Starbucks was busy today . . . and there was this girl that had to be in physical contact with her boyfriend. She had to be touching him. When he walked forward to pick up his carmel moccifluffer thing, her hand trailed out . . . her face turned to shock. It was like her lifeline was cut and she was thinking about whether to scream or gasp for air. And then he was back and she did this weird smothering thing, wrapping herself around him again.
It was at that point that I found a desire to punch her. So I watched the woman with the bad Louis Vuitton rip off and the puffed up lips instead. I have never felt the need to smother anyone. And people drink a lot of drinks with carmel in them at Starbucks. (the bad purse lady had received her drink and I was now watching the barista making drinks . . . all of them with carmel, except mine . . . evidently the carmel is even more crack-like than the coffee)
After Starbucks I went to the mall for no particular reason and watched the S.U.V. strollers roll about. Should I ever reproduce, I promise just to strap the little bugger to my back, as to not run over anyone's foot . . . or just so I won't be so in the way. Maybe the reasoning will come to me, should I combine genetic material with another, but I just don't understand why such a tiny person needs anything that big to cart it around.
I have to go write another match profile, in my pursuit of matchdotcom performance art. Last week's seemed to appeal to older gentlemen, so softer than my earlier ramblings I guess. Don't have a plan for this week's, but I'm sure it will come to meet after staring at a blank screen for a while. And what size do you have to be to stop being "curvy"? Or is that a state of mind? I mean, I considered myself curvy at 120 pounds (a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away) . . . I guess it's a moot point. I don't want to date a guy that only wants to meet "athletic and toned" or "slender" women anyhow. Wow, I'm being so positive about match all of the sudden, what's up with that? I'm sure I'll be back to the Eeyore-ness in a second. Maybe the topic should be about how I don't like to smother people.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
By the Way
I received this little bit of lovelyness on the email:
"Thanks for writing to me, but unfortunately, we're just not a good match. Good luck in your search! Our profiles didn't match on:
• Interests • Personality"
Someone just rejected my interests and personality . . . when I don't remember sharing either. I just wrote a nice note about William Gibson and how he was my favorite author too. And guys say they like the canned rejection responses? "Then I'm sure" one young man told me. Well, I'm pretty sure if you don't email me for three weeks that you're not interested, but whatever.
Rejected my personality. And he hasn't even read my blog . . .
"Thanks for writing to me, but unfortunately, we're just not a good match. Good luck in your search! Our profiles didn't match on:
• Interests • Personality"
Someone just rejected my interests and personality . . . when I don't remember sharing either. I just wrote a nice note about William Gibson and how he was my favorite author too. And guys say they like the canned rejection responses? "Then I'm sure" one young man told me. Well, I'm pretty sure if you don't email me for three weeks that you're not interested, but whatever.
Rejected my personality. And he hasn't even read my blog . . .
Wait . . . What day is it?
Tomorrow IS Friday right?
I have this weird ear popping thing in my right ear . . . and I have suddenly gone all itchy, which is never a good sign for anything. Earlier in the week, I received an email admonishing me to wash my hands. It was sent to a group . . . not just me . . . I know what you're thinking . . .
For the last year or so I have been kind of complusive about the hand washing. I don't wash them fifty times a day but I do sing the "ABC" song in my head as I'm washing them. And I want hot or at least warm water . . . which work does not have (we wouldn't want anyone to burn themselves). But I haven't taken to spraying Clorox around the room . . . yet.
So yesterday I went to bed at 8 p.m. (explaining the no post) and tonight I'm going to bed after I finish writing this. I have work in the car . . . but yeah, I'm just not up for that. Have a swim meet to go to tomorrow . . . and then more sleep. Lots of sleep. I know, totally lame . . . or maybe normal, but I want to sleep on a Friday night. Heck, maybe Saturday night also. Mmmm and maybe some light shopping on Saturday afternoon. Heavenly.
In reality, I'm probably going out after the swim meet and then I have to clean on Saturday because it is finally getting to my level of "so disgusting that I have to clean for seven hours" messy in here. So you will probably be able to eat off the back of my toilet on Sunday, should you want to. And then Sunday, we are descending on the sister (don't know if she knows that yet) . . . mmmm, Steak and Shake and new Targets. Something about delivering a bed.
And Monday starts Homecoming week . . . so I guess I will update from school. It's like the movie "Groundhog Day" I tell you. Doomed to repeated the rah, rah, stuff over and over again. Oh, how I loved Homecoming the first time (truthfully, not sure if my high school had one . . . never noticed) and it's even better the eighth time around.
I have this weird ear popping thing in my right ear . . . and I have suddenly gone all itchy, which is never a good sign for anything. Earlier in the week, I received an email admonishing me to wash my hands. It was sent to a group . . . not just me . . . I know what you're thinking . . .
For the last year or so I have been kind of complusive about the hand washing. I don't wash them fifty times a day but I do sing the "ABC" song in my head as I'm washing them. And I want hot or at least warm water . . . which work does not have (we wouldn't want anyone to burn themselves). But I haven't taken to spraying Clorox around the room . . . yet.
So yesterday I went to bed at 8 p.m. (explaining the no post) and tonight I'm going to bed after I finish writing this. I have work in the car . . . but yeah, I'm just not up for that. Have a swim meet to go to tomorrow . . . and then more sleep. Lots of sleep. I know, totally lame . . . or maybe normal, but I want to sleep on a Friday night. Heck, maybe Saturday night also. Mmmm and maybe some light shopping on Saturday afternoon. Heavenly.
In reality, I'm probably going out after the swim meet and then I have to clean on Saturday because it is finally getting to my level of "so disgusting that I have to clean for seven hours" messy in here. So you will probably be able to eat off the back of my toilet on Sunday, should you want to. And then Sunday, we are descending on the sister (don't know if she knows that yet) . . . mmmm, Steak and Shake and new Targets. Something about delivering a bed.
And Monday starts Homecoming week . . . so I guess I will update from school. It's like the movie "Groundhog Day" I tell you. Doomed to repeated the rah, rah, stuff over and over again. Oh, how I loved Homecoming the first time (truthfully, not sure if my high school had one . . . never noticed) and it's even better the eighth time around.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Lost
Lost time: spent three hours on the phone after a two hour meeting
Lost things: graded a bunch of stuff and passed it back; can't find sheets I put the grades on
Lost health: my sinus cavities feel like they have spikes going through them; ironically it might be better to have spikes going through them . . . at least they might drain
Lost sleep: I ran at 8:30 tonight; bad. Won't be able to sleep.
Lost sanity: have two meetings tomorrow; and ninety introduction letters that I have put off evaluating, because they scare me
Lost trust: Somebody lied to me yesterday . . . and I knew they were lying
Lost things part II: lost my diamond today while mowing the lawn. Heard my mother's voice in my head the entire time I was looking for it . . . because I had been dumb and put it in my pocket. Found it in the dirt, next to the shed.
Lost money: Dropped 10 bucks on the ground at the gas station; recovered it quickly
Lost beliefs: I'd like to believe that people are intrinsically good . . . and that just because someone is an asshole to me, doesn't mean that I have to be an asshole too . . . but lordy, some people test that. Really would like to egg his house. Or spray paint it. But I won't. It disappoints me when people have no honor or integrity.
Not lost: I haven't lost a freakin' pound, despite running since July. My fingers are getting skinnier though (hence the ring in the pocket). Just what I wanted to be skinnier . . . my fingers. The plan is soooo working.
Lost things: graded a bunch of stuff and passed it back; can't find sheets I put the grades on
Lost health: my sinus cavities feel like they have spikes going through them; ironically it might be better to have spikes going through them . . . at least they might drain
Lost sleep: I ran at 8:30 tonight; bad. Won't be able to sleep.
Lost sanity: have two meetings tomorrow; and ninety introduction letters that I have put off evaluating, because they scare me
Lost trust: Somebody lied to me yesterday . . . and I knew they were lying
Lost things part II: lost my diamond today while mowing the lawn. Heard my mother's voice in my head the entire time I was looking for it . . . because I had been dumb and put it in my pocket. Found it in the dirt, next to the shed.
Lost money: Dropped 10 bucks on the ground at the gas station; recovered it quickly
Lost beliefs: I'd like to believe that people are intrinsically good . . . and that just because someone is an asshole to me, doesn't mean that I have to be an asshole too . . . but lordy, some people test that. Really would like to egg his house. Or spray paint it. But I won't. It disappoints me when people have no honor or integrity.
Not lost: I haven't lost a freakin' pound, despite running since July. My fingers are getting skinnier though (hence the ring in the pocket). Just what I wanted to be skinnier . . . my fingers. The plan is soooo working.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Sunday, September 24, 2006
At Dinner
"So if you or Dave have any kids, I'm buying the Dingo Snack shirt for you to dress them in . . ."
"Dave already has a kid" says Z.
"Yes, he does . . . but you're too big to be a dingo snack."
"Maybe you could be a tiger snack."
"Or a lion snack."
"Or hey, I heard of this nine year old that was found inside an anaconda in the Amazon."
"Was he dead?" asks Z. (who is almost nine)
"No . . . he was just hanging out there, listenin' to his ipod."
"Kinda like being inside a whale. But a snake."
And my water then came out of my nose.
"Dave already has a kid" says Z.
"Yes, he does . . . but you're too big to be a dingo snack."
"Maybe you could be a tiger snack."
"Or a lion snack."
"Or hey, I heard of this nine year old that was found inside an anaconda in the Amazon."
"Was he dead?" asks Z. (who is almost nine)
"No . . . he was just hanging out there, listenin' to his ipod."
"Kinda like being inside a whale. But a snake."
And my water then came out of my nose.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
"Dude, that's gross"
My baby brother is home for a wedding. Last night I was his driver and so went to the hometown bar with him and his girlfriend to meet up with some old friends. It was joining the "after the rehearsal dinner" party.
My brother and I are six years apart. So his friends recognize me and know who I am, but we certainly didn't run in the same crowds. And I haven't seen most of them in ten years . . . so a lot of walking up and saying "oh, you're Emily" and me politely smiling and wondering who they are . . . because they are not eighteen anymore. So I was on the edges all night . . . sat and talked to Mel about any and all things because she is from Miami and doesn't know them either. And Mel is one of the most fun people I know.
As Mel and I were talking, a guy in a yellow polo shirt leaned up against me. Touching me. I can't imagine what my face looked like . . . we all know how much I like to be touched, especially touched by strangers. I knew he was with the wedding crew, so to be polite, I said nothing. Continued my conversation. Yellow polo shirt man began rubbing my shoulders. Again, he is someone in the wedding party and probably wasted . . . better just to ignore it. Could be a high school friend for all I know. After all, I didn't recognize the groom. He joins the conversation. Makes some odd comments about going to Thailand (evidently you can buy baby chickens and then can throw them in an alligator pit?) (went over big with Mel, who practically runs a "no kill" animal shelter with my brother in their apartment).
When he goes to get a beer, I mouth to my brother "Who the hell is that?" It is the bride's sister's husband. Great, married yellow polo shirt man. He comes back. Rubs my back some more, cooing about how I have a nice arch (because I'm uncomfortable and trying to pull away from him). It was a lot like a Pepi le Pew cartoon. He is standing behind me and put his arms around my shoulders . . . and "oops, I didn't mean to put my hand there!" Of course you didn't.
We force J. to save me. So now as J. is talking to married yellow polo shirt man, I keep hearing "so you think sixty dollars would be enough?" "No, dude that's my sister." "So what do you think, sixty-five?" "Dude, it doesn't matter . . . she's my sister . . . "
I look at married yellow polo shirt man. "Are you trying to buy me? For sixty dollars?" J. takes up the placating . . . his girlfriend is a spitfire and I'm well . . . about the same. I think J. didn't want a fist fight. "No, that's not what we were talking about," J. says.
Married yellow polo shirt guy chimes in "Yeah, you know "Girls Gone Wild"? You know those videos? Where they pay girls to lift up their tops?" He leers at me. "I'm much more expensive . . . I don't think you could afford me." Mel goes at him. Don't remember what was said, but myps guy left within five minutes.
"Thanks a lot" my brother says. "I have to see him tomorrow." I was surprised that J. didn't deck him (cause I would have if he had said it about my sister) but J. does have to go to the wedding today. "Guy's a tool." he says with a shrug.
And married yellow polo shirt guy went home to his wife and two kids. Certainly didn't see anything wrong with his behavior. Wasn't so drunk that he was stumbling or slurring, so knew what he was doing. And seriously thought it was a good idea to discuss with my brother whether or not I would lift my top for sixty dollars. I think "tool" is an understatement. And as for my whining about being 35 and unmarried . . . I could have that instead. I'm a lucky girl. Have to remember that.
My brother and I are six years apart. So his friends recognize me and know who I am, but we certainly didn't run in the same crowds. And I haven't seen most of them in ten years . . . so a lot of walking up and saying "oh, you're Emily" and me politely smiling and wondering who they are . . . because they are not eighteen anymore. So I was on the edges all night . . . sat and talked to Mel about any and all things because she is from Miami and doesn't know them either. And Mel is one of the most fun people I know.
As Mel and I were talking, a guy in a yellow polo shirt leaned up against me. Touching me. I can't imagine what my face looked like . . . we all know how much I like to be touched, especially touched by strangers. I knew he was with the wedding crew, so to be polite, I said nothing. Continued my conversation. Yellow polo shirt man began rubbing my shoulders. Again, he is someone in the wedding party and probably wasted . . . better just to ignore it. Could be a high school friend for all I know. After all, I didn't recognize the groom. He joins the conversation. Makes some odd comments about going to Thailand (evidently you can buy baby chickens and then can throw them in an alligator pit?) (went over big with Mel, who practically runs a "no kill" animal shelter with my brother in their apartment).
When he goes to get a beer, I mouth to my brother "Who the hell is that?" It is the bride's sister's husband. Great, married yellow polo shirt man. He comes back. Rubs my back some more, cooing about how I have a nice arch (because I'm uncomfortable and trying to pull away from him). It was a lot like a Pepi le Pew cartoon. He is standing behind me and put his arms around my shoulders . . . and "oops, I didn't mean to put my hand there!" Of course you didn't.
We force J. to save me. So now as J. is talking to married yellow polo shirt man, I keep hearing "so you think sixty dollars would be enough?" "No, dude that's my sister." "So what do you think, sixty-five?" "Dude, it doesn't matter . . . she's my sister . . . "
I look at married yellow polo shirt man. "Are you trying to buy me? For sixty dollars?" J. takes up the placating . . . his girlfriend is a spitfire and I'm well . . . about the same. I think J. didn't want a fist fight. "No, that's not what we were talking about," J. says.
Married yellow polo shirt guy chimes in "Yeah, you know "Girls Gone Wild"? You know those videos? Where they pay girls to lift up their tops?" He leers at me. "I'm much more expensive . . . I don't think you could afford me." Mel goes at him. Don't remember what was said, but myps guy left within five minutes.
"Thanks a lot" my brother says. "I have to see him tomorrow." I was surprised that J. didn't deck him (cause I would have if he had said it about my sister) but J. does have to go to the wedding today. "Guy's a tool." he says with a shrug.
And married yellow polo shirt guy went home to his wife and two kids. Certainly didn't see anything wrong with his behavior. Wasn't so drunk that he was stumbling or slurring, so knew what he was doing. And seriously thought it was a good idea to discuss with my brother whether or not I would lift my top for sixty dollars. I think "tool" is an understatement. And as for my whining about being 35 and unmarried . . . I could have that instead. I'm a lucky girl. Have to remember that.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
More than the Hate Deserves
Not to give anyone more reaction than they deserve . . . but the damn address is iamsmarterthanu . . . what were you expecting? Come on now.
As for the self-centered part, let's see . . . I live with . . . oh, that's right . . . and I can't talk about work . . . and I'm allergic to all things animal, plant and mineral . . . or maybe I would start a blog pretending to be my cat . . . wouldn't that be cute? And I am the female Peter Pan. Jealous or what?
And as for the negative part . . . I prefer to think of it as sarcastic wit . . .
And again, no one is forcing anyone to read this, or anything else on the internet. As fun as writing flaming comments on people's blogs must be, there must be something better you could do with your time. I mean, isn't that what you want to point out to me? So go do it.
Because writing hateful comments probably isn't going to change my behavior (except for writing this post). It might intensify the negativity you were so concerned with for a bit. As long as we're all so happy to spread it around.
Again . . . you really don't have to read it. I can't make you.
As for the self-centered part, let's see . . . I live with . . . oh, that's right . . . and I can't talk about work . . . and I'm allergic to all things animal, plant and mineral . . . or maybe I would start a blog pretending to be my cat . . . wouldn't that be cute? And I am the female Peter Pan. Jealous or what?
And as for the negative part . . . I prefer to think of it as sarcastic wit . . .
And again, no one is forcing anyone to read this, or anything else on the internet. As fun as writing flaming comments on people's blogs must be, there must be something better you could do with your time. I mean, isn't that what you want to point out to me? So go do it.
Because writing hateful comments probably isn't going to change my behavior (except for writing this post). It might intensify the negativity you were so concerned with for a bit. As long as we're all so happy to spread it around.
Again . . . you really don't have to read it. I can't make you.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
I R Boring
Sorry, not much to talk about . . . had some macaroni and cheese . . . got my shots . . . talked to Princess (she has a new job, so I don't see her everyday anymore) . . . wrote a quiz about the parts of speech . . . watched Mark Harmon . . . answered some email . . .
I am excited about going to a show on a school night. It better not be sold out. It's keeping me mentally afloat. And I like to be mentally above water . . .
I am excited about going to a show on a school night. It better not be sold out. It's keeping me mentally afloat. And I like to be mentally above water . . .
Monday, September 18, 2006
Hit 30
Today I ran for thirty minutes straight. I'm still old and slow . . . but I ran 2.36 miles and burned 357.01772471968155 calories. No, I don't know why the calorie count goes out 14 decimal points . . . but it amuses me greatly. And it didn't hurt and I wasn't all that winded. Hot and sweaty but not winded. I don't know what I'm going to do when there is snow and I'll have to wear clothes . . . or more clothes than what I wore today in the cold and rain.
So maybe I will make 3 miles by October . . . very slow miles, but miles nonetheless. I wonder how many decimal points it goes out for 3 miles.
So maybe I will make 3 miles by October . . . very slow miles, but miles nonetheless. I wonder how many decimal points it goes out for 3 miles.
Happy Birthday Morna!
It's my mother's birthday today . . . and I'm catching up, as I'm getting towards 39 too, when I'm not pretending to be 27.
There is not a day that I do not thank my lucky stars because have a Mom that is also my best friend. She's wicked smart, has excellent taste, and is one of the most together people I know. She has always been supportive, even when she disagrees with my decisions. Oh, she'll let me know that she disagrees though, don't you worry . . .
Anyhow, not everyone has a mother that they want to call every day. I do. That makes me a very lucky girl.
Happy Birthday Mom!
There is not a day that I do not thank my lucky stars because have a Mom that is also my best friend. She's wicked smart, has excellent taste, and is one of the most together people I know. She has always been supportive, even when she disagrees with my decisions. Oh, she'll let me know that she disagrees though, don't you worry . . .
Anyhow, not everyone has a mother that they want to call every day. I do. That makes me a very lucky girl.
Happy Birthday Mom!
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Hey Kids . . .
Anyone want to go see "Be Your Own Pet" on Wednesday? Come on . . . it's the year of living like Emily . . . who cares if it's a school night?
Sunday
I ran into a former student at Starbucks today. Not really all that much of a problem, as I like the person. Actually, nice to see him and see that he is doing well. Told him that it was time to go to big boy school (he's at a community college currently, and not being challenged enough in my opinion). I read "Lord of the Flies", he did his math homework. It was weird, but okay. Weird to be a "real" person, in my boys' hoodie and Birkenstocks. Weird to be seen and talked to, in my territory. In a year or two I'll probably run into him at the Front.
I need to stop buying clothes simply because I can . . . almost bought a $100 pair of pants simply because they fit and I could wear them in pubic. Thank goodness they were too long. Bought two shirts instead. At Banana Republic. Someone take me out and shoot me. Just in the foot or something so I can't go to Somerset. Oh, and the new ipod nanos are out. The next running prize. I think I only need a 4 GB.
The vacuum is still sitting the in the middle of the living room. The plants still haven't been watered. I have to transfer all the school stuff, that I didn't touch this weekend, from truck to car. I feel like I haven't gotten anything done . . . but I fixed the laundry tub drain, did all my laundry, and mowed the lawn. And went for a short run. But I should probably use the vacuum. It's pretty, sitting there in all it's Dyson-ey glory, but it really needs to go back in the closet. And I've discovered, it's just getting started with me. Once I get over the starting, I'll clean the whole house, no problem.
I need to stop buying clothes simply because I can . . . almost bought a $100 pair of pants simply because they fit and I could wear them in pubic. Thank goodness they were too long. Bought two shirts instead. At Banana Republic. Someone take me out and shoot me. Just in the foot or something so I can't go to Somerset. Oh, and the new ipod nanos are out. The next running prize. I think I only need a 4 GB.
The vacuum is still sitting the in the middle of the living room. The plants still haven't been watered. I have to transfer all the school stuff, that I didn't touch this weekend, from truck to car. I feel like I haven't gotten anything done . . . but I fixed the laundry tub drain, did all my laundry, and mowed the lawn. And went for a short run. But I should probably use the vacuum. It's pretty, sitting there in all it's Dyson-ey glory, but it really needs to go back in the closet. And I've discovered, it's just getting started with me. Once I get over the starting, I'll clean the whole house, no problem.
You're Emily
While I was out on my "I'm not sure if this is a date" outing . . . which is why I wore converse (because if you have to ask . . . then it's not a date . . . ) (I had fun, by the way) I saw someone in a "Weakerthans" T-shirt.
I have never seen anyone in a Weakerthans t-shirt. I have never known anyone who has ever heard of the Weakerthans, other than my brother. So D. suggested that I go talk to the gentleman in the Weakerthans t-shirt, as to not miss this opportunity.
I could only see his back. So I walked up to join their table. "Hi, ummm, I had to ask because of your . . . "
"You're Emily ___" said the man in the Weakerthans t-shirt. I'm sure there was this look of either horror or shock and awe. How did this man know my name? How did he know me? I looked at him carefully . . . still looking . . . sorta familiar . . .
"Kevin?" Turns out he is one of my brother J.'s friends from high school. He now lives in Berkley and therefore hangs out at the Berkley Front (because we are required to . . . living in Berkley and all). My brother is coming home next week, so I will probably see him then but how funny, that the guy I had to talk to because he was so cool (no one knows the Weakerthans) turns out to be someone I already know. Someone I've known since he was fourteen.
So much for me being anonymous or hard to recognize. Creepy.
I have never seen anyone in a Weakerthans t-shirt. I have never known anyone who has ever heard of the Weakerthans, other than my brother. So D. suggested that I go talk to the gentleman in the Weakerthans t-shirt, as to not miss this opportunity.
I could only see his back. So I walked up to join their table. "Hi, ummm, I had to ask because of your . . . "
"You're Emily ___" said the man in the Weakerthans t-shirt. I'm sure there was this look of either horror or shock and awe. How did this man know my name? How did he know me? I looked at him carefully . . . still looking . . . sorta familiar . . .
"Kevin?" Turns out he is one of my brother J.'s friends from high school. He now lives in Berkley and therefore hangs out at the Berkley Front (because we are required to . . . living in Berkley and all). My brother is coming home next week, so I will probably see him then but how funny, that the guy I had to talk to because he was so cool (no one knows the Weakerthans) turns out to be someone I already know. Someone I've known since he was fourteen.
So much for me being anonymous or hard to recognize. Creepy.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
If, Then Statements
I remember a moment very clearly. (actually, I remember hundreds of thousands of moments clearly) It was the day after "senior all night party", that party the parents of every high school has so that their students will have a safe place to celebrate without alcohol (thus the kids just use drugs instead). I had planned poorly and so had to work at 9 a.m. after staying up all night and standing on the hill outside of Salem to jeer at the underclassmen, who still had to go to school.
I remember standing in the stacks (I worked at the public library, reshelving books) and thinking . . . if I just lost ten pounds, then my life would turn around . . . Jeff would love me, I'd get a great summer job . . . I just have to lose ten pounds . . .
. . . and then suddenly realizing that thought was the biggest bullshit I had ever tried to feed myself.
I assume other women have heads full of "if, then" statements. Mine rattle around all the time. I usually ignore them, but it's important to know that they are there, creeping around in our brains. "If I was a size 12, then I would have a great boyfriend." "If I don't eat those fries . . . " well, you get the picture. I didn't have a great boyfriend when I was a size 10, nor when I was a size 12 and it didn't have anything to with my body. I just liked to date shitheads. It wasn't like they were going to turn into a wonderful person because I wittled down to an 8. Sometimes they have nothing to do with pound or sizes, just penance. If I was just more pleasant . . . then.
The reason I bring this up is one flew through my head this afternoon as I was walking into the Barnes and Noble. I don't even remember what exactly the if and then were, but I caught myself. Recognized the ridiculous nature of it. While standing in the middle of Fifth Avenue. Everything won't be more wonderful if I am a size 12. Everything will be exactly as it is now, except I will have to pull up these damn jeans more.
Ahh, if we were just all good enough . . .
I remember standing in the stacks (I worked at the public library, reshelving books) and thinking . . . if I just lost ten pounds, then my life would turn around . . . Jeff would love me, I'd get a great summer job . . . I just have to lose ten pounds . . .
. . . and then suddenly realizing that thought was the biggest bullshit I had ever tried to feed myself.
I assume other women have heads full of "if, then" statements. Mine rattle around all the time. I usually ignore them, but it's important to know that they are there, creeping around in our brains. "If I was a size 12, then I would have a great boyfriend." "If I don't eat those fries . . . " well, you get the picture. I didn't have a great boyfriend when I was a size 10, nor when I was a size 12 and it didn't have anything to with my body. I just liked to date shitheads. It wasn't like they were going to turn into a wonderful person because I wittled down to an 8. Sometimes they have nothing to do with pound or sizes, just penance. If I was just more pleasant . . . then.
The reason I bring this up is one flew through my head this afternoon as I was walking into the Barnes and Noble. I don't even remember what exactly the if and then were, but I caught myself. Recognized the ridiculous nature of it. While standing in the middle of Fifth Avenue. Everything won't be more wonderful if I am a size 12. Everything will be exactly as it is now, except I will have to pull up these damn jeans more.
Ahh, if we were just all good enough . . .
Thursday, September 14, 2006
The Nice One
Tomorrow is going to be unpleasant.
I know that's not the right attitude. But tomorrow I may have to lie. And tomorrow I have to get up very early. And I don't do either of those things very well, especially not in conjunction. Tomorrow I will be "the nice one".
It's ridiculous that I'm the nice one. Even more ridiculous that I will be made fun of for being the nice one later on in the day. Ridiculous that my day will run from 7 a.m. (thus getting up at 5 a.m. or at least trying to) to 9:30 p.m. . . . Again.
My mother's birthday has been "rescheduled" as she will be out of town. I have dishes to do, laundry waiting, and floors to wash. And it might be nice if I mowed my lawn . . . maybe sanded those cabinet doors. I would like to have drawers sometime this year. Have to call and yell at Home Depot . . . haven't gotten the inspeector postcard yet, so I don't think he ever planned on getting a permit. Oh, and don't forget the papers to grade. So I'm relieved about the rescheduling.
I ran for 25 minutes tonight but had to do 15 and then 5 walking and then 10. Can't seem to get the whole thing without walking. Ate at 9:30, which isn't good, but better than not eating (what I felt like doing) because I would be ravenous at 3 a.m. Maybe if I go back to the eye candy plan and I can do the 25 all in one stretch. That's the problem . . . don't care about the eye candy and I need a carrot.
My mother spotted a guy with a faux hawk on television tonight. She was so proud that she knew what that hairstyle is called. "Looks about as dumb on him as it does on you . . ." Thanks Mom.
I know that's not the right attitude. But tomorrow I may have to lie. And tomorrow I have to get up very early. And I don't do either of those things very well, especially not in conjunction. Tomorrow I will be "the nice one".
It's ridiculous that I'm the nice one. Even more ridiculous that I will be made fun of for being the nice one later on in the day. Ridiculous that my day will run from 7 a.m. (thus getting up at 5 a.m. or at least trying to) to 9:30 p.m. . . . Again.
My mother's birthday has been "rescheduled" as she will be out of town. I have dishes to do, laundry waiting, and floors to wash. And it might be nice if I mowed my lawn . . . maybe sanded those cabinet doors. I would like to have drawers sometime this year. Have to call and yell at Home Depot . . . haven't gotten the inspeector postcard yet, so I don't think he ever planned on getting a permit. Oh, and don't forget the papers to grade. So I'm relieved about the rescheduling.
I ran for 25 minutes tonight but had to do 15 and then 5 walking and then 10. Can't seem to get the whole thing without walking. Ate at 9:30, which isn't good, but better than not eating (what I felt like doing) because I would be ravenous at 3 a.m. Maybe if I go back to the eye candy plan and I can do the 25 all in one stretch. That's the problem . . . don't care about the eye candy and I need a carrot.
My mother spotted a guy with a faux hawk on television tonight. She was so proud that she knew what that hairstyle is called. "Looks about as dumb on him as it does on you . . ." Thanks Mom.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
No Think, Only Do
Okay, now that I'm out of the monkey suit and in my jeans and Sisters of Mercy T-shirt (if I had known how much wear I was going to get out of the S of M T-shirt I would have bought two), let us ponder the following:
How many times has someone asked you what an adverb is?
I know my answer . . . and really unless you're an English teacher (and therefore have to answer the question) do you really need to know? (a word that modifies a verb or an adjective) And although I have my grammar worksheets lined up for tomorrow because I was at work until 9 p.m. and I was only cornered seven times tonight, so I don't want to think. There is no think tomorrow, only do. Thank you Yoda. Eight parts of speech, not including articles . . . because really, do we need to go over articles? But then they don't know what an article is . . . so we do have to go over them.
I hate grammar.
Wait, that's not true. I hate teaching grammar. I love reading books like "The Deluxe Transitive Vampire" and "Woe is I". But when I have to teach it, it rings hollow. I made it through college without really knowing what an adverb was . . . I could look it up. And I knew where to look it up. Which, I suppose, is what I really should be teaching.
Being pulled in all sorts of directions. And none of them are social and that's bad. I do not want to fall into work. So hard for work just to be work in my business.
Must go to sleep. Cannot be crabby tomorrow. Must be able to point out the adverbs.
How many times has someone asked you what an adverb is?
I know my answer . . . and really unless you're an English teacher (and therefore have to answer the question) do you really need to know? (a word that modifies a verb or an adjective) And although I have my grammar worksheets lined up for tomorrow because I was at work until 9 p.m. and I was only cornered seven times tonight, so I don't want to think. There is no think tomorrow, only do. Thank you Yoda. Eight parts of speech, not including articles . . . because really, do we need to go over articles? But then they don't know what an article is . . . so we do have to go over them.
I hate grammar.
Wait, that's not true. I hate teaching grammar. I love reading books like "The Deluxe Transitive Vampire" and "Woe is I". But when I have to teach it, it rings hollow. I made it through college without really knowing what an adverb was . . . I could look it up. And I knew where to look it up. Which, I suppose, is what I really should be teaching.
Being pulled in all sorts of directions. And none of them are social and that's bad. I do not want to fall into work. So hard for work just to be work in my business.
Must go to sleep. Cannot be crabby tomorrow. Must be able to point out the adverbs.
Open . . . in the House
As I sit here in my office, waiting for the function to start, I realize that I really need some gum. And I don't have any.
The stupid ID that they want me to somehow wear (I'm taping it to my dress) (not kidding) (considered just sticking it in cleavage) has my red hair on it . . . so not what they had in mind.
It is muggy as all hell and no one shows up for these things . . . and I have 90 papers to grade. Plus, I have phone calls to make after this thing is over. Not the fun kind. The "we have to talk" kind.
I'll update with a count later.
The stupid ID that they want me to somehow wear (I'm taping it to my dress) (not kidding) (considered just sticking it in cleavage) has my red hair on it . . . so not what they had in mind.
It is muggy as all hell and no one shows up for these things . . . and I have 90 papers to grade. Plus, I have phone calls to make after this thing is over. Not the fun kind. The "we have to talk" kind.
I'll update with a count later.
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