Pretty is as pretty does

Boring, boring, boring

Something's been bothering me lately, people. And today I was pushed over the edge, justifying a blog entry. You know.

Yes, something's been bothering me all right. Something called Boring People. This town's lousy with them. Perfectly attractive, nice, social people with no interests and nothing whatever to say about anything, ever. Is it just me, trying too hard to be interesting, or is vanilla now everybody's  favorite color? No wonder the rest of the world hates us. We're not arrogant. We're not gluttons. We're just boring.

Today at lunch one of the coworkergirls was bemoaning her lack of Knowing People Outside the Office. She moved here a year ago, roughly six months before I did, and I guess she's getting sick of hanging out with our coworkers (shocker). She wanted us to give her some ideas for how to meet people. So we asked her a series of questions, the transcript of which appears below:

"Do you go/want to go to church?"

"No."

"Do you play/want to play a sport?"

"No."

"Are you interested in taking art classes?"

"No."

"Joining a book club?"

"Ugh, no."

"Learning to dance? Swing, ballroom, even hip hop?"

"Those all sound horrible."

"Volunteering?"

"Anh."

"Okay, how about hiking or kayaking?"

"God, no."

Other things were suggested, like leading a Girl Scout troop or auditioning for a play, but each was rejected with a more extreme eye roll than the last. I started to wonder. What does this person DO in her spare time, and why does she expect any reasonable human to do it with her? We kind of gave up after about 15 minutes and started suggesting places where she could meet men. The wine bar, the Fresh Market, the gym...which she dismissed en masse, saying, "Lord, I wouldn't be caught dead in any of those places." When told that pretty boys often frequent places like that, she answered that she didn't like pretty boys. She likes "sporty boys, and a little fluffy."

"What?"

"Fluffy. You know."

"Metrosexual?"

"Ugh, hell no."

I never figured out what she meant by that. We were all confused, and a little disturbed by her complete lack of interest in anything whatsoever and her judgmental dismissal of everything that might jump start her social life. As we were paying our bills, one of the guys who works here offered to set her up with one of his guy friends (God help him) this Saturday night. She answered that she was going to  throw a girls' night for some of the other coworkergirls that night. So far I have not been invited, and I figure if I sit at my desk very quietly tomorrow it will stay that way.

Dear Winston-Salem people:

Specifically the guy I gave the finger to in traffic on my way home from lunch today...

You are stupid. You don't know how to drive. You have apparently not heard of a little thing called merging, wherein people try to get on the interstate...Dude, they're supposed to pull out in front of you. Otherwise they'd just sit there on the onramp all day. And YOU'RE supposed to be a non-dick and let them in, not speed up to keep them from merging in. (You should also not whiz past them and then take the exit. That behavior also has a high dick factor.)

When I pulled out in front of you and you laid on your horn, that told me that you saw me trying to get in but chose to be an ass anyway. Sorry your kid had to see you get the finger.

Dude, you should not ever, ever go to Atlanta if you don't like seeing people merge. I'm just saying. Don't be surprised to find your description and license plate # listed on www.stupidredneckdrivers.com.

Winston-Salem drivers are the worst I've ever seen, and I've driven in Boston, where any kind of shit goes as long as nobody gets killed. The funny thing is that these are probably the same people I hear in the grocery store complaining about onramps backing up into the streets downtown.  This is one wack town.

Merge, people, merge.

Other new business...

Today is Weasel's 3rd birthday. :-( Um, didn't I just get her from that ol' barn back in Georgia? I guess that time machine I bought off the Innernet to turn her back into a kitten did not work. Threats have also failed. She insists on being a snarky grownup cat. Rahr.

You know who you are

"You don't appreciate the chaos and absurdity of life on this planet. you don't understand irony, or ethnicity, or eccentricity, or poetry, or the simple joy of being a regular at the diner on your block. i love that. you don't drink coffee or alcohol. you don't over eat. you don't cry when you're alone. you don't understand sarcasm. you plod through life in a neat, colorless, caffeine free, dairy free, conflict free way. i'm bold and angry and tortured and tremendous and i notice when someone has changed their hair part, or when someone is wearing two very distinctly different shades of black or when someone changes the natural temperment of their voice on the phone. i don't give out empty praise. i'm not complacent or well-adjusted. i can't spend fifteen minutes breathing and stretching and getting in touch with myself. i can't spend three minutes finishing an article. i check my answering machine nine times every day and i can't sleep at night because i feel that there is so much to do and fix and change in the world and i wonder every day if i am making a difference and if i will ever express the greatness within me or if i will remain forever paralyzed by muddled madness inside my head. i've wept on every birthday i've ever had because life is huge and fleeting and i hate certain people and certain shoes and i feel that life is terribly unfair and sometimes beautiful and wonderful and extraordinary but also numbing and horrifying and insurmountable and i hate myself a lot of the time. the rest of the time i adore myself and i adore my life in this city and in this world we live in. this huge and wondrous, bewildering, brilliant, horrible world."

It's weird when you're watching deleted scenes from a movie and you hear yourself talking. Nevermind that you're a dork for watching deleted scenes, but whatever.

My life: Fun at the laundromat

toothpaste for dinner!!

I wish this ziploc bag of brownies would get out of my life

What is wrong with me? There's a sack of brownies on the counter, so I just have to eat the whole thing? I can't be an adult and take some to my coworkers? No, that would be too easy.

Sigh. If I had real problems, life would be different.

Sorry for the grammar lesson yesterday. I understand that it was weird. I knew this at the time I posted it. But it had to be said.

Oh, I almost forgot the Weasel Report. Last night we had a monster thunderstorm just as I was coming home from work. I walked in and sensed something was amiss. I heard a scrowling noise from the back of the house. Most likely Weasel, scared of the storm, I thought. But no! She came running out, somehow wearing part of a Wal Mart bag around her torso, like a little white plastic tutu. It looked like "somebody" had stolen a Wal Mart bag from I don't know where (speaking of things I don't need--a $600 vet charge to have a plastic bag removed from someone's small intestine...) and chewed through the bottom of it, leaving a Weasel-sized hole in it. How she got in that thing I'll never know.  I feel like these kinky parties go on when I'm at work.

That's all I got.

What is wrong with me? There's a sack of brownies on the counter, so I just have to eat the whole thing? I can't be an adult and take some to my coworkers? No, that would be too easy.

Sigh. If I had real problems, life would be different.

Sorry for the grammar lesson yesterday. I understand that it was weird. I knew this at the time I posted it. But it had to be said.

Oh, I almost forgot the Weasel Report. Last night we had a monster thunderstorm just as I was coming home from work. I walked in and sensed something was amiss. I heard a scrowling noise from the back of the house. Most likely Weasel, scared of the storm, I thought. But no! She came running out, somehow wearing part of a Wal Mart bag around her torso, like a little white plastic tutu. It looked like "somebody" had stolen a Wal Mart bag from I don't know where (speaking of things I don't need--a $600 vet charge to have a plastic bag removed from someone's small intestine...) and chewed through the bottom of it, leaving a Weasel-sized hole in it. How she got in that thing I'll never know.  I feel like these kinky parties go on when I'm at work.

That's all I got.

Up yours, old lady

I haven't ranted about anything today, so just for the sake of getting my RDA I'll write about this thing the ladies do here--they probably do it in your town too. Or maybe it's just me, and they're out to get me. Either way sounds right. But little old ladies, I swear if you don't quit it with the little tiny shopping carts in Eckerds pharmacy...They really creep me out. They make you look like GIANT little old ladies. And you pack them full of Coke fridge packs and bottled water, and I think, "That little cart wasn't designed to haul that size load. That whole big thing of Aquafina is gonna roll right off and land on somebody's foot. Probably mine." And then when I get up to the counter with my little thing of gummy bears, there you are. With your little circular you ripped out of the newspaper. You're hassling the teenager at the register because she won't give you two 12-packs of water for the same price as the 24-pack, which was actually on sale. You're pointing with your little hooked finger.

"Look here, missy. It says it right there in this-here paper." Poke, poke, poke. "24 bottles of water for 8.99. You got to sell it to me."

Then you try to make me and everybody else wait while you go back and get the generic brand, which you prob'ly should have gotten in the first place, because DAMN, it's water. The same stuff that comes out of the hose in the yard.

And I KNOW you can move faster than this, because I saw this little old lady frickin' BOOKING IT across Peachtree Road in Atlanta on Saturday. So let's move this shit along.

You old bag.

OK people, is there dip or not?

So I couldn't get in sync with the dip-enjoyment that went on at work today. Sometime in the past the bosslady declared Valentines Day Dip Day--perhaps in remembrance of all the "dips" in our lives...Anyway, today was obviously the day, but since I was out yesterday I didn't get the reminder. I came to work to find that no one had apparently brought dip. This galled me, and I just kind of sat here thinking "maybe those bastards in the art department made dip for themselves and aren't telling anybody and it's over there being kept out of plain sight." Well, it wasn't.

Late this afternoon I heard that there was serious dip action to be had in the other building, so I went over there to find guacamole with a kind of skin growing on it, a couple of bags of chips that looked like somebody had used them to fight off an intruder or possibly a rabid dog, and not much else. Sigh. I had some guacamole skin with some chip shards mixed in and came back here only to find that those bastards over there *did* have dip, they just didn't get around to putting it out till I was already over the whole thing. Happy Valentine's Day to me!

Do you ever have days like that?

I may have had it coming. I watched my fourth consecutive Bachelor episode last night, and I'm beyond the shame of admitting I've gotten involved.

Favorite quotes from Susan, the girl who got kicked off:

"I agree! People who always agree with you are sooooooooo annoying!"

"Oh, yes, I like relaxing environments..."

I should have titled this posting "How life could be worse: Confessions of a Bachelor contestant."

You have no power over me

You know that dream you have where one of your legs doesn't work but you try to walk anyway? Or where you're trying to tell a crowd of people something, but all that comes out of your mouth is some dead language like ancient Sumerian? Or you're dancing with David B--wait, no, that was a movie. Anyway, I feel like that just walking around this town...only here there's no creepy-hot king of the weirdos to tell them to all go away. Here are a few things that make this town, hee hee, *special.*

• When you go to the Zaxby's drive-thru, one intercom voice greets you, and a second confirms your order and thanks you. The same thing essentially happens when you try to renew your driver's license or transfer a car title. Why is this?
• You have to say everything twice over the phone or at any kind of customer service counter. You will be prompted to provide the repeat by one simple question: "Do what now?"
• When making any kind of retail purchase, the cashier will always tell you your total very authoritatively, like your ass better tender payment immediately, but then ignore you holding out your cash for a good minute or so while she tidies up around the register or replaces her supply of plastic bags. This one gets me perhaps more than any other weirdness around here. Why ask me to hand over the dough and then act like I'm not standing there? And people wonder why things move slower in the South...
• The maintenance dudes for your house will only come once to try and fix something. If, say, your bathtub is stopped up and they don't fix it on the first try, you have to put in a second maintenance request to get them to come out again. I'm thinking about just buying the house to get rid of these boys.
• Middle-aged couples call each other Mama and Daddy, even though their kids are nowhere in sight and are probably grown up anyway.

I think I'm having one of those weeks where I pretend I'm living in Paris or somewhere. Sigh.

Bringing someone to the wedding

The following is a transcript of yet another bizarre conversation had with my mother. Said conversation concerns my brother's wedding this summer.

Mom: I asked Deb if it was ok if you brought somebody to the wedding, and she said it was.

Me: Oh, good!

Mom: And by the way, I'm getting a new bed for your room in time for the wedding. What do you think, a queen?

Me: Oh, so me and my date are gonna sleep in it?

Mom: Huh?

Me: My date. He has to have somewhere to sleep.

Mom: What are you talking about?

Me: My date, mom. As in, the person I might bring to the wedding.

~~~~Awkward silence~~~~

Me: It's possible.

Mom: I didn't say it wasn't possible. What?

Me: Listen, I'm a human being, I once in a blue moon go out on a date.

Mom: This is the first *I've* heard of it.

Oh, for Pete's sake. My mother thinks I'm asexual. She is utterly confused now--more so since I told her I was going to get a hotel room while I'm in town. Never mind that it has nothing whatsoever to do with bringing a date--who knows if I'll even do that. It's fun being in my family.

In other news...

I had a really strange dream last night.

Scene 1--A bunch of guys are lying in a row on the floor at the foot of a bed watching TV. Suddenly a burst of air comes out of the TV and blows their pants and underwear off. They all go "Whoooooooooa!" and laugh hysterically. Scene 2--Same guys, same scene, only they are naked and all but two of them are lying on their stomachs with their heads under the bed. More guys are hanging off the foot of the bed smacking their butts. Two chubby guys are under a blanket kind of wiggling around. I ask what's going on. Some voice "off camera" asks, "What, you don't like to see fatties humpin'?"

What do you think THAT means, other than that I forgot to take my meds yesterday?

Word, to the people who call me regularly and leave long VM messages that don't really communicate any information

And you slow-talkers KNOW who you are.

The acceptable length for a voicemail message is between 5-10 seconds. Name, short blurb about what you want from me, hang up. This is very important. In order for me to delete a message, I have to listen to it in its entirety. Therefore, when you call me and leave a message like the following, I am unlikely to finish listening to it, thus meaning that my mailbox fills up and you can't leave ANY messages for me at all, and thus meaning that at some point I have to listen to a long string of 25 messages like the following in one sitting just to be able to get one I actually need to listen to:

"H--eyyyyyyyyyy, Eeeeeeeem, it's meeeeeeeee...Um, I'm...just...you know...siiiiiiiiitting heeeeeere...Soooo, you know, whenever you get in or whatever, I don't know, call me or something. I think you said you were going out--or did you say you were going out but would be back by 9? I forget. Well. I'll still be siiiiiiiiiiiitting here, I don't know, for another three hooooours or so...if you wanna call...me...baaaack...or something. If I don't pick up, I'll...call ya right...back..."

RAHR.