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I Shall Build an Army of My Own. A Robot Army. A Robot Army Made Entirely of Lady Robots

1 Nov

The first thing we’ll do is devise unnecessarily long titles for everything we write.

I need the distraction right now. As anyone who reads my blog or Facebook page already knows, I’ve been pretty upbeat since the layoff. I’m still me, however, so now and then I get anxious.

The last two days in particular have been nervewracking. I had a bunch of invoices to send people, and while I’m very (very, extremely, very) grateful to have clients to bill, I’m not someone for whom paperwork is an easy thing.

I feel like paperwork wants to get lost, and so far, I’m not getting any proof that this isn’t the case. Fax machines refuse to send W9s; mail goes astray. When they unravel the genome completely, they’ll find that this is carried on the same allele that makes it impossible to find my way back out of a doctor’s office I’ve just entered, provided we’ve turned a corner and opened a door. Maybe it’s some sort of physical world problem: directional dyslexia.

As if I weren’t anxious enough, I also have a meeting on Tuesday with the lovely people down at Unemployment, and I’m not sure how to explain what I’m doing. I sort of want to show them my schedule of work, perhaps in a colorful chart-type format, and hope that it sinks in that I’m probably going to be hitting them up for about two days a week in benefits, for the shortest amount of time ever. (This is assuming that my clients don’t drop me for being unable to persuade a fax machine to work.)

The people at employment yell at you in the security line. They confiscated Adam’s money clip, which his dead grandfather had given him, and threw Madeleine’s cupcakes into the trash in front of her, and said, “Now they’re TRASH.” If they treat me this way, I will lose control of my bowels and laugh at the same time. Now we’ll who has paperwork to fill out, Jimmy.

Paperwork, ugh. It plagues me from every angle. My biggest secret shame today is that I mixed up two invoices, and sent the wrong one to the wrong person. She was very understanding, but it did not look professional. (And, OK, no: the real worst is that as soon as I typed this, I realized that I’m doomed to get about about nine comments telling me that I’m using the wrong software to organize my invoices. And that I should also get a real job.)

Anyway, my point is that I am somewhat anxious. But still way less anxious than I was on my best day in an office. Also, weirdly, way more productive. I bet I’ll even get the hang of invoicing someday. Anything is possible, people!

robot army

Here I am, with my army of lady robots.

Dennis Keeps up With the Kardashians So I Don’t Have to

31 Oct

Jennie Smash: DENNIS!

Coworker Dennis: JEN!

Coworker Dennis: How are you?

Jennie Smash: I’m swell! How are you?

Coworker Dennis: Devastated by the announcement of Kim Kardashian’s divorce.

Jennie Smash: OMG, how hilarious?

Jennie Smash: I laughed so hard.

Coworker Dennis: She dressed as sexy Poison Ivy out of sadness, I guess.

Jennie Smash: As should we all.

Jennie Smash: In mourning for their fake relationship.

Coworker Dennis: I really just don’t want to watch the Kardashians act out sadness.

Coworker Dennis: And say things like “we were growing apart” on camera.

Jennie Smash: I don’t want to watch them do anything.

Jennie Smash: But I hope they say that.

Jennie Smash: Because I love the idea of growing apart over 72 days.

Jennie Smash: Also, I love that Kris is now dragging Nicole Brown Simpson into all of this.

Coworker Dennis: Oh, I know.

Coworker Dennis: She regrets not saving her life — by going to lunch with her.

Coworker Dennis: I’m not sure that prevents people from stabbing other people to death.

Jennie Smash: Salad. Salad solves everything.

Coworker Dennis: And then your husband defends the [alleged] killer and you’re just irked?

Jennie Smash: So ANNOYING.

Jennie Smash: I really think that whole family is the worst bunch of people ever, from any given direction.

Coworker Dennis: They’re all really awful. I can’t believe they’re famous.

Jennie Smash: They were the first thing that made me believe the world was going to end in 2012.

Coworker Dennis: Keeping Up With Harold Camping. I would watch that show.

Kim Kardashian as Poison Ivy

"I'm the worst."

Image: http://lovekardashian.tumblr.com/

Mean Reds No More?

31 Oct

image

Full disclosure: mama has taken her sleep medicine prior to creating this post, so you may well be reading all of this again during my commitment hearing.

It’ll be entertaining for me, since I won’t remember a thing about it. The temporary amnesia should probably give me the wig, but to doesn’t.

I’d be remiss, however, in my duties as a Blogger if I didn’t explain that it is Sunday and I don’t feel the Sunday night mean.reds at all. Not at all! This has to be a magic spell or something. If it is, don’t wake me up.

Also, here are some scary pumpkins for you, in honor of the holidays.

5 Things That Have Happened Since I Got Laid off

25 Oct

Getting laid off is turning out to be one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, just below meeting Adam and moving to New York. Don’t believe me? Check out the shiz that’s happened since I lost my job.

  1. I remembered what I actually liked about my job in the first place, or I should say, my vocation: Writing and editing. Now that I’m freelance, that’s all I do and it’s amazingly satisfying, like gardening or chopping wood.
  2. My blood pressure went down 20-30 points. As of my doctor’s appointment this morning, it was a Chris Traeger-like 90/60. My personal nursing student/husband tells me that this is actually on the low side. Anyway, I feel great.
  3. I feel great, period. I’m so happy that my friends are commenting on it. I can’t really even muster up much concern about money, even thought I really should, as I hear they will not give you cheese at the supermarket without it. Ditto beer, although that is sometimes flexible depending on how cute you are.
  4. I have lost six pounds and am contemplating exercising on a regular basis.
  5. I have rediscovered how wonderful my friends are. I’m amazed at how many people reached out to me right after the layoffs to offer connections or freelance assignments or beer. Ooh, that’s another way in which a person can get free beer. I’ll have to remember that. Also, my husband is pretty rad, but I hadn’t forgotten that, so I don’t know if it counts.

How People Find My Blog

9 Oct

…depends largely on the day. But today, you perverts apparently found me by Googling:

your pussy looks like a front butt
her pussy her face her ass
bat boy wikipedia
smurfs towel

The third and fourth search strings ring a bell. The others must’ve disappointed the hell out of all of you when you rolled up on my blog.

It’s a Pirate’s Life for Me

3 Oct

It’s been 11 years since the last time I was laid off, and here’s what I’ve learned: Hangovers are way easier at 24.

I’ve decided to freelance, instead of looking for another job, because being a grownup is for the birds. When people ask me what I’m doing now, I tell them I’ve decided to become a pirate.

Other job opportunities beckon, however. For example, just now, I was getting dinner with Sgt. Lucky at the pub downstairs, and when I pulled out a wad of ones with which to pay the bill, he looked aghast.

“My God,” he said. “You’ve been so busy. How have you had the time to start stripping?”

“It’s been tough,” I said modestly. “But I’ve always been good at managing my time.”

“And you’ve been up late. Where are you stripping that’s open all night?”

“A terrible place,” I whispered. “And now I have … body lice.”

Yo ho ho.

Image: Time Machine to the Twenties

Brooklyn vs. Queens: A Comedy Throwdown

18 Sep

Friends of mine: If you’re in New York, you should come see my hilarious friend Sue Funke and her hilarious friends be hilarious. Details below:

On Saturday, October, 1 at 9pm comedians Liz Simons, Selena Coppock, and Sue Funke are producing a show at Gleason’s Gym in DUMBO titled, “Brooklyn vs. Queens: A Comedy Throwdown.”

The premise is to have similar standup comedians from either borough perform back-to-back. The match ups include: Brooklyn Gay vs. Queens Gay, Native Brooklyn vs. Native Queens, Blonde Brooklyn vs. Blonde Queens and, of course the girl comic-on-girl comic action of Brooklyn Lady Comic vs. Queens Lady Comic. Borough pride is on the line and the comedy brawls will be intense and hilarious.

Brooklyn vs. Queens: A Comedy Throwdown

Saturday, October 1st at 9 pm

Gleason’s Gym, 77 Front Street, 2nd floor – A/C to High Street or the F to York Street

$10 at the door plus 1 FREE drink just for coming.

Produced by Sue Funke, Selena Coppock, and Liz Simons

Saturday October 1st at 9pm

Root for your favorite borough at

The Brooklyn vs. Queens: A Comedy Throwdon at Gleason’s Gym in DUMBO

Featuring:

Kendra Cunningham (Brooklyn)
Leah Bonnema (Queens)
Garry Hannon (Brooklyn)
Adam Lehman (Queens)
Ophira Eisenberg (Brooklyn)
Carrie Gravenson (Queens)
Selena Coppock (Brooklyn)
Liz Simons (Queens)
…and special secret guests!!

Hosted by Sue Funke and Sean Donnelly.

It’s only $10 to enter and admission gets you 1 free drink.

This Is Not a 9/11 Story

11 Sep

After hitting “publish” on the last post, I realized that it looks somewhat odd to have my entry for today be entirely without reference to 9/11, but let me explain. No disrespect is intended, as I think you’ll see.

I’m uncomfortable with big displays of emotion. To me, grief is and should be a private thing. But that’s only how I prefer to deal with things. I don’t think other people are obligated to sweep things under the rug, eat their feelings, keep a stiff upper lip, etc., just because that’s what I generally do.

I was very lucky, ten years ago, not to have lost anyone I love in the World Trade Center attacks. A decade later, I have so many more people to love, and have had so much more time to love them in, that I can’t feel much kinship with the 25-year-old I was. She didn’t know about nephews and nieces and the hold they exert on your heart with their innocent-looking, pudgy, often sticky little paws.

She didn’t have a husband, and didn’t yet know that there was someone out there with whom a trip to the dump would be as much fun as a helicopter ride around Manhattan (and with less screaming.)

She didn’t have as much to lose, as I do, that earlier me, but I do. I do. So while I have trouble with commemorative holidays and memorial plaques, please trust me: I have never forgotten. I will never forget. I will remember every day, a little more quietly than a big brass band and a tribute. I will pick one face, and try to hold onto it as much as I can, so that I can remember.

Today, I’ll remember this face, the face of the falling man. Depending upon whom you ask, the falling people were pushed, or jumped, or were driven out by the flames. I think the most important part of what they did is that it’s private, and possibly evidence of the last choice they were able to make, when all the choices were bad ones. (A much better, deeper look into the issues of the 9/11 “jumpers” is here, if you’re interested.)

Whoever he was, whatever he decided to do, he should have had more privacy than he’s gotten from me and all the actual legitimate media outlets. But that’s not how the world works. That way would be inhuman. We have such a need to tell our stories to each other that it overcomes even the privacy of his last choice.

But this is neither here nor there. The point I wanted to make most is that I’m not someone who does well at a big memorial. I laugh at funerals and immediately have to pee any time I enter a church. So I’m not much good for that. But I can hang onto that image of the man falling, and keep it with me as long as I’m alive. Hopefully, my choices will be composed of lower floors and speedy exits, both metaphorically and for reals-for reals, as long as they can possibly stay that way.

And finally, and most importantly, if you lost someone that day, or on another day that is your personal national tragedy, I wish you strength and lots of help from your pit crew, and occasional bursts of joy. And I wish you the gift of being left alone to figure out how you want to process your grief.

Images: http://www.newyorkled.com/posters_WTC_World_Trade_Center.htm, http://chasblogspot.blogspot.com/2007/09/9-11-jumpers-they-didnt-jump.html

Division of Labor

11 Sep

Himself and I had a little disagreement over household chores this weekend. Well, actually, it wasn’t so much a disagreement as it was a spectacular display (by me) of passive-aggressiveness and then a lot of apologizing (from both of us.)

I came home from work earlier than expected, and Sgt. Lucky hadn’t gotten around to making the bed. Also, neither of us had taken the garbage out for awhile, because we live on the fourth floor and we’re super lazy. So I did both those things, huffing and puffing, and then made dinner. My halo was visible from space.

Eventually, Sgt. Lucky got tired of watching me scoot around the apartment shooting the side eye at every dust mote and unfiled paper and suggested that maybe I was mad at him for not picking up while I was at work.

“No, I’m not mad,” I said. “I’m just … annoyed and, like, maybe a little irritated and I feel like I do everything and, OK, maybe I’m mad.”

Short version, he apologized and then I promised to practice saying, “Hey, will you pick that up?” in the mirror until it was second nature and then we both moved on.

This lady says, "It's not at all annoying when you stand over me while I make awful '50s food."


Until later, when I replaced the towels in the bathroom and Sgt. Lucky said, “If you don’t stop doing everything, I’m never going to catch up.”

“It’s not a contest, I promise,” I said, and went to take a shower. Where, as usual, I had one of my best ideas.

“I’m really sorry that you did everything today,” he said, when we were going to bed.

“That’s OK,” I said. “I left you a giant, disgusting glob of red hair in the drain.”

He laughed and kissed my head. “Oh, thank you so much.”

“Hey listen,” I said. “I just don’t want you to feel left out.”

So, We’re Moving Again

7 Aug

It’s become a hobby with us and we can’t stop ourselves and so we are moving. It feels very different from our other moves, so far, for a variety of reasons. For one thing, I take sleeping pills now, which makes it less likely that I’ll whip myself into a frenzy of rage and anxiety every time the moving company changes its schedule and/or breaks something of ours.

Another change: We have cash, for some of this fun and frivolity. I bought a 700 dollar rug today, with my debit card. That is not the financial behavior I would have exhibited only a few short years ago. I’m either growing up, or becoming a conspiracy theorist:

“Honey! I’m buying a rug! A good one. But don’t worry, I’ll pay cash, and, and if the zombies invade we can eat it, or use it to block the windows or something. Whatever we need.”

We have also hired movers this time. Real movers, who pack your stuff. I’m amazed by the whole thing. Presumably, we’ll just pack an overnight bag full of our unmentionables and vitamins, and then go over to wait for the moving men to arrive.

It sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me. I have decided to ignore the only non-awesome aspect of this apartment, which is that I wouldn’t have gotten it unless our dear friends Kwanza and Stella had decided to move to LA. So — happy news, sad news.

The only way to do it is to think of the two things separately: We have an awesome apartment. We miss Kwanza and Stella.

But enough about our sad ambivalence. Let us think of happier things. Such as Big Gay Ice Cream Trucks, below:

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