Oy

There have been times in my life when I've felt good about my accomplishments. There have been times when I haven't thought much about them. Then there have been the times when I've felt like a complete loser, and that I had nothing to show for my life. This has happened since childhood when I'd watch the Olympics or Star Search and realize that if I'd only applied myself, maybe I too could've been a gold medal swimmer or the next Christina Aguilera. (Who am I kidding? There's a certain amount of natural talent required to achieve such things.)

A few years ago Christine was visiting and we were at our favorite bar. There we ran into an acquaintance of hers from college. The girl was getting married the next day - hooray for her. Christine returned home and I called her after I'd looked at the wedding announcements in the Sunday paper. I remember leaving a voicemail that sounded a lot like this: "Did you know that so-and-so is a lawyer? A lawyer! Her new husband's a lawyer too! She's a lawyer and I'm a loser! A loser! Good day." I don't begrudge people their success by any means. You deserve to make six figures your first year out of college if you're willing to work 100 hours a week. I am not.

Imagine my surprise yesterday when I saw so-and-so's picture on a campaign sign. A campaign sign for county judge, no less. I shook my head all the way home, then told Joe about it. He actually knows her (a city of 1.1 million is not so big after all) and said she's favored to win. A judge. At age 33. I thought you had to at least have gray hair to qualify for such stuff.

I'll be over here sitting in the corner and feeling like a loser with nothing to show for her life until the first Tuesday in November. At the earliest.

Am I The Last To Have Seen This?

Mmmm...

Me: Do you want some, uh, homemade butterscotch "pudding?" (air quotes)

Joe: Pudding? I thought you were making gravy.

I should know better than to cook something that requires constant stirring.

Further Grief

Ever since the post from yesterday, people have found my blog by doing a Google search for "gay bondage." That's a new one.

Also, I approved the comment for what I thought was five minutes so Christine could see it. I can't delete it from my MySpace page now. Punishment for my sins? Probably.

Dear Me,

Hi! How are you? Fine I hope.

Listen, I've been meaning to talk to you about your ugly-ass work shirt collection. What gives? You used to have standards and acceptable taste. You've always liked solid colors and simple patterns. That's why I can't understand why you continue to purchase garments like this:

Not only is the pattern hideous, but the cut? I don't think that was ever in style.

And how about this next one? Just because something costs $7.99 at Ross does not mean you need to own it. And while it's a plus that it doesn't require ironing, that doesn't mean it won't melt if exposed to an open flame, or your car seats for that matter. And who is this Susan Lawrence and Suzie in the City of whom you are so fond? I've personally never heard of either of them.

And this one? That you wore with black pants in public TWICE before realizing it was actually dark brown? Grotesque. It may be passable if it was the only ugly shirt in your summer wardrobe, but lo it's just one of many. One of many.

Here's my advice: quit your bitching and go back to the mall for clothes you plan on wearing outside of the house. If you do happen to stumble into Ross, stick with the solids. Please heed my advice, I'm trying to be a friend here.

Regards,

You

Spare Me

I've known a girl since we were eight or so. We rarely talk, but have emailed over the years. I think her goal in life is to shock me. Not very easy. Disgust me, much easier.

First she told me that she was bisexual - big whoop.

Then she told me that she and her ex-husband had a girlfriend who lived with them and their young son - I say do what you want, but you owe certain things to your young child, such as sheltering them from the fact that you're engaging nightly in a threesome in the next room.

Next I found out that she was into bondage - again, do whatever you want in the privacy of your own home.

Now I just got a MySpace message from her which features a slide show of people in various stages of undress and someone with a ball gag in her mouth.

I don't need this. I've lived in the big city for quite awhile and actually have--gasp--gay friends. I've known swingers. More people are into bondage than I ever would've imagined. Please stop thinking that you're going to expose me to something so shocking that I'll actually give you a reaction.

Good God, I can't wait to see who she'll bring to the reunion as her date.

(C. - that's reason enough to go.)

Feel Free To Just Skim This One

While I've been on my "I hate blogging" break, I've stored up many things in my pea brain that I feel the need to bitch about:

• I read in People that many people (redundant) who had to abandon their pets during Katrina are trying to track them down now that they're back on their feet. The problem is that many other people adopted these "abandoned" pets and now refuse to give them back. I said this last year: a lot less people would have died if rescuers had allowed them to bring along their pets. I know that human lives are more important than animals' lives, but what an agonizing decision to leave your little babies behind to face a horrible death. I could cry right now thinking about it. Imagine these poor people who have lost everything, including their beloved animals. After months of searching they discover that their dog didn't die, but was rescued and adopted. Now imagine these other poor people who thought they were doing the right thing by taking in a rescued dog. It's been a year; of course they don't want to give him back. Nobody wins.
  

• This JonBenet Ramsey thing? Bullshit. I am unqualified to comment on this since I haven't been keeping up with it, but I just don't think that guy did it.
  

• Duvet covers are the devil's handiwork. Who thought of this? I accidentally bought one because the package said "duvet." "Duvet" and "duvet cover" are very different. I tried to put a lightweight comforter into it last night. I had to climb inside the actual cover to straighten it, and it was still lumpy. Then it was so heavy that I may as well have stuffed it with bricks. Then it slipped completely off the bed in the middle of the night and I woke up freezing. If only it weren't so pretty.

• This blogging thing doesn't come easy anymore. The ideas and words just don't flow like they used to. I wish I didn't care about stats and comments, and I wish I didn't resent people who get hundreds and even thousands of hits each day who are not that interesting and/or can't spell. Please don't misinterpret this as a plea for anyone to beg me to keep blogging. I'm not one of those jerks who need reassurance or validation from the blogging community from time to time (I'm sure you've seen them). It's just a hobby; it's not a big deal.

• Next month I'm going to my 15th high school reunion and turning 33. I'm not prepared for either one of these mentally. I don't even know how to begin.

• I've started misspelling common words lately. For instance, I just spelled accidentally "accidently." The other day I was writing something by hand and had to think of an alternative to "necessarily" because I couldn't remember how to spell it. Is that a sign of age? It's one thing to have never known, but to just lose skills? I'm worried about my mental state.
  

Mamas, Don't Let Your Daughters Grow Up To Watch Project Runway

I was infuriated by last week's episode. Not only because
someone undeserving got the boot, but because this pretty
young thing was called "zaftig." I hate that word. She was also
said to be bigger than the other models and was even accused of not having a waist. This outfit was unflattering, being made out of trash and all, but I disagree that she looked like a plus sized model like Heidi Klum said.

If this is what zaftig looks like, sign me up.

Why I Love Rescue Me

I understand that I'm the only person I know who watches this show, but I feel it's my civic duty to tell others how funny it is. The writing is superb. For example, this little gem was said to this guy by his new girlfriend last night:


"You know, for a man who looks like a garden gnome you've got a lot of demands."


Laugh out loud funny, no? Hello? Anyone?

There Is Something A Little Too Human About These

It may be the fingernails.

How I Ruined My Own Life

Yesterday I bought a book called "A Consumer's Dictionary of Food Additives." When I got home I looked up an unknown ingredient in my favorite cheese. It went a little something like this:

Rennet - enzyme from the lining membranes of the stomach of suckling calves.

OMFG.

I'm thinking about going vegan.

I'm Having a Bad Week

If you want to be my friend:

Please don’t invite me to a surprise couple’s wedding shower. Like, ever. Especially if I only know the couple casually and I’m not invited to the wedding itself.

If you want to be my clothing consignment store proprietor:

Please don’t close up shop with zero warning. Especially before I’ve had a chance to collect the $2.24 you owe me. That’s just bad business.

If you live in my neighborhood:

Please don’t go to a club and talk to someone else’s girlfriend. Particularly when that someone is absolutely fucking nuts and as a result drives by your house and unloads his gun into it. It gives your neighbors a sense of uneasiness, and causes them to wonder if COPS will be filmed in your development the next time they’re in town.

If you want to sell me gluten-free chicken nuggets for $6.00 a box:

Maybe for that price you could find a way to make them taste marginally better than a McNugget. Just a suggestion.

If you’re Netflix:

You’re not fooling anyone, dicks. I know that you purposely take an extra long time to send out new DVDs so that no one can actually get their money’s worth each month.

If you work in the Starbucks drive through:

It’s really unnecessary to speak like Yoda while taking my order. I know you’ve been working since 5:45 a.m., and if it’s too early for me to crack a smile, it’s too early for you to attempt to be cute.

If you’re the hostess in the restaurant where I ate Saturday night:

You’re 16. That’s too young to call me “honey.” I don’t take offense at being called “ma’am.” I don’t even take offense at no longer being carded. Unfortunately, I am literally old enough to be your mother. Just to be safe, strike the word “honey” from your vocabulary.

If you're Rascal Flatts:

There was no need to remake that song "Life is a Highway." It sucked the first time.

If you're XM radio:

Please stop playing Rascal Flatts on my stations. I don't believe in cross over artists, and neither should you.