My trademark moves
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A cold and a war
Is it just me, or do other people get a horrible cold the same time each year? More specifically, this time each year. The timing is a like a cruel joke, because hello viruses, where were you a month ago when the weather was miserable? At that time you wouldn’t have even had to force me to stay confined to the couch and institute weird, wholesome 9 p.m. bed times. I would have surrendered peacefully. Now, I just sit, gasping for air through my one clear nostril (seriously, can anyone explain the bipolar nostril phenomenon during colds? Or how a nostril can be both stuffed up and runny at the same time?) watching the extra hours of daylight waste away through the windows like a shut-in, wondering what the healthy people of this world are doing with their full lung capacity on this 70 plus degree day. In short, I am bitter.
In other annoying news, in an effort to secure some fundamental rights in our shared two flat, M. and I have, unbeknownst to us, started a war with our downstairs neighbors. Who knew that a request to do laundry now and again, and to live without having to endure long, drawn out temper tantrums complete with operatic screeching, wall kicking and stomping at 7 a.m. would be cause for such outrage? Had I known, we could have just cut to the chase and said, “you’re the entitled, spoiled, ego-maniacal spawn of Sasquatch and the Governator, and your children never had a chance to be anything but disturbed, badly behaved brats” and arrived at the same place. Man, hindsight is 20/20! At any rate, they obviously don’t know who they’re dealing with, as we’ve vowed to wear, well, purchase then wear imported Dutch wooden clogs, practice our tap routines faithfully at midnight and do The Worm pretty much every free moment we get. That’ll teach ‘em.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times
Last night was quite the rollercoaster evening for sane, reasonable reality tv watchers like myself. Great acts of justice were committed. Incredible crimes against humanity ensued. The balances tipped to the good, only to be dragged down again into heartless mire.
In hopes of ending on a positive note, let’s get the hard part over with.
ELLLLLIIIIIIOOOOOOTTTTTT! We shall miss thee, Alf.
Maybe most of all by Paula, whose bountiful tears could not save you. My only words of comfort are that if America has fallen for the cheap T ‘n A tactics of Katharine McPhee and have become transfixed by Taylor’s “dancing” that is akin to an electrocution, America does not deserve you.
The end. Let us not speak of it ever again.
Now, onto the good news.
DANIELLE IS AMERICA’S NEXT TOP MODEL!!! Praise be!
Your gap may now be closed, but the gap in my heart created by the absence of your clumsy ways and killer wisdoms every week will never be. Who needs to know what “regal” means? Not you. Not you. You’ve got so much else to offer.
The world, as Danielle puts it, may be “jank,” but at least Ty Ty had the good sense to get past Daynyelle’s ayckscant, and pick the person who deserved to win. sshew! Now go kick Nicole’s pasty ass for me, mmmkay?
Nerdfest, thoughts and reflections
So, I attended an InDesign class yesterday, and wow. Nerd levels were so high. Although I felt frightfully out of place, my chest swelled up with joy to be sitting amongst the perfectly ordered rows of softly glowing screens. Not to mention under Dynasty-style hotel chandeliers.
After finding a seat near the back, I self-consciously pulled out my pen and notebook, knowing that to these techies it was probably the equivalent of a stone tablet and chisel. Then I sat admiring the geeks buzzing about, setting up complete workstations around me. People not only had their sleek laptops, but a full array of technological comforts, including wireless mice and cool mini halogen reading spotlights that suspended over their keyboards. Having only a now antiquated iMac of my own, I definitely felt like an outsider to this cult of technology, but it did escalate my lust for my soon-to-be-purchased (hopefully) MacBook Pro to unbearable heights. Strangely, the sight of Macs and PCs sitting side by side in peace and harmony sort of restored my faith in humanity.The instructor revealed that her cat’s name is Pixel. I felt proud that I knew enough of the kumpooter lingo to follow along and raise my hand to acknowledge that yes, I had half a clue of what she was talking about. And as if it weren’t a perfect moment already, I kid you not, the first thing I overheard during the break was my neighbor asking his friend, “What’s your favorite font?” and they proceeded to debate the qualities of Bodoni, Futura, Gill Sans and the many Helveticas, and both agreed they could stand never to see Garamond again. So dorky. So deliciously dorky.
Disgust is disgust in any language
Our restroom here at work is looked after by a sweet seeming Polish woman who is part of the Polish Posse employed by our building.
That wouldn’t be a problem except for the fact that her cleaning and my bladder’s schedules seem to have been synched by some cosmic give and take/cause and effect force, and she is therefore almost always there when I enter. We are usually alone. She is also frighteningly hostile.
Of course, I have nothing verbal by which to substantiate this claim. Only a series of gutteral groans and sharp, disgust filled “ish” and “uugghh” type noises whose origins I can only imagine spew forth from a geyser of hatred for all toilet using kind. I mean, I guess I can’t blame her. I can only imagine how horrifying some of the bathrooms in this building are. I can barely muster up the courage to clean my own toilet, so I can meet her disdain for her job with a certain amount of compassion.
But for reals lady, do you gotta be so violent? Our bathroom isn’t so bad. I’ve seen a lot worse. That toilet seat’s going to break if you slam it down any harder! And is it really necessary to immediately charge into the stall I have just exited and start maniacally and LIBERALLY spraying disinfectant on the seat? Should I be offended by this action? I swear, I only peed!
I confessed my nemesishood with the bathroom cleaning lady to my coworker today, and she thought she was alone in her struggles with this washroom showdown. The really perplexing thing is, if I am always in the bathroom with the cleaning lady but NOT with my coworker, and my coworker is always being aerosolily harrassed by the cleaning lady while I’m not in there, is the cleaning lady a disgruntled, omnipresent cleaning lady ghost who is trapped in some sort of limbo for eternity and thus gets her jollies by haunting our bathroom and chasing us innocent bladder relievers out with life-threatening door slams and seat abuse?
Regardless, she actually said hello to us on the way to lunch today, so if she is a ghost, she’s an interactive one. But it shocks me that one can be so sweet and lovely in the halls, and yet turn into a menace to society once that bathroom door opens.
There is one further mystery lurking over our bathroom.
Scenario:
Couple of weeks ago. Mid-afternoon.
First stall.
Toilet seat up.
Pee in the unflushed toilet.
No toilet paper in bowl.
Pubic hair floating in bowl.
Hmm.
Is there a man amongst us? M2F? F2M? Extremely talented female peer who left behind her calling card? We may never know.
