Subtle Glow

Would you consider it hysterical, or more along the lines of mortifying if your neighbor from downstairs - whom you’ve never met before - came to your door one evening and was very nice and extremely polite - asked if you would be so kind as to please move your bed AWAY from the wall??

Upon further review you realize that the bed is a good three to four inches away from the wall already.

Is it just me, or are all the women reading this actually cringing and dying of laughter, while the men are shooting both hands in the air in the universal “Rock on/I’m the fuckin’ MAN” stance?

Anyone??

I don’t like to go on about how unhappy I am with my body. I have on occasion taken a bit of an obsession about it, and from time to time I still manage to engage in scornful looks at the full-length mirrors, not to mention the not-so-full-length mirrors. But I don’t like to whinge on and on about it, because - well, it’s just fucking annoying.I was sitting here tonight when I swore I could smell smoke. Like something was burning. Since I’m getting over a cold I figured the sniffer signals were getting crossed, because I’m not cooking anything.*

Still, I sat for a few minutes and could still smell the burning, which I decided must be a neighbor BBQing. Which then led to the following stream of thoughts that eventually led to this very entry:

BBQ.
I miss my grill.
I’m hungry.
Probably because I haven’t had dinner.
Should probably think about that soon.
Do I want to cook or order something?
I can’t go out, I’m already in my pajamas.
If something really is burning, I should change because these shorts are SO not meant for public viewing.
On account of the giant ass in the shorts, of course.
Giant ass due to the eating.
Which brings me back to dinner.
Too bad I can’t just eat once a day.
I could totally eat healthy if I only had to do it once a day.
I could so resist temptation if I only had to do it once a day.
With the Real Estate market the way it is, people in places like San Francisco would pay major bucks and be happy about it, just to move into the space my ass occupies.
Well, that can certainly be interpreted in more ways than one.
I so didn’t mean that in an ass-fucking sort of way, either - it just happened.
If I blog that I’m just going to end up with even more keyword matches for ass-fucking, or some variation - I think the current hot one is anal fucking, of which I have surprisingly had quite a few.
Strange.
Probably pretty disappointing to the searchers clicking the link then.
To all of you who found my blog while searching for ass fucking - so sorry to disappoint. Again.
Nevermind, I’m not hungry anymore.

*I had to pause to make sure. I have been known to start something on the stove and then get sidetracked by the computer only to later discover what was supposed to be delicious sauteed zucchini slices are now crispy burnt zucchini chips. Which I would totally eat on account of how much I love zucchini - especially sauteed, with a little parmesan, you know? De-lish. Only to find at the first nibble that they really DO taste like charred ass.

I have caught a cold. I don’t know where it came from, or why it chose me but I know it’s definitely having its way with me.

Right now I’m in a lovely stupor (can you feel the love? huh.) - that which is induced by effects of said cold and the dizzying, dehydrating effects of cold medicine. I can’t decide which is worse. Probably because of the stupor and all.

I hope it passes quickly. Actually right now I’d settle for the ability to breathe tonight while I’m sleeping. Preferably where I don’t have to sit up to do so. That’s not too picky, is it?

I am totally LOVING the fact that the alarm clock is across the room now.
This morning, I got a whole extra HOUR of sleep because of it! Weird dreams though - I kept dreaming I was at a radio station. They were doing an interview with Adam Sandler, and I think they were talking about hockey and what-not. Hmmm. It was really strange. It was nice to sleep in a bit though.

And then I woke up. LATE. FOR. WORK.

1. My preference for caffeine. Notice I never said anything about addiction? I refuse to label it that. I hate that word and I think it is used way too much in situations where it doesn’t belong. Kind of like my thoughts on internet addiction. I have a strong preference for coffee. The good kind. The kind made from the Stars and costing much Bucks. To hell with the drip coffee.

The worst part about it is that coffee and my stomach do NOT mix well. One cup and it rips my insides out. Every time I have a really bad day due to coffee consumption, I tell myself it’s not worth it and vow to give up coffee. Like today. And here it is at 9am and I am going to finish this and go get myself a hot steaming mug full of intestinal torture coffee.

2. My level of annoyance for spam mail. Now, at home I don’t mind it too much. It’s really easy to spot and it just gets deleted on sight. At least the stuff that makes it through my maze of filters.

Oh - and for that one particular person who knows who they are any friends of mine with my email address but all you ever use it for is sending forwards from your email? Yeah - you get your very own filter and your shit is deleted only seconds after it lands in my mail server. I never even see it hit my inbox. Did you really think that is why I gave you my email address? Seriously.

Ok, but at work - the spam is really annoying because it is usually from vendors that we may or may not work with, so I usually go ahead and open their email just in case. It’s always some solicitation, and you know it’s just not cool to be soliciting me at work.

In other news: update on the alarm clock/morning wake-up situation:

I give it a week.

I made a decision to move the alarm clock away from the side of my bed. I have a feeling the fallout from this decision will be comparable to what happened that one time, in science camp - when those science guys decided to split open that atom and all hell broke loose.

But we’ll see. We’ll know soon enough. Bedtime tonight is set at 10 sharp. Tylenol PMs are on the ready.

I was going to explain about how part of the problem is getting to sleep early enough, but then on second thought, it’s really not that interesting at all so nevermind.

Things like the fact that no matter what time it gets here, I am never ready to get up in the morning.

I’ve always wondered what it’s like, for those “morning people” people. It sounds like it would be really nice. I try to imagine what it would be like if I were a morning person. I would wake up - without an alarm - and casually slip out of bed to start the day. I might make myself something warm to drink, and as I sat and sipped it, I would think how nice it was, to be up early, enjoying the quiet and slowly entering the day while everyone else was still asleep. I’d spend some time writing, and then think about what I’d like to wear that day, and how good the warm mug felt in my hands. Eventually, I would finish my cuppa and head off to a nice warm shower.

I can say that my morning shower is to me what I imagine other people’s morning worship is to them. It is by far the best part of my day. Like a great orgasm - I refuse to rush it. Some parts of my morning routine can be skipped in the interest of saving time. Makeup, for one. It’s the last part of my routine and if I’m short on time I’ll settle for a bit of powder, brow pencil and a swish of mascara. But, the shower… it’s sacred. There isn’t any one part of it that gets skipped, no matter HOW late I am. The day can just wait - there is no consequence harsh enough to warrant me even THINKING, “Shower? I guess I’ll have to skip it today.” More like, “Darn, guess I’m going to be late.”

So, I can imagine how nice it would be to start the day off slowly. Such a nice thought.

No matter how hard I try, however, those nice thoughts are vapor the second the alarm goes off in the morning. I have to have an alarm, because otherwise I would sleep until at least 7am every day, if not even later than that.

I also have to hit snooze at least twice. I don’t remember hitting it more than that this morning, although it went off at 5:30 and the next thing I knew it was after 6. The math doesn’t lie - my subconcious has a way of saying “Fuck You” to the morning hours, whether I like it or not.

There have been mornings that even my conscious mouth has said “Fuck You” to the alarm clock. I have it set to my regular radio station, but I’m starting to re-think punk music and the like for wake-up music. Then again, it probably doesn’t matter what it is that wakes me up - I’m just not going to like it and that’s all there is to it.

You know what would be a great way to wake up every day? A nice warm body next to me, a little bit of rubbing on my back and playing with my hair. mmmmmmmm. Good morning.

But damn, that’s right… I don’t have that. So then we’re back to the whole ‘mornings suck’ thing aren’t we? Ha ha. I just hadda have my independence, didn’t I? I knew there would be some backlash for that.

I’ve tried going to bed earlier, too. It doesn’t help much. It basically means that I can remember the 5 times I hit snooze, and maybe rolling out of bed 15 mintues earlier. So for every hour earlier I go to bed… I gain 15 mintues in the morning. In order to get up when my alarm goes off the first time… I would have to go to bed at 7pm. What the? I do my best drinking thinking between 8 and 10 at night. Or, watching tv. Something like that.

Like all things in life, you just have to learn to accept that some things will never change. For me - I have to accept that I will never be a morning person. My day likes to start (and by start I mean fully showered and dressed) around 9am. So much more of a civilized hour to begin the day if you ask me.

Did you watch Lost last Wednesday? Claire went into labor and had her baby. At one point, she is determined that she just “can’t have the baby now.” My friend, who doesn’t watch the show regularly, wanted to know why she kept saying she didn’t want to have the baby.

When I was pregnant with my son, I never really thought much about what came AFTER the pregnancy. Namely, you know, the whole labor and then birthing part. I was pretty much caught up in the here and now. A total “Your baby week-by-week” sort of momentum. I knew at some point I would have to deal with it, but - well I just didn’t want to think about it. Not right then anyway, because the chapter that week talked about how my baby had arm buds finally. And really, that is so far away from birth, so let’s wait until we get to THAT chapter, shall we?

Week-by-week was manageable for me. One week, it was time to schedule or sign up for birthing classes. A few weeks later, it was time for us to actually go to the classes.

So, we went, pillows in hand. Really, what could be so bad about it if there were pillows there? Not just any pillows, but our very own - the same comforting pillows we snuggled up to every night.

The first couple weeks of class were great. We got to know a few other couples who were due around the same time. Plus - there were cookies there! And juice and muffins, too. Hey, even the movies weren’t THAT bad. This birthing thing was all cookies and juice, man. I can SO do this.

Then, one week, there was “The Demonstration.” The Demonstration involved - I kid you not - the skeleton (skeleton = DEAD bones!) of a pelvis, and a doll.

The instructor stood in front of our semi-circle arranged, fluffy-pillows from home padded chairs. She held the pelvis (bones!) in front of her own pelvis, and then walked us through each stage of labor and birth with the doll.

The first five minutes were ok. Yeah, ok I get it - the baby drops through there, then goes through the other side.

The next hour and a half 15 minutes seemed to drag on endlessly. I was starting to get a little light-headed from the details. Oh, wow. I was feeling REALLY dizzy. I needed to lay down. NOW. Or, at least put my head between my knees. Only - I’m in this room full of people and uhh - yeah have you ever seen a seven and a half month pregnant woman TRY to tie her shoes? Much less put my fucking head between my knees.

After that I don’t know what the instructor said. It was all lost in the tunnel-like hearing, and the slow creep of grey fog across my vision. I managed to tell my husband that I think I needed some juice - while trying to stay calm and unnoticed by the rest of the class.

I do remember the instructor commenting that I had turned completely white - and did I need anything?

“uhhhm, just a little juice I think. I’m just a little dizzy.”

I don’t remember much but somehow I made it through the class. Some people worried it might be pre-term labor. Others noted the possibility that I might be dehydrated.

I really don’t think there was a medical cause for it. Honestly, I can relate to Claire’s emphatic statements of “I can’t have the baby right now.” The realization hit her as suddenly as it hit me that night in class.

The realization of this: The person, right here in my oh so NOT small belly, somehow has to make its way out of what I suddenly remembered was my OH SO NOT LARGE VAGINA.

“Hello, I am calling to clarify your request for information.  You would like me to tell you how much of A’s assets are allocated to the space at location B, is that correct?”

“Well, no.  Actually - I need to identify how much of A’s assets are allocated to the space at location B.”

…


Yeah, except that is what I JUST. EFFING. SAID.  I’ll go ahead and venture the guess that your salary is three times higher than mine.  ISN’T IT?!  This is so ridiculous.  How does such an idiot get to be so high up on the ladder?  Meanwhile the actual talent in a company is stuck under the thumb of higher-ups who can never get enough of themselves.

Can someone tell me WHEN, exactly, did my life become a goddamn Dilbert cartoon?

Apparently I have some TPS reports to do.

Ok, I saw a commercial with the King from one of those commercials tonight…Yeah, he totally freaks me out.

WHY WHY WHY is he just lurking right next to someone… in his bed? With that face - the mouth all gaping open with the scary clown-face of terror going on… oh, helll no. (I won’t even go into the place with the ACTUAL creepy-kid-friendly-clown). Jerzey was right - and those commercials are just ALL wrong. Not to mention… Hooty. What in the HELL is going on here? First of all, Hooty, what happened? Did no one want to hold your hand? Come on, really. Is that why you went all cowboy cheese “chedderrrr ranch” and ten gallon headgear? Seriously. And, dude - is that Christina Aguilera picking nasty-ass burgers off a tree and then getting hoochy with Pink on the railroad see-saw? I’ll accept the fact that it’s only there so they can take turns bending over, but damn.

WTF is going on at Burger King? Are they selling burgers or tuna? Fuck.

Just a little shout out to the marketing geeks at BK:

We’re not buyin’. But not because your commercials suck. Uhm… it’s the food - if you you insist on calling it that.
Dress it up, crown it, hell - ho it your way all you like.Seriously.