I don’t know why they call it morning sickness, I have it all day!”). Then I realized that in 9 months they would be like, where’s the baby. At which point I would have to say that sadly I miscarried shortly thereafter.

I was going to facebook the story, but then figured my mom and the facebook mommy bloggers would not find that at all funny. And so I didn’t post.

Also, I’ve gone for a second course of laser therapy for hair removal. By May 2010 I will be like those hairless pussies. HA. No really, HA! I just couldn’t go on with the shaving and the waxing and the hair. Finally I took the plunge. I go, I put on numbing ointment, and a very nice women puts a laser when the sun has never shined. I have the distinct honor of being able to tell you all about the time a laser was slid between my ass cheeks and shocked the hair follicles into submission. The two days after are nice, then there is the growth period where the dead hairs work their way out from the root and then the shedding begins. I love shedding. I feel like if I can live through the electrocution of the hair on my labia (fun with google search key words), which is the most painful thing to happen to me that I will pay for repeatedly, then I can probably do anything.

Pills are awesome. I have been playing with antidepressants to treat my tinnitus. My primary care physician has been refreshingly willing to keep changing things up without requiring me to come in with every prescription change. I’ve not found the perfect pill in the perfect dose. What I have found is that I have an opposite reaction to Elavil (up all night with rhonda shear). Also, Paxil plus sudafed makes me feel like I did an eight ball of coke. You can imagine how much I love Paxil and sudafed when trying to work and not be totally high and fucked up. I asked my co-worker if I seemed high, also, if she thought I was acting straight. She said “yes and no.”

I am now going to go troll the internet and write mean things that all the other people in the world can read.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

desperately seeking sanity

My sister is pregnant. This is good. The family is getting their grand/great-grand child. My sister is getting her child. I am getting some peace.

Except I am throwing her a baby shower. Cross-country. And my family, they’re kind of being special about things. Specifically my stepmother and father. I don’t know about you, but when I get a request for mailing addresses for four specific people I don’t return a list of 14. I’ve already order the engraved invitations so ordering more is not happening. I’ve already sent out invites to all the other families and groups of friends and the RSVP date is in four weeks, so even if I lost my dang mind and ordered another printing of 20 invites, which would cost half as much as ordering 80 so kind of a lot of money there,  I wouldn’t have time to get them back to me and then addressed and mailed out. I did the next best thing.

I spent the day at stationery store buying card sets that match the paper of the invites. Bruce then scanned one of the original invites and I tweaked a little until the coloring was right. I then messed around in word and created reasonable facsimiles of the RSVP card and direction inserts. I then printed onto the card stock. You see, even though I had set aside four for the original list I didn’t think I could send engraved invitations to my four aunts and then something clearly different to their daughters. So I had to make invites for the whole list. My head is killing me and all I want to do is go to sleep, but the pile of laundry calls as does Bruce’s very untidy apartment.

This whole matter is only complicated by the fact that my step-mother has not sent me a list for her side. I’ve already sent her invite and invites to some of her niece’s. I specifically mentioned that I needed five addresses from her side of the family. So it’s kind of strange that the list I got only included my father’s side. I’ve managed to whitepage.com two of the people I needed and I sent one of the niece’s to her mom with an apology note (I hated getting invites at my mom’s house long after I moved out). That leave two more people from my step-mother’s family. Everyone else is going to get invites and being talking about the baby shower at Christmas, which is historically held at my father’s place so that is going to be really awkward for the two females from that side that didn’t get an invite. I’ve already resorted to calling 411 to get their phone number to call them directly to get their address, no luck.

I am dealing with all this in a strategic manner. I left a message on my father’s voicemail saying: “I found a few addresses, but I still needed two more. I’ve already mailed out the other ones and I know my sister really wanted to see her aunt and cousin and I wouldn’t want them to feel like they were not invited.” I hope this motivates my family to do the right things. Unfortunately do to all the personality disorders that are running rampant right now, I don’t know if that is even a possibility. 

I’m not sure what the interaction is going to be, but if there is a reason for what’s going on, I am going to make my father and step-mother tell my sister directly. I am not taking the heat for this.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Just a city boy, born and raised in south detroit

The recent appearance of some past friends has had an unusual effect on my life. My balance had been unbalanced. Balance.

There is always the welcomed flashback, especially in the case of the good ex. I know, such an oxymoron, but he was good. He’s still very good. And that is good. I really need to stop saying good. Then there’s the bad. The very bad. So, I am more than happy to hear about the good and his happy life. Knowing that his life is doing what life does and includes someone that keeps him warm at night…is. It just is. It’s the bad that drives me nuts.

Basically every time I hear from him all I can think is “Hey fucker. Shut the fuck up. You stupid annoying fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Of course others might think that I care and that’s why I am annoyed by his very presence. Thankfully I’ve had an epiphany, it’s not that I care, it’s that I really don’t believe the drivel that comes running out of his mouth. At least three times in the last five years he’s told me all about the woman he’s going to marry…this time. There is a point where the comment is actually superfluous and that is not something one should think about a declaration of love.

I understand that he has always wanted to meet the girl of his dream, get that house with the white picket fence, a few kids, a dog and a sunset. But for all that is holy man, stop being so transparent. There’s a reason why so many perfect matches turn out to not be what he thinks. I just wish he would stop trying to convince me of whatever it is that he’s trying to convince himself.

I have a friend going through some bad times with a very toxic friend. We’ve all had them. It’s so hard to cut them off and make a break from them. There is something in the way the toxic friend builds a relationship that makes the innocent party feel guilty, like it’s our fault for not being more understanding or something. I gave her some great advice and told her that I would support her in making a clean break. The thing is, I should have been taking my own advice. My bad ex is totally toxic. He is all those things that would make me drop a friend.

He is selfish and stupid. He has only ever thought about himself and was never really interested in what I needed. He is still trying to run his game and I keep letting him be in my life. But why? What’s in it for me? Where is the take in this give and take situation? The toxicity is overwhelming at this point and there is only one way to flush this out of my life.

It’s time for me to tell him who he really is. He is, quite frankly, not a good guy. He is not my friend. He has no place in my life. Good bye bad ex. Ye hardly knew me.

Monday, October 06, 2008

With A Bang

I’m back.

So much has happened.

First there are some blog-cleaning activities that must occur. My email is being overrun by bots sending me ever so helpful information on a variety of narcotics/penile enhancements/opportunities to inherit a fortune from a terminally ill and paralyzed distant relative (no really, it actually said: “it wasn’t so bad after the stroke, but the chemotherapy is quite difficult to take”).

Second the people upstairs are having sex. Slowly.

Third you must know I’ve been cheating on you. I’ve been exchanging emails with someone in the city. I’ve been exhausting all my endlessly funny stories on him. I think I will just go through my emails and paste them in (at least that way you can read all the opportunities I’ve had to make my fortune on the back of someone so close to death).

Fourth I have a wedding this weekend in LA. A retreat next weekend in San Diego. A baby christening the weekend after that. A wedding in Georgia the weekend after that. Then I plan on sleeping for a month.

Fifth Natalie will be mad if end here so I shall soldier on. Natalie also has had the opportunity to soak up my funny goodness. But the things I say to make Nat laugh are not really all that appropriate for this forum. Mostly because I will say something about someone, and then that someone will read it here, and the someone will be like: “Hey bitch! I have feelings.” And then I will be all: “Shut up whore.” This will go on for awhile until one of us passes out from lack of oxygen and we will wake up feeling all awkward or something. And then things will never be the same.

Sixth my apartment is looking pretty supa-fly.

Seventh I don’t know why I am writing out the numbers. It’s annoying me. But I am too lazy to go back and change this. Or add the correct suffix/punctuation.

Eighth my clothes are fitting awfully snug this month. Maybe it’s time to get over the fact that I had some of my toenails removed and get back into the gym. I just looked at some photos from when I first moved out here. I was fit! No really. What the hell happened? Let me answer that rhetorical question: Bruce. Bruce happened. Fucking comfort eating.

Ninth my yearly review went really well last month. I was given the highest possible raise. Yes: 5.3%. Word. Now I have actual projects that I own and people ask me actual questions that I need to be able to actually answer promptly. Whoever set me up in this con needs to be beaten. When I interviewed for this job no one ever said that there would be questions.

Tenth bitches I made it! An even multiple of five. Thank you and good night.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Ode to Billy Joe

I AM having the time of my life.

Friday, July 18, 2008

Magically Delish!

I caught this show called: Ashley Paige: Bikini or Bust” and I think I have a new favorite show. The main character is of no importance, it’s her mom who makes the whole thing worth while. In an attempt to find her daughter a boyfriend, the woman goes to the hardware store. Her thinking was the hardware store “cause it’s usually full of men.” She then approaches endless men in the store making small talk and sounding generally crazy. But, god bless the mother’s of the men in this hardware store, because without an exception, every single one of them was appropriately “interested” in the conversation this lady was insisting on having with them.

The best part was when she interviewed to the camera as she’s walking around the corner, away from the camera, in the hardware store: “Goodness gracious, this place is so full of people, this is the perfect place to find a man.” The brilliance of this part is that she wasn’t really talking to the camera, she was crazy-lady talking to herself, it was just happenstance that the camera was there to catch this outing.

I have a soft spot for these types of people. My grandmother is known to have conversations with the random passerby and she does insist on speaking to herself at a loud-ish tone, to the point that strangers sometimes thinks she’s yelling at them.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Eastered

So The Great White Way was fine and for my first business trip ever, was mostly easy. There was a missed flight due to no fault of my own but other than that, I survived being a grown-up. Then my second conference was okay as well. My co-workers are doing their best to make my job as difficult as possible and make really unreasonable suggestions in how they want our research data to be presented. But it’s cool because I made it entirely clear that I wasn’t doing the presentation so if someone in the audience had a question the presenter would be on their own to explain things. I think that they will come to the belief that the data should be shown in as simple way as possible.

The way that this last week went, next week is going to be a beast. The week after I head to super northern California for yet another conference. As much as I like a job that sends me to interesting place, I am almost burned out on this. I always thought I would love being a consultant and travel weekly to a customer site, and maybe I would if it were consistent, but this traveling for a day to be somewhere for a day to spend another day traveling home stuff kind of sucks.

The flip side is that the job itself is going really well. I tend not to write too much about the job but not because funny things don’t happen there, it’s just a different atmosphere than my last job so the “funny things” are much more contextual. Like the last funny thing was that I made the menopausal admin feel bad. See, without a huge contextual story that is totally not funny. And when I say funny, I mean not funny for her. And I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong the day I walked into the reception area of my office and asked if anyone else smelled that odor. (I described it as that smell of old lettuce. Like when you get a sandwich and eat only half and then eat the other half in a few days. The lettuce wilts and gets a very distinct taste. That taste was what I smelled). After spending about three minutes sniffing the air, the admin (aforementioned menopausal admin) said she couldn’t smell it, but she had just eaten her sandwich in the conference room but that it was a freshly made sandwich. Come to two days later when the analyst who sits next to the admin told me that apparently as a side affect of menopause our admin is secreting an odor out of her skin and two days before my odor sniffing adventure the other analyst and our boss had a similar conversation wherein the our boss who can’t smell because of a cold asked the analyst to sniff her (perfectly acceptable in our office) to confirm or deny that our boss was the source of the smell. When the analyst said that our boss was in the clear, the admin asked if it was her. The analyst innocently leaned in to sniff the admin and drew back quickly and was like: “um, kind of.” Unfortunately the way she drew back was more in line with the way people pull back when they open a container of rotten food, you know, all dramatic like. So you can now imagine how unfortunate my whole, “Do you smell that?” thing was.

So I call that funny, because when I was telling Bruce the whole thing from start to finish, the only thing I could do was laugh. I mean the whole thing was really unfortunate. And I totally feel bad knowing what I know now, because our admin is a nice person and is just doing her job.

Speaking of Bruce, who does not entirely find all my work stories as funny as I do, but totally thought the “Do you smell that” story was funny, he’s doing well enough. He’s got some weird pain things going on right now because of a tetanus shot he got on Friday. You see after the whole episode that meant I had to bring him to the hospital I made him get a complete physical (hence the tetanus shot). It turns out that the diet we’re on because Bruce felt fat has worked wonders on him, Bruce is now 5 pounds above his ideal weight. I wondered where I was at in the scheme of things and was rudely informed that I am not just overweight, I am technically considered obese. Damn, that is not good. Bruce seems even more motivated than ever, because those 5 pounds are totally weighing him down (seriously, why is he like this?) and wants to join a swish gym. I’m all in, because unless you’ve forgotten, I am technically obese.

Other than all that, things are so normal. I’ve taken to dropping the word marriage into every third conversation, least he forgets what I’m looking for here. Just yesterday we went to lunch with his sister and I told her that if Bruce didn’t propose in a timely manner I would move into a certain neighborhood in San Francisco. Bruce just rolled his eyes because he’s become use to my tactics of mentioning the fact that he hasn’t proposed marriage yet. His sister laughed but I am sure she will now apply gentle pressure to Bruce, mostly by telling her parents to pressure Bruce to propose. We’ll see what happens today at Easter lunch with his family.

And one final point: who finds Flavor Flav attractive? No really stop it VH-1.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

The one where I get all religious

So I now understand why people view buying a car as a painful task that one does only when needed. I get why my mom drove her cars into the ground rather than buying a new car every five years. Seriously, car salesmen are a breed unto themselves.

On that note, my new car should be here by Friday. I am so ready for this whole thing to be over, and this thing, as far as I can understand it, has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the car dealership in Reno that was pissed off with the car dealership in Oakland so Reno was refusing to trade cars with Oakland in order for me to get the car that I wanted.

Note to self: issue a fatwah on Reno

Beyond that, well Bruce is much better. He is his normal smiling, bouncy self. I’ve made him schedule an appointment with a doctor at my clinic because it’s been at least 2 years since he saw anyone for something that was not acute. The doctor of my choice has agreed to see Bruce and will in fact expedite the appointment so Bruce will only 3 weeks instead of 6. Yes, my friends, that’s right, I have connections. Too bad my connections don’t also supply Valium. Okay, my connections are kind of lame, whatever.

On the diet front, even though Bruce had a case of uncontrollable spasms, we’ve stuck with the diet and I am a full size smaller. That is the good. The bad is that I now have to go shopping for clothes that fit. I am not at a place where I want to stop loosing weight so I don’t want to invest too much in new clothes but my shirts are way too big and my pants are like clown pants. I think everyone knows what this means: shopping spree at Target! I suspect that $150 will get me two pairs of pants, three button-down shirts and a sweater. This is the greatness of Target. The only danger is if I wander into the health and beauty section. Then I will leave with $300 worth of hair care products and no new clothes.

And now there is news about work. I’ve finally corralled people into admitting that they too drink booze. I’ve organized a night out with a group of women. The email reads as follows: “For those new to this email chain, your names were sent to me by those who care about your liver’s ability to correctly process alcohol. We are running a test of such measure on Thursday March 6 at 4:59 PM at XXXXXX on XXXXXX Street.” This should be the most fun I’ve had in a minute. Also, I intuit that this night will show who can hang and who will go home early. Yay pitchers of Margaritas.

The other news work is that I saved myself by not being totally snarky for once. I sent an email to a doctor about an issue with a report and by proxy the data from the report. Luckily in the email I mentioned twice that the person who wrote the report has already verified the report in several ways and when we run it in a controlled environment the data is correct. The doctor decided that the best way to handle the issue was to send the person who wrote the report an email chain that originated with my email. I swear, if it weren’t for the blessed baby Jesus I would have written something super snarky and the tech who wrote the report in the first place would spend the rest of her time here figuring out how to cut me. Into tiny piece. And then feed me to Piranhas. No really.

I feel like there was something about the whole set up the last time I found this error that made me think that I would get burned if I weren’t careful. The other part of this is that a bunch of people who matter were cc’ed about this problem and at least all I look like is the inquisitive analyst to a bunch of people who matter. Also, if that tech had just listened to me ages ago when I pointed out the error in the data, instead of talking to me like I am some dumb girl who can’t understand SQL, well then maybe all of this could have been avoided. So you can see why I might have been tempted to write something snarky.

And to round out the big three…um Mazel Tov.

That’s all

Friday, January 25, 2008

Dream Boat

So 29 is looking good (Thanks Amy, Tanya and Carrie- who wished me a Happy MLK day instead and that makes for such an interesting aside I just had to share). I was afraid that I would turn into some old person. I guess that happens next year. When I turn 29. Like I said, 29 is looking good.

I’ve been out buying a car because really, it’s time. Bruce has been very giving with his time and his car, but sometimes we need to be in different places at the same time. So being the very mature 29 year-old adult that I am, I started looking on the Internet. After all, the Internet knows everything. I figured that this is the time to buy exactly what I want as I have no child (other than Bruce) and no pets (other than the fish).

What I want, now there is the real problem. I went on test drives and have determined that the Mustang is what my 18 year-old self wants to drive. Unfortunately my 18 year-old self is not the one paying for the car. The 29 year-old self is and she wants a back seat that will have enough space for the yearly Christmas shopping extravaganza.

Cars have been eliminated for being too boring, too grown-up, too big, too cheap (yes, there is such a thing), and too ugly. The only cars that remain in the line-up are, well, scary. I’m frightened that the cars that I want are saying something about me and my lifestyle. These cars tell everyone how much I earn and where I live. These are the cars of suburban dwelling republicans. Yes, I said it, SUBURBS! (I bet you thought I was going to be sad because my car is a republican, I’m not, to each their own).

I can’t imagine buying something that doesn’t have every thing I want (power everything, sun roof, leather, and a partridge in a pear tree) and there happens to be one car that comes with everything I want (although it seems that I will be out of luck with that partridge in a pear tree). The base model of this car includes what I want is exactly equal to the other car I like…once I add all the other things in to get the car living in my imagination. Sooooo, here I am sitting here perusing the internet for the car of my dreams and hoping that buying a car does not make me yet any older and extremely poor.

Old Old Old. Yep. Old.

Oh and about to be poor.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Aha, Take THAT!

So this is how it’s going to be. Me writing an entry to keep Amy from writing mean haikus about me. Me not writing an entry for two weeks and then finding dirty limericks written about me on the bathroom stalls at work. Me writing three entries in a row and then nothing until someone threatens to send me a Gucci purse full of Anthrax.

Look, there is only so much that I can do here people. And writing is kind of boring right now. I have much more important things to do with my day, like count the ceiling tiles above my cubical or think about who would win in a fight: Mighty Mouse or Spider Man? Sure, I could write a blog post about the doctor who hit on me while I was running her orientation. Please call me LLCoolG. Or maybe I could talk about how upset I was when my boss counseled me about appropriate clothing for work because someone at work thought I was showing too much cleavage (and if by too much cleavage they meant none, then I totally agree, otherwise stop staring at my boobs you stupid freak).

I know there are things I could write about but really things just aren’t funny the way they use to be. There is no way to make trying on bathing suits in the dead of winter funny (Bruce and I leave for a vacation that takes place south of the border but not in Mexico in three days). Also not funny is the smashed passenger side window and stolen GPS, the fact that my apartment is never totally clean, and that I seem to slowly be gaining even more weight.

Of course there are the other things, you know the good things, like the fact that my hair has won back my favor and devotion, my shoe collection has grown to a new level, and I haven’t killed Bruce yet. And even with all the crap that work has brought with it, I am doing well there and have begun to learn the names of people I see daily. Eventually I might even become friends with some of my co-workers, baby-steps people, baby-steps.

All of this leads me to believe that my life is nothing more than normal. Ordinary. Run of the mill. Heck, I even live in the suburbs. So like I said in the beginning, writing about my life now is boring for me. Feel free to blame Bruce he’s the one who made me sober up and straighten out.

Oh, but as it’s about that time, I thought I would tell you one funny story that I haven’t before shared. A few years ago for some sort of gift giving event, I gave my brother-in-law a picture frame. And in that frame, was a picture of me and his younger brother. At the time it didn’t occur to me that it takes a special kind of person to give a picture of themselves to someone else as a gift. Now, whenever I think of it, I kind of laugh. But even better than the fact that it makes me laugh is the fact that even with my new insight about the type of person who gives such a gift, I would still give someone a picture of me as a gift. I’m still that special type of person bitches.

Monday, September 24, 2007

So noted

Bruce has returned from his travels. He picked up this habit that I recognize as similar to the faux British accent with which I spoke for about six months. Yes, Bruce spent the day saying the three Italian words he learned. He also displayed a penchant for saying: “In Italy we tend to…” and “Us Italians like to…” as well as “The Venetian hookers on the corner like to wear their undergarments as outer garments.”

I was a second away from stabbing him in the eye with a pen, but I have to be patient with dear Bruce. He’s only ever traveled for business so while he’s been places it’s not as if he’s been any place cool. This was his first experience in terms of going to a place that is a tourist destination and this was his first time where he had a day to go and do something touristy.

I think that Bruce is opening to the idea of travel with an eye toward the adventurous now that he’s been on this trip. At least once a day he’s declared that we need to go to Venice on vacation. I don’t think it will happen soon, we have some things planned for the next year that preclude a trip to Venice and now that I am working I have to be mindful of things like earned PTO and the like.

And if Bruce asks you if you would like some Limoncello just roll your eyes. He doesn’t even know what Limoncello is.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Fucking Slobs

I live in something of a high-end community. The rent we pay is four times what I was paying in Boston. This is suppose to be a nice place to live. The operative word is suppose. This weekend someone here dumped a bag of dirty kitty litter in the garbage room. Unfortunately when I say dumped, I mean quite literally all over the floor. There were chunks of cat feces and globules of cat urine sitting in a warm room for three days due to the long weekend.

The garbage room still retains the pungent aroma even though the maintenance man cleaned the room this morning (and let me say that I am pissed that some man had to spend his time picking up someone else’s cat shit).

What really annoys me is that Bruce refuses to allow me to have a pet yet I have to live with slovenly assholes who dump their cat crap in the communal garbage room. I’ve stopped by the front office and mentioned the situation to the property manager and she is going to send out a letter to the occupants regarding the proper use of the garbage room (really, is that so necessary, apparently yes, because quite regularly the garbage chute is backed-up).

I don’t know why I have moved to a pseudo-slum, this is clearly all Bruce’s fault.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Things I Find On The Internet

#22993

* Vod recites the Mr T prayer

Monday, July 16, 2007

Living on the Edge

So, there is no reason for me to not post here. Yeeaaaah.

Well, I went back to Boston for a visit. That went well. Or well enough. There were somethings that were said and did that reaffirmed my belief that my cross-country move was the right idea. But I had the chance to catch up with my former co-worker, PB, as well as see Carrie Patch. We had some good times at the beach house and I’m glad I had the chance to see my grams.

In my head I had a much larger and more exciting post, but in retrospect, there is no need to really put it all out there. I think there is going to be a mini-hibernation of a few weeks. Sorry.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

A Little More Bliss

Bruce came home from Europe with wine, chocolate, and a cold. I spent the day nursing cups of tea, heavy on the honey. I may have miscalculated the amount of caffeine so here I sit. Playing with the Internet. I think of the Internet as a finite amount of information and when Bruce and I speak, I often tell him I am reading the Internet. Sometimes when I am bored, I tell him I’ve read the whole Internet and am just waiting for someone to write something else for me to read. Really, the world does revolve around me.

Tonight, I did something I’ve never done, spurned on by something Bruce told me a few nights ago. He was telling me about the google search of long lost friends. I have a somewhat fatalistic approach to my friendships and am of the general opinion that I have the friends I want and the ones that were left behind, whether by distance or disdain, were just that, left behind. Not having a need to weigh myself down with those messy things like relationships and emotions, I’ve allowed myself to believe that I am behaving within normal social parameters.

Tonight I found my first long lost friend. And guess what. He died last year.

There was the flood of emotions (shock, disbelief, grief) and I suspect that is normal. But then came the wave of the other. I started to read about his life, and while it seems that he was deeply loved and will be missed by many, I wonder, is he better off? He never made it out of our town and was holding his status quo. Good ol’ boy doing what he aught to, but I wonder, was he slowly dying inside? Was he feeling shock, disbelief and grief as his dreams of getting out faded away to something so very different.

I remember the boy that caused more trouble than he was worth. I remember the boy that worked hard but was misunderstood. I remember the boy that wanted to be something, anything, that got him out of his house, out of our town. I remember a boy that had it pretty bad and knew that there had to be something more, a reason for his life.

I can’t say that there was a reason for his life. He died young and right where I left him. Behind.