panorama of breads
WHATEVER THIS IS
A video that may not be safe for work, since it begins with a disembodied nutsack. But don’t worry, it’s not a main feature!
CLUSTERFUCKITY FUCK
I saw the greatest mess yesterday. A cab hit another cab, not seriously, just sort of rear-ended/clipped it a bit. At-fault cab then passed the blameless cab, crossed the intersection, and pulled over at the curb, presumably to sort the whole thing out. Blameless cab must have thought that the other cab was fleeing the scene, because it hit the gas and tried to dash across the street, where the light was now red. So now blameless cab has run a red light and is stuck in the middle of the street, pedestrians and cross-traffic everywhere, and the air is full of honking and shouting and obscenities. Blameless cab tried to extricate itself, hit the gas again, and slammed into the side of another car. Not so blameless anymore! I kept walking as the cops arrived—good luck officers, this one’s going to be fun.
HEY GUESS WHAT
I’ve been married for 19 years! We had a kid-free evening over the weekend that featured Peruvian food and a 10 pm bedtime (but for GOOD REASON, if you know what I mean and I think you do). Jeez, I was such a baby noob nobody when I got married. It has worked out very nicely so far but don’t do it, kids!
I CONTINUE TO REFUSE
A while ago I went to the psychiatrist for “medication management,” which sounds like she is going to give me a pill container and help me count things out, but which really means just showing up in person every six months to see if anything new has happened. Nothing ever has. I am still on my teeny little Lexapro dose, I am still wondering if I really had medication-worthy levels of anxiety and panic or if I was just disproportionately affected by the modern condition, and I’m still not sure if things are better because of the medicine, because of the placebo effect, or because of things actually being better. I haven’t gained or lost weight or become more or less interested in sex. I haven’t stopped making strange numerological lists or being a big weirdo, but I am not a panicky weirdo anymore, so…there.
Psychiatrist is mostly a good egg, although she has a sharp little half-smirking rat face and a tendency to “hmmm” after you speak as if she doesn’t quite believe you. She has repeatedly bugged me to go to therapy and I have repeatedly declined. I did make one effort that ended in disaster, and I just don’t have any urge to explain myself in a therapeutic way to another person. Shit is generally good, there’s nothing to say that I couldn’t say to someone who actually cares about me, and whatever. The only sticking point is that the psychiatrist brings it up at every single medication meeting, and it’s getting boring.
This last time I was making my usual demurrals about therapy, I finally said, only half-jokingly, “Hey, you’re an MD. Believe in your chemicals, dude!” She gave me her smirk and her “hmm” and answered, “You know how the State Department always wants diplomacy and the Pentagon always wants to go to war?” Which I took to mean, “I don’t really think you need therapy either, but I’m being polite to my colleagues on the psychology side of things.” Well. At least we all understand each other now. Maybe she won’t ask me again.
SCHOOL’S OUT!
Neither Nora nor I will be sorry to see fifth grade go. It was fine, no icky social stuff or bad teachers, but it was not super-exciting either. You know what is super-exciting? Holding a baby chihuahua at a street fair.
I cropped out most of it in this photo, but the hippie volunteer in the background was wearing a shirt that said BE KIND TO ANIMALS OR I’LL KILL YOU. It had me wondering exactly how unkind I can be before I get murdered by a hippie. Can I make fun of animals a little bit? Can I not RSVP to an animal party and show up anyway? The shirt was unclear, but you don’t question a person with a threatening shirt.
—mimi smartypants G-A-N-G-S-T-A, that’s all you got to say.