Yes indeed....that would be me. I'm more than just a little ashamed to admit that our Heavenly Father usually requires a baseball bat to get his point across to yours truly. I tend to cruise along, feeling pretty goddamned good (oops....probably shouldn't have said that) feeling like my center of gravity is resting securely at the base of my freakin core chakra whatever, when I am suddenly knocked askew.
So give me a moment to describe the askew sensation as I know it. First and foremost, I fall down a lot. If there is even a teeny tiny puddle of wetness on the floor, down I go. "have I got your attention yet?" Oh how I wish I could tell you that the answer is yes, but I'm far too thick to be awakened by an embarrassing landing on my ass. In all honesty, it happens too often to get my full attention.
I get up the next morning feeling like my center of gravity is resting squarely in my right earlobe. I swear I see a head tilt! This does not bode well. "Have I got your attention yet?" Again.....it would be nice if I could answer in the affirmative.......but I pop a lorazepam and hope for the best. Let me just re-affirm the fact that medicating under these circumstances NEVER works.
I make a series of ridiculously stupid mistakes at work. I mean the kind that make me wonder if I've suddenly developed acute onset synaptic acetylcholine receptor imbecility or something. "Have I got your attention yet?" OK....so now you do indeed have my attention. I take a deep breath....and step back......and take a moment to speak with my Heavenly Father. I collect up my cell phone and glass and water to move my home base to the bedroom. As I'm walking, I ask the Lord to grant me the serenity to........OH SHIT!!!.....did I just step in a freakin' hairball!?.....OH GROSS!!!!.....it squished between my toes!!
I can't speak for yours, but my Heavenly Father has a sense of humor.
I am a work in progress.......kinda like that painting that you gesso over because you don't want anyone to ever see how badly you fucked it up. Fortunately there is a higher power throwing slimy hairballs of truth into my path.
Amen
Monday, June 13, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Staycation extravaganza
As the sun sets on day 2 of my 5 day, long awaited, staycation (for those of us utterly unable to afford a real vacation, unless it's a destination that can be arrived at without the use of gas) I'm feeling the need to pause and reflect on the lessons I've learned over this extended period of not working. Let me just say that it has been so far, not at all what I expected.
I've learned that I am capable of spending vast amounts of time sleeping. My day starts at 9:00 a.m. when I arise and take a moment to consider what I am grateful for. This morning, I am grateful that I slept through Rhianna and her "um-ber-ella..ella...ella on the Today show. I would honestly rather chew tin foil while getting a pap smear than listen to her sing anything.
I let the dogs out again. This may be key to my sleeping habits. The dogs go out at 10:00p.m., 2:00 a.m., and 6:00 a.m. These dogs eliminate with astounding frequency. I sit with some caffeine and consider what gross shit I'm going to tackle today. My plan has been to address at least one household area of gross shit per morning. Feeling particularly energized this morning, I cleaned the animal snot off the windows and detached the old recycle bin from the kitchen floor which was being held in place by some form of crud that I felt would be best not to look directly at. I washed the blanket that covers my couch with the large hole in the far cushion. My karma holds firm......my house, like the elephant graveyard, is where all second-hand couches go to die.
By now, it's 11:00 a.m. and time to go back to sleep until 1:00 or 2:00 p.m. Sad but true people. I figure that after cat snot rockets and cement-like debris of unknown origin I'm fucking entitled. My sleep is deep and glorious. the dogs wake me because by now we are nibbling around the edges of feeding time. It is a time of great anticipation and activity in my house because all of my animals are half starved to death. Lurking under those shiny coats and sub cutaneous fat layers, lie nothing but bones. Despite my efforts to explain to them that bones don't count unless they are visible to the naked eye, they still jump me like they've been adrift at sea for the last 3 weeks.
We have now arrived at mid afternoon. The whole house is in a state of collective food induced coma except for me who's ready for a little creative time. I sit down to the easel to experiment with a few canvas prepping techniques that will hopefully help my brush ease over the surface without feeling like I'm painting with extra strength poly grip denture adhesive. Having arrived at a good place, I put my brushes down. Time for evening relaxation.
Over these last, blissful 48 hours, I have learned that I could easily adjust to life of vast independent wealth that involves not working. I've learned that if I do my Friday vacuuming on Thursday, the dogs get confused. I've learned that there are waaaay too many areas of gross shit in my house. I've learned that I , in fact, do not own a pair of platex living gloves, I've learned that it is wise to pick up the poop before weed whacking.
Time to rest up for bed time
Shall I watch the documentary on the Impressionists tonight, or the movie with the flesh eating zombies.
decisions, decisions
either way I'm gonna need popcorn
I've learned that I am capable of spending vast amounts of time sleeping. My day starts at 9:00 a.m. when I arise and take a moment to consider what I am grateful for. This morning, I am grateful that I slept through Rhianna and her "um-ber-ella..ella...ella on the Today show. I would honestly rather chew tin foil while getting a pap smear than listen to her sing anything.
I let the dogs out again. This may be key to my sleeping habits. The dogs go out at 10:00p.m., 2:00 a.m., and 6:00 a.m. These dogs eliminate with astounding frequency. I sit with some caffeine and consider what gross shit I'm going to tackle today. My plan has been to address at least one household area of gross shit per morning. Feeling particularly energized this morning, I cleaned the animal snot off the windows and detached the old recycle bin from the kitchen floor which was being held in place by some form of crud that I felt would be best not to look directly at. I washed the blanket that covers my couch with the large hole in the far cushion. My karma holds firm......my house, like the elephant graveyard, is where all second-hand couches go to die.
By now, it's 11:00 a.m. and time to go back to sleep until 1:00 or 2:00 p.m. Sad but true people. I figure that after cat snot rockets and cement-like debris of unknown origin I'm fucking entitled. My sleep is deep and glorious. the dogs wake me because by now we are nibbling around the edges of feeding time. It is a time of great anticipation and activity in my house because all of my animals are half starved to death. Lurking under those shiny coats and sub cutaneous fat layers, lie nothing but bones. Despite my efforts to explain to them that bones don't count unless they are visible to the naked eye, they still jump me like they've been adrift at sea for the last 3 weeks.
We have now arrived at mid afternoon. The whole house is in a state of collective food induced coma except for me who's ready for a little creative time. I sit down to the easel to experiment with a few canvas prepping techniques that will hopefully help my brush ease over the surface without feeling like I'm painting with extra strength poly grip denture adhesive. Having arrived at a good place, I put my brushes down. Time for evening relaxation.
Over these last, blissful 48 hours, I have learned that I could easily adjust to life of vast independent wealth that involves not working. I've learned that if I do my Friday vacuuming on Thursday, the dogs get confused. I've learned that there are waaaay too many areas of gross shit in my house. I've learned that I , in fact, do not own a pair of platex living gloves, I've learned that it is wise to pick up the poop before weed whacking.
Time to rest up for bed time
Shall I watch the documentary on the Impressionists tonight, or the movie with the flesh eating zombies.
decisions, decisions
either way I'm gonna need popcorn
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Oh how I envy your........
It is only here....in the land of Lackademia, that we can truly understand and internalize the hatred that can be directed at anyone who lives a life of plenty. Keep in mind that by "plenty" I mean those who live without a large anvil hanging over their heads that says "ACME" on the side. My brothers and sisters of the anvil know exactly what I'm talking about. Have you ever sat and listened to a friend or a coworker trying to decide whether to purchase an SUV or a Prius this year? Can you honestly tell me that you haven't envisioned an acute onset of amoebic dysentery for them?
So here it is: Do I envy your money?......ok...well yes. Do I envy your relationships and lifestyle?......allright...again yes, but the truth is, most of all and above all else, I envy your choices. Choosing a new car?, a vacation spot?, a retirement fund?, or even where to go this weekend is like a dream to those of us here in recession land. We are much more focused on the mechanics of survival.
....So if you will......what follows is an example of the choices we have here in Lackademia:
"Hello Ms Houston? this is Mashaadi Al-Haseem representing the God of choices. I am authorized for today only to offer you a life choice"
"Cool!........what are my choices!?"
"You may have your choice of any one of these 3 lovely stool samples to float in your punch bowl"
"Well.......I would really prefer not to have any turds in my punch bowl at this particular juncture"
"Unfortunately Ms Houston, that is not one of your choices"
"...well......can I choose not to choose?"
"That would be rather indicative of a very low self esteem and a failure to be proactive in your life and circumstance now wouldn't it"
"I can live with that"
"unfortunately......"
"Yeah yeah yeah.....I got it...I'll take the firm one, maybe I won't notice it as much"
The reality is that most of us here have to make craptastic choices between the catastrophic and the merely unpleasant. We do it with as much dignity and pride as we can muster, and hope a tom cat pisses in your air vent.
Nothing personal
really
Have a nice fucking vacation
So here it is: Do I envy your money?......ok...well yes. Do I envy your relationships and lifestyle?......allright...again yes, but the truth is, most of all and above all else, I envy your choices. Choosing a new car?, a vacation spot?, a retirement fund?, or even where to go this weekend is like a dream to those of us here in recession land. We are much more focused on the mechanics of survival.
....So if you will......what follows is an example of the choices we have here in Lackademia:
"Hello Ms Houston? this is Mashaadi Al-Haseem representing the God of choices. I am authorized for today only to offer you a life choice"
"Cool!........what are my choices!?"
"You may have your choice of any one of these 3 lovely stool samples to float in your punch bowl"
"Well.......I would really prefer not to have any turds in my punch bowl at this particular juncture"
"Unfortunately Ms Houston, that is not one of your choices"
"...well......can I choose not to choose?"
"That would be rather indicative of a very low self esteem and a failure to be proactive in your life and circumstance now wouldn't it"
"I can live with that"
"unfortunately......"
"Yeah yeah yeah.....I got it...I'll take the firm one, maybe I won't notice it as much"
The reality is that most of us here have to make craptastic choices between the catastrophic and the merely unpleasant. We do it with as much dignity and pride as we can muster, and hope a tom cat pisses in your air vent.
Nothing personal
really
Have a nice fucking vacation
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Marketing in the land of Lackademia
My day started innocently enough. Watching my hand-me-down plasma screen, I happened upon a new feminine hygiene product that had as it's primary selling point, the fact that it now had designs printed on the various bits of plastic and absorbent substances. It was prettier to look at.
Shall we all just pause momentarily to ponder the utter absurdity of the marketing department who all make 10 times my salary in the veterinary industry, who dreamed up this little piece of heaven: "OK kids.....I'm thinking pink and violet swirls......pretty flowers....I want women all over the world to stop and admire our product as they are wrapping it in little toilet paper packages for the trash"
Have we sunk this low?
Are these guys really employed with benefits?
I get rejection notices and this is the idea that takes off?
In all fairness to the world of marketing and demographics...of which I occupy the least attractive and viable portion thank you very much.....the commercials of my youth, although catchy, were hardly any better. I remember Mr Whipple squeezing the Charmin with a look of orgasmic rapture coupled with a creepy guilty pleasure vibe that should have alerted the local authorities. I remember "thatsa some a spicy meata ball" that was an insult to Italian Americans everywhere. I remember nameless, faceless "housewives" who beamed glowing smiles because their toilet bowls sparkled. That's back in the day when toilets were actually full of water.
So here's the thing: in a world that couldn't possibly care any less about what I think because I live as an outsider even in my own puny and inconsequential menopausal demographic, I will continue to stand with my nose pressed firmly against the glass and fucking tell you any way.
What the hell have I got to lose?
Shall we all just pause momentarily to ponder the utter absurdity of the marketing department who all make 10 times my salary in the veterinary industry, who dreamed up this little piece of heaven: "OK kids.....I'm thinking pink and violet swirls......pretty flowers....I want women all over the world to stop and admire our product as they are wrapping it in little toilet paper packages for the trash"
Have we sunk this low?
Are these guys really employed with benefits?
I get rejection notices and this is the idea that takes off?
In all fairness to the world of marketing and demographics...of which I occupy the least attractive and viable portion thank you very much.....the commercials of my youth, although catchy, were hardly any better. I remember Mr Whipple squeezing the Charmin with a look of orgasmic rapture coupled with a creepy guilty pleasure vibe that should have alerted the local authorities. I remember "thatsa some a spicy meata ball" that was an insult to Italian Americans everywhere. I remember nameless, faceless "housewives" who beamed glowing smiles because their toilet bowls sparkled. That's back in the day when toilets were actually full of water.
So here's the thing: in a world that couldn't possibly care any less about what I think because I live as an outsider even in my own puny and inconsequential menopausal demographic, I will continue to stand with my nose pressed firmly against the glass and fucking tell you any way.
What the hell have I got to lose?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
