Thursday, September 29, 2005

I am down to 3 squares.

I will probably need more than 3 squares before I leave.

Thinking that I could make it until my next shopping trip, I held off buying more. I got my direct deposit this morning, so I had planed on waiting until I had more money before shopping. Now I am about to leave my bedroom and prepare for the day, knowing that between me and my front door are 3 squares. Only 3 squares. This has to be well managed.

I'm drinking my morning beverage now, before my shower. What if the 3 squares aren’t enough? Shower is the back up. But what if I am in need of the squares after the shower? Another shower?

When my husband leaves for business trips, I become another person. When I come home from work, rather than taking care of business (sweetie's influence), I collapse in front of a machine that talks at me. It tricks me into believing that I'm not at home alone. When I leave the house, I am tired and reminded that not only am I on my own, but that I know very few people in the area and that I am alone. I used to love the anonymity. Now it kind of gets me down.

And this is what I get for it. 3 squares. Me thinks its time to re-locate my tissue box.

Monday, September 19, 2005



Footsie.

Last week my husband was telling me a story about the old days back in college. Sweetie and I went to college together, so I was around probably more often than he would prefer. We were dating while we were freshman, and one night we were studying in the dorm's lounge with another girl from down the hall.

Funny, but I had no idea until the other night (while my husband was telling the story) that 11 years ago that slut was playing footsie under the table with my boyfriend while I was sitting there.

Apparently, not a particularly mild game of footsie either.

It was 11 years ago. I am pissed.

That little disrespectful bitch.

I take the time now to reflect.

When I think back to the girl I was 11 years ago, I imagine what that girl would do if privy to this tidbit. Maybe cry? Maybe offer my boyfriend a break-up to see if life is any sweeter on the other side? Maybe flip the girl off behind her back.

Then I think of the girl I am now.

Looking across the table to see my boyfriend's face and sensing a certain tension in the room, I would instantly know what was up. I would call her out while her foot was still firmly planted on his thigh. Slapping her swiftly across the mouth, I would re-introduce myself as a woman not to be fucked with. Ever. I would threaten to box her head in if she ever disrespected me in that manner again. Flirt with him all you want, but not in front of me or under the table I'm sitting at.

I would then walk out of the room and crazy-glue the lock to her suite.

I'm not bitter so much as I'm a woman learning how much she has grown…

No - I'm bitter.

I was played. I didn't know. I didn't have the chance to stand up for myself.

But now I do.

Friday, September 16, 2005



The Award-Winning Beefsteak Sculpture!

Thursday, September 15, 2005


Beefsteak.

Tonight my honey and I went to a Beefsteak. I think it's a Jersey thing, along with basket and cookware parties (the joys of suburbia). A way of making money – this time for a local basketball team.

We arrived at the restaurant around 7:30 pm. They served some cold anti-pasta, then some not-so-anti pasta. This was followed by the steak.

Little pieces of meat on little pieces of bread. Buttered bread. Buttered steak. All you can eat.

You eat the first couple of pieces with the bread, because it tastes good. After that, you would have to be a lunatic to continue to eat any more. Regardless, we continue in the gluttony, now discarding the bread (we made a lovely sculpture with it in the middle of the table) and consuming more red meat than, well, we should be consuming.

I asked if there was any salad. I was laughed at.

After the meal was the main event - a "Tricky Tray". It is a Chinese Auction, but re-named to be less offensive. There were no trays involved, leaving me quite confused. Again, I think this must be a Jersey thing - maybe developed by someone on the verge of a meat-induced coma.

So they auctioned off all kinds of things that I would never want. Things like free oil changes, supermarket gift certificates, candles and inflatable lawn ornaments (apparently giant snow globes are going to be the hit of the holiday season. Great. I can inflate it and display it by partially shoving it out of my apartment window - just like my neighbors do. No, I'm not kidding). Needless to say, I did not win the one prize I set my heart on (Broadway Show tickets and dinner for 2), but we did win best bread sculpture (a pyramid of buttered bread with a breadstick wrapped in steak on top - a true thing of beauty).

My stomach and I had a long discussion when we got home. It told me that it had been so happy with the way I had been treating it all week, with the bland food and lack of butter. Now, I have again betrayed its trust, and I will tell you my intestines made a huge stink of the whole matter. I'm not sure we will be on speaking terms for a while.

Now to bed - hopefully the cow hormones have worn off and I can get some rest.

Monday, September 12, 2005

My college roommate wrote today. She's been MIA for the past couple of months, but I had really thought little of it. Turns out that she has been working in the Lesbian Porn industry.

Yup. Lesbian Porn.

All this time I think that my little life has been the stuff of awe and wonder. The ranting about rogue poo. The dreams of creating reality television around my in-laws. The temps - ah, the dreaded temps. All to be eclipsed. Eclipsed by a confession way too amusing to be the stuff of imagination.

Lesbian Porn. How can I beat that?

No, she has not become an actress. More of a studio administrator. It is still a riot.

Am I allowed to assume her personal adventure as material to make me funnier? "Yeah? Well my friend is working in the Lesbian porn industry." I tried that one at work today, and although it did go over pretty well, I felt like it was all a sham. My stories of once being a "short bus" driver are far less amusing, but at least I don't feel as cheap telling them. At least those tales are mine.

So I'll keep trying with my own material until I give up on the dream. My friends will still remain an endless source of inspiration:

The best friend that hob-knobs with carnies
The high school pal who gave up Opera for Psychiatry
The camp friend who has a new career choice each time I speak to her
The other camp friend who called the other day from her job, and had to cut the call short because she had to go "chase someone down"
The sister who is one of my best comedy partners
The brother who is really uncomfortable about the sister's adulthood,
The new friend that retches whenever his involvement with VH1's "101 Hottest Hotties" is mentioned
The family friend who recently spent a day at an amusement park strung out on 2 pot brownies
The sister-in-law who mothers a hamster, 2 cats and a new husband
The 2 friends who's partner just moved in and whose heart has obviously been claimed (funny, one moved from Texas, the other to Texas - a plot in itself)...

...but those are their stories, not mine.

I'll try from here on in to not pirate the tales, but if I may...

Damn! Lesbian Porn!