Turkey Day

I know it's been awhile since I posted....I've been very busy with important things like drinking and cavorting and pissing people off.

For anyone out there who is reading or who might care, I thought I would extend my best wishes for a day full of overeating, over-drinking and general merriment. Or perhaps your day will be like mine and will involve flying to a city you don't really care for to spend time with your in-laws who will undoubtedly look to you and your husband to distract them from their early retirement blues.

Right now I'm sitting in my office with nothing to do...damned economy...wearing a cashmere beret because our neighbors next door control our thermostat and they are also apparently polar bears. I feel slightly guilty about doing nothing, but not guilty enough to actually try to think of something productive to do. I only feel guilty enough to desperately want a drink. Perhaps in a later post I will explore the ways in which boredom, loneliness, guilt, excitement, congratulations, celebrations, television, movies and physical activity seem to make me want to drink, or perhaps not. For now, I'll just post a copy of something I found on the interwebs today.

For your enjoyment, with an eye towards the holidays.

Austin City Limits

Why, why, why did no one tell me that I would be coughing and sneezing up dust for hours afterward? Wonderful time, lovely music but I could've used a warning about the black lung.

A few thoughts:

Being EMO at an outdoor festival in Austin doesn't really work. Well, it might make you more angry and bitter, therefore more EMO so maybe it does work. In related news, someone needs to buy the Kills a map and then point out to them that Austin is REALLY far South and then tell them that their paying fans don't really care to hear their histrionics about their shoes catching fire. News flash - you're a fucking rock star and get paid to play your overrated music; get over it! All that said, they did look pretty miserable and the sun was shining directly on them.

Middle-aged women depress me. I officially vow to go straight from my mid-thirties to a decrepit, unseemly, crotchedy bitch in my late eighties. Even the 24 oz Bud Light I was drinking couldn't erase the images of potato-bodied ladies jiggling their arms and swaying their asses to Blues Traveler. I wanted to break out the brain bleach. Please note that I am not saying that OVERWEIGHT middle-aged women depress me. I am not discriminating. They are all sad. It makes me even sadder to think about their kids getting high without them or their husbands at home watching golf, too bored and worn-out even to fantasize about making it with Diane Lane.

Jack White is UH-Mazing. That's all.

If you haven't seen Gnarls Barkley or CSS - do it. You'll thank me. Saw them at Stubbs on Friday and it was, like, totally the best thing ever, or whatever. It really was though. Cee-Lo's voice is unbelievable and Lovefoxxx from CSS definitely knows how to put on a good show.

For now, that is all...I'm very tired and I can't stop coughing up Zilker Park dust and weed smoke.

Oh - one last thing. A note to all you frat boys out there- rolling your weed in swisher sweets isn't gangsta...it's disgusting. Just smoke it straight like everyone else. It's like spraying glade on a piece of dog shit. Just a small request from a humble non-smoker. Thank you for your time.

Presidential Pagent

So I think we should have a Presidential Pagent instead of all these debates and boring ads. I thiink the candidates should have to put up or shut up. You want to be president, fine, but you better be prepared to model swimwear and sing "You light up my life" or arrange furniture.

Ok, I know what you're thinking. That's ridiculous and socially irrelevant. So we'll update it a bit. What about a cage match? A competitive hunt? Oh wait, I've got it....let's just Oprah, Michael Phelps, Miley Cyrus, Tiger Woods, Jennifer Lopez, Sean Penn and the cast of Gossip Girl decide. Sorry sorry I forgot a religious figure....so just choose between the reanimated corpse of Jerry Fallwell or Mel Gibson...it doesn't matter either way.

It's sad that our current political system is so convoluted that letting a group of silly, overpaid celebrities pick our president gives me more hope than trusting that the American public will make the right decision come November. I mean, I hate guns and I love animals and I would gladly sacrifice a few pheasants to have this whole mess over with. I have more faith in the organization that made Chuck Liddell a star than I do in our electoral system. Unfortunately none of these options is viable because Sarah Palin clearly has the edge...think about it - she's already won pagents, she is an avid hunter and she could obviously kick Joe Biden's ass. That guy is about as threatening as a Clay Aiken eating a cupcake. So I guess I take it all back.

a conundrum

So I know no one out there is reading this, but maybe writing it out will make me feel better and cause me to come to a conclusion.

I used to live in Los Angeles; more specifically, I used to live in a Northwestern suburb of Los Angeles filled with trophy wives by the dozen and Porsche Cayennes as far as the eye can see. It's the kind of place where 14 year olds carry large Louis Vuitton handbags and have $150 highlights and yet the patron of the local sushi restaurant refuses to tip the single-mother/community college student waitress because his sake isn't exactly 86 degrees. A place where 60% of the people don't need a steady job and yet still feel it's appropriate to comment on how homelessness is only a problem for people with no work ethic. All this isn't to say that it didn't have it's upsides. I spent many hours hiking it's lovely trails through the mountains down to the beach and enjoying the pristine, smog-free weather and beautiful, multi-colored sunsets.

I worked at a small recruiting firm (we used to say "boutique" although I can't think of anything about our tiny, one-room office with dumpster-dive recovered furniture and prime access to the outdoor restroom that would conjure the word) where we specialized in finding self-involved Financial types jobs that would give them "more upward mobility and opportunity for growth". Basically this involved convincing a bunch of boring bean-counters that they weren't too boring to change jobs. Why would I do this? It paid extremely well, I got to drink at work and I never had to wear make-up or a suit jacket. All in all, it wasn't a bad way to spend three years and it supported my handbag habit ( I know, I know, I was just judging the poor tween girls for their handbags, but keep in mind, I'm nearing 30 and don't own ANY Louis V).


During my time there I worked with several interesting characters. Perhaps I will go into greater description of the 20 plus people who worked with and for me during my tenure, but this story only requires the description of one. We'll call her Midwestern Farmer's Daughter (or Miffed for short). She is from a corn-infested midwestern state where the only things to do are drink, fuck and operate meth labs (not necessarily in that order). She is nearly six feet tall with pretty blue eyes and a chip on her shoulder the size of a great lake. She has the kind of ashy blonde highlights and giant, torpedo-shaped fake breasts that only come with her brand of Midwestern insecurity. She gets absurdly drunk and shouts at strangers, but is hilarious and joyful in an almost childlike way. She is both articulate and inane: refreshingly abstract and tediously literal. No friend of mine has ever caused me so much laughter or so many tears.

When I met Miffed she hated me immediately. On my first day of work she refused to make eye contact with me and spoke about me in the third person when I was sitting right there. It took three weeks of achingly subservient courtesy to get her to even acknowledge my existence. When she finally did acknowledge me, it was to alternately boss me around and inform me that my position within the company was not even remotely secure.



"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but there is no way that you're going to last here if you don't learn how to document your activity more accurately. We just don't have time to show you more than once and you're clearly not getting it so I just think you might want to be a little more careful..."

"I'm so sorry! I know it's a huge inconvenience, but do you think you could let me know exactly what you're talking about? I am just doing it the way I was taught. Thanks so much for your help!"

"UGGGH. Whatever. If you don't know already there's no point."

This continued for several months. After she saw that I was sticking around, we entered a more cordial period of detente. She explained to me that she had gotten so used to people coming and then going immediately that she decided not to "get attached" to anyone. This new phase of our relationship was characterized by her asking me to do things for her and me jumping at the chance to break my back bending over backwards to do them. I had workplace Stockholm Syndrome. I even began to empathize with her situation. I felt lucky that instead of berating me or criticizing everything I did, she would throw me a bone or two; even though she always reminded me of my place when I seemed too comfortable.


"Um, excuse me Miffed...I am going out to grab some lunch. Can I get you anything?"


"Sure, as long as you don't completely screw it up like last time...."

Eventually she came to see me as someone she could trust with more than sandwiches and we became REAL friends. Sometimes she was wonderful. She helped throw me an amazing birthday party, she listened to me when I needed to talk about my family and she encouraged me to find a therapist to help with my eating disorder. Without her help, I honestly might not be sane right now. Other times, she wasn't so wonderful. She was constantly competitive about everything. Looks, clothes, music, our husbands. It didn't help that we were in actual competition in the workplace. If she was having a bad day, she belittled me about everything. Whenever someone new entered our world she was insanely jealous of my attention and then immediately tried to show me how awful the other person was. Then when I agreed she would accuse me of being a petty bitch and tell the other person I didn't like them. She lied to me more than a dozen times about things that don't matter at all.


When she moved to Austin she stopped returning my phone calls and started telling coworkers lies about me. I really don't know why. She had previously gotten pregnant and had a miscarriage. I was angry with her at the time but I still visited her at the hospital and every day at her apartment during the three weeks she missed work. I also convinced her husband to stay with her (he told me this) and did her job for her while she was gone. The last real conversation we had was about a "going away" party she was throwing for herself. I attended and made food for this party, but was unable to plan it myself because I was going to be away the whole week prior. After I moved to Austin several months later, our boss called me and told me that he didn't want me working for him anymore. After some prodding on my part I found out that Miffed was concerned that I would be competition for her in this small market and that she had lied to him about my performance and integrity and had basically gotten me fired.

Now, in the end, being rid of my job and association with this crazy man was a good thing, but I was still terribly hurt by her actions. This was about four months ago. Ten days ago she texted me wanting to reconnect. I haven't responded. I don't know what to do. On the one hand, she was a conniving bitch that used every trick in the book to screw me over. On the other hand, I do care about her and she was kind to me at times. Part of me is so curious about why she would contact me that I want to text her back. The other part of me realizes that no good will come of this.

UTI

So I know I haven't posted in awhile - primarily because no one is reading this and I'm very fragile and need constant validation in order to put myself out there - also because I've been very busy with Fantasy Football.

I think I started off these posts on the wrong foot - thinking that I would create a persona that reflects how quirky, original, neurotic, compulsive, but ultimately loveable I am. Clearly that isn't going to happen. I'm not that talented. I have had a few things happen in the past few weeks, and it may be cathartic for me to share, so here goes.

My in-laws were here for ten days. They stayed with us in our one-bedroom apartment. It was a very nice visit. I drank several bottles of alcohol and didn't exercise once.

My job is fantastic. Clearly someone with my predisposition to inferiority complexes and anorexia would think that sales is a "good fit" for my personality. It is leading me to drink heavily and eat cheesy food.

I am such a good writer that I can't even write an original speech for my sister's wedding. I am borrowing it from Pablo Neruda. Neruda's dark, skewed vision of love should go over perfectly with the Nascar-employed, Bible-belt wearing, FBI agents that will be there. (I know that you can't actually WEAR a Bible Belt, but then again, I AM preparing a Neruda poem for a wedding toast at a wedding where there will be no alcohol so my intelligence is clearly in question here).

My Fantasy Football prospects are dimmer than an eco-friendly lightbulb in Matthew McConaghey's beach hut. I'm 0-2 and I have Tony Romo. Way to go Hank Baskett. Fortunately I had SEVERAL beers on Sunday to ease the pain.

All of these things are leading up to the subject of this post - UTI.

My pee is red and I'm still in horrific pain. Well, at least I get to go to my awesome job. That should at least distract me.

Smart People....

So I watched the movie "smart people" last night and it is an amusing movie that almost works. Thomas Hayden Church is hysterical and I don't know why he doesn't get cast more often. The movie has a few things working against it, though:

1) Sarah Jessica Parker's face
2) Dennis Quaid's gut
3) Over-emphasizing Ellen Page's character

I'll go in reverse order.

Ellen Page is a charming actress and is certainly as cute as a bug's ear, talented, blah blah, etc. It is obvious, though, that the movie was edited in the post-Juno (or PJ) era to feature her more and the script just doesn't support it. She brings a lot to her scenes and it is not her fault, but the story just doesn't make sense with her as the main character. In fact, it is very difficult to determine who the primary character is because she has a sub-plot that is more interesting and has more subtext than the central romantic relationship. In the end, her presence is almost stifling because the other actors and the script don't balance out her onscreen dominance.

Dennis Quaid sports a gut that looks like he is wearing a pillow or a fake pregnancy belly. Also, his supposed-to-be noticeable limp changes from scene to scene. During his love scenes, and actually throughout the whole movie, his general appearance resembles a pair of stretched out gray sweatpants. I get the subtext, but it would've been nice to get a slightly more varied appearance from Quaid - even if it was just a change in expression from arrogantly befuddled to pompously bemused.

"Sarah Jessica Parker shouldn't be allowed to act in anything that's not related to 'Sex & the City'. She can't stop herself from being Carrie Bradshaw". This is an exact quote from my husband during the first date scene in the movie. He's completely right. Unfortunately, SJP isn't all that likeable as anyone other than Carrie. You almost wish she would just BE her in all her roles - like Matthew McConnaughey plays himself and Ben Stiller plays Zoolander. Sadly that is not the case in this movie...AND her face looks like a foot. I'm sorry. I know I'm supposed to say that she has "real" beauty and character and all that...no. Not for me. I'd give her tits a 9.2 and her face a paper bag. Judge me if you will, but I just can't keep it inside anymore.

Introduction

I suppose that I should start my posts with a description of myself or at least what I'm trying to say here, but the truth is I'm not sure how much it really matters. I could be anything or everything you love to hate or hate to love and it wouldn't really matter to you unless we agree about who should be president, or whether god really IS dead or which David should've won American Idol. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I think sometimes it's good just put things out there with very little intention and absolutely no expectations. Not because there is no disappointment that way, but because there is never any way to know what will come back to you and guessing is pointless and steals your chance of joy.

All that said, I guess I will include a short description, because if I am anything I am self-contradictory and often oblivious to my own inherent irony. I live in Austin, I am married to my best friend and I have an adorable balding dog that is the (other) love of my life. I enjoy long walks on the beach hand-in-hand, watching romantic comedies, eating chocolate, petting puppies, braiding hair, making posters with bubble letters for the cheer squad....and sarcasm. If you're reading this and you can't figure out which of those are true, maybe you should stop reading now. All of this makes me sound very poorly adjusted, and maybe I am. I really don't know. I also have parents and a sister and in-laws but I'm sure I'll get to them later and frankly it's only Tuesday and I can't waste my limited mental energy on painting them in a fair and truthful way so early in the week.

I guess the real reason why I am doing this is to have something for myself that is only mine. Collaborating on things is a true strength of mine (read, I have trouble accepting credit for work that I've done because I'm insecure and need people to like me) and it is certainly it's own reward. I have a wonderful life full of things I don't own; choices I didn't fully commit to and experiences I wasn't fully present in. I want to change that. I want to begin something that is mine and then decide consciously how other people will contribute to my own experience. I expect to be surprised by the outcome and feel hopeful that, even in disappointment (if that is what awaits me) I will, at least, be the author of my own experience.

Oh, and by the way, I won't do nearly as much philosophizing and whining in my next post. I am aware that the last paragraph, combined with the title of my blog may be enough to make many readers give their computer screens the finger and never come back again (or even worse, it may attract the kind of psedo-intellectual douchebags that quote Satre at superbowl parties and debate David Sedaris' credibility as a writer). In any case, I'll try to write something funny (doesn't that sound promising) next time.