Parking lot derby

I work in an open office, which blows. You can never shut your door and escape, and you can you have to listen to other people fight with their loved ones all day long on the phone. Also, just try to make a doctor’s appointment. It can’t be done.

“Hi, this is J. Smash, and I’d like to schedule my pap smear. Oh, hi, boss-type person. Hang on. Just making sure the ole cooch is in working order, know what I’m sayin’?”

Nevertheless, my seating situation is pretty good. Our desks are just sort of scattered around this big warehouse space, but mine faces a window. Luck of the draw. I have a lovely view … of our parking lot.

This affords me with plenty of distraction during the day, something I need desperately, of course. I was thinking for awhile of keeping a log of everyone’s comings and goings, and then reading it out loud when they passed by my desk.

“11:45: Jane Shaw leaves for lunch. Despite only having come to work an hour and a half ago. What? This? Oh, it’s nothing. Just think of it as evidence.”

I don’t have time for that sort of thing, of course. But I do have time for my next plan. Some of the sales guys have really fancy cars. (The editorial staff drive beaters, as a rule, but I’m sure you guessed that.) The sales guys who are really crazy about their cars park them way at the far end of the parking lot, like a quarter-mile away from the door, so that no one will park anywhere near them. There’s one car in particular, some kind of fancy bright-yellow sports car, that’s always parked waaaay over by the dumpster all by its onesies.

What I want to do is to follow that car around and park right next to it. When I get here in the morning, if the car’s there, I’ll park beside it. If the guy who owns it isn’t in yet, I’ll keep an eye peeled through the window and dash out and move my car as soon as he arrives. Then, if he moves it after lunch, I’ll move mine, too.

This could be a lot of fun! I’ll keep you posted.


Go ahead and panic. The end times are near.

Okay. You should definitely say your prayers and pack a bag, because the Apocalypse is upon us. How do I know? Let’s take the following factors into consideration:

1) The Red Sox won the World Series…

2) …during a lunar eclipse…

3) …both of which events I watched with my boyfriend.

Let’s talk about the word “boyfriend” for a minute. I haven’t had one for about six years now, and suddenly I do. I find that I feel somewhat retarded calling him my boyfriend, though. It seems embarrassing, like when 50 year old women talk about having boyfriends. I feel like people who aren’t currently living in a dorm should get a different label to use. And bear in mind that I’m from New England, so just forget about the word “lover.” Ditto for “partner”, you goddamn hippie.

Anyway, my Friend and Traveling Companion Matthew flew up from New York yesterday afternoon to watch the game in style at my friends’ house. He kept saying that this was the game and I kept hitting him. But it was The Game, as it turns out, so now he’ll be impossible to live with.

I honestly don’t know what to say about our having won the World Series, though. I’ve written like six essays on it, and scrapped them. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet. I’m still sort of delirious and shock-y. And I will definitely have no idea what to do with myself next week.

I’ll miss the chips and dip at Isaac and Cathy’s house, that’s for sure. Do you have friends like this — grown up friends? They have nice furniture and lots of plates and things and when you come over they can actually offer you a drink instead of saying, “Um, dude, if you hang on a second while I look for my wallet, we can go around the corner and get a beer or something.” Anyway, Isaac and Cathy were responsible for feeding and housing most of our little crew for the past month, bless them. They seem to like all of us, still. Fools. Now we’ll never go away.

How many months is it til Spring Training? I need to start counting down. But first — a much needed nap.

Wisdom from the distracted

Everyone knows that boys are stupid. But did you know that their stupidity is contagious? That’s right, it is. Associating with boys can make you stupid, even if you’re a female person. This is not always bad.

For example, I am still at work right now, partly because I have a lot of work, but also because I have a beautiful bouquet of orange Gerber daisies on my desk. My favorite color is orange. My favorite flower? Is the Gerber daisy. Is it any wonder that I’m a little out of it?

The rest of you fellas should hunt down the boy who sent them and stone him to death, because he’s ruining everything for you.

Good times in enemy territory

The Bronx is up and the Battery’s down, and Jennie wore her Red Sox hat all over the town.

I spent last weekend in New York. The intention wasn’t to lord it over Yankees fans, I swear. That was just a happy accident. The real purpose of my visit was to hang out with my good friend Kate Smyres on the occasion of the thirty-third anniversary of her birth. As she pointed out, next year, if she survives, she’ll have beaten Jesus.

I always forget how awesome New York is. Let’s start with the fact that no one was mean to me for wearing a Red Sox hat. I got a few dirty looks, maybe, but mostly people were either indifferent or elated. Apparently, there are a number of refugees from the Nation hiding out in NYC. And really, no one gives a crap what you do in that city. It’s very liberating. It made me forget about my elbows and knees and stop twitching for awhile, as if the energy of the city had absorbed all my nervous tics and siphoned them away.

Also: you gotta love a city where everyone is a stinking lush. Jeebus H. Christmas, I felt like a teetotaler. I got off the bus at the Lucky Star Bus Terminal and Fruit Stand at around 5:30 on Friday night and went to drop my stuff off at Smyres’ apartment in Park Slope, and then we immediately went out and started drinking and didn’t stop until I got back on the bus Monday morning. At brunch on Sunday, I expressed to my friend Matthew, a fellow Masshole now living in Williamsburg, that I thought my liver might fall out and go seek a more congenial host and he said, “Ah. Well. Welcome to New York.”