CO-WORKER: I watched a movie the other night, what's it called?--
ME: 'Better Off Dead?'
CO-WORKER: NO.
ME: It wasnt 'Better Off Dead?' Did it have John Cusack in it? Was it 'Grosse Pointe Blank?' 'Hot Tub Time Machine?'
CO-WORKER: No! It didn't have John Cusack in it!
ME: I bet it was 'Midnight In The Garden of Good And Evil.' I haven't even seen that. It looked good, though.
CO-WORKER: Stop it! It didn't have John Cusack in it! It was a Katherine Heigl movie.
ME: Oh. '37 Dresses' or whatever it was? You know, where she was a bridesmaid like a hundred times?
CO-WORKER: No! That was '27 Dresses.'--
ME: So was it 'Knocked Up'? That must be what it was.
CO-WORKER: It wasn't Knocked Up! Stop it!
ME: You must be thinking of Grey's Anatomy then. I bet you're just confused. Or '37 Dresses.' It was probably that.
CO-WORKER: Ohmygod, stop it. It's not fucking Grey's Anatomy! It was a movie! One that came out recently!
{walks away}
{later, via email}
ME: Check out this IMDB link. I bet you're thinking of Face Blind. It comes out next year, and she has face blindness in it, like when you can't even tell peoples' faces apart because they're all just like a blur. Also, check it out-- I never knew she was on Roswell!
{no response/end conversation}
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Friday, June 1, 2012
Those Long Days (Or: When The Pinata Sucks)
Some days really are undeniably longer than others; these are the days that each second that passes is thick with baggage (aka, those pesky damn emotions!), the days that each hour left before it ends weighs heavy and threatens never to come. The days when even a good cry doesn't solve it, and even whacking the fuck out of a pinata doesn't quite release the frustration.
I should be clear that this last bit actually happened today; I actually whacked the fuck out of a pinata. I whaled on that goddamn thing with an old school wooden bat like it was the head of a soulless zombie coming to dessert on my family after dining on my friends. And you know what? The fucking thing WOULDN'T BREAK. For a moment I was certain that I was on one of those hidden camera shows, convinced that somewhere there must be a concealed crew of people stifling snickers and waiting to jump out and yell "You've been Trick'd" or whatever those shows nowadays yell.
Alas, nobody jumped out. I kept whacking the thing with the bat, five times then ten times then maybe about fifteen times, and then finally-- FINALLY-- one corner of that star-shaped sonofabith cracked open. Success! Except....it was 75% filled with Bit O Honey, which nobody likes ever. (*Please, if you are a fan of that nasty little wax-wrapped beast feel free to let me know so I can send you a certificate of congratulations. I'll surely suspect you're a liar and thus blacklist you from any events where you'd be in charge of piñatas, but you deserve recognition for theoretically stomaching that madness.)
Noooooooooooooooooooooo!
URGENT NOTE: Did you click on that link and notice that according to wiki Bit O Honey also once produced something called "Bit O Licorice"?! That knowledge just made me feel exponentially better about this day. I would have died on the spot if Bit O Licorice had come out of that pinata today. Toe up, no joke. Some other lesser-known variations on popular candies are Mint Kit Kats and Orange Hershey Kisses (barf), although I take issue with the Bit O Honey being categorized as "popular." Who the fuck are they trying to kid here?
Anyway.
The candy isn't really the issue here, those pesky damn emotions are. Today was full of 'em: frustration, loneliness, hope, enthusiasm, disappointment, a dash more frustration, a little anger, some helplessness, and that castrated feeling of not having an outlet to let it all loose. Life has that scent of impossibility sometimes and today reeked of futility. I kept my game face on until most of it was over, and even when I caved into the overwhelming helplessness that sometimes comes with parenting, partnering, working, and LIVING-- I like to think I handled it with aplomb if not actual grace.
The seconds of today trickled by with the sluggishness of a daydreaming sloth and the outcome was hardly attractive: I made it through the self-described clusterfuck that was today at my job, and then stormed around at home for a little while after work and ignored Matt and Noa to throw myself into putting some favorite photos of Noa (like this one!) into frames; I cried red hot frustrated tears for a while-- the kind where you hiccup and gasp every now and then to catch your breath-- while trying to process the long day at work combined with the difficulties of life with a new live-in partner who's also newly co-parenting with me; afterward I went downstairs and begged a cigarette from a neighbor while wearing...uh....my nightgown. Sitting down to write tonight is quiet salvation, even though my content is vague and laden with obtuse reference.
Ultimately the pinata finally fucking broke for me, so today that is my victory. Life's never going to cut to some adorable scene where I skip through a sunny field holding a bouquet of wildflowers, so when the pinata breaks....I might as well stop for a moment and revel in the small victory, even if the damn thing is filled with Bit O Fucking Honey.
I should be clear that this last bit actually happened today; I actually whacked the fuck out of a pinata. I whaled on that goddamn thing with an old school wooden bat like it was the head of a soulless zombie coming to dessert on my family after dining on my friends. And you know what? The fucking thing WOULDN'T BREAK. For a moment I was certain that I was on one of those hidden camera shows, convinced that somewhere there must be a concealed crew of people stifling snickers and waiting to jump out and yell "You've been Trick'd" or whatever those shows nowadays yell.
Alas, nobody jumped out. I kept whacking the thing with the bat, five times then ten times then maybe about fifteen times, and then finally-- FINALLY-- one corner of that star-shaped sonofabith cracked open. Success! Except....it was 75% filled with Bit O Honey, which nobody likes ever. (*Please, if you are a fan of that nasty little wax-wrapped beast feel free to let me know so I can send you a certificate of congratulations. I'll surely suspect you're a liar and thus blacklist you from any events where you'd be in charge of piñatas, but you deserve recognition for theoretically stomaching that madness.)
URGENT NOTE: Did you click on that link and notice that according to wiki Bit O Honey also once produced something called "Bit O Licorice"?! That knowledge just made me feel exponentially better about this day. I would have died on the spot if Bit O Licorice had come out of that pinata today. Toe up, no joke. Some other lesser-known variations on popular candies are Mint Kit Kats and Orange Hershey Kisses (barf), although I take issue with the Bit O Honey being categorized as "popular." Who the fuck are they trying to kid here?
Anyway.
The candy isn't really the issue here, those pesky damn emotions are. Today was full of 'em: frustration, loneliness, hope, enthusiasm, disappointment, a dash more frustration, a little anger, some helplessness, and that castrated feeling of not having an outlet to let it all loose. Life has that scent of impossibility sometimes and today reeked of futility. I kept my game face on until most of it was over, and even when I caved into the overwhelming helplessness that sometimes comes with parenting, partnering, working, and LIVING-- I like to think I handled it with aplomb if not actual grace.
The seconds of today trickled by with the sluggishness of a daydreaming sloth and the outcome was hardly attractive: I made it through the self-described clusterfuck that was today at my job, and then stormed around at home for a little while after work and ignored Matt and Noa to throw myself into putting some favorite photos of Noa (like this one!) into frames; I cried red hot frustrated tears for a while-- the kind where you hiccup and gasp every now and then to catch your breath-- while trying to process the long day at work combined with the difficulties of life with a new live-in partner who's also newly co-parenting with me; afterward I went downstairs and begged a cigarette from a neighbor while wearing...uh....my nightgown. Sitting down to write tonight is quiet salvation, even though my content is vague and laden with obtuse reference.
Ultimately the pinata finally fucking broke for me, so today that is my victory. Life's never going to cut to some adorable scene where I skip through a sunny field holding a bouquet of wildflowers, so when the pinata breaks....I might as well stop for a moment and revel in the small victory, even if the damn thing is filled with Bit O Fucking Honey.
"It's just a life story, so there's no climax.
No more new territory, so pull away the imax.
In the slot that you sliced through the scene there was no shyness.
In the plot that you passed through your teeth there was no pity.
No fade in: film begins on a kid in the big city.
And no cut to a costly parade that's for him only.
No dissolve to a sliver of grey that's his new ladywhere she glows just like grain on the flickering pane of some great movie."
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