ROSS again

On my last weekly trail of tears to ROSS in Glendale, which wore one big Armenian frown---of course---I saw there, amid the shoe chaos on the shelf, a shining pair of Sperry Topsiders. I didn't get them. I am late on the trend (they are so 2009) and mama's got nothing to wear them with. What, bindis and hippie tops? You must be kidding!

Starbucks is a Nice Place for the Elderly

I rush in and out of Starbucks almost every morning with single-minded purpose. How nice, though, to be an elderly retired man getting a New York Times, a large drip and a bagel. Something so satisfying about that slow pace, the leisure, the plain coffee, the crossword puzzle and business section. I'm projecting, of course, and by no means do I want to be an old retired man. But...he had smiling crinkly eyes and seemed happy and you could just tell, he had no issues with his blood pressure---unlike me, whose blood boils with anxiety.

Intern X. Strikes Again

J: do you have blood on your hands?
Me: I didn't cut very deep.
J: ouch
Me: What is your problem with me having a problem with the fact that X. (let's call him Forest) is utterly incompetent? His hearing aid is not affecting his brain!
J: maybe he's a genius?
Me: like Stephen feckin Hawking? (editor's note: whom I adore)
J: no handicap jokes!

We agree to disagree.

Killing an Intern

Standing at the door with a gun in my hand, staring at his ear, staring at the... crapped out page, which intern X. ruined. Problem is, intern X. has a hearing aid and thus I am not allowed to fire him, because that would be against the disability act or whatever. So we have conversations like:

Me: This is an image; therefore it cannot be an h1.
He: uh-huh.
Five minutes later.
He: this strikes me as an image!
Me: choking sounds

we try again.

Me: Can you give me three book covers 400 pixels wide?
He: J. Sylvie wants me to give her three book covers. How many pixels wide?
J: ask Sylvie
He: how many pixels wide?
Me: still 400
he: uh. ok

I get three book covers that are 400 pixels tall.

So?

Ah shit. I started a blog with the word "so." So it has begun. So, the decline. So, Lord shed thy grace on me. So, now what?

Arrivederci! So long, Purgatorio!

So, after a month in Dante's inferno, I decided I didn't like the stages of hell anymore and went on R. last night. I slept like the east wind, fast and furious and uninterrupted by birds, bees, bears. I slept like a hurricane and when I woke up I was in the eye of the storm, albeit bit cotton mouthed. Today, I was able to play with my son. To let him dictate my every move without the need to straighten out the paintings on the wall or to run out of the house screaming. Nice!

Writer's Block

I’m having a severe case of blog block. I have not been able to write anything. At all. Ever since I dropped the Remeron and dropped 7 pounds, my mind has been obsessing over a few choice thoughts and I cannot think of anything else but: how do I get Milan to eat? How do I get Milan to sleep? How to I keep him from coming out of his bedroom 50 times at night? Should I have more coffee? Should I take another K.? Should I go back on Remeron, even though I’m so happy to see cheekbones for the first time in two year? Ugh. This is frustrating. I have read enough self help books to know that we humans think about 15 thoughts every day and I definitely can tell what my 15 are, and they are not original. Damn brain. Damn writer’s block.

Joe's Fault

I've developed the bizarre, rather ghettofabulous habit of cutting out the fragrance strips from fashion magazines and collecting them. The problem is, none of them smell good on me, maybe because my blood is too acidic from drinking too much coffee. There we go with the coffee again. It always comes down to Joe, Joe, Joe.

Belle of the Hair Ball

Our house would be a lot cleaner if Abe and I weren't so stressed out. The hair balls I collected today could have stuffed those sausages they're using to mop up the Gulf of Mexico oil spill with. We're suffering from major alopecia, which is making me feel apoplectic. And like Edie Bouvier, I'm a person predisposed to apoplexy. Ah, the belle and beau of the hair ball dance.

I was dancing when I was aaah
I danced myself right out the womb
Is it strange to dance so soon
I danced myself right out the womb

Gerard Butler = Anxiety

Anxiety means eating too many animal crackers (really good with coffee, actually) and hearing sirens and the turtles I got rid off. Klonopin also means zoning out and dreaming of Gerard Butler, the chubby version, having sex with a young girl on a rock in the water on a Greek Island. WTF?

Flies

Flies have learned to fly a lot like African killer bees and have been tormeting me for a few hours. Until one landed on my shoe and I saw it for what it was: a disgusting, bug-eyed fly. Flies + bees = flees.

FiP - Faces in Places

I've been seeing faces in places since I was a kid. If I were a crazy post office or donut eating and chess playing kinda (the two MUST occur simultaneously, otherwise you are NOT that kinda person) person, I'd sue that credit card company. Saw a naughty one with a crooked little smile on a tail light this morning. So cute. Was playfully winking at me. My parents used to be humored by my anthropomorphizing everything, incl. bath blankets, socks and the coffee table, when it was set just so.

See the master at http://facesinplaces.blogspot.com/

Child Abuse

I forgot to bring Milan's blanket to daycare yesterday, and instead of driving home to get it, after consulting with my Dad (go figure!), I drove to work. Bad mommy!

Envy is...

... being jealous of bloggers, Tweeters and Facebookers who do not worry about grammar and punctuation, having never heard of "The Elements of Style."

Bad Bindi, Bad!!

My bindi got me in trouble on Sunday. Thing is, I'd never wear a bindi to yoga class or to Dr. S' office. But I did feel safe sporting a purple one with a golden flower, i.e. a "special occasion" one, to the little Sunday afternoon get-together at my goddess friend's lovely home. Problem was I needed Chambord for Champagne cocktails, and when we finally found the only decent liquor store in what seems like all of ole Eagle Rock, the person behind the counter just had to be Indian. Of course, he addressed my third eye only, with a forehead wrinkled in disdain (his, not mine) while convulsing the lower left corner of his lip in an ever so faint amused tremble. The agony! I just wanted to tear it off, run out and yell, fine, I'm an imposter. Obviously, I'm no Hindu princess. I'm German for chrissake. But I just paid for my limited deluxe gift edition of Chambord and left with my tail between my legs. Meow.

Plastic Posse

I haven't cared about anything enough to want to write about it in two months. And then I see SJP and her pussy posse on buses and billboards around town, airbrushed to look like tweens. How offensive? Is this what it takes to get 30- and 40-something women to see a shite, guaranteed-straight-to-DVD, fluff-and-fold movie? Touching up those three hags (plus cool Samantha) beyond recognition with plastic faces and plastic-smooth limbs and not even a 19-something fine line in sight? I'm deeply offended as a woman that in this country we are not allowed to age. Not even a bit. Even vintage Barbies look older!