Saturday, May 29

[I don't care what the neighbors say]
Mmmmmmm ... bored. A whole day off, wasted. Split between sleep, reading, and playing my beloved Sims.

+ The other day, I finished Kill Two Birds and Get Stoned. I wanted to like it so badly, but just couldn't. I was grappling with my disappointment so much that I dreamt I encountered the author and "Clyde" and "Fox," the two main characters. They were old and used-up and as disappointing as people as they were characters.

+ Before coming to B'ham, I bought from the Goodwill The Rules, the self-help book that swept the nation in the mid-'90s. You remember the phenomenon; it was all over talk radio and Oprah. Lots of successful women suddenly decided they had to get married -- right that instant -- because career success wasn't enough for them and they deserved to be treated like "a creature unlike any other" by men. I have almost decided the book is a complete joke, purpotrated cruelly on the female readers who gobbled it up as an antidote to their loneliness. Every sentence reads to me like the authors intentionally deep fried it in sarcasm and sly wit. Their advice includes never leaving the house without wearing makeup (at least put on lipstick, even if you're going jogging!) and getting a nose job, no questions asked, if you're unhappy with your nose. The kicker (no pun intended) comes near the end when the authors lay out a list of things you can count on if you follow The Rules -- the major one being to not get beaten by your husband. Ooof. If you ever need an excuse to get your heart rate pounding and your nerves on edge, I recommend this book.

+ This other intern at the News called and left me a voice mail today. She wants to hang out this weekend, maybe go to a bar or something. I'm hiding to avoid such an imminent, awkward interaction. I can just picture the scene: We're hanging out in a booth at some yuppie bar and she goes to change the song in the jukebox. On the way back, some guy intercepts her and she stands talking to him for a good 15 minutes. I'm left sitting at the booth, sipping quietly on my amaretto sour while flips her hair and airs her gums. I fumble in my purse to find my lip gloss and apply it slowly to take up more time, disappointed that it's too dark to read the book I packed in my purse in case I had a moment alone.

+ Marvera, one of the wire editors at the News, asked me yesterday if I could babysit her three kids Tuesday morning. I am terribly broke and she pays upwards of $8 an hour, so I agreed. She has a 2-year-old, a 5-year-old, and an 8-year-old. Her house is a 30-minute commute and I've got to be there at 9:30 a.m. She said the kids will be hanging out and playing all morning, but I imagine the two oldest will begin plotting something sinister as soon as mommy tells them they're having a visitor Tuesday.

+ Now I'm reading Naked, by David Sedaris, and I love it. I might even like it more than Me Talk Pretty One Day, because there's more stuff in there about his childhood, and I like to laugh at the idiosyncracies of childhood. The chapter about his tics is hi-laaaaa-rious. Amber sent it to me just the other day, but I've already devoured most of it. Then I've got to move on to Barrel Fever and Holidays on Ice. This guy is brilliant.


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