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The "Box of Chocolates" Entry |
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electrocuted myself in the ear yesterday.
No, I’m not kidding. I was wearing my headset at work and I reached out to wipe a speck of dust off my monitor. You know how you learn something new every day? Here’s what I learned yesterday: DO NOT TOUCH YOUR MONITOR WHILE WEARING YOUR HEADSET. It was a static electricity shock, but it was a bad one and it was right in my ear. My ear felt stuffy and my head started to hurt. Once my lips started tingling, I knew I was in trouble. It eventually went away, but I didn’t like it very much in the meantime. So now I’m quite apprehensive of my headset. It’s evil and it bit me. Mean headset. Bad. Mean.
Matt let his mentally challenged alter ego, Lenny, clean up the living room. That is the only explanation I can come up with, because what he did was really quite retarded. Lenny picked up all my stuff and put it in a pile on my futon. Now, you know how enraged I become at this, right? Not this time. I swallowed the rage. I kept it inside. I remained calm and collected. No problem. I can put it away myself. The well organized piles became a lump of sort of organized layers. A slight stomach ache but other than that, no problem. No problem at all. Except for one little thing. My favorite sweatshirt. My sweatshirt that I bought at Walt Disney World as my major souvenir and my big indulgence. The one that I drooled over but never would have bought without the discount. My beautiful, warm, embroidered, super comfy sweatshirt. The sentimental reminder of a fantastic vacation. Yep. THAT sweatshirt. When Lenny was cleaning up, he apparently thought that the best place for my pink pen (you know the one, with the liquid reservoir of ink) would be on top of my favorite sweatshirt. WITHOUT THE CAP. And Lenny decided to do this stupid thing the day after the wedding, when I was still hormonal (after crying at a bedtime story, I realized hormones may have played a large part in my teary outburst at the WTW). So of course, when I found the sweatshirt and the completely empty pen, I cried. I was sad all day. In fact, I am still sad. I took the sweatshirt to the dry cleaner, and the asshole just said “You want help with this? Throw it away! Ha, ha!" There I am, standing there with tears in my eyes, holding my favorite sweatshirt, and he says to throw it away. Bastard. I tried to wash it: it didn’t wash out. The giant pink blotch is there to stay. So my boyfriend, remorseful over what Lenny had done, decided to go online and try to find me a new one. “I found one that’s almost the same thing, except it has Mickey on it,” he told me. I appreciate the effort, but: 1. I hate Mickey Mouse. I am a loyal Mighty Mouse fan all the way, and I’ve never liked Mickey. Ever. Hate that damn mouse. 2. Part of the reason I love the sweatshirt is because it reminds me of my vacation. It’s got all the four theme park logos on it, including the Big Giant Ball. What’s this Mickey crap? I didn’t take a vacation up Mickey Mouse’s butt, I took a vacation to DISNEY WORLD. He says he’s determined to get me a new one, which is nice of him. I just hope it happens for me and he doesn’t forget about it, because until then, I will continue to be pathetically sad. I know it’s stupid to care so much about a dumb sweatshirt. I am fully cognizant of this. It’s just Litlu Tamoruh, you know? She’s so sentimental.
I have been dying to own the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. In fact, I almost ordered it from Amazon the other day. (Apparently my order did not go through. Which is good, because I forgot to add Miriam’s recommendation of the Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter books, and I also want to order whatever book I need for Beth’s book club.) Where was I? Oh yes. Pride and Prejudice. I have never seen the movie, but by all accounts, it was just wonderful, and I love the book. But I couldn’t really justify the expense: until now. Of course I am a member of the Columbia House Video Club, right? Well, I needed two more selections to fulfill my membership obligation. Guess how many selections Pride and Prejudice fulfills? Right! Two! The advantage to this is that from now on, I will not longer get automatically shipped stupid movies like The Mummy and Star Trek: Insurrection. Plus, I get to watch Pride and Prejudice at last. I’ll let you know how it is.
I went to the doctor today, my new doctor. He’s young, cute, nice and Asian. (Wow, who did he remind me of?) He explained the necessity for the Evil Bad Test (you know, the one involving words like INTRAVENOUS and ENEMA) so it looks like I’m getting that done after all. He asked me if I was stressing myself out, and if that was the source of my stomach pain. Well, I WASN’T stressed out until I found out I would have to have a hose up my butt and a needle in my arm. THANKS FOR ASKING! He also put me on a new diet, the “just eat less” diet. Jesus Christ, just give me some Xenical already.
This entry sounds like things aren’t going too well, but au contraire, mon frere! I’m back on the upward part of the mood swing, I think, and some happy things are happy-ning. I am getting another poem published in Paris. (I will let you know the address to write to—you can send for a free copy of the magazine!) I also have a job interview coming up within the next couple of weeks, I think. (On that job I told all you notifyees about.) Also, someone very very wonderful has written new recommendation letters, which means that my grad school applications are back on track. Oh and also, we got our apartment cleaned yesterday. They did such an outstanding job—the bathrooms are spotless, the floors are clean, the dishes are done… $50 is so worth it for this kind of clean. I read in my Managing Your Time book that you should not feel guilty for paying someone else to do things you hate to do. “You can make more money,” the book says, “You can’t make more time.” It also advocates not spending your money on crap, so you can afford to pay people to do things like scrub your toilet. I am with this all the way. I am not good at cleaning, at all. I end up pushing the dirt around, and things don’t look clean when I get through with them. They just look less dirty. So I suck at it, it takes me forever, and I hate to do it. And although Matt is good at cleaning, he’s lazy about actually doing it. (I’m equally lazy about cleaning things, but less of a slob about making them messy.) So the bottom line is: cleaning people, yay. I left my sister at my house to let them in and supervise. I came home and I asked her how it went. Then, in the spirit of Southern California… ME
ABBY
ME
ABBY
I guess that’s how they can afford to charge $50 to have two people come to your house for two hours and clean. I mean, they would have to be making just a little over minimum wage, right? I totally am going to give them a big tip next time. I think it’s really bizarre that the worst jobs pay the least money. I think the guy who is cleaning Matt’s bathroom should get at least $1,000. (I mean seriously. You didn’t see his bathroom.) When we went to Monterey, we were both surprised to see a white guy cooking the food. It’s taken for granted in L.A. that your cooks, bus boys and cleaning people are all going to be Mexican. I guess it’s natural to become prejudiced when you live in L.A.—after all, everyone else is—but when you think about it, the Mexican people who do the most contemptuous jobs in our society certainly should not be held in contempt. We should be thanking them. I hereby vow not to bitch so much about people who can’t speak English. I vow not to get annoyed at Spanish language billboards. I’ll aim my contempt at the Pope, where it belongs, and not begrudge these people their minimum wage jobs. I’ll vote to increase the minimum wage. And I’ll tip. Really, really well.
I am thinking of going on a self-imposed one-week hiatus to see if I can finally get the new design finished. I just haven’t had time, but I’d really like to get it up before my birthday. It would be nice to start off a new year with a new design. But I’d probably just end up using the time to play Buddy the Cyber Lemming. Love that game. Right now, Matt is addicted to Nox. There’s quite the little power struggle going on over the computer these days. Maybe if I could get the computer, and get him to help me, I could get the new design up and running. But a hiatus?
Who am I kidding? Like I could quit for a week. Yeah, right.
| What
I'm Reading:
Sheila Levine is Dead and Living in New York.What I'm Writing: My application for a teaching assistantship requires lots of writing.
Kermit colored.Journal Quote of the Day: "I have very strong feelings about being able to function autonomously. The fact of the matter is that yes, I will miss Nick terribly, even for the weekend, but we should be able to go out and do our own thing with our own friends. That's how it's supposed to be."Random Tidbit: I talked to the cutest guy today when I was ordering something for my boss. He was from Minnesota and he kept saying these cute Fargo things like, "So, do you want anything else, then?” and “Real good, then” and “Yaaaah.” I had to smile the whole time I was on the phone with him.Days Until My Birthday: 17 |
