". . .because when I remove the blade that I keep in my boot from its sheath I cannot return it until it has split blooood."
- Mooj "40 Year-Old Virgin"
Lately, I just haven't been feeling it. I am perfectly content going to work, going home and not peeking out until it's time to go to work again. My life has been in snow-globe mode, and the only remedy for that is to sit very quietly and still until I can get things under control. I take this tact because I KNOW myself. I know that when I'm in "le funque" I can be a 240 (not the whole 360) degree beyotch and when you pluck that reserve nerve, things will get uglier than Goldie Hawn in those Enquirer pictures (I SAY GOT-DAYUM!).
What I hate most about being in the funk (also known as a case of the cruds) is that folks don't want to leave you alone. I don't mean that they call you, because it's nice when friends call. But I just want to be left the hell alone, because I don't want to say anything ugly to anyone. OnceI get started (removing the blade from it's sheath), that's a wrap -- and I mean the things I say, so though I may apologize that someone's feelings were hurt, I do NOT apologize for what was said. So, rather than cussing out folks and losing friends, I'm going to do what I do best: vent.
Is it just me, or are people becoming more and more self-absorbed? If I had a nickel for every time I was in conversation with someone, and they all but said "fuck that shit, look at meeeeee", I would be a rich bitch. One thing I do know about myself is that I am a very good listener. Therefore, nothing gets my goat like expressing something that I deem important, only to be cut off by someone that thinks that my shit is irrelevant. Grrrrr!
Don't some of these American Idol followers make you want to walk up to them and tap on their shoulder with the butt of your gun? A little part of me dies inside when someone calls me, I break my neck and get to the phone, and it's a friend or family member on the other end saying, "Girl, hurry up and turn on Idol!!!" I don't watch that rubbish!!! The more I protest, the more they say "but you've GOTTA see this one!!" Why? Am I going to spontaneously combust? There is nothing about that show that appeals to me. Deal with it people!
Metrorail Mackin' is just way more than I'm prepared to deal with at 9:00 a.m. I'm in the middle of a last minute move (vent alert) and I have been absolutely exhausted. Yesterday morning I didn't even hear my alarm go off, so I was rushing, found a seat on the train and closed my eyes. Then I heard, "You look tired." How observant. Did my being half asleep give it away? Despite myself, I smiled and said, "Yes. Very." Which SHOULD have ended the conversation. He went on and on about things that I REALLY had no interest in hearing and then asked if I'd take his number, to which I replied thanks, but no thanks. I initially was above board and told him that I really wasn't interested, but his persistence forced me to play the "I've got a man" card. He seemed to momentarily respect that and ask what I did for a living. I told him and he responded, "Well hell! You can talk to me while you're at work!" Evidently I've got the look of the hood-rat-esque, gum-popping, finger-filing secretary that makes personal calls all damn day. What the HELL do we have to talk about? OOOOOOOOOOH!
So a couple of weeks ago, my landlord called me and said, "Uh, yeah, I gotta sell my shit and you've gotta move." (Unless any of you have $355k you can let a sister hold onto for a minute. Nah. Ah well.) My lease was not due to be up until October, but I figured, that battling that was an exercise in futility, so I started with the apartment search. I found an apartment in the same general area, so no harm. I even told him that I didn't mind making myself available for agents to bring potential buyers. HOWEVER, I did say I would require sufficient notice, at least the day before during the week, 3 hours on the weekend. That way, I would know how to schedule my day. Why would these people call me at 5:00 on a Wednesday afternoon (while I'm still at work), "Yeah, hi, I have a client and we'll be around at 6:00 okay?" I'm pissed because these bastards act like they're going to Jedi mind-trick me into changing my whole day/evening because they can't follow simple instructions.
Why are we some folks so afraid to admit to an otherwise creative person that they effed up? For example, am I the only individual that found the Alicia Keys Unplugged album somewhat unnecessary. I normally enjoy her music, but I was just not digging it. And that "Unbreakable" song? TRIPE!!!! Utter and unadulterated TRIPE!!! That break down at the end? What the hell?! They sound like Charlie Brown's teacher. Plus there is a GLARING omission. If you can sing about Bill, Camille, Oprah, Steadman, Kimora and Russell with THEIR dysfunctional asses, how in the HELL you gon' leave out Whitney and Bobby? I won't even discuss that DMC song ("Cats in the Cradle" or something like that). Tragic! JUST TRAGIC!!
Did you know that the words "child care" and "summer camp" are derivatives from the latin word for "ass rape"? I love my children dearly and I can't WAIT for them to come home, but these so-and-sos need some jobs. . .QUICKLY!
This isn't so much a vent, as it is an observation. Did Good Times have a contract with the creators of the colors orange and gold (or their subsidiaries)? I can't remember who I had this discussion with, but we talked about how EVERYTHING in Florida's wardrobe was orange. And it just wasn't a real episode unless James had on a gold shirt or pulled out that mustard-y colored suit. Can anyone explain this? I need answers!
*sigh* I guess that's about all I've got today.
This house is clear.