I’m sitting here at my computer desk and Esteban is listening some strange wacked disk he made. So far, we’ve heard ‘Mighty Quinn’ (as in, you’ve not heard nothing like’ a song I detest for the double negative), ‘Bawditdibaw’ by Kid Rock, and now ‘Kyrie’ by Mister Mister. It’s like the musical equivalent of a badly planned dinner party. The guest of honor has been placed between the woman her husband had a messy affair with and someone who speaks only Polish, and somewhere at the table, a guest has actually died and is sitting face down in the lobster bisque, but no one wants to mention it.
Oh God, now it’s NIN’s ‘Closer’. He followed up Mister Mister with freaking NIN. He’s nothing if not eclectic. It’s like the CD is wearing red plaid pants with a purple striped tank top and a bolo tie. It’s hurting my ears’ and I LIKE Nine Inch Nails.
Maybe because I just updated Quoted (and it almost sucked the life out of me’ man, that crap’s not easy) or maybe because I just don’t have the energy to do a real update, but I’m cleaning out my Sent Items’ and it’s amazing these little things that crack me up’ I need help. Seriously. Send help.
Thank you for your caring words for my loss of Starbucks Guy. In my heart of hearts, I have a feeling I will see him again. I think he will return. I think Madison will be empty for him. Or maybe he will just become a brief pinpoint of light on the night sky that is my map of flirtatious glances. He may have another kicky curvy girl with cool tunes in a cool car drive through his Starbucks. He may even run out to greet her car in the drive thru. He might just even give her a free coupon for a free beverage of her choice to ensure that she returns. But I’m certain that it won’t be the same. She’ll just be a pale imitation of the magic we had. And that will be a very very sad thing. For everyone.
I am all girlie and gross right now. God, I hate estrogen. I don’t feel as sharp. I think I may go suck the insides out of a dozen Advil liqui-gels and watch Lifetime: For Women.
As though there were a Lifetime: For Men???
I hope your balls feel better soon!
Don’t hate that you have martyrdom tendencies. Revel in it. Take long languid showers in your tears of self-sacrifice. Polish your sanctimonious looks. I think that as we age, we don’t change but rather become more ourselves. Sartre thought that it was inevitable. I tend to follow Sartre and Camus in my own philosophy, but they’re overly depressing and have that entire “free will” argument all sticky and stuff. I don’t think, though, that you are as martyrish as you think. You know how to take care of your own needs… in fact, better than other people. That’s self preserving.
Oh that was all so hippy that I think my legs sprouted a downy coat of hair and my eyebrows need waxing. I’ll be quiet now.
I have infinitely more respect for Martha than for Oprah because Oprah acts like a down-home girlfriend but in reality, she’s above all of that. Martha acts snobby and isn’t afraid to admit that she relishes caviar and fine champagne. Oprah has an attitude that she’s scrubbing the floor of her own apartment and doesn’t it feel good to make it sparkle? Martha never pretends that she’s the one cleaning the chicken poo out of her nice chicken house. She’s too busy making new clay garden pots look like old clay garden pots. Because that’s a good thing. She recognizes that true gentry adore the sense of permanence. Oprah would have nothing to do with those old clay pots. She’d buy new ones. That’s the difference. But don’t let Oprah annoy you. She’s clueless. She doesn’t know any better.
I think you’re either a Martha person or an Oprah person. It’s inherent, like eye color and no amount of nurturing can change that. My mother is a Martha, as are the rest of my family, but she pretends to be an Oprah. Buffy is a Martha, Xander is an Oprah. “Everybody Loves Raymond”s Ray Romano is an Oprah. Jennifer Love Hewitt is, to my shame, a Martha. The Pet Shop Boys are Marthas, as are REM. The B-52s are Oprahs, but more for their audacity rather than their fashion sense. Esteban is an Oprah… we’re a mixed marriage. Maybe eventually, we will be technologically advanced enough to determine this with some sort of biological test.
Have you heard about the Card Exchange? Remember’ prizes! A chance at receiving a Two-Of-A-Kind Weetamix CD. It may just be the coolest thing you get all year! (God, and if it is, let maybe you should reexamine or point your family and friends in the direction of the nearest Pottery Barn or something? I’m just saying.)
