have you ever...

Have you ever been talking to someone you've known for years and they tell you something they've told you (several times) before as if you'd never heard it? Don't you find it painfully hard to resist asking, "Have we met?"

Have you ever run into the bathroom, your bladder tap-tap-tapping on heaven's door, only to find that the boorish cretin preceding you didn't do the all-important turn and check before exiting the stall? Boorish cretin with careless elimination habits. I never think about boxing someone's ears. In this situation, it's the only appropriate response.

Have you ever waited behind someone at a red light, for what seems like hours, only to have them turn on their signal after the light turns green and you're hopelessly stuck behind them? You hadn't been given the head's up to go around them because they were too busy unwedging their head from their ass to nudge up their signal stick. Then, they have the nerve to look indignant at your gentle gesture of disapproval.

rage sabbatical

The rage sabbatical is going well. Exhaustion, apathy and the return of my sense of humor have pretty much smothered the embers of fury. Or banked them.

My dear friend Joe suggested I read gofugyourself.com, after I made a particularly lascivious remark about the ravishing Helen Mirren. (I'm not 100% about the connection but it's beside the point.) My god, what a bitchy funny blog. This delighted endorsement is a window into my warped persona. You can tell so much about a person from the things that really amuse them. I've been reading and wheeze-laughing for hours.

Barbara and I are currently fighting the hate-grocery-shopping/ must-go-grocery-shopping battle. And we're going down in flames. Sucked into the warm, welcoming oatmeal of inertia. What is up with this? The weather's finally nice and we're only shopping for the two of us...yet, it's as if we've come down with agoraphobic lethargy. Don't get me wrong, it's not pathological yet--we're bathing and all. It would be creepy if it weren't so womblike. Okay, that's kind of creepy.

regrouping

There's a saying in political circles, "If you're not outraged, you're not paying attention." Well, boys and girls (and the gender dysphoric), I've been paying WAY too much attention. I'm attempting a rage sabbatical for a couple of days. So that my self-digesting stomach gets out of the driver's seat and back in the trunk where it belongs.

black monday

When I start the day feeling out-of-sorts and the first task Monday morning is to attend a “photocopier training” seminar (for chrissake), well, you know the rest of the day is going to involve a lot of restraint. I just put on my headphones and listen to Luciano Pavarotti at full volume and hope his magnificence can blot out my malevolence.

look, she blinked

So this weekend was something of a bust. You know those lead aprons you wear at the dentist to prevent you from having freakshow children? Well, it was if I were wearing the full-length trenchcoat version with matching longjohns. Because when I'm in that kind of a funk, I become glacial in my movements. Pre-global warming glacial, I mean. It occurred to me that I was so incredibly slothlike for a time that one might say that I was like a flower opening...time-lapse photography would be the only way to detect movement. One might say that.