I haven't updated my blog in almost a month. I know my hiatus isn't in compliance with my numerous vows to update on a regular basis, but I needed some time. I needed lots of time. Real life is continually attacking me when I least expect it; slipping some Rohypnol into my Fresca and having its beastly way with me. If ever I were to claim that everyday life was more convulsive and tumultuous than spending a warm afternoon on Canal St, the happenings of these last few weeks would illustrate said adjectives more than perfectly.
Sometimes I think that I’m not updating my blog because I want to talk about the fact that I have so many things to talk about that I haven’t been able to because I’m not updating my blog which facilitates a blog update in itself. Time, tide, and blog... they all wait for no man, woman, intersexed, or transgendered individual. I’m sitting on the train making my way back to Brooklyn and I feel like I have arrived; drinking my coffee, listening to The Mountain Goats, sitting on my laptop typing up a blog entry. I think 17-year-old me would be very impressed with 25-year-old me. Too bad 17-year-old me doesn’t know 25-year-old me would shoot a hole in his own foot to trade places with said memory of myself. Every time I’ on Long Island I’m reminded of my youth, and how I miss it. Unlike almost every else I know I loved high school. You’re all Romy and I’m Michelle. High school was a blast. I think it’s because I felt like I didn’t belong growing up in the neighborhood I grew up in and going to a private school a few towns away let me be as weird and as wacky as I felt like being. It’s almost comical how even the most self deprecating of people agrees that they are special enough to need a niche. I’m not the most self deprecating of people... I’m just saying.
Speaking of saying things, I’ve taken to the word “sweet” in inappropriate ways. I’ve been saying “sweet” for the last few years for comedy effect, but now I find myself saying “sweet” during telephone conversations with customer service representatives, to my recently deceased landlord’s daughter, or to the man punching my ticket on the LIRR. He just punched my ticked and I looked at him and said “SWEET!” I can’t tell If I’m regressing to some primordial dude state or of I’m just so much fun that I can’t help myself. I’ve also found myself saying “Come on man” and “No way man, no way” way more often than I’d like. There is a girl sitting across from me who is REALLY excited about going into Manhattan today. She keeps saying “NEW YORK CITTAY!!!!!!!” I can’t. I can’t do the “cittay” thing. Or “partay” or anything else you can add “ay” on to the end of. Anyone who knows me knows I bring up how much I hate that on an almost weekly basis. Seriously, come on man.
I am going to invent an invisible ink font. This way I could talk about whatever I want and not worry about anybody I don’t want seeing anything seeing anything or bringing silly things up at work. Something that’s always bothered me about public forums of expression (this dates back to my livejournal days) is when someone reads something you’ve written that had nothing to do with them and then they think it’s a good idea to either address you about what it is you wrote in person, or bring up what you’ve written in casual conversation as though the inner workings of my cerebellum are to be made into table talk and lunchtime conversation. No. No it’s really not. I don’t think that’s something that you really need to remind people of, either. Isn’t that just understood? Isn’t it written in the constellations? Unless I invite you to talk ABOUT something I wrote about in person, keep quiet. If you want to ask me about something go for it, I’m all ears. But don’t come at me and make it into a conversation, really. Hello rudeness!
[Here is where we insert a break; I am now sitting in my apartment watching the View and its Tuesday, not Sunday]
Tonight Ryan is taking me to see Goldfrapp. I don’t know how he managed to get us fantastic seats after the show already sold out, but he did. I thoroughly enjoy her new album so I hope she plays a lot of new stuff. Of course I wouldn’t mind hearing some older Goldfrapp; back when I partied 7 nights a week I couldn’t take a step without hearing another Goldfrapp song. She is near and dear to my heart. I am so excited. I hear her shows are amazing and I could use some amazingness.
My cat just farted and it smells like someone set a tire and ass factory on fire. Gross.
I bought a set of weights to put to use on my unused weight bench. I bought said bench last summer and I bought one of those big long barbells with it. I’ve only used it a handful of times because it makes me feel silly having to hold up that giant bar. So the weight bench has become more of a pant storage destination. When I get home from work and my pants come off they end up sitting on my weight bench. I think I got up to almost 7 pairs of pants on the bench when I decided I should put it to actual use. So I bought two smaller barbells. They are both 20lbs. 20lbs may not sound like a lot but after a while 20lbs starts kicking my ass. I am doing this in conjunction with the healthier eating lifestyle to hopefully prevent the onset of the love handle.
Work has become an experience. If the options were to sink or swim you’d find me floating 15ft out from the shore. I have no idea what the future holds with the company I’m working for, or if there is even anything in store for the future. Perhaps I am destined to spend all of eternity arranging moderately priced linen pants for carrot-shaped foreigners who let their children draw on the walls with crayons before asking me how to get to Ed Hardy. Or perhaps my over qualification and oodles of experience will propel me into the upper echelons of merchandising. My team dynamic is really good right now, though. We’re finally at a point where we can have non-stop fun and still get our work done. Although there will always be the folks who say we’re having too much fun. It’s weird; whenever you work a merchandising job the people who aren’t merchandisers are always jealous of you. Jealous of your sense of humor, jealous of the way you dress and things of that nature. I don’t think they realize that most of us use humor as a defense mechanism. Or that we dress differently because we are strange and we get made fun of for our outfit choices outside of our work environment. Oh well. I suppose the leggings are always greener on the other side of the sales floor.
Speaking of work; yesterday I zipped my underwear up into my pants and didn’t realize there was a huge gaping hole in the pouch of my briefs until I felt one of my balls slip out. Things like this are always happening to me. I should have my own sitcom.
slick girls and sick boys.