Only Downside of Finally Getting a Windowseat at Work:
Suddenly realizing--because of the natural light--that your eyeglasses are pretty much CONSTANTLY filthy.
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Only Downside of Finally Getting a Windowseat at Work:
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Things Thinging It Up With Other Things, The Sequel
I went to see N-A read at one of the public libraries yesterday. Well worth it, if for no other reason than to hear him read a love letter to his taint in front of a handful of uncomfortable old people. He also read a poem he'd dedicated to me, which made me blush, but interestingly: I actually think the taint piece trumped it in sentimentality.
Thom Yorke's music makes me feel all SORTS of lusty.
I once farted in a college class while doing group-work. It was high-pitched and loud, enough so that the instructor did a double-take. And I hadn't seen it coming, so it surprised me as well. I blamed it on my shoe squeaking against the desk seat, but I belabored that fact SO much ("Omg--can you believe that my shoe made a noise against the seat that sounded SO exactly like a fart? I mean, I can't believe that. It's crazy! I mean how often does that happen where your shoe sounds exactly like a fart, you know? Madness!") that it made it all that more clear that I had farted. Had I just left it alone and not said anything, there surely would've been folks who thought, There's no way that crazy chick farted that loud--it must've been her shoe. But since I spent so much time DISCUSSING the fact that it was my shoe and the craziness of that fact, I might as well have written, Yeah I farted--what you gonna do about it on my forehead. I think of this event from time to time, wondering if the tale has ever graced the lips of a story-telling classmate in casual conversation. Fuck getting remembered for one's art. I'll always be remembered as "That nameless chick who farted in class." And that, my friends, is what life's all about.
And on that note of nostalgia, happy holidays everyone. I will be taking a blogging hiatus until the end of the year, so please don't think I've ditched you. I will return in a couple of weeks with hopefully even BETTER random taint and fart stories!
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Things I Hope to Do While Off from Work
Sleep in.
Go to the art museum.
Write a short story.
Take some photos at Bank News.
Spend frequent late nights out drinking and/or rowdifying it.
Visit with friends in town for the holiday.
Cook cook cook and bake.
Get an oil change and my (non-existent) blinkers finally fixed.
Snuggle with my cats.
Drink lots of coffee and eat a bagel every morning while dipping into a book.
Thrift shop.
Have some folks over for dinner.
Make some mixes.
Get laid often.
See Let the Right One In.
Stay up with N-A far past my usual weekday bed-time.
Spend way too much money hanging out with friends.
Crack.
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Things Thinging It Up With Other Things
- X-mas music makes me happy. Religious X-mas. Alvin & the Chipmunks X-mas. Bing Crosby X-mas. Cartman X-mas. It doesn't matter. It makes me feel warm and squishy inside.
- I ate WAY too much sugar last night: two beers topped off by an extremely large bowl of ice cream and cake. I realized that perhaps it was too much sugar when I noticed I was jumping around my living room for no reason while singing a made-up song to my cats and then found myself texting like 3 different people randomly. Other people drunk-dial. I apparently sugar-dial.
- There was no point to the newest X-Files movie. Why they took the time to make a movie that was essentially just a long (and really not all that interesting) episode of X-Files really blows my mind. (Ok, not really, since we all know surely it was just for the money. And N-A, I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY ABOUT IT!) The only thing I really dug about it was when I suddenly realized that Mulder and Scully are in a married-without-being-married relationship, which I hadn't caught onto until they suddenly showed them snuggled up in bed together. It made me feel squish.
- The one true thing I can say that makes me happy about the winter is the fact that it means wine instead of beer. (Beer is a warm-weather drink. Wine is a cold-weather. End of story.) And wine-drunk is WAY more fun and loveable and batting-eyelashes and blazing-fireplace and foot-under-the-table-running-up-your-pant-leg than beer-drunk.
- I rarely find joy at work. But I found out today I'm getting moved to a window-seat, and I feel like Hugh Laurie just walked into the room buck-nekkid and beating his chest like Tarzan.
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Yesterday's Conversation with a Four-Year Old
J (the 4-year old): Ok. Sit in that chair and pretend to read that magazine and I'm gonna draw you.
ME: Ok--
J: But pretend that you think I'm drawing a picture of a goose instead and ask me questions about it, that way it can be a surprise!
ME: Ummmmmm ok.
J: Sit still! Don't FLIP through the magazine. Just stay on one page!
N-A: Stop bossing, J!
ME: Can I flip through it if I keep still except for my hands?
J: (dramatic sigh) Fine! (pause) You're supposed to be asking me questions about the goose I'm drawing!
ME: So how's that goose-drawing of yours going?
J: (doing an exaggerated nervous voice, as though she's trying to hide a secret) Um. Heh heh. Yeah. My goose. Um yeah. My goose-drawing is going good. Hneh hneh.
ME: (pretending to try to catch her off guard) SO DOES THIS SUPPOSED GOOSE HAVE TWO WINGS?
J: (fake nervous voice) Uh. Heh. Yeah.
ME: (pretending to try to catch her off guard again) IS THE GOOSE YOU ARE DRAWING GOOSELIKE!?!
J: (fake nervous voice) Yeah! It's a goose! ASK ME MORE QUESTIONS!
ME: I don't believe you're drawing a goose!
J: (shouting) I AM! I AM!
ME: Does your goose have three beaks?
J: No! Geese don't have three beaks! (pause) Ok! No more questions. I'm done!
(J stands up with her picture)
J: Want to see my picture of a goose?
ME: Sure!
J: It's not a goose! HA HA HA! I DREW A PICTURE OF YOU! AND YOU'RE CUT IN HALF LIKE WITH SURGERY! AHAHAHAHAAHA!
(I stare at the picture. I am orange and indeed, I appear to be cut in half.)
J: OK! NOW DO ME AGAIN! DO ME AGAIN! Pretend you're drawing a picture of a goose, but then draw me! (jumping up and down)
N-A: J! Stop bossing!
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Why You Just Can't Buy Certain People Presents, Or "A Craigslist Poem Apparently Written by One of My Old Freshman Comp Students"
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HMMM ((my heart))
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Reply to: pers-943014206@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-12-03, 4:44AM EST
WOW seems like it's been for-ever..
I CAN ONLY IMAGE
what it would be like to be surrounded by yr GLORY
will I be able to SPEAK at all
I CAN ONLY IMAGE
is for -ever'
will i dance for you..
I CAN ONLY IMAGE
WHEN I walk by yr side..
will i sing.....
I CAN ONLY IMAGE..
when that day comes....all that i would do is FOR-EVER
WILL I DANCE FOR YOU...
will i be able to speak at all....
WILL I STAND IN YR PRESENTS....
HMMMM
only can image...
- Location: (my heart)
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
PostingID: 943014206
(http://cleveland.craigslist.org/mis/943014206.html)
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