**still life with mandolin**--pablo picasso
"when the going gets weird,
the weird go pro."
--dr. hunter s. thompson
and that is for damn skippy, friends and neighbors. and the going has definately gotten weird, lately. i kind of feel like my insides, like the part where "you" really live, has been invaded by some outside force. said outside force seems to have wrapped me up in a bedsheet and beat the living sh*t out of me with a baseball bat, kind of like willie nelson's ex-wife did to him one night when he came home really really drunk. i haven't been really really drunk in AGES, so i'm not sure exactly what i've done to merit such a beating. nevertheless, a beating has occured/is still occuring. the upshot is this...i am in no way, shape, or form bored, at all. in fact, i could be a study in over-stimulation, at this point. and if let myself look at things from the outside, it's damn near funny.
take today, for instance. i spent like 900 hours last night talking to some friends last night about their summer job, which was once my summer job, so i get the frustrations, etc. i was a little tired this morning when i got to work...a little later than normal...but still in good fighting form. until one of my nosy (and when i say "nosy" what i secretly mean is mrs. kravitz from bewitched) little old ladies tried to come into my office with one of my other little old ladies (the thursday morning "receptionist", who can't hear anyone on the phone, and always sends all the calls to me, and who is moving to the coast to live with her son...) so that mrs. kravitz could measure mrs. talks a lot for "some new panties, since she's moving, and all."
yeah. that's right. "some new panties, since she's moving, and all."
WAIT. WHAT? EXCUSE ME...WHAT? i'm sorry...i thought you said you were going to measure someone for NEW PANTIES...IN MY OFFICE. i must have had an acid flashback, because who would say something like that in A CHURCH OFFICE? not to mention, i hate Hate HATE the word panties with the white hot intensity of ten thousand suns.
for real and for serious and for super-duper true, mrs. kravitz was all set to measure mrs. talks a lot IN MY OFFICE. can you imagine what would have happened if i hadn't been here??? if i hadn't been sitting at my desk, minding my own business, i could have avoided even knowing about the discussion of fittings for...underpants..., much less have had any idea that my My MY office was being targeted for such a...delicate...undertaking. and i feel bad that my office might have been subjected to that. i know nothing about measuring for...underpants...bras, sure. but...underpants? REALLY? wouldn't you just match up sizes with whatever you wear in a pant or skirt? do you really have to measure...and do you have to do it IN PUBLIC...AT CHURCH...WHERE PEOPLE TALK TO JESUS?? is nothing sacred?
this happened at 11:30 this morning. i haven't really been able to concentrate on anything since then. i think i may have some post-traumatic stress disorder over this. i definately wish i had gone psychosomatically deaf at the first indication that my office might be used for something like this--you know, like how if a person sees something really traumatic, their brain just shuts off their optic nerve for a little bit... i can hear the reverberating echo of mrs. kravitz in the back of my brain, like the hateful mother on "carrie", only instead of "their all going to laugh at you!", all i can hear is "paaaaanties...aaaaaanties....aaaaanties...neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanties...aaaaaanties...aaaaaaanties...for the moooooooooooove..."
a lady need a stiff drink, ya'll.
i think, after today, i may have officially heard everything, and may potentially be unshockable. however, i still have the capacity to be extremly grossed out. yay!
mil besos--rmg
--dr. hunter s. thompson
and that is for damn skippy, friends and neighbors. and the going has definately gotten weird, lately. i kind of feel like my insides, like the part where "you" really live, has been invaded by some outside force. said outside force seems to have wrapped me up in a bedsheet and beat the living sh*t out of me with a baseball bat, kind of like willie nelson's ex-wife did to him one night when he came home really really drunk. i haven't been really really drunk in AGES, so i'm not sure exactly what i've done to merit such a beating. nevertheless, a beating has occured/is still occuring. the upshot is this...i am in no way, shape, or form bored, at all. in fact, i could be a study in over-stimulation, at this point. and if let myself look at things from the outside, it's damn near funny.
take today, for instance. i spent like 900 hours last night talking to some friends last night about their summer job, which was once my summer job, so i get the frustrations, etc. i was a little tired this morning when i got to work...a little later than normal...but still in good fighting form. until one of my nosy (and when i say "nosy" what i secretly mean is mrs. kravitz from bewitched) little old ladies tried to come into my office with one of my other little old ladies (the thursday morning "receptionist", who can't hear anyone on the phone, and always sends all the calls to me, and who is moving to the coast to live with her son...) so that mrs. kravitz could measure mrs. talks a lot for "some new panties, since she's moving, and all."
yeah. that's right. "some new panties, since she's moving, and all."
WAIT. WHAT? EXCUSE ME...WHAT? i'm sorry...i thought you said you were going to measure someone for NEW PANTIES...IN MY OFFICE. i must have had an acid flashback, because who would say something like that in A CHURCH OFFICE? not to mention, i hate Hate HATE the word panties with the white hot intensity of ten thousand suns.
for real and for serious and for super-duper true, mrs. kravitz was all set to measure mrs. talks a lot IN MY OFFICE. can you imagine what would have happened if i hadn't been here??? if i hadn't been sitting at my desk, minding my own business, i could have avoided even knowing about the discussion of fittings for...underpants..., much less have had any idea that my My MY office was being targeted for such a...delicate...undertaking. and i feel bad that my office might have been subjected to that. i know nothing about measuring for...underpants...bras, sure. but...underpants? REALLY? wouldn't you just match up sizes with whatever you wear in a pant or skirt? do you really have to measure...and do you have to do it IN PUBLIC...AT CHURCH...WHERE PEOPLE TALK TO JESUS?? is nothing sacred?
this happened at 11:30 this morning. i haven't really been able to concentrate on anything since then. i think i may have some post-traumatic stress disorder over this. i definately wish i had gone psychosomatically deaf at the first indication that my office might be used for something like this--you know, like how if a person sees something really traumatic, their brain just shuts off their optic nerve for a little bit... i can hear the reverberating echo of mrs. kravitz in the back of my brain, like the hateful mother on "carrie", only instead of "their all going to laugh at you!", all i can hear is "paaaaanties...aaaaaanties....aaaaanties...neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanties...aaaaaanties...aaaaaaanties...for the moooooooooooove..."
a lady need a stiff drink, ya'll.
i think, after today, i may have officially heard everything, and may potentially be unshockable. however, i still have the capacity to be extremly grossed out. yay!
mil besos--rmg
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