Laughing All The Way

Friday, March 31, 2006

the catastrophe hasn’t become catastrophic yet (hmmm, having a hard time spelling today)

I know, I know, lack of writing on the blog. Not for lack of love of words but the incredible load of STUFF I have to do for work this past week. And next week. Please come back for updates but don’t be sad if this is still the last post.

Let’s see, let’s see: Bruce is being his normal self, which is both good and bad. Sometimes he can annoy me to no end, and then when I ask him why he’s doing what he’s doing he says: “Because it annoys you and I like to annoy you.”

How annoying.

But there are other indications that his annoyingness is the least of my problems, mostly because many of the things he does to specifically annoy me are no longer annoying, more a matter of course. Which means he’s going to have to go out of his way to find even more annoying things to do to annoy me. Eventually, Bruce is going to be a social outcast made up of a series of ticks and Touretts-like symptoms and I won’t even notice, but everyone else around us is going to stare in wide-eyed wonder and sympathy. You know, when you see a really mismatched couple on the street and you think: “Now how could that possibly happen?”

So, I have cracked one of life’s great mysteries. And I will drive Bruce to become the most annoying person on the face of the earth.

My job here is done.

Monday, March 27, 2006

He knows a guy named Igor

I found a new blog. It makes me laugh. I was afraid it might be a mommy blog (and by that I mean…“Isn’t it great that child X learned how to eat his own snot today. He is just so smart and funny hahaha.”) But it’s not. It’s funny (and well written) and funny.

Did I mention that I am fighting a sinus infection(so please excuse the weak writing)? This morning I was taking my antibiotics and noticed the following cautions: DO NOT take dairy products, antacids or iron preparations within one hour of this medication and MAY CAUSE DROWSINESS .

Okay, so as I downed half my large latte before this morning’s dose and then grabbed the frickin’ pills, I am wondering what the side effects will be…oh no, I am not wondering…dizziness and nausea…

Well, considering the damage is done I figured that I would finish the latte. MMMMyummy. Then I started to wonder about the DROWSINESS. I didn’t notice any drowsiness this weekend, then I remembered that I was triple dosed on the antibiotic, Nyquil and Tylenol PM. And I slept a lot. A real lot.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Spruce

Today I ate the cack hummus. I told you I would. I grabbed extra lemon wedges, seems that the addition of lemon juice makes the cack less cack like and more edible.

Bruce is killing me. All the greatness and rah rah rah overwhelm because there has never been such a rah rah rah type of guy. Usually it’s just rah. Rah rah rah is nice, especially when he sends flowers to work.

They smell lovely.

Monday, March 20, 2006

You can’t touch this

My new name is Annabell. Please, people call me Annabell.

All this came about because Bruce thinks I need to get into the witness protection program. Can’t tell you why, because then you would have to join with me and that would be weird and then I wouldn’t be protected. Bloggers from all over the world going into the witness protection program could be fun. There would at least be someone who could tell a good story and people laughing. Laughing is key.

Suffice it to say, Bruce thinks I need to go into hiding AND not do anything to the people who are causing me grief. He says to let them get comfortable and lure them into a trap. The shit is, the people on my last nerve don’t even know it. I am the type of person who wants everyone else to be just as uncomfortable as I am (this makes child birth fairly difficult).

Well, Some Girl is the type of person who wants other people to be uncomfortable as she, I want to never confront anyone. Go figure.

Friday, March 17, 2006

A beautiful wreck

There were words today and tonight. Being the tail end of Drunk Irish Day (DID aka St. Patrick’s Day) I may have lost the words, but the momentum is still here. 

The support of an unexpected source, via an even more unexpected email because seriously she’s better than I in more than a million ways and maybe more if I were even able to enumerate all the ways (how do I love thee, let me count the ways), made me sit back and remember a time when I was bold and brave. A time when I was truer but oh so hard.

Now the hard crunchy shell has suffered a tectonic shift, revealing the soft inner melt in your mouth not in your hand milk chocolate.

As hard as I have found writing something of worth, I NEED to write. The loss of my vomitiginous verbiage has left me bound and gagged. Having waved down an interested party I know that the only way forward is to move forward.

And now, a memory…Brought to you by the letter A

“Hi Some Girl. I was just on my way to [somewhere] and I was thinking of.”

76-Message one has been deleted.

No matter how much this is about to hurt, I have to admit the truth. So I am sorry. My preemptive apology, clammy aloe on a 3rd degree burn, not really all that successful, I know, but every time I hear his voice I think about how much I love him.

Present tense. Because there will never be a time when I don’t love him. Or the him before him. Or the him before him before him. It carries through my days and night like Charles in charge. The lingering presence will never be eviscerated because I am weak and soft.

I wish I were a better person, more able to compartmentalize and segregate. My mental house of cards does not allow for the removal of the warped card. Instead I integrate and further support the weak join (mix some sawdust into some wood glue and the glue becomes a viable support for the unsupportable).

I like to think that all of this makes me healthy and well adjusted. Maybe I am just honest but neither healthy nor well adjusted. Possibly. Whatever the truth, I wonder, am I holding on to a past truth because at least I know it existed for real instead of taking the chance on the future, which may hold nothing but tears and sorrow. I need to know, how do you stop loving the love(s) of your life?

Bruce and I had a mini tangle this morning. I was madish. He was himself. I know that certain behaviors won’t (can’t) change, and so when he behaved as he would I was sad that I was so surprised by him being true to form. I guess there needs to be a two by four shattering my glass house (made of warped cards) for me to see the obvious.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Parting is such sweet sorrow

Bruce displayed his most stalkerish of tenancies and found a flickr account (with my name) attached to my old blog. Both pieces of evidence have been removed.

Alas, blogspot.com, I barely knew ye.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

She’s Going the Distance

I’ve never been the girl to squeeze into a pair of jeans that were too tight (I’m all about comfort). Well, that’s a bit of a lie. When I was in junior high, the jeans had to be so tight that you had to get someone else to zip them while you laid down on the bed. Then you had to roll your beached-whale ass off the bed. But now, I want to be able to breathe (and prevent internal organs from being forever shifted under my lungs).

Maverick: Requesting permission for flyby.
Air Boss Johnson: That’s a negative ghostrider, the pattern is full.

I feel jingle jangle (I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle; As I go ridin’ merrily along; And they sing, ‘Away, too glad, you’re single’; And that song ain’t so very far from wrong). There’s been conversation (Bruce) regarding the schism between the writer and the person. I, (the Some Girl I, you understand not the real I, which I recently explained that Some Girl is entirely comprised of me while Some Girl only makes up a little piece of me), am “intimidating” and “don’t suffer fools gladly,” which is certainly ages away from what I thought I was. Having already had this conversation (several times over) I am not really looking for confirmation of what I’ve already heard. But I think I need to be a kinder gentler Some Girl.

Cougar: I’m holding on too tight. I’ve lost the edge. I’m sorry, sir.

Holding the difference between persona and person was easier when I wasn’t so content. I was going to use the word “happy” instead of content, but to be completely accurate, I was neither unhappy nor discontent. Before being what it was, I was happy and content with life, love and the pursuit of happiness. Bruce asked if I would consider myself a happy person in a general sense. I think that in both the general and the issue specific sense I am (was) happy. The sarcastic ready-willing-and-able bitch on wheels really only lives in my head. Publicly I am all smiles and sunshine (until you get me hammered and then I start bashing the poorly dressed).

Maverick: [spots Charlie for the first time] She’s lost that loving feeling.
Goose: She’s lo…
[catches up]
Goose: No she hasn’t.
Maverick: Yes she has.
Goose: [objecting] She’s not lost that lo…
Maverick: Goose, she’s lost it man.
[walks off]
Goose: [to Mav] Come on!
[to himself]
Goose: Aw sh… I hate it when she does that.

Unfortunately this is where I tell you that the sunshine and happiness has become Kudzu that crept through the crevices between she and I. I am having considerable angst at the idea of continuing on as Some Girl but without the therapeutic release allowed here I worry that I will be hemmed in. Without the edge though (see above), I have a hard time writing anything worth writing (I refuse to be a crappy blogger writing about what I ate for dinner).

(No trophy, no flowers, no flash bulbs, no wine.; He’s haunted by something he cannot define.; Bowel shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse,; Assail him, impale him with monster truck force.; In his mind he’s still driving, still making the grade.; She’s hoping time that her memories will fade,; Cause he’s racing and pacing and plotting the course,; He’s fighting and biting and riding on his horse.)

I guess this was a long-winded way of saying I have a touch of writer’s block and I am blaming it all on Bruce.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Optimistic linger

I didn’t want some to read this post.

So I wait.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

I can’t find my sports bra and that is really affecting my workout

Yesterday was going to be the day that defeated Some Girl. I am not sure that there was a plan or if the events were random. I think I would prefer to believe that a plan was set in motion to just piss on me because then I can comfort myself with the thought that every plan has an end. Random events can go on endlessly…and that scares me.

I didn’t know that Monday was going to be a bad day, but I had planned on going to the gym. Little did I know that I would go to the gym with a vengeance. A take no prisoners get the fuck away from me no you can’t get on this specific elliptical machine I do mind if you jump into the circuit and did you not wipe your nasty ass sweat off the seat kind of gym day. Needless to say, I got home tired and still pissed off at the crappity crap of everything that piled into my Monday.

I’ve been thinking maybe I need to find a better way to deal with my stress. Oh yeah, I forgot, that’s the function of my blog. Good to know.

I’ve also been thinking about image. My image is not exactly in line with what I think my image is:

Her: From one girlie girl to another, this is the best mascara I’ve found in YEARS!! Woo!! The brush rocks.
(Link: http://cover.com/cgcollection/eyes/mascara/mini_lashexact/index.jhtml)
Me: do you really think I’m a girlie girl?
Me: Bruce asked if I was always a girlie girl
Her: yes
Her: i think you’re definitely a girlie girl
Me: and I said, I’m not really a girlie girl now
Me: and then he laughed at me
Me: huh.
Her: i would too!
Me: serious?
Her: yes!
Her: you’re always meticulously dressed, your make up is perfect, you know about accessories.
Her: you’re a girl.
Me: right but I haven’t gotten a hair cut in months, if I didn’t have painfully dry cuticles I wouldn’t bother with manicures and being able to match a button down shirt with black pants doesn’t take that much effort
Me: so I am a girl, but not a girlie girl
Her: no, i think you’re a girlie girl.
Me: I demand a recount
Her: I’m asking [Atizzle] (ARE YOU HAPPY NOW???)
Her: i think she’s already at lunch though
Me: I object to your secondary source, she’s biased
Me: unless of course she agrees with me
Her: ha!
Her: why not poll on your blog?
Her: [Atizzle] says only “sorta”
Me: see
Her: (13:17:19) [Atizzle]: well, like, i don’t see her liking dresses and shit, but i see her liking accessories, which counts.
Her: HA!
Her: See?!?!
Me: sure I like my pink heels and stuff
Me: but I am not officially girlie
Me: you were all “YES”
Me: and I knew I wasn’t “YES”
Her: do you think I am a girlie girl?
Me: actually, no
Her: me either.
Me: I think you have girlish tendencies, but you’re too grounded and have an affection for things that fall outside of the the girlie purview
Her: I agree.
Me: so why I gotta be called girlie girl then?

And the thing is, there is a friend of a friend who is all about an image. She sat and read the Boston Globe while the Oscars were airing. She made mention of the fact that she saw Crash and it was amazing as was every other slightly political/deep movie ever made. But then…I had to explain all the political references made through out the show. It’s like she makes the effort to look like she’s into something but doesn’t really grasp some of the finer (and not so fine points). Don’t take this to mean I don’t like her, I really do, and we are friendly and chatty when she comes over to the house. I just started to wonder about image and the whole weirdness of her being came to mind.

The other thing, Bruce has said that I seem softer in person than I project on-line (email and blog). He’s not the first male to say something along those lines, somewhere in an old post (may or may not be up) I talked about this already. But when I did my informal poll, which was essentially asking her, she was all, not really.

I wonder.

Monday, March 06, 2006

Monday’s child has learned to tie his bootlegs

It never mattered to me what he looked like. The generic, he you understand. There has never been a stock type or the looks of a movie god living in my mind. That’s not how Some Girl works.

The conversations went something like this: smart, taller than me (I mean I am 5 feet tall, anyone shorter than me would be a midget, although I have recently learned that I am only taller than the average pygmy, which of course means that there are above average pygmies out there that are taller than me (I am shorter than a fucking pygmy. Some say it’s cute, I’m going to agree because otherwise what am I?), witty, makes me laugh, stable, sane, confident, just a little square, attentive to detail, and a moral person.

The appeal has always been the moral fabric rather than the genetic fluke.

And see how they run: The Film Executive, The Sergeant, OOG, Some Boy (the only constant among them is that they are not around any more. Sure some for good reasons, like having another girlfriend or for being psychotic, but others) I just wasn’t that appealing to them.

Maybe I should have been pickier and based my judgments on other factors. Like whether or not their belt matched their shoes. Maybe I shouldn’t have branded myself as an inflatable doll (I’ve been trademarked). Perhaps there was a better way of going about things to make life just a little smoother. I suppose I always thought that I would be able to count on someone who I trusted because they told me what I wanted to hear.

The latest in the series (serialized boys) has his moments. As I speak to him, moments before I tumble into sleep each night, I wonder what is so appealing about this one. And then he makes me laugh and I forget that buzzing noise and I just get to be.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

This will never do

There was a comment left: Actually, I think he is partial to orange spray paint. Posted by Friend O’ Bruce on 03/02 at 03:27 AM…

Aaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeehh.

Friend of Bruce in my mind equates to FOB which makes me think of my cousin who several years ago, while on the porch at the beach house proclaimed: “Well, my sister is an FOB.” To which I went blink blink and she was all, “You know, Friend of Bill…Clinton.”

And as I sublimated my urge to carve my eyes out with a plastic spoon, I just numbly smiled and at an appropriate interval slowly backed away.

See the thing about my family is that they are all about the oneupmanship competition about whose child is bettersmarterstronger who has more money and a bigger house. When she was all FOB I was all, shut the fuck up.

And now, this is where I had a nightmare last night about my younger cousin reading my blog and leaving a comment. And then his mom read my blog and was all: “I know what you’ve done.” I am suppose to go to lunch with her in the next few weeks and now I am all freaked out. Of course this is not helped by the fact that this branch of the family hates my grams and calls her all kinds of things like mean (which is true but still, why they gotta bag on the old lady?). It’s okay, because my grams hates them back. She recently told me that the entire group of them are “Big Jerks” which are fightin’ words from the octogenarian.

If I weren’t in a cycle of really weird dreams I would be even more concerned, but two nights ago I dreamt that Megan Mullally and I were getting dinner and we had a big fight. We were both crying, I begged for her forgiveness, and in the end we made up. Then we died in a flood.

All of this is just a touch worrying, but not nearly as worrying as the google search for Pussy Chat “Mating Dance” that lead to my blog. That guy must have been pissed off when he ended up reading a story about Pussy Willow.

The short of the long of it is, Friend of Bruce, I’m changing your name to Jennifer. I know that’s not your real name, and there’s no real reason to call you Jennifer, I just kind of made up my mind when I read the comment that you should be Jennifer. I think because then it’s kind of like Bruce Jenner.

Haha. I rule.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

I just got a hang up from a number from Northern New Jersey.

I have a friend who we are going to call “Full-Spectrum Worrier.” Oh shit, I mean, let’s call him, “Random Guy Number 82394.” Yeah, so, the friend, “Random Guy Number 82394” noticed that in my post about the cack cack I used the on-line version of the internal newsletter at work. He pointed out that if I am soooo serious about my anonymity, I would want to change this.

This not the first time that my eagle-eyed (and scarily compulsive) stalker friend has picked up details that he suggested that I changed based upon my desire to be just a talking head on the Internet.

I guess I figure that there are thousand of people employed by my organization, and hundreds in the same part as I. I am not going to stress if some one figures out I work at…oh, can’t say that. His point was that it’s not the normal reader who will be picking apart the little pieces (a point made clear when I talked to her this morning and she was all huh wha? You work where?. I guess that the normal people aren’t trying to parse stalker type information from my blog) but the person who reads my blog and believes they have this innate connection to me.

I would love to call “Random Guy Number 82394” crazy, but I have had my moments with the crazy and I know what he says is mostly true. I promised I would go back and edit out all the information. By the end I was erasing anything that might give a clue as to where I work, including the name of the internal newsletter.

I also blurred out the faces on the people in the picture because I felt like it was the nice thing to do.

The moral of this here story is that I need to go eat lunch.