| I had what I'm going to term a "white trash weekend" - I hung out in sweats all weekend, didn't really go much of anywhere (except for what I mentioned in my last entry), bathed but didn't style my hair, no makeup. Sat around. Watched TV. Took a nap. Sat around. Wrote an entry. Sat around. Chatted. Read a book. Watched movies. Watched more TV. Slept some more. The pinnacle of my white trashedness was achieved last night. Calvin gave me a choice - make burger patties or run to the store for more beer. Neither one of us like mixing up hamburger, so I went to the store. I think he realized he shouldn't have given me a choice. But he does make the most intense burgers, whose spices and ingredients I can't share or he'd have to kill you. Really, though, I'm sorry, Sarah and Jen, he's the King of Burgers. Hands down. No contest. Unless you'd like to fly out to my house and have one? Then we'll *really* see who makes the best burgers (ahem, rather, we'll prove that *Calvin* makes the best burgers). The invitation, or challenge, or whatever you want to regard it as, has been extended. Anyway! I went to the Mobil at the corner. In my baggy sweats. And a T-shirt. No bra. Messy hair. No makeup. Wearing Calvin's hunting socks on my feet. With no shoes. As I drove to the corner store, I was thinking to myself "Yeah, baby. I'm the queen of trash. I'm winning Mobil's "White Trash Chick of the Evening" award for sure." I was slightly embarrassed, but for the sake of writing a humorous entry in the aftermath of my adventure, I gallantly plodded on. Readers: "Gallant my ass, Laura, you were just plain lazy." Hush, you. So I pull up. I grab some cash. I go in, in my hunting-socked feet. I grab beer. My only item (White Trash Queendom, here I come! "If they could see me now..."). I stand patiently in line. I get to the front, plunk the 12-pack down on the counter, and grin at the cashier. "How old are we today, Ma'am?" he asks. "26, same as yesterday," I replied, and showed him my license. Behind me, a family of four walks in. I glance, then turn to stare. I feel my Queendom slipping through my fingers. Mama Bear, clad in magenta sweats, a ratty man's undershirt, a worn pink robe, and tattered slippers. Papa Bear, chicken haired, wearing holey jeans with long underwear showing through, moccasin-type house shoes, and a jacket with no shirt underneath. The two Baby Bears, adorned in yellow-and-blue flowered (filthy) stretch pants, PokeMon (sp? - I don't follow 'em) slippers, T-shirts, and threadbare pink robes. I realize I'm clean. I don't clash. My clothing is in good repair. I have all my teeth. I lose. Even though I wore socks into the store, and my only item of purchase was a 12-pack. It seems I must work harder to achieve my goals. ******************** Somebody send me a cure. I am so lethargic of late it's unreal. I got nothing done this weekend of consequence. I just wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep some more. The weather may be the culprit, or at least part of it. It's been rainy and overcast for a good stretch now. But it's deeper than that, and I'm not one to "blame it on the rain" (good song). AcronymCo sure has got me down. Yeah, yeah, I can repeat "you're lucky to have such a good job" until I'm blue in the face. I count my blessings. Stock options. Bonuses. 100% tuition reimbursement. Decent pay. But the shit, man, the shit I have to put up with is colossal. I put off having to get out of bed until the last possible second, delaying the inevitable. I know it's AcronymCo that's a big part of this drain on my energy, proved by this simple fact. Yesterday, Calvin decided to play hookey from work (neither AcronymCo nor his place of employment give their employees MLK day off). Since he was taking off, and the kids had the day off, I decided to stay home, too. Calvin tells me this at 5:30 in the morning. Instead of going back to bed, I feel awake. Happy. Energized. Content to stay awake, enjoy the novelty of an early morning, read the paper, surf the net, and revel in my favorite pastime - hanging out with Calvin. Now, if I had known I had to go to work (like I did this morning), the bed would have been coma-inducing (as it was this morning). I wouldn't want to get up at all, let alone at the last possible second (again, as I did this morning). You know, it's not like things are particularly horrible at my job, either. My boss is annoying but not unduly so, and for the most part leaves me to shift for myself. The bureaucracy is immense, but I learned to maneuver within it years ago. The job itself is on again, off again - in the tension department. Several weeks of "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" followed by relative peace as we pick up the pieces. Right now the "AAAAHHHH!!!!" is ramping up again, to peak probably in three or four weeks, then again at the end of the quarter, then a month or two of relative calm, then more freaky-deakiness. Great. I've just realized I've got that undefinable kind of depression. The one that makes the people around you say "But what have you got to be blue about? Everything is going so well!" The one you can't quite put your finger on, let alone justify and expect people to sympathize with. Feh. Maybe it's quite simply the fact that Calvin leaves for Chicago this coming Sunday. The kids have been hard to deal with lately, and will be my sole responsibility. When you take Calvin out of my picture, I come to realize how very little I have to look forward to when he's not around. Some days the only thing that helps me survive a day at work is the knowledge that I'll reconnect with my other half at the end of the day. I've often described to Calvin my feeling that when I'm away from him, I feel like I'm acting in a play. Not quite myself, kind of staged, kind of stilted. Then, when we reconnect again, I feel like I'm myself again. Completely in my comfort zone, and a whole person. It's weird, in a healthily co-dependent sort of way. What I would do without him, I pray to God I never have to find out. ******************** Okay. Enough gloom and doom. I must be boring my readers - my daily readership has taken a dip as of late, according to my stats. I'm sorry! Come back! I promise to be more cheerful! I promise to post more pictures! I promise to be sweetness and light and wisdom and glee! Actually, when I looked at it more closely, it seems my more angsty entries are the ones that get all the hits. Heh. My life as a Jerry Springer show - you don't want to watch but you can't look away. Okay, you want angst? You got it. (Sorry, Calvin, I told ya I was posting it! Only because I thought it was funny, though.) Several nights ago, Calvin and I had the following conversation: Laura: "Calvin, if you were to spot me from across a room, and you didn't know me, what would you be drawn to first?" Calvin: "Gee, that'd have to be your eyes. You've got intense eyes." Laura goes off in a state of warm-fuzziness, and Calvin racks up the brownie points. Fast forward to last night. Calvin is watching some dating game on TV - I think it was "Change of Heart" (for some reason he's totally into those kinds of shows - the ones where people say things they hate about each other and usually end up breaking up/getting into a fight/throwing chairs). The host asks the gentleman contestant what he liked the best about his date, who was arranged by the show to go out with him for an evening. The contestant says "Her piercing blue eyes." Calvin: "Hah! What a cop-out! Guys only say a girl has attractive eyes when she's butt-ugly and they don't have anything better to compliment." Laura: Stony silence and a piercing glare aimed at Calvin's general direction. Calvin: "What?" In the background can be heard the chug-chug-chug of brownie points leaving his account at an excessively rapid rate. Calvin: "What? What did I say? Well, it's true!" Laura: "Uh-huh." Calvin: "WHAT?!?" Laura: "Do you remember a couple of nights ago, when we had a conversation and I asked you what you would think my most striking feature was, if you were seeing me for the first time?" Calvin: "Uh-huh..." (realization dawns upon him) "Oh. Oh God. Baby... BABY! No, wait! I didn't mean... Baby, come back... Honey? Sweetie?" I went into the bedroom. I wasn't really mad, just shaking my head at his ability to a) open mouth; b) insert foot. He followed me in and spent a good 45 minutes earning back his brownie points. He scrambled and backpedaled and explained until his point was understood. The upshot of course being that he didn't mean me. Which, of course, I knew already. Heh. He cracks my shit up. ******************** Pimp Alert!All you Hope Wavers fans, check out the brand spanking new journal, Under a Mountain, written by her significant other, Misha. Get the other half's perspective! |
|
Your Mission, should you choose to accept it...
I'm reading "House of Leaves" by Mark Z. Danielewski, which I received courtesy of Amazon yesterday. I've heard so many varying opinions about this book - that it was awful, that it was inspired, that it put the reader to sleep, that it was terrifying... so I have no idea what to expect. Have any of you folks read it? I'd trust *your* opinion!
Results From Yesterday's Mission I will be going to the library soon to return a half dozen books from my last foray. I will observe how my math homework suffers as a result of "House of Leaves", and if the book is boring I shall take a trip to the library. I'm still getting used to the whole library thing, as opposed to owning. I used to be an obsessive book purchaser, and now I'm not so much. I think it may be because we don't have bookshelves in our house, so I don't see a space that I'm itching to fill. Hmm. I'll have to rectify *that* particular little situation. I grabbed the design idea for the box thingy from Anna.
|