Thursday, January 03, 2008

200H8

The first three days of 2008 have been less than stellar, but I'm trying not to let it get me down; if you were to judge my life as a whole by its first three days, (which, if I understand human biology at all, involved mostly crying, drinking all my calories and pooping on myself) the ensuing decades would look pretty bleak.

Shortly after the stroke of midnight on the first I was harrassed by a herd of teenage boys and hit up for two bucks on the street by a man I thought was going to shove me into his van and take off for the underground cell he keeps hidden under some branches in a forest where no one can hear you scream.

The F train was messed up last night. It is murderously cold outside.

I thought my house was haunted because lights were blowing out and pictures were falling and I kept hearing this weird noise and my room was approximately 45 degrees when I woke up this morning (like, actually: the thermostat downstairs in the boiler room only read 51), but in the daylight I will grudgingly acknowledge that this was probably the result of watching three consecutive episodes of Ghost Hunters by myself.

Also, I lost my debit card. I discovered it was missing when I tried to pay for two bags full of groceries with a long line of eye-rolling, irritated Park Slopers behind me growing agitated that their tofu was getting warm while I dumped the entire contents of my purse onto the counter.

There are also a host of small irritations that would probably be dismissed had the other stuff not happened: there is a pimple on my chin; my hair is flat; I forgot to bring real shoes with me to work today so I'm stuck wearing total nerd winter boots; a dude was eating the world's smelliest onion bagel on the train this morning; my throat kind of hurts; I suspect someone is stealing the peppermints on my desk; I had a dream about work, which is really annoying because, come on, I can't be at home on my couch in pajamas watching Top Chef reruns in my dreams?

Then there's the mixed bag of my horoscope for January. I happen to love Susan Miller, the astrologer at (the supremely 90s-looking) astrologyzone.net, because she's said things like, "You will buy a flat screen TV on November 9," when I did indeed buy a flat screen TV on November 9. She's been all hearts and flowers about how great a year this is going to be for Virgos since December. My life is supposed to get all Meg Ryan romantic comedy. It's exciting and heartening to read that someone thinks there's a torrential downfall of dudes in them there clouds, which makes me hopeful about the remaining 363 days of 2008. But also, Susan kind of promised me the end of December was going to be Makeoutfest 2K7. What I got was Eat Mom's Pasta Bash. I'm not holding my breath, but I suppose I'll keep my fingers crossed.

I just finished reading this book I've been meaning to read since I was at Columbia in the summer of '04, called "Early Bird," by Rodney Rothman. It was cute, but nothing to write home about: a TV writer retires at the age of 28 and moves in with old people in South Florida for a year. There's lots of shuffleboard and golf and canasta and stuff, and it's all kind of funny and intermittently sad or heartwarming. Anyway, the point here is that the best part, by far, was the author's friendship with a woman named Amy Ballinger, who's a ninetysomething raunchy stand-up comic. She had this catchphrase punchline that could punctuate any story to make it funny, whether or not it was actually funny or kind of depressing. Ouch, I have arthritis in my knees...no matter, [punchline]. I was trying to come up with a way to end this whole thing without being all woe is me, so I think I'm just going to completely coopt her line. In fact, it may be my motto for the year.

SO, maybe my hair looks bad and I'm wearing dork boots and I've got fifteen dollars in cash for the next seven to ten working days until I get my new debit card, and maybe I can never go back to that bodega again because I'm embarrased, and maybe I'm no big hit with the teenage boys and perhaps I've got an unfriendly poltergeist as a second roommaate...but hey, at least my legs still spread.

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