Slut Day

I couldn't agree more. Joel Stein, I salute you.

Crazy Aunt Purl

The week before last I went to a book signing in Beaverton for CAP's book (Drunk, Divorced & Covered in Cat Hair). I had actually just started reading Laurie's blog a week or so before at the recommendation of a friend from the evil job that was, and then it turned out she was coming to P-town. Practically.

Anyway, I went and she was super funny, charmingly Southern, and highly likable. I couldn't really afford to buy her book, but when I explained that and asked if I could take a picture with her, she gave me a copy of the book, which was so sweet I nearly cried. (It has been one of those months, y'all.) It's a good book; it's shorter than I hoped, which is kind of a good thing, I guess, because that means I wanted to read more of it, and it's actually helping me through some of my weirdness about my relationship situation (see post below).

And I re-discovered an odd thing I had kind of noticed a long time ago, and that is that I seem to have a sympathetic Southern accent. After listening to people with Southern accents I invariably start talking with a teensy drawl. I have never been to the South, so there's really no good reason for it...I think I just like how it sounds. Plus, y'all is a very satisfying thing to say, since we don't have anything else like "vous" or "vosotros" in English. Clarifying and all.

No I am not dead

...but I am dead tired. Ha! Get it?

Yes, okay. Funny is out on leave right now. *sigh*

Well, this has been a hard week. I've been working two jobs and I started rehearsals for the show I'm in, so I'm kind of tired from that; also, I just moved (so you know that nothing is in the right place unless that right place is a box, which mostly it is not), almost all of my clothes are in the dirty laundry, and my boyfriend and I are thinking of breaking up.

Okay, okay, I am thinking of breaking up with him. Yes, he knows; we've been talking about it for awhile now. The prospect makes me really sad, but I haven't been happy for a long time now, and...I don't know. I'm at a point where I have started thinking about where I want to go, what I want to have in my life, etc., and it doesn't seem like he and I have the same goals. Or interests. Or sense of humor(and so on). We don't really get along well anymore - while we have never had a fight, our interactions are characterized largely by polite inanities about weather and the cats and stuff. We've never been one of those couples that has a lot of fun together, a thing I remember from other relationships and really miss having. I thought that after a while, he would be comfortable enough with me to open up and be silly and happy, but he may just not be made that way, or maybe I don't bring it out in him. Whatever the reason, we've never been joyful, or blissful, or really full of anything much except company manners.

I've been trying, I think, to be in love enough for both of us because I really have never thought that our feelings are precisely mutual. Oddly, that doesn't work, and by now it seems like I have used up all of that love. I can't bring myself to keep trying; I've been disappointed by his distant, stoic response to EVERYTHING I DO so many times that I can't believe that it could ever be different.

Nevertheless, I do love him, and the thought of not being close to him is pretty empty-making. The whole thing is very sad.

Here's what nutty looks like:

I have been dreading my one part-time job for a few months now. I'm supposed to work as an administrative assistant for sixteen hours a week at a software corporation that makes software (I know, it's crazy!) for car companies, and as my job is essentially pointless, I can pick whichever hours I want as long as I write it down beforehand for my boss. I sit in a little office that I share with BossMan, and he looks one way and I look the other, and we pretty much ignore each other unless I've done something wrong. Which happens surprisingly often for a job that could be done by a trained monkey...anyway: I've never been what you might call thrilled with the job, but I gotta do something and this is what there was.

So I've been all, "I don't want to go to work at eight, that's too early, I'll just wait a while, have breakfast and read for a few minutes and make sure I look really good when I get in there, like, wearing pants without cat hair and a shirt that I put on a hanger reasonably soon after I got it from the drier, like Super Professional." Then I do all that and get scared because I'm late and I don't want my boss to yell at me...not that he ever yells at me, but he gets all low-voiced and cynical sounding and stern. And I truly hate being spoken to like that; it reminds me of my father, to whom I no longer speak because I've realized he was kind of abusive and also kind of a jackass, and jackass doesn't go away. ANYway, my boss is not a jackass, not at all, but he does that talking thing and tells me what to do (I know that's what bosses do, but it's like what computer I need to buy or what kind of personal schedule I should set up, things that aren't his business because I'm twenty-six and may not be able to get to work on time but at least I can make my bad decisions on my own, thank you very much!) and it all just makes me anxious.

At any rate, it occurred to me last Friday that I didn't like my job (I am very perceptive) and that maybe my boss would prefer an assistant who actually showed up, so I called the temp agency and put in my two weeks notice. I went into work on Wednesday evening...when I knew my boss would be gone...and was supposed to go in today, the first time I would have seen BossMan since I put in my notice.

Well, of course you know that I didn't make it. I kept meaning to go in, and kept getting more and more freaked out about it, until my boss called...twice...and then the temp agency called. So what did I do? Well, I ignored the calls from BossMan and called the nice-sounding new lady at the agency, and Maturely and Professionally explained to her that I couldn't go in to work OR call in due to the fact that I was Scared Of My Boss Talking Mean To Me.

But she was so nice about it.

Then I called my therapist to ask about anxiety medication.

Then I drank some wine. It was 3:52.

I am several kinds of bland

So I don't know what kind of AmEng these are, really, but I do love the made-up quizzes.

Your Linguistic Profile:

70% General American English 20% Upper Midwestern 5% Yankee 0% Dixie 0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Women's influences, brought to you by a man.

Benjamin Radford of LiveScience.com had this pearl of wisdom to share recently. He has clearly spent many, many days as a woman in the Western world, having deep, important thoughts.

I wrote him about it and you can too! It's fun! Here's his email address: mmreaders@radfordreviews.com. He asks for "comments, compliments, and angry-but-civil letters." Guess which one I sent.


In other news, I and the Rob have now moved. We spent the weekend going from college housing in Goose Hollow to a sweet old apartment complex in NE with hardwood floors.

I'm pretty pleased about this. The old place was kind of "fancy" in some ways - by which I mostly mean "overpriced and rude" - and there were, in our mutual history, several unfortunate rendezvous* involving loud, drunken carousing neighbors at one a.m. and my rather short temper. I can't say that I think I'll be missed. But at the new flat? Well, let me tell you this: We don't share any walls, and our only neighbor (upstairs) is named Milton.

That fact alone gives me great hope. Milton is not the name of a man who will wake you at two on a Wednesday morn with a tuneless chorus of Popular Crappy Song out of his bedroom window. Milton would never sit under your balcony on hot, windless summer nights and chain smoke. Milton doesn't skateboard down the hall, leave his unwanted furniture in the common areas, park one car over two spaces, move furniture all night, or hotbox his apartment. I have faith in Milton.

And if I'm wrong? I guess there'll have to be a rendezvous. Milton, consider yourself warned.

*I really, really wanted to write "rendezvouses" there, but I restrained myself. (With my famous restraint.) It's not only fake French, it's fun to say! Try it.

Why why why why?

Craft magazine recently posted a link. It's to the site of someone who, for no earthly reason I can see, felt the need to create a pattern for...knitted toilet paper.

Lest there be confusion, I think this is REALLY WEIRD. Why oh why would anyone do this? Does this person also knit tampons and condoms? Or does s/he just have too much time on her/his hands? Because s/he can totally get a second job and send me the money. Think, dear knitter, how fine that would be! You would be giving to charity AND you would have more dignity. That's, like...two two two mitzvahs in one.

I'm just saying.

The Magic of the Internets

Once again, Zerd has found something spectacular online. (And are we surprised? No we are not.)

My viewing recommendation, for what it's worth, is as follows: Go to this YouTube video of Vladimir Horowitz playing the 3rd Rachmaninov Piano concerto ( there are three movements), then, in another browser, go to this site.

That's what I happened to do and it was a really happy accident. I actually got all weepy during the 2nd movement, like the big freaking crybaby I am of late.

Speaking of which, I have been absolutely retarded in my proneness to tears in the last couple of months. It's like I've been about to get my period for nine weeks or something. Which is not the case, thank you very much, nor am I pregnant, so don't even think it! I have been very very stressed out, but normally I just eat a lot more (I'm on an eclair kick right now) and sleep for sixteen hours a day when that happens. I think I know what it is...I may as well write a post about that later...but really, it's silly to be driven to tears by EVERYTHING.

It's a good thing there aren't any old AT&T commercials on, or I wouldn't get a thing done.

What a concept!

Yay for...um...right, Jon Meacham for this op-ed piece in the Times.

I would write stuff about it, but I think it's basically unnecessary (as much as the third 'n' I tried to put into "unnecessary" just now. Work, brain, work!).

The initial post.

I read this article in the NY Times a while back, and it seemed to me that Hill really hit the nail on the head: “Can you be a misanthrope and still love or enjoy some individuals?” she asked. “How about a compassionate misanthrope?”

Well, I think so. I find the term to be pretty helpful in describing what I've been feeling with increasing frenquency over the past few years...lots of people suck. Although Ms. R-C does put it with a little more polish.

While I like and love many persons, lately I can't help but feel that people are often selfish and unkind, not to mention incompetent. It's just like in that song* from Mary Poppins.

*You know, where Glynis Johns says "Though we adore men in-div-id-ual-ly, we must admit that as a group they're ra-ther stu-pid."**

**Also: Liz? I've gotta steal this little thing you do with the footnotes. I salute you, my brillant friend. Please don't hate me.