no life at all in the house of dolls
Greetings. Welcome to CrabbyWorld. It basically sucks donkey cock to see you. Can I take your order? Oh yeah, like I was really going to take your order. Quit crying.
1. I accidentally left my PDA thingy at home. (Why do I resist calling it a “Palm Pilot” or “Handspring”? Maybe because it's confusing, and also because: Can just anything that runs Palm OS be called a “Palm Pilot”? Palm Pilot is a name-brand all on its own though, right? Oy.) Anyway, this is not a big deal, although several times an hour I will need to look up one of the many little crazy-person lists I keep on there, and thus I can look forward to low-level frustration all day.
2. I also, much more seriously, left my cute-ass beret on the train. I AM THE QUEEN OF LEAVING ACCESSORIES ON THE TRAIN. Seriously, if there is some scarf you hate or mittens you despise make sure to lend it to me for just one lousy day and I guarantee that it will end up in a Transit Authority lost-and-found box by nightfall.
3. My skirt is ripped on the side. Notice it before I leave for work? No, of course not.
4. My interview for today canceled, claiming illness, and asked to reschedule. While illness is something that does, indeed, happen to people, and I have rescheduled with her as a good-faith gesture, I am slightly suspicious now, and it is not a good way to start.
5. SO WEIRDLY SLEEPY. Kim Gordon is singing in my ears and it is like the sweetest lullaby ever. I need a cold shower, sock to the jaw, Vivarin, something.
6. Serious publishing screw-up came to light today. It was not my fault, but in a twisted managerial way I almost wish it had been, because while it is not fun to admit to a serious screw-up at least that closes the book on the topic, but instead this thing is turning out to be a “workflow” issue, a “process” issue, a problem with the systems we use to do things, and I have a feeling there are some more meetings and business-speak in my future.
7. My spine feels like it is trying to crawl out of my back. I am all twisty and achy. Maybe my spine will finally burst forth during one of the aforementioned meetings, and wrap its spiny self around the throat of the person who has been using the most annoying business-speak words, and that person will be all like “aaagggghrrrddaaaaagglllrrraag” while my spine whips back and forth like an angry spinesnake, and everyone else will scream in horror, and I will ooze and gurgle around on the floor like a balloon full of egg salad. This happens to me occasionally (um, not the spine-bursting-forth/egg-salad-balloon thing but the generally twisty and achy thing) and I would love to know what I am doing wrong. Do I sleep wrong? Do I sit wrong? I need Anna Wintour or some other uptight fashionista to analyze and correct how I am sitting in my chair. I need Gravity Boots. I need Mr. T to come and rest his giant hands on my bony shoulders periodically when they start creeping upwards. Although I just tried stretching a lot (serious complicated yoga series and everything) and I still feel horrible, and now I am starting to get chills and such, so my new theory, combined with the sleepiness from Complaint #5, is that I have been bitten by some incongruous sleeping-sickness tsetse fly. I will probably fall asleep on the train and traverse the city for days, progressively stripped of my possessions like an abandoned car in a bad neighborhood. Or hold out until I get home and can crawl into bed, only to wake up in late July needing a haircut and with eighteen New Yorkers overflowing my mailbox.
8. The “news” link that Hotmail had on its homepage today that offered to teach you about “History's Eight Great Women.” WOW! EIGHT! STEP RIGHT UP TO THE TOKENISM BUFFET, MM-MM GOOD! I mean, that is nice and educational and all, but sometimes I just get tired. There are enough stellar achievements and amazing life stories in “history” to profile a “great” person (of any color, gender, orientation) every single day of the year, instead of lumping Black History Month over here, Women's History Month over there, and so forth. I see the argument for the specialness, but I think it is starting to wear a little thin and sends a weird message to kids.
NOT A COMPLAINT AT ALL
I like the cowgirl pinups. OOH LA FREAKING LA.
When I am interested in something, even something work-related, I normally break it down into its component parts and tackle them one at a time, and go straight through more or less until its done. In fact, sometimes I make little deals with myself like, “okay just work on this for one hour” and then will find that after the hour has passed I am still interested, so I just keep on going and finish the job. However, if the task is mindless and boring, but small and undemanding, somehow my Crazy Brain needs to complicate it. I can't just stand by the laundry basket and put away all the clean laundry until there is no clean laundry to put away. Oh no. I put laundry away last night, and first I sorted it into piles, then I wandered away to read for a while, then I came back and hung up everything that needed hanging up, then I went to answer some e-mail, then I delivered the hanging-up stuff to their respective closets, then I watched some of Mystery Science Theater (it was the Space Mutiny episode, which is totally wonderful), then I came back and started putting away the piles of folded stuff into various dresser drawers, except LT had left a magazine next to the bed so I had to flop down and flip through that for a while, and so on and so forth. So something routine like putting away the laundry, which should take five minutes, takes me close to two hours. Can you imagine if I were your dental hygienist? You would have to take a week's vacation time just to get your teeth cleaned.
SNIPPETS OF GOOD MEDIA
1. The thing on NPR about multidimensional family therapy (you will probably be able to listen to part 2 here) that was really kind of heartbreaking. A multidimensional family therapist gets deeply involved in all aspects of a troubled kid's life: school, court appearances, psychotherapy, home life, leisure time, etc. Like the kid's parents should have. (And I say that without blame, because some people have really fucked-up circumstances that make it difficult for them to be good parents. Better late than never.)
2. I know I am a little bit mean on the inside sometimes (okay, sometimes I am mean on the outside too), but I love bad reviews. Here is a bad review of an album by Har Mar Superstar.
3. Well fuck me backwards: They say that a desire for breast augmentation may, in some women, be a symptom of a far deeper insecurity and low self esteem which, in extreme cases, could trigger a suicide attempt. While you are stirring that soup, add a dash of “now-this-will-solve-my-problems” magical thinking, would you?
4. I had never read Brighton Rock before. Now I have, and I am glad. Recommended. With some caveats, which I do not feel like blithering about now. I have the sleeping sickness, remember, cut me some slack.
5. I read something recently (unverifiable, or at least not explicitly spelled out in the biographies I found) that Beethoven never saw the ocean. This seems very astounding, surprising, and significant to me, although I am sure it does not to the rest of the world.
—mimi smartypants loves to love you baby.