Tag Archives: existential crisis

March madness

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It’s a good thing I am in good with the powers of the universe because the last few weeks have been bumpy. Emotionally, March is like landing a duct-taped regional jet with a wicked crosswind on the twelve feet of runway Logan Airport can afford. At the end of the twelve feet is the harbor and an LNG tanker, so you see how the stakes are high. November of course stabs me, but March sees me hanging by my feet twitching as the last drops of blood drain away from my head. And then something wondrous occurs from all that oxygen deprivation, and god starts talking to me.

Now, don’t get too ruffled. My god is a pretty lowercase kind of ultimate love, a safety net of interconnected interests rather than a personification. I call it god because I simply do not have a better word. This year, god is telling me we’re in for a flood, but it will be OK. I kind of preferred three years ago when god told me to take up learning Chinese and buy tickets to Spain, but apparently god is not a fan of the exchange rate now.

Last night, Mr. H took it up on himself to show me many links about horrible things happening to dogs. An artist in Honduras, or possibly Guatemala (all those countries look alike), tied up a manky stray dog in a gallery and instructed gallery patrons not to feed the dog. The dog starved to death over several days. The internet responded to the news with all-caps comments about castration, and the pictures were quite sad. Horrible point about how human are sheep and horrible point about how we walk by starving animals and people in the street on a daily basis and also do nothing. I like to think I would have fed the dog and called the damn police, but I am not sure if the Honduran P.D. would have been all that moved.

Then ol’ Mr. H showed me a video of a Marine holding a puppy, and whaddya know, he throws that little fuzzball off a cliff! I live under a rock, and I had not heard of that one. Apparently some people are making the point that the average YouTube looky loo cares not for actual people dying in Iraq (brown or otherwise), but puppies? Do NOT fuck with puppies! I was going to a candle-lit vigil for ending the Iraq war yesterday, but it was sleeting, and I decided not to take a ybab out in that. Oh. ALL-CAPS COMMENT ABOUT PUBLIC FLOGGING.

I was so pissed that now I have to pray for all of these assholes, including Mr. H, who could have kept these things to himself. In fact, I have to pray for the whole damn internet. This is going to take a while. If you need me, I’ll be in my grotto.

Clinging tenaciously to my buttocks

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Darlinks, medicine I have had nothing to write. I have been experiencing excellent customer service, and thus reeling in shock. Why, I got a letter from Blue Cross, Blue Shield, and they said “WE WILL NOT PAY! NOOOOOO!” And I said “Surely this is but a minor misunderstanding, for I always operate within policy,” and I called and said “Surely this is but a minor misunderstanding,” and they put me on hold for 30 seconds while I listened to their selection of “Everbody Have Fun Tonight.” Then the representative came back on the line and said “You are absolutely correct! This is our mistake, and we will reprocess the claim on our end. You need do nothing further but prop up your feet and book a massage. Here is my name, direct line, and confirmation number. Have a pleasant day.”

So then I died of joy, and I will probably have to call them again about the whopping bill I will receive from my ybab for use of a defibrillator to revive me. Only it was more like a few fridge magnets and a rolling pin that she used, so I am NOT paying for that.

Right now, on this blessed leap day, ybab is feeling poorly. She has come down with some sort of rhinovirus owing to her father placing her in that filth-encrusted plastic racecar shopping cart. Why, did you know, he did not wipe it down with carbolic acid, nor did he steam clean and Simonize her upon returning home? I publicly shame and renounce him!

And double renouncing for even putting her in that hellish chariot in the first place, because now she will accept no substitutes. There is nothing quite like getting a dirty look from an enormous woman (who probably drives an enormous SUV and routinely straddles two lines on the public thoroughfares) because one cannot maneuver past the onions quickly enough for her liking when one is pushing a disease-riddled Sherman tank of infant entertainment. One thinks “My life has come to this.” One moves on, stiff upper lip. One gives up and weeps openly as the wheels of the beast get stuck on the freezer case for the sixteenth time. My willowy arms are simply not powerful enough!

What r u into???

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I went to the library yesterday, and it seems that the Dewey Decimal Classification had been downgraded to a “fun suggestion.” Did I miss a state law? I could not find any of the books I sought. My life is the poorer due to my inability to locate “Let’s Sue Ourselves: A Guide to Dissuading Idiot Condo Association Members From Frivolous Lawsuits,” “Arson for Profit,” “How to Force Your Toddler to Eat,” and “So, You Can’t Remember What You Used to Enjoy Because You’ve Been Slogging Through Functional Depression For So Long.”

Oh, hell, I just have January! It is related to November in the DSM. I am going to knit the world’s longest scarf!

I write Andy Rooney’s best stuff

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OMG! Target double-charged me for something, and I did not notice. This is what I get for being so super rich that I do not care what things cost. Er, this is what I get for shopping with a Tasmanian devil and blindly clawing at the “AMT OK” button. So I was all bitches, give me back my $40, and we played a round of “Well, where’s the item you are returning?” Not returning, there is nothing to return (how EXISTENTIAL). I am keeping the one thing I did want. It is at my house kthx. “Well, why didn’t you bring it in?” Why, indeed, when I am keeping it. So they were all “Oh we do not believe you. This is clearly an elaborate ruse to defraud us out of $39.99 so you can go buy crack.” At last the sullen millenial or whatever we call college students now allowed that the security guy was back from lunch and could review the tape of the transaction. That $39.99 went right back on my titanium card. You better believe it. YOU KIDS TODAY.

Then I got my new glasses prescription filled, and everyone in the world got 22% less attractive now that I can actually see. Oh no!

I also bought a turtleneck.

I had a surprisingly good experience with Verizon Wireless the other day. I called, someone answered, and changed the thing I wanted changed. How pleasant! And unlike the rest of Verizon. I didn’t even have to shout “HUMAN! HUMAN!” at the automated system.

I lost a sippy cup at airport security because it contained water instead of the allowed juice. Oh, the ethical dilemma! I “declared” my cup as suggested, but then when asked what was in it, I forgot to could not tell a lie and admitted it was water. I asked if they could dump the water for me, and they said they could not open containers because a container might contain something hazardous to a screener. Fair enough, but then how on earth can you enforce the juice rule if you never see what’s in the cup? If I said “This kerosene jug is juice for my ybab,” they would take me at my word? They gave me the option to take my bags, ybab, and the friendly sky cap sherpaing the carseat back through security to empty the cup myself, and I said “Oh no, you keep it! I insist. Look, it has a ladybug on it!” And then they dumped the potentially hazardous material in a trash can six inches away from the screener. Oh well, consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, and there are nothing but big thinkers at the Department of Homeland Security. Also: no one asked to see i.d. for my ybab. Note to evildoers: free pass if you are under 36 inches tall!

MarthaStewart.com ruined my dinner by not seamlessly porting over all my recipe bookmarks after their redesign. I tried making “This page no longer exists. You will be redirected to the home page in ten seconds,” and it totally sucked. Mr. H felt I used to maybe put in milk before I put in the oven, but neither of us could really remember. I’d complain about this, but they still provide no discernible way to reach a human. What really gets me is that I bet the Web staff sit around in meetings patting each other on the back about how they have a 100% decrease in Web site complaints. I am going to disconnect my phone and email addresses to achieve the same goal!

I am sure many other taxing things have recently happened to me, and I will be sure to return and recount them in detail as painful as the initial experience. Caring is sharing! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go invest in gold and trip a skateboarder.

NOW I know how Joan of Arc felt

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This just in: it’s stinking November! Didn’t I just warn you about this? Faaaaack. It’s too early to go to the Caribbean.

Dismember? Nofunever? I will think of the perfect Novemberism right after I post, I’m sure. Nonmember. That’s me. The Democratic Party called the other to thank me for my generous donation a few years ago. I said yes I am so nice like that, the things I do for those children, but what good did it do? And the poor lady read a script about all the ways they screwed up and all the things they are going to do differently next time around, and would I consider doubling my donation? I said I had left the party. I don’t know if this is true, but I am not about to part with my no money yet. But please don’t start out by telling me how you suck when you want to ask me for money.

Me? Oh, I am fine, thanks for asking! More about me: Last night I got hella free candy because I had the foresight to have offspring. That made it all worthwhile, let me tellyoo. Abdominal surgery, sleepless nights, and the occasional poop on the floor? Certainly a bargain price of a snack-size Kit-Kat! Oh, give me a break, give me a break! Break me off a piece of that.

Allrighty, what’s good about November? How psyched are you for November? Guy Fawkes day!!!!!! That is in November. Thanksgiving is in November, and that’s generally fun if you put aside historical context and all. I make a mean quinoa pilaf. Veteran’s Day, well, that could be a downer. Depends on who you ask. Halloween candy on sale? Don’t need that and would not want to catch obesity from looking at it funny either. Christmas decorations will slowly start to become more contextually appropriate. I think we should just neatly excise October and November from the calendar. Halloween can be moved to September, right after my 25th birthday. The Vomitola calendar is awesome. St. Croix’s Day is a real day! So is “everyone’s attractive” day! Except that is not really true. We just pretend and feel better.

Handwashing is key

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October starts as a tickle in the back of your throat, a nagging little sensation that something bigger looms. I can get over this, you say. Let me take some zinc. The next thing you know, October has put a copy of “Star Wars: Episode I” in the dishwasher, unbeknownst to you. Why is there even a copy of that in this house? One can only blame A. Husband. Why did one marry someone with such poor taste? October is bungled logistics and petty grievances and the horror of taking a shower every day. October secretly arranged to go out to lunch with your Saturn Return and talk about you, and then they strike up a friendship born of shared distaste for you and stay up late on the phone, planning new pranks. I know, says October, I am going to call and ask if she has Prince Albert in a can! This wakes up a ybab, by the way.

If caught in time, October can be cured by a brisk walk and smoking an entire pack of cigarettes while listening to Ziggy Stardust on repeat five times. There is currently no vaccination for October, and even if there were, it would probably give you cankles and ennui. October is highly contagious. You may have contracted October just from reading this.

The only thing worse than October is November!

Oh, screw you, October, don’t make me take an adult ed pottery class. Don’t do me like that.

Getting to no

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I am still SELF-IMPROVING! No, really. I ate a vegetable. I did not smite anyone, even though I felt like it. And just between you and me and the tubes, there are a lot of people who could use a smiting these days! But that is kind of old school, smiting. These days we are “disappointed with the outcome but mindful of your sincere effort.” It is not the fault of the little creatures that they suck.

When kicking it old school, one usedta might cast one’s cares on to the Lord, but today, one casts one’s cares into a series of folders and calendars. The aim is the same: stop worrying about stupid crap. Maybe regrow a leg if you need one, or at least remember to research leg regrowth on the internet. I would like to grow the capacity for human love some day! I hear it is lovely. The internet tells me that my Asperger’s is acting up. It is October: no wonder. A wretched October day! Rhymes with holy. Er, rhymes with getting things so done that they are dead!

Don’t you love it when I rap crazy at you, internet? I have to go call my mortgage company now.

You can light a candle, or you can keep pissing in the dark

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Historically, I am really good at pissing in the dark. When I was infested with child, I would stumble into the bathroom at 3AM each night with my eyes closed and still manage to find the toilet. I wasn’t even awake, I don’t think. But in a bold break with tradition, I just ripped up my right shift key and took the waffle bit out from under it, rather than learn to shift with my left pinky finger. I mean, that was going OK, but I am older and just not adaptable anymore. Take me out back and shoot me.

My dad said that bit about the candle when we were on the phone a few weeks ago, and that sentiment is of course fraught with hilarity given my genetic background of half-assed solutions. My first phrase was probably “jury rig.” If you ever say “jerry-rig” to me, I will cut you. It’s just not right. There was some great meaning to what mine papa was saying, but I chose to ignore it and have a “Family Guy”-style mental diversion picturing Peter Griffin decked out in a periwig like Elton John, singing about pissing up a rope on a candle in the wind.

Recently, Mr. H overheard the following exchange at work and was trying to impart how “Family Guy” it was.

“So this lady who’s on maternity leave brings her baby in to show it off, and all the women are all ‘Ahhhhhhh, baby, ahhhhhh!’ and then they leave, and these two biddies on the other side of wall from me are quiet for a minute. And then one says ‘He’s all boy.’ And the other one says ‘Oh, yeah.'”

And I said “And then the second one took a sip of coffee? And it there was a really awkward long silence as they both looked at each other?”

“Yes!” he said. “Exactly.”

I am so glad we have the medium of television so as to better understand each other.