Gross-Out Blog

DISCLAIMER (though really, to be fair, un-needed, you all know what you are getting into and with almost every post there is an accompanying admission that it will probably bore all readers):

If you are uninterested in what one elitist snob I know called a "whine blog" please proceed elsewhere. While the rest of you may have drugs or shrinks or healthy, non-busy, in the same city, same-sex friends to entertain your issues and coddle you through them, I do not. This is therapeutic and the only way I keep myself from riddling my ACTUAL life and all the people in it with endless psychosis and actually make it through every day. SO, if you don't like it, fuck off. I will stop by to read your endlessly brilliant analysis of Band of Horses and There Will Be Blood, later. Probably not. BO-RING.

;) I say that with teasing affection of course. I just had an obnxious weekend of a pseudo-break-up with someone I was never with--over texting, no less; feeling perilously let down regarding a friend's maybe-addiction; having NOTHING to wear; falling down, being manhandled and borderline abused and then called a bitch repeatedly. So I had a moment of venting to do. Not even about you, button, turnip, poodle, schnauzer. The good news was I hit my first NBA game. And we won. An unceremonious, not super-well played game, but a win nonetheless. And I could use a win.

END DISCLAIMER
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Last night, I was standing at the window picking my nose and found myself staring at a pink foam Princess magnet that my sister sent me. I don't generally like to put things actually ON my refrigerator, as it would so detract from the dirty hippy motif that rules the home/fridge and ruin the carefully crafted illusion that I do not really live there.

Fresh out of the shower (which, I must mention, has become an ever-increasingly ugly prospect, this whole bathing thing. Mid-November Denver in a crappy-insulated house in a room that doesn't belong or have a vent just does NOT welcome wet legs. Sigh.) I stood at my window staring out at the far-too-early darkness, wrapped in towel, and thought just how much I had grown into that pink foam above-my-bed- label. A delicate, sea-shell princess, this one. Of course, the sort of princess that, just now when I was itching my ear, I accidentally wedged a strand of hair in the waxy canal. When I pulled it out...I liked it. That sort of princess.

But really, outside of that, I have come to have very high expectations. I find myself feeling satisfied less often and critical more. I have been a little irritable, relative to my normal mood. I have been feeling wider swings of emotion. I seriously considered trying to get back on some meds. I mean, I realize that PMDD is clearly a fictitious diagnosis aimed at giving people who don't have the time/motivation to get any therapy nor have any real, serious problem, a little boost to get em past the rough patches. This is ok with me. Unlike Tom Cruise, I have no problem with needless mind-altering drugs being prescribed to treat the symptoms and not the cause. That sounds just right.

BUT, because even that would really take more effort than I am willing to put out, I decided to take advantage of some of my monthly automatic withdrawals. No, no, this is not the time right before that time when I get reclusive and pouty like clockwork. I am referring to those purchases, long-term contracts, if you will that take $16, $25, even $35 out of my checking account each month and have gone neglected far too long.

I have returned to 24-Hour Fitness. My hips hurt, I am pretty sure that I don’t actually do anything particularly fruitful there and those guys with the shiny gloves and the biceps that are bigger than my head (by a lot, for reals) truly give me the creeps. But I am pretty sure I am getting my money’s worth. Right.

I also went back to tan. Or, rather back to orange. And all of this brassy-bronze, gyrating and squeezing really made me realize how much I dislike jiggling all over. So, I have also back a glorious WeightWatchers comeback (though I have yet to finish a week ON program, a feat that has eluded me since October LAST year) and am totally certain that in just a few short weeks, I will be JUST like the woman that teaches the pole dancing class I took.

Side note: I plan on climbing backwards up a pole by this time next year, if not sooner, due to my rapidly perfecting physique. Duh. I am taking donations, as it is what I want for Christmas. The class, you fools, not the ability. But if you know someone who can get me that, right on.
But all of these new operations, along with my general inability to feel stable and organized or even productive about them has left me feeling intolerably antsy. Even as I type this, my finger keeps wandering to my mouth, trying to fish out the hunk of lip I just bit off. That’s right, it’s a nervous habit. Anxiety + oral fixation = Holey Lips, Batman!

But it is not just those things. I am nervous about money of late. Mine, Citibank’s, my family’s, Fanny’s and Freddy’s and Eddy’s and who knows. I just don’t know if I have the gumption to make it through a depression. Depression, yes. But A depression? Sheesh. Well, at least I would have my stripping to fall back on. You know, it is a cousin of the world’s oldest profession, she’ll hook us up. Get it? Hook?

Additionally, I am having a major relapse of quarter-life crisis, obsessing over wasted time, missed opportunities, ones that I am GOING to miss if I don’t get my shit together, all kinds of useless thoughts that actually PREVENT action while requiring it. What a mindfuck.

At this moment I look for other jobs daily WHILE I try to stick with this one in hopes of a promotion/bonus. But there is the looming idea that we will just go extinct, here, in our ultra-floundering business. That’s comforting. I want to travel but have no money. I want to take this dance class but have no money. I need new glasses, want to mail a package, think my brakes are about to go out, would love a new car, new boots, to go back to school but I have no money. And I don’ t think any is coming my way.

Lost in the confusion of all this (to which one can add sporadic stresses of what is feeling like an increasingly chaotic magazine-work element to my life) I want to apply to grad school and am totally paralyzed by laziness (first of all), the total disorganization of trying to figure out what needs to be done to do it (could be helped—though not alleviated—if I weren’t so lazy. Lazy and, honestly, scared. Scared that I wouldn’t get in, sure. I AM applying to pretty unattainable schools (NYU and Northwestern, I think). But that’s not even the primary concern. Scared that I would get in, maybe. Scared to think about a change that huge. Scared to put that much into it and have it be all for naught, unnecessary, stupid, laughable even. I have already DONE that, for chrissake.

I can’t even sit still at my desk. I keep flipping back and forth in windows, opening new tabs on my IE, not even using them, trying to find the track list to Finally, Lillian and Dan, ONLY b/c it would be a good distraction, getting up and wandering into other people’s cubes so that they can be as disturbed and unproductive as myself, getting smacked—quite literally, slapped in the face—by my boss, feeling the crazy coffee jitters of some insanely high-caffeine brew on a small cup of Crispix, feeling like I desperately need to make a list and not even knowing what to put on it (no idea! Of what? What to do? In what period of time? With what money and time? Where do I start? Do I even HAVE things to do?). I even looked up Princess in urbandictionary. I keep opening my iTunes and staring at it blindly. Should I get something? Should I organize it? Add to it? Even turn it on? (It has been open and non-functional now for two hours, currently I think that music would only make me CRAZIER!)

All while pointedly NOT doing my job. I have done literally nothing this week. Other than show up late, take ten minutes too long at lunch, do my OTHER job while here, MASTER JoJo’s Fashion show and Games.com, waste time, money, effort, energy and still not do the ONE. MUNDANE. MIND-NUMBING thing I should do for this company. I SHOULD get fired. For sure.
But then who would they slap?