Everyone is completely crackers today. My landlord just called me up to tell me that my cleaning person left the cardboard boxes unsorted – UNSORTED! IN PARK SLOPE! – in the neighbor’s yard, and then left the front door unlocked. All of which is totally anger-making and I get that, but:
1) He called when I was having possibly the finest nap I’ve had in years.
2) He told me each of the cleaning woman’s crimes exactly twice, and would have told me three times, except that I cut him off by promising to monitor her closely in the future. Poor thing.
I am an adult, however, so I sent him a nice note apologizing for the inconvenience. The fact that I chose the blank card with the child’s drawing of a differently-abled dj with ginormous headphones means nothing at all, and certainly isn’t passive aggressive in the slightest. It could have been the clown. No one wants the clown.
Moss: I’m back!
me: hi hi hi!
how are you?
Moss: I’m good!
well, last night not so much
me: i was going to go do yoga, but instead i’m going to do noga
Moss: my shoulder felt like it grew a 3rd head
Moss: and then…
haven’t been body tuning :(
me: oh crippety crap
Moss: i was doing bookkeeping – receipts / reimbursables for our big ass invoice
and L-1 visa paperwork for my boss
Moss: and my cat figured out a new spring board for the counter
so onto counter she spirits
followed by slide on the receipts
and into the glass of wine
me: OH NO
Moss: which tips over and crashes into a million pieces
which scares her
and she hightails it back off
knocking over bottle of wine onto my laptop
which i haven’t yet returned to my old job
which then won’t wortk
me: oh my god in heaven!
what is going ON?
Moss: which meant i couldn’t do the next 3+ hours of work that i needed to do
me: christ in a bucket!
Moss: my roommate, who is obviously the smartest girl in the room…
goes to her room
and emerges with not one but TWO valium and pops them in my mouth
then cleans up
god bless her
ok, i love her
Moss: it was the most comic scene ever
me: that’s perfect
Moss: and Sam lived to see another day
me: that is exactly what was required
Moss: lucky kitty
i notice when she’s bad, she become THE CAT
me: THE CAT has fucked things up!
i wish sam would come back
and take THE CAT away
Jennie Smash: hey, park sloper
Jennie Smash: is it safe for me to walk from my apt to stonehome in ft greene tonight?
Jennie Smash: or do i need to get a car?
Drunken Mouse: it is pretty safe
Jennie Smash: that’s what i thought
Jennie Smash: and it’s a nice walk
Jennie Smash: i have a match.com date
Drunken Mouse: walk straight down flatbush to bam
Jennie Smash: and i just realized that he’s not smiling with teeth in this picture
Jennie Smash: do we think he’s toothless?
Jennie Smash: i bet you five dollars he’s toothless
Drunken Mouse: HA!
Drunken Mouse: no
Drunken Mouse: i hate smiling full teeth
Drunken Mouse: so i avoid it
Jennie Smash: ok, then
Jennie Smash: (i am calling you if he has no teeth)
As I’ve mentioned previously on this here blog, I am a sweaty person. So probably the last thing I needed was to sign up for an exercise class that makes even normal people perspire freely. And yet, I decided to try the Bikram yoga that all the kids are doing, because I am a glutton for punishment.
Bikram, in case you don’t know, is yoga for the criminally insane. You spend an hour and a half doing contortions in a 100-degree room, sweating and feeling like you’re going to throw up. The room smells like balls, armpits, and feet. When you leave, you feel elated, mostly because you don’t feel like you’re going to vomit anymore, which is always nicer than feeling like you’re going to vomit. (I think we can all agree to this.)
Today was my first class. I loved it, needless to say, and am going back tomorrow. My goal is to not have to spend 15 minutes of the class crouched on my mat, staring at my spread hands like an animal and trying not to barf.
Re: like an animal … the instructor, who was very nice, let me sit and look green for as long as I needed to, but he did tell me to try to breathe through my nose. Apparently, if you breath through your mouth, your thoughts get scattered, like an animal, etc. and so on. No worries there. Thoughts already scattered, pal! Arf!
I’m watching crime shows, because that is clearly the only thing to do on a day like today. The current program is about a woman who murdered her sister, stole her identity, and stuffed her body in a freezer.
It’s times like this when I’m really grateful to live in a small apartment. There is absolutely no way anyone could fit my body into my freezer. I can barely get a pint of ice cream in there.
It’s impossible to overstate how tired I am. Interesting stories tomorrow, when hopefully I will be able to think of more descriptive words than “interesting.”
Lazy blogging, I know, but I’ve never gotten 18 comments on a Facebook status, and I am nerdily proud of it:
Status: Jen’s new favorite thing is to say, “I cannot wait til Obama fixes _____.” It works for everything!
Jen Hubley at 4:32pm November 6
For example, “I cannot wait until Obama makes there be more Diet Coke in the machine.” Or: “I cannot wait until Obama makes beer that works as a diet aid.” Etc.
Shannon at 4:32pm November 6
Jen Hubley at 4:34pm November 6
Think of it as some gentle self-satire. ;-)
Shannon at 4:34pm November 6
You are too funny (;
Julia at 4:37pm November 6
I cannot wait until Obama makes rainbows happen ev-er-y day!
Jen Hubley at 4:38pm November 6
I cannot wait until Obama buys a puppy, not just for his own kids, but for EVERY. SINGLE. ONE OF US.
Julia at 4:40pm November 6
That’s totally socialism, lady. Redistribution of puppies is not cool.
Jen Hubley at 4:41pm November 6
I cannot wait until Obama takes puppies from people who have TOO MANY puppies, and gives them to those of us who have TOO FEW.
Julia at 4:43pm November 6
I earned my puppies. My right to own all my puppies is in the constitution. You’ll have to pry my puppies out of my cold, dead hands.
Jen Hubley at 4:45pm November 6
FINE. Then we will tax your puppies. Prepare to pay the Puppy Tax!
In the East Village, before the dude hopped on the roof of the East Harlem bus and started dancing, and after everyone showed up with pots and pans and started banging them together like happy toddlers.
We sent money. We made phone calls. We knocked on doors. We believed. We changed the world.
Check it: Tom Robbins denied at the polls.
My voting machine was broken, and then it took 20 minutes to find a poll worker to man it once it was fixed. Also, the lady who was checking me off couldn’t find the name “Hubley.” She was looking in the K’s.
“I think you’ll find that it’s in the H’s,” I told her.
She smiled at me. “You look so happy! Such a happy face!”
“Voting makes me smile. You’re still, you see, in the K’s.”
“Can you spell that?”
“Yes. H-U-B … ‘B’ as in ‘boy’…”
Flip, flip, flip.
“See, you’re still in the K section.” Flip. Flip, flip. “Now we’re in A’s. I think you’ll find it’s after ‘A,’ but before ‘K.’ YES. There I am. Oh, great. HUBLOY. Close enough.”
It does make you wonder. I mean, do they even have to steal an election? Seems to me it could just lose its way on its own.