I am a dork circa 2000, Exhibit A
So there’s this little pad of paper I use every day at work.
I don’t know how it ended up on my desk, but it’s there, and I write on it, and every single day, without fail, I add this to the bottom:
Why is this still taking up valuable brain space? I could remember when to use lie and when to use lay, but no, instead I remember that somebody set us up the bomb.
Two new names for the taint that I learned at the slumber party this weekend:
- Goat Island
- Peter Scolari’s summer home
Noteworthy: my friend Brian Byrne refers to the horrifying cavern between Tori Spelling’s fake breasts as “the taint upstairs.”
My dad and I had a conversation on Saturday about how Miss Piggy would make an excellent Lady Macbeth. I’ll call home to talk to my parents, and my mom will tell me about her garden’s progress and what my brother is doing and ask me if I’ve done my taxes and renewed my license yet, and then she’ll hand the phone to my dad and he’ll say, “It’s a real shame that the Muppets didn’t ever do any Shakespeare, like Hamlet. That would’ve been funny, to do Hamlet with some pigs.” Then he’s like, “Oh, hold on: your mom wants to talk again.”
Conversation today, between me and my friend Jay:
Jay: I’m going to go get my egg salad sandwich.
Me: I have never had egg salad. Why is it good? I don’t even know what’s in it, besides eggs.
Jay: Rims, how disappointing! You might as well consider your first 25 years of life gone right down the toilet. Egg salad is great! If you like deviled eggs, then you’ll like egg salad. It’s nothing more than hardboiled eggs, mayonnaise, onions, pepper, and we like relish and parsley. It’s basically the same thing as tuna salad, except replace tuna with eggs.
Me: Does it smell all eggy, though? The smell is my only real concern. I like eggs, but I don’t like to be REMINDED that I’m eating eggs. Does that make sense?
Jay: Does it smell eggy? I don’t even know how to answer that. If you want me to hold your hand while you eat it, I will.
TEENAGERS FROM OUTER SPACE
At the moment I am transfixed by my coworker’s screensaver featuring the star-crossed teen lovers from the cancelled WB drama Roswell. I have never seen the cancelled WB drama Roswell, but I can surmise from these rotating pictures that these two teens were in total 100% pure mature high school love, and being kept apart by some pretty heavy forces. They look so soft and earnest and anguished! I guess it’s rough when you’re young and clear-skinned and in love, and the thing conspiring to keep you apart is actually the universe itself, because your boyfriend is a fucking alien. Eh, what are you gonna do? Maybe stop sulking around and listening to Dido, and go take some solace in your infinitely shiny hair while you can.
S is for Sarah, Who Died of Ennui
I rarely check my stats, mostly because when I do, it freaks me out. When I first started this site, no one knew about it but me, but now I’m pretty aware that almost every single person I know in real life knows about it, and reads it on a semi-regular basis, including my little brother and every person I’ve been romantically involved with in the past four years. I try to ignore that and write what I want to anyway, but I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t hinder me sometimes, or make me omit things; mostly the mentions of true love and anal sex. Over the past six months or so, I’ve started keeping the more personal details and thoughts to myself. Sometimes I miss being able to write so openly, but it’s not a big deal; I still enjoy writing in this sort of forum, and I like that my friends read it. I’m just a little bored with it lately.
I originally began this as an exercise to make myself write every day after losing my writing job, and it’s evolved into a much bigger part of my life, and I’ve had a lot of fun with it. Lately, though, it’s just not something that interests me as much. Updating it feels like a chore, and definitely not a priority. There are all these other things in my life that I’d rather focus on right now. I’m not going to stop writing here, but I think that, at least for the time being, it’s going to be a little more sporadic. This could change in a few days, and probably will, but I feel bad when I bring up the page and it’s blank, so I thought I’d at least let it be known.
And don’t think I don’t realize how lame that is, to take a break from your site, and how it’s even lamer to announce it, like anyone fucking cares. I mean, don’t get me wrong: I know a lot of people read this everyday, and I appreciate every kind thing those people have ever said, even most of the crazies or sycophants. This site has brought me many wonderful little exchanges and moments that wouldn’t have happened without it existing, but I’m not so full of myself as to go thinking this is Important or something; it’s the internet. My feeling is that the internet sort of doesn’t count. On account of it not being real life and all. You know how it is.
Anyway, so: I guess I’m on a break or something? Whatever. Everyone knows that all breaks end the same way: you just end up drunk one night and call on your walk home, and they ask you to come over and you do, and then the next thing you know you wake up together and eat breakfast and read the paper and then there you are, back to the bullet-point lists and one sentence-long paragraph posts, like nothing ever happened. There’s a lot of whiskey between there and then, though, so until that time, I’m going to stop feeling guilty for not updating.
See you very soon.
Funny Ha-Ha v. Funny Please Stop
Wherein you will pay for the whole seat, but shall be surprised to find that, in reality, you need only the edge. Or, perhaps you will follow others' lead and leave before intermission.
The other day I was emailing back and forth with my friend Brian, and I implored him to check out the Mimi Smartypants post where she amused herself by saying, “Ooh, a bloodfeast! How nice!” in a grandma voice, much to the non-amusement of her husband, who was trying to go to sleep. I laughed out loud when I read it, and then I laughed out loud again when I remembered it and told Brian about it, and I am laughing out loud about it right now while I write this. Brian and I were discussing how the best kind of cracking up is the kind that you inflict upon yourself and yourself only, because it never ceases to be amusing, and somehow becomes exponentially more amusing the less others find it so. I remember how, a few months ago, I could not stop saying BARELY LEGAL GRANNIES in a voice typically reserved for announcements of the SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY! ONE NIGHT ONLY! variety, and this absolutely killed me every single time. Everyone else I knew, not so much.
My roommate’s boyfriend Rob and I have identified each other as fellow one-audience-ers, and since it’s been established that we amuse no one else as much as we amuse ourselves, we’ll often recite our best lines of the day to each other at night, celebrated with high-fives of approval. Kind of like, hey, awesome job with that orgasm you had while masturbating! Thanks man, you too!
One thing I find amusing is that a lot of you people here on the internet seem to think I’m pretty funny, which is nice, but you also seem to be laboring under the pretense that other people I know in real life think I’m funny, which is not always the case. If you asked my friends to tell you the funniest thing I’ve ever said to them, I’m fairly certain all of them would tell you about a time when I said something I thought was so funny that they just ended up laughing at me. In fact, I think that most people I know and interact with in real life think that perhaps the first thing I say is funny, but then I say ten more things in a similar vein and they’re rolling their eyes, but I’ve just gotten started amusing myself at that point. I think most people will back me up on this, especially my brother, my mother, and anyone I have ever dated. Especially Joey. Poor Joey has endured about nine thousand one-sided conversations where I say something that we both laugh at, and then I start riffing on that thing I’ve just said, and eventually I’m the only one laughing, and I have to hold the phone away to catch my breath because I’ve cracked myself up so much, and he’s like, “Okay, well, I have to go now!”
Something about Joey really brings out the relentless in me, maybe because he’s nice and always laughs, just like how my brother brings it out in me because he rarely cracks a smile and probably isn’t even listening, so I keep going because what have I got to lose? I feel bad about it sometimes with Joey, because ours is really not standard former boyfriend/girlfriend interaction; it’s more like big brother/little brother, with my part being the verbal equivalent of slapping someone with their own hand and asking why they keep hitting themselves. Like the other night, when he called me to say hi and I asked him if he had hot Saturday night plans with his new lady, and he said yes, as a matter of fact, she was going to cook them Kenyan food. This rapidly disintegrated into me informing him that she was probably whipping up some baby in a nice jackal sauce, because that’s a rare Kenyan delicacy, but then I couldn’t go any farther with the conversation because I couldn’t stop get past how hilarious it was to say “baby in a nice jackal sauce.” I think he got off the phone, and I sincerely hope he enjoyed the meal. Maybe he lucked out and she prepared him a bloodfeast.
I feel funny lately, like something big is about to happen, but I have no idea how to coax it along. I’ve been spending lots of time writing, and I’ve also been gripped with this insatiable desire to be completely anti-social, only I’ve been going out and seeing people just as regularly as always, and I’m still just as happy to be with them, but no matter where I am or what I’m doing, some part of my brain is constantly counting down to the moment when I’m at home, alone in my room. I have no idea what this is all about; it’s not depression, because I know what that’s like, and I’m not unhappy, either. I feel like I’m on the cusp of something. Watch: it’ll be the cusp of something horrid, like mono, or bankruptcy, or true love.
Anyway, I’ve got nothing, maybe some odds and ends, but I feel like I should put something up here, so here goes.
- (“Grab bag” always reminds me of this guy I knew who actually bid on and won something on eBay entitled PORN GRAB BAG.)
- (By “knew,” I mean “dated.”)
- One thing that’s bothered me for a long time now is the clothing label Ecko Unltd. Is that long vowel notation over the O really necessary? Were they seriously worried that someone somewhere was going to pronounce this as Eck-ahh? It’s precisely this sort of lack of faith in the intelligence of the American populace that leads to them to do things like, oh, every single thing they do.
- I got invited to my ten year high school reunion this week. What? Why? No.
- I spent the other day going through a box of old keepsakes my mom brought me. Aside from finding these awesome pictures of my brother, I came across several unsent letters. I am the queen of unsent letters. I’ve always loved writing and receiving letters, and I send most of what I write, but there’s also a huge lifelong chunk of them that I wrote, felt better after having put my thoughts on the page, and then either chickened out or no longer felt the need to actually send them to the intended party. For the most part, not sending them probably didn’t make any big impact on my life, but I found a few that made me wish I had a time machine so I could go back and see how they would have been received. One in particular, written in the winter of 2002 to the person I was dating at the time, probably would have changed the outcome of our entire relationship. What, you didn’t know this and this? Oh, probably because I told you but then forgot to actually let you know I’d told you. I have no idea what to do with these letters, although I toyed with the idea of sending out the whole batch of them like nothing happened and just pretending like they got caught in a time warp. I had a similar idea once when I found a box of leftover graduation annoucements in a closet in my parents’ house. Surely I had an elderly Southern aunt or three who would rather err on the side of etiquette and just send me a check again, right?
- Things I miss about living in the midwest: driving a big old giant car from the ‘70s out on the highway, going bowling. Maybe that’s more like things I miss about being 21, but same difference.
- Last night Liz played me a song off 50 Cent’s new album called “Bitch, Get in My Car.” Have you heard this song? When he whines “Bitch, git eeeeyun!”, I cannot stop laughing.
- Today I saw that pterodactyl ad again, only now there’s a sunny blue sky behind him. Dudes who made that ad, I know you read this site because you all emailed me, and I just want to officially voice my displeasure with the axing of the purple lightning storm background. Also, please make one featuring vampires.
- The other day I washed a lamp in the kitchen sink. I thought I was going to make a funny anecdote out of that, but screw it; I’m tired. I have to go get in the bathtub now and read my book. I started reading it two days ago, and so far I’m in love with it, and get this jolt of nerd glee whenever they say “shew” or “chuse.” Why don’t I have a fire to read by? This is total bullshit.
- P.S. If you say anything about the plot points of this book in the comments I will be really upset and sic that pterodactyl and my brother on you. Realize when you’re outnumbered and be smart about this one.