Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Hang it Up Now or Never

Hang it up Again

If my laptop was a phone, and my blog was my ex...this would be about as close to drunk-dialing as I have gotten in a while. I have absolutely no good reason to be blogging but I am bored, and alone, and drinking some port (after drinking some whiskey) so I figured why not? Of course, I haven't got much of anything to say, so here I am...

How's it goin' babe? Haven't seen y'in a while. Huh?! Wh'as'at? Naw, not too drunk, why? Jus' wanted to say 'what's up'...

Meg is at her Christmas party right now, which explains why I would be blogging on a couple glasses of Portuguese Port on a Wednesday at 11:30. Often times, I am quite jealous of people that work for well-established companies like the Wall Street Journal, and get to go to parties where some mythical being runs a tab and everyone is drinking their faces off on a Wednesday night, all in the name of the birth of Jeebus and the frugal oils of the Macabees. My own company picnic comes up on Friday, and allow me to take a moment to indulge in the "office culture" of my place of work. For the time being, let's just refer to it as "Nations Publisher." Here at Nations we don't exactly do a "christmas party" per se, just like we dont actually do a Chrsitmas bonus, nor a raise of any sort beyond the "cost of living increase" every six months, which at last calculation actually wasnt even enough of an increase in weekly take-home to cover my weekly increase in gas costs...but I am babbling. Anyway, at Nations what we do is more of a "social." Y'know, like that uncomfortable Jr. High dance, where the guys don't talk to the girls and vice-a-versa, and the chaperones try to facilitate a good time, but really everybody is monitoring their watches waiting for the moment that they can all go back to Tom's house, and steal a pack of his mom's Marlboro 100 cigarettes. The difference is, instead of the guys and girls being seperated by an invisible force-field, EVERYBODY is seperated by it. We need to call Michael Richards in to get to the bottom of this force field of hatred. Seriously, it's a problem. Here is the conversation I will have 10-20 times on Friday, while not drinking, and pretending to eat my room-temperature linguine:

Guy in a Turtle-neck (or woman in christmas-scene sweater, or weird accounting guy with a combover who walks around like Lurch, and gives everyone the evil eye: "So How's things in your department?!"

Me: "Same old, same old. You?"

Turtle/sweater/accounting: "Oh, not so bad. I can't believe this weather, though!"


Turtle/sweater/accounting: "So I hear you got married."

Me: "Yep. In July."

T/S/A: "How was that?!"


At some point I will hurriedly retreat to the one table with people my age (who also happen to be people in my department, who ALSO happen to think I am a real jerk for some reason) and try to hold a normal conversation about, and the drunk Miss USA, and shit...
End bitching and moaning about work.

You remember that time you called me fart-face at the beach?! That was great... Man, shit used to be great. Didn't shit used to be just great?!

I've gotten back to writing more often. Real writing. Well...not just blog-writing. Weird thing about applying to MFA programs: from the beginning of the application process, until basically the end, you (or I) don't really do much writing. All the time you would typically allow yourself for writing is flushed into revisions (and not the good kind, the knit-picky, overanalytical kind) and also the monatony of application procedures. I honestly wrote original stuff for an hour today for the first time since late October. Wild.

My dad's dog had surgery yesterday...lumps in her chest. This got me to thinking about my little bastard dog. I mean, I have only had him for 4 months, and he is good for a heart-attack a week, but still...I couldn't imagine being in my dad's position. He loves that dog. Like in a sick way. He makes my mom sit in the back sometimes because his dog wants to sit up front. No joke! Anyway, she is gonna survive (the dog, that is...we will see about my mom) but I just can't imagine it. I was bummed and stuff when my dog's passed away when I was a kid, but it is different when you are a kid. The totality of dog "ownership" when you are a kid is: "i want a dog" followed by "i have a dog!" followed by "i don't wanna walk the dog, Alf is on!" followed by "eww, mom, the dog pooed on the floor" followed by "the dog died?! WAAAAHHHH!!!!!" It isn't a highly involved process.

On the other hand, here is the totality of owning a dog when you are grownsed ups: I wanna dog, I can't have a dog in this apartment; lease is up, now I can move and get a dog; the dog is how much?! but i thought i was adopting, and doing you a favor, animal shelter people?! fine, i just won't go out drinking for a few weeks; dog pees floor 3 times a day x 5 or 6 weeks; this dog is cool now that he pees outside; i love this dog; worms? fuck! get him some medicine, wow that costs alot; play with dog in park, such an awesome dog; feed dog daily, this food adds up; dog stepped on glass?! jesus! 200 bucks at the vet; wow, this dog still licks my hand when i am feeling bummed, what a great dog!

Why you gotta go?! Aww, but we were jus' startin' to reminisisce...well I'll call ya t'morrow. Ca'I call ya t'morrow? First thing, kay?


At 9:59 AM, Blogger elvira black said...

I hear you on the office party from hell.

Dogs are cool, but in city apts they're problematic. I'm too lazy to walk twice a day, let alone accompanied by a dog. Cats are much less high maintenance, but not everyone loves em. i think they get a bad rep in some circles.

Having my two old cats put to sleep was heart-wrenching. I can sympathize with your dad.

Just curious--why an MFA program? Why not just write? Or take some NYU continuing ed courses? I have a master's in English, but it didn't help me get published or write anything other than dry academic prose that only other academics read. The only thing that really helped were courses where I got to meet real life editors--and writing, revising, submitting, rinse and repeat. But that's just me.


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