I'm Going To Become A Hermit

For some reason or another, I have become a crazy-old-lady magnet. Seriously, I think there is a chunk of Cole-Attractant in their brains that makes them beeline for me whenever I leave the house. Case in point, today I went to Walgreens to buy more some stuff I didn’t really need and there was this lady yelling, “Hello. Excuse mmmmmeeeeee! HELLO HELLO HELLO!!!! YOUNG MAN!!!! It’s RUDE to ignore paying customers!!!!” I turned around and realized she was talking to me. I said, “I’m sorry miss, I didn’t realize you were speaking to me.” She retorted, “Well you should have, can you direct me to the Fleet enemas?” I’m pretty sure I turned bright red, but kept a straight face and said, “I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t work here.” Oh, well you shouldn’t dress like you do.” I was wearing a business suit with a tie, which is not the uniform of a Walgreens employee. Then, when I was at the cash register the aged woman in front of me turned around and said, “Do you happen to have two dollars to spare?” I said, yes and gave her two dollars, to which she responded, “thanks, I didn’t want to break a hundred.” I’m going to CVS or Target from now on.

Suck E. Cheese

So we celebrated my nephew’s birthday at Chuck E. Cheese this weekend. Yeah, that place is like crack for children and the clap for adults. My sister decided to have a dual birthday with my nephew and one of his little friends and it lasted a lot longer than my child-tolerating factor could take. My sanity was saved a little bit when I peered into my nephew’s eyes, not because he was happy, but because he was miserable—and I kept thinking that is so totally me. I always detested birthday parties as a child. I would often unwrap my presents and then ceremoniously tell all of the other children, “thank you, now please go home.” As soon as I had all of my toys and cake I was done for the day, bar’s closed. It’s strange how my sister and I are like night and day and yet everyone tells me that my nephew reminds them of me. I’m not sure if a measure of a person’s personality is inherited, and in this case was recessive in my sister, or maybe we both just adapted to her personality. Either way, there is at least one child on this earth that I am fond of enough to tolerate dancing automaton-rats.

My Lung Shape Brings All the Boys To the Yard

So, I’m on day three of quitting smoking and it’s all I can do not to claw at the walls. I try to keep reminding myself why I need to quit. Crazy thoughts circulate through my head, as follows:
-I’m not afraid of dying early, nursing homes are depressing.
-I’m not a big fan of running.
-President Obama smokes, or at least he used to.
-In one week's time I’ll be the size of a walrus.
-I don’t care what other people think.
Of course, the reality is I’ve known people who’ve died of cancer; who died horribly slow and painful deaths. I see my grandfather on a steady flow of oxygen, struggling to catch his breath after laughing and too embarrassed by the tube that wraps around the middle of his face to go and have lunch at the pharmacy with his friends. So yeah, I think I’ll be sticking with it this time, despite the crazy banter that is hopping around in my head.

Reading Rainbow

My boss and I got into a verbal scrimmage, which is always fun. I make it a point to not enter any argument or discussion in which I am not fully informed, having made an ass of myself in the past.
My boss, however; is incapable of listening or reading anything fully. Even when she does, she still tries to divine more information than was supplied to her. These reconfigurations of fact are so outrageous that I sometimes wonder if the text leaps off the page and enters some unseen scyring pool she has hidden away for such numinous tasks.
So, when she refused to believe a given fact about our industry, I printed off an order by the commission that governs us, which proved my point. I walked into her office, gave her a LeVar Burton-like smile and plopped the order down on her desk saying, “but don’t take my word for it!”

Two Thousand and Whine.

2009, You Were Uneventful.

So, in 2009 I moved to a big city, met a lot of people that I like, got closer with the people I already like, and stopped being around the people I didn’t. I exercised enough to prevent myself from fattening up like a marshmallow in a microwave. I attempted and failed at quitting smoking twice. I met no one with whom I wanted to have sex with that wasn’t already in a stable relationship (funny I said “stable” like I was implying that the unstable ones are fair game, yikes.) I read a lot of books, few of which I enjoyed, same thing with movies. No one died, I didn’t adopt a pet, and I didn’t move. I’ve finally succeeded in obtaining a drama free life and guess what, it kind of sucks.
So, my hope for 2010 is that it’s more interesting. I’m up for anything, just as long as it doesn’t involve contracting an STD or entering the Witness Protection Program.

No Yoke?

Fuck whoever made neckties. That's right, fuck 'em. It's no wonder that they came into fashion during the Thirty Years' War, one of the most destructive wars in European history. Since 1618, these horrid yokes have ridden the necks of professional men (and Diane Keaton) dragging them down and cutting off valuable oxygen supply to the brain. It's time we ended this tyrannical fashion practice both in the professional and public realm. So please, join me in contacting your local representatives and urge them to draft a bill outlawing business professional attire. I'm not saying neckties shouldn't be worn, but it should be voluntary. This applies to all uncomfortable clothing, but neckties should most certainly lead the way. Next, of course, will be tucking in shirts...it just makes everyone feel fat.

Un-Banished

So, I don’t have to move to West Texas. This came about as a result of some internal power play in my company, resulting in my boss loosing some of her responsibilities. This is fine by me, as I do all of her work anyway. So, right on, no more impending doom waiting around the corner.
I am officially back in Christmas mode, where my brain runs on candy canes and gumdrops and I see the world in rose-colored glasses for one month out of the year. I’ve completed all of my shopping and wrapping and have a couple more Christmas parties to attend.
Saturday night was interesting. I went to a party hosted by the brother of one of my best friends, Best Friend #2. Of course, one of the human beings I despise most in the world was there, we’ll call him Mean Gay, which is an apt name in my opinion. I never had a problem with Mean Gay until he decided to call me “prissy” in front of all of my friends at a party. I later found out that “Prissy” translates to “my boyfriend wants to fuck him.” Of course, my friends did a good job of build a little social wall between the two of us, fearful no doubt that I might arch my back and hiss if I had to speak to him. Best Friend #2 said something truly scathing in his general direction, which made me turn crimson with embarrassment. And the whole night took an upswing from there.