Wednesday, November 19, 2008

In which I fully regret the decision to begin every blog entry with "In which I"


Well, I told everyone about my blog and got lots of kind responses about it being funny, etc.  Now I am feeling a certain amount of pressure to write something really good.  GO!



The problem with blogging is that you start thinking of your whole life in terms of narrating your blog.  In beginning, you think everything you write is delightful.  Soon every thought that crosses your mind is brilliantly hilarious.  Before you know it, you're driving around town thinking "...and then I turned left!"  AH HA HA HA HA HA HA!  But a little time goes by and you come to realize that you might be deluding yourself, and then your desire to write is stifled by your desire not to be humiliated.  And you ultimately find yourself lying on your living room floor singing the El Pollo Loco song in an operatic voice just to distract yourself from the paralyzing terror.

Not that I would have any experience with that.  

Anyway.  Last night I watched The Universe.  It was a great episode about parallel universes.  I am still scraping my brains off the wall.  It's pretty mind-blowing to think that every time you make a choice, at exactly the same time in some plane you make the opposite choice and BANG! you are walking around in a whole different universe.  Well, something like that.  Like I said, still trying to get those brains back in my noggin.

Perhaps in another universe I have been blogging for years. In some universe, I never even started.  But, luckily for YOU, I'm in this one, with many friends and loved ones to just flat out make fun of me and this blogging nonsense.  Take for instance this email exchange I had today with my boss/friend Clay:

Clay:  Why did you (do this wrong)?
Me:  Because I am not perfect.
Clay: Are you going to make a blog entry for: In which I am not updating changes of addresses?

What am I supposed do with that?  

Monday, November 17, 2008

In which I am shocked and horrified

I had to go back to the neurologist today so they could see if there is any nerve damage in my hands and feet.  I passed the time while waiting for my test by observing the office. It is rather, well, laid back, I guess would be the term.  They leave the door between the waiting room and the exam area open.  The doctor wanders around asking the staff why there isn't any foam on his cappuccino.  The receptionist eats breakfast at the front desk, while asking the gentleman waiting what his name is for the third time.   

It is super classy.  

When it was finally my turn, the receptionist invited me back to the exam room and gave me a lovely paper gown to wear.  Then the doctor came in, fumbled around with the machine, mumbled to himself, walked back out into the hallway, came back in, more fumbling and mumbling.  

Then he proceeded to shock the crap out of me.  Literally.  He stuck things on my hands and one of my feet and then shocked me with this thing that looked like the heating element on my mom's old electric skillet.  I burned myself on that thing once.  It hurt.  A LOT.  This was less fun, mostly because I kept getting zapped over and over again.  I can see how electro-shock makes a good torture method.  I was ready to tell anything.

"36-22-36!" I yelled.  
"What's that?"  he said. 
"My middle school locker combination?  I thought you were trying to get information from me..."
He just mumbled.

Mild carpal tunnel syndrome was the diagnosis for my hands.  No answer as to why my feet are numb and/or tingly.  My regular doctor's original diagnosis was anxiety, so without a full diagnosis of all the symptoms,  I guess this gives her free license to go ahead and stamp my chart "CRAZY!"  KA-CHUNK!

But my question is this:  am I really required to accept the opinion of a doctor whose office machinery looks like this?

Right there, next to the latex glove and that sterile looking tube thingy - yes.  That is a piece of popcorn.

Popcorn.  Now I am a major fan of popcorn, but...

POPCORN?! What, did he get hungry while shocking me?  All that hard work made him need a little nosh?  Call me crazy (see above), but it seems a bit unprofessional to me that there would be food on your medical equipment.   Seriously, how did that get there?  Did they project a movie on the eye chart during the previous day's lunch?  When the doctor saw it, as he must have, why didn't he GET RID OF IT?  And if he didn't see it, what does that say about his, I don't know, eyesight?  How do I know he read the machine right if he can't see well enough to catch that piece of popcorn?  

And if my numbness is because of anxiety, why didn't my entire body go numb with horror at the very moment I found that piece of popcorn?  ANSWER ME THAT, DOCTOR.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

In which I offer employment advice

Fair warning here:  I am really cranky lately.  I know, I know, but I mean EXTRA cranky.  It is mainly because I'm not eating.  Well, more like I'm not eating the foods I want to eat, like bacon and birthday cake.  I have lost four pounds.  And also my sense of humor.  

It doesn't help matters that work is pretty quiet these days, and by quiet I mean BORING.  And boring means I need some sort of entertainment, which, in the good old days used to be snacks. But oh no!  Not anymore.  Now I have to do things like THINK and HAVE MEANINGFUL CONVERSATIONS with people.  I'm not going to last very long.  

But in this god-awful economy, a currently boring job is a lot better than a currently non-existent job, so I have to suck it up.  In case you are in the same boat, I offer you some ideas on how to keep from getting fired in this difficult time:
DO NOT, upon starting your computer in the morning, ask loudly "IS IT ONLY WEDNESDAY?"

DO NOT, when asked to perform a task, roll your eyes and say "God!  I am so TIRED of people asking me to do stuff!"

DO NOT call your client and ask why they aren't spending all that money they have.  Misers. Like we're in an economic crisis or something.  Pssh.

DO NOT yell "we're all gonna die!" every time someone asks you a question.

DO NOT  answer the phone "Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam".  Unless, of course, you work at Dunder Mifflin. And your name is Pam.  

DO NOT, when writing your weekly update for the office health program, send an email saying "Who cares?  The world in going to end in 2012 anyway.  Eat whatever you want and then take a nap."

DO NOT blog about work, lest you suffer the consequences.  

Monday, November 10, 2008

In which I am glamourous, as usual

I didn't want to get up this morning because, I don't know, I never want to get up in the morning.  The worst is trying to figure out what to wear.  I had a brainwave in bed and remembered about my black suede boots; it's cool enough now to wear them.  So I got up (late, as usual), took a shower and got dressed.  I put on my purple Gap dress, which is so soft and the design so simple that after I purchased it I was unsure whether it was a dress or a nightgown.  It is a little thin (being a nightgown and all), so I put my Spanx on underneath, to cover things up and er, smooth them out as well and then threw a belt over the dress. I dusted off the boots, which are still in really great shape from last year.  I sat down on the bed and put the left boot on and pulled it up to my knee.  Then I pulled the right one on.  Sort of.  I couldn't quite get my heel in it, so I lifted my leg and the boot straight up in the air and pulled.  No luck.  I stomped on the floor with my right foot, but nothing.  I stood up and leaned against the wall and tried to slide my heel in.  Nope.

Much swearing.

Finally, I grabbed the heel of the boot and wiggled it and the heel of my foot.  Something gave and my foot slid all the way in.  Loud sigh and residual swearing.  Then I tried to pull the boot up to my knee.  Huh-uh.  It got stuck.  Try as I might, I couldn't get it over my calf.  What the hell?  I mean, I know I've gained weight, but all in my right calf?   I tugged harder.  No dice.

Now I'm really late for work, so I just give up and figure maybe I can fix it in the car.  I grab my bag - the new one from H&M.  I love this bag - black patent faux crocodile.  It was really inexpensive, is trendy and fairly well put together.  I assumed it was a handbag when I bought it, but after I got home and looked at the receipt I saw it was a "Toilet Bag".  I don't know what that is, but I assume it is supposed to be a bag for your toiletries when you are traveling.  It doesn't have an inordinate amount of pockets or anything, though.  And it looks like a handbag, so that is what I use it as.

So I rush to work, alternately yelling at slow drivers and busses (3 of them!  All in front of me!) and trying to pull up my boot at all the stop lights.  Still unsuccessful.

I arrive at work and make my way down through the parking garage and to the lobby, walking quickly so no one notices my boot, which is now slouching dejectedly around my ankle like a sullen teenager.  Once I get to my office, I put my leg up on the desk (hoping that all the blood will run into my hip, thus making my calf smaller), then simultaneously check my email and dig through my bag for some lotion.  Maybe I can slather some on my leg and pull the boot up that way. While I have my body contorted to keep my leg up on the desk I feel my Spanx rolling down. More swearing.  I find the lotion and try it, but no luck.  I'm going to need some sort of industrial strength lubricant.  I try hand sanitizer.  It burns my freshly shaved legs, but doesn't help the boot.  I search my desk and find Sortkwik.  It can't hurt to try, I think.  It always works when I'm going through the bills.  But this doesn't do the trick either.  

Maybe I need to stretch the calf of the boot out - like it shrunk over the summer or something.  I scan the office for an appropriate stretching implement.  My beanie baby?  No, it'd be really hard to explain to anyone why I had a pink bunny hanging out of my right boot.  Ah!  My Staples button!  It is the perfect shape and is firm enough to stretch something.  I stick it in my boot and go about my work.  Every time I change my position or cross my feet under my chair, I hear "THAT was easy!"

I give up.  

I pull the boot up as far up my calf as it will go.  I check myself out in the window of my office. One leg looks great, like a catalog model. The other looks like there is bread baking in my boot. This is when I notice my hair is sticking up.  Now, my hair is supposed to sort of stick up in the back a little bit, kind of like a tame punk rocker.  Instead, it's sticking up in the middle and I look like Tweety Bird.  Every time I try to mash it down it just pops right back up. 
Whenever I stepped out of my office today, I had to yank up my boot, mash down my hair and tug on my Spanx.  I made it through the day in this uber-glamourous state and scurried out of the office with relief only to realize that I had to stop at the pharmacy on the way home.  I sighed as I pulled into the parking lot, got out of my car, made a failed attempt to smooth down my hair, pulled up my boot and hiked up my Spanx.  

I made my way into the store, found what I needed and then saw Tom - a guy I met at a party and er, made out with.  A couple of times.  I kind of still have a crush on him, although he is, how shall I say?  Less than honorable.  Best to just keep my distance, I thought.  So I ended up lurking around the sale racks until he left in order to avoid being seen by him.  I realize this is not really a very mature thing to do, but, when I run into old flames, I want them to see me looking sexy and sophisticated, not like Tweety Bird in a belted nightgown with one slouchy boot, carrying a toilet bag.

While I was hiding from him, next to the bags of leftover Halloween chocolates, I developed an attachment to a bag of miniature Hershey bars with almonds.  I knew it would love me no matter what I looked like.  I grabbed it and went to the register, completed my purchases, went home and gratefully changed my clothes.    

Sunday, November 9, 2008

In which I miss New York

The weather changed here and it feels like fall.  There is a chilly (and rather loud) wind blowing.  Tomorrow there will be palm branches all over the place and one or the other of my plants will probably get knocked over or off my balcony.  I can smell someone's fireplace.  It's probably Selma Blair's, who apparently is a neighbor of mine.  I blame all the loud-ass neighborhood parties on her, too, because I know she is a wild child.  I bet they're great. 

Autumn makes me ache for New York City.  This is the best time of year there, it always seems storybook-like to me.  The leaves turning and time to get out your sweaters and boots and scarves.  I love how my nose gets cold and pink.  Darting into the nearest Starbuck's (one on every corner!) to warm up. I love cuddling up under the comforter for the night with one window cracked just to keep the air moving.  Of course, when I lived with 80 plus year old Frances, she didn't like it when the wind made the door rattle and wanted me to stick a kleenex in the door to keep it from moving.  She even offered to show me exactly how to fold it up.

The one thing I didn't have in New York that I have here (other than privacy) is the electric heater in my bathroom.  My apartment has a tendency to be very drafty, so it is a benefit on cold mornings.  I pad into the bathroom and turn on the heater, then get back into bed for a little bit while the bathroom warms up.  After my shower I inevitably end up getting too warm and have to crack the window.  Or turn on the air conditioning.

It was like that on the subway, too.  I always had a significant amount of trouble with temperature control.  It could be freezing outside and I would always end up with sweat stains under my arms from being on the subway in my coat.  It was a daily battle trying to figure out what to wear, what to bring, if I remembered to shove my umbrella in my bag.  Living in New York is difficult like that - even small things are hard to do.  But, oh, how I miss the struggle.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

In which I chronicle my election night

I arrive home from work after Pennsylvania's been called for Obama.  I change my clothes and turn on the TV and get on to watch the electoral map.  Shortly after that, Obama is projected to win Ohio.

 6:45pm: Flip between MSNBC and Fox News.  If neither one of them can be neutral, I can at least figure out the truth between the two of them.

7:02pm:  MSNBC announces that Obama is home eating dinner with his family.  WHAT?  How can he eat at a time like this?  What did they eat?  Macaroni and cheese?  Do you think they ordered pizza?

7:03pm: Ooooh, pizza...

7:06pm: Staring at electoral map of Florida, willing it to turn blue.  

7:07pm:  Turn blue.

7:08pm: Turn blue.

7:09pm:  COME. ON.

7:10pm: Open wine.

7:20pm: Turn to a rerun of House.  Wonder who House would vote for.  He probably wouldn't vote, because he is all bitter and sad.  You know, because of his leg and all.  OH MY GOD! On the show House just said "it's a shame I don't vote"!  I was right!  HA HA!

7:28pm: Can't believe how close the race is in Virginia.  Yes, I flipped back to MSNBC .  WHAT?  It is an historic election.  HISTORIC.  Besides, I've seen that House before.

7:51pm: Changed to episode of Frasier - Frasier is wearing blue and Roz is wearing red.  Doubt Roz would vote for McCain, though.

7:59pm:  Oh, for God's sake, Florida, do you have to torture us like this in every single election?  Decide already.  Do it!

8:02pm:  West coast polls just closed - MSNBC just called the election for Obama.  They are showing pictures of people screaming with joy.  I am crying with happiness and relief.  

8:17pm:  Oh, fine, Florida, jump on the bandwagon NOW.  You and Colorado and it looks like Virginia, too.  Can't believe it.  John McCain's concession speech is lovely and gracious.  Brit Hume looks depressed.  But then, Brit Hume kind of always looks depressed.

8:25pm:  Wonder if Sarah Palin will pose for Playboy.  Surely she's had an offer by now.

8:32pm:  Feel so proud of my country right now.  So many people voted - the races were so close in some states.  I feel like we truly spoke and really changed the course of the nation.   

8:35pm:  Wait, is the Dancing With the Stars results show gonna be on? They really need to get rid of Lucci. 

9:24pm:  Obama's acceptance speech, beautiful and inspiring.  One of my neighbors leaned out her door and screamed with excitement.  I feel like running around and hugging everyone.  

9:25pm: OVERJOYED.