the ocean

Back to Reality

Ugh. How is it that I've just had four days off in a row and somehow I feel like I never left? Part of it is no doubt that I was unconscious for much of Thursday, and it also doesn't help that Friday and Saturday I had to divide up into fifteen minute increments of face icing. Today I was awake and generally had the use of both hands, but I do think the painkillers have messed with me a little bit. Occasionally my legs feel like rubber and I'm pretty sure I just hallucinated Barbara Walters into an old Friends episode. The good news is that she had really phenomenal comic chops.

Speaking of which, I can't really decide how I feel about HBO's Girls. I sort of wanted to like it, mainly because I think the girl who is Brian Williams' daughter is really pretty, but I'm really just irritated by it so far. The characters all just keep making such horrible choices and if I wanted to see that I'd just replay my own life from ten years ago. Plus they all seem to really love themselves excessively, and if I wanted to see that I'd just head into my office, which I have to do tomorrow anyway. And I also keep finding myself wanting to clean everyone's apartments. Which is weird, given that I don't even clean my own.

Shoot, I forgot to watch the Jennifer Love Hewitt Handjob Hour on Lifetime tonight. Clearly, I now know I have wasted my life.

Oral Majority

I had oral surgery yesterday, which I could almost say I've come to enjoy, if it weren't for the pricetag and the wicked icebag regime afterwards. For the most part, it's just a matter of taking time off of work, enjoying the wonders of pain medication, and going on an anaesthesia trip. Plus I so rarely see daytime TV, although I have to say The Price Is Right is barely recognizable now. Who knew it was even possible to ruin Plinko for me?

Of course, yesterday's fun was not enhanced by my anaesthesiologist's inability to find a vein. She just kept pricking and apologizing, pricking and apologizing, and telling me that she "never has this problem." Meanwhile I've got track marks up and down my arms that would probably get me sent for drug testing if I dared to wear short sleeves into the office. Once they got it in, though, I have to say it was some sweet stuff. I have never had having a tooth cut out of my head seem so vaguely hilarious.

So now I'm doing fifteen minutes on and fifteen minutes off with my ice bags. All day. And I have to try to sleep with my head elevated, which is not working out so amazingly for me. Although I do recall them telling me that that's how everyone used to sleep in olden times when I visited the Lincoln home in eighth grade. My big fear is what's going to happen when the pain meds run out. Could I become a pill seeker like that girl on Degrassi? I'd much rather just become a bitch, like that other girl on Degrassi.

Transitions

So I got a new job and gave a month's notice at my current one. Of course, I've never been able to write about my current job for reasons of client confidentiality, and I'm pretty sure I won't be able to write about my new job for similar reasons, so it makes very little difference for blog purposes. Except that I will probably be working much shorter hours at the new job, which may well mean more writing time, although it could just as easily mean more drinking time, more Lifetime time, or more Wii time. I suppose we should leave what I'll be doing with that extra time as a TBA.

It is very weird to be telling people I'm leaving after nearly seven years, though. I've been on the other side of the "I'm leaving the firm" speech so many times that you would think I would have it down, but it turns out it's harder than it looks. I was so afraid that people were going to yell at me that I almost threw up before the first one, but everyone has in fact been really nice, which actually almost makes it worst, because then I feel like the jerk in the breakup. Yes, it turns out the job quitting speech pretty much boils down to "it's not you, it's me."

And in the end, that's actually more or less the case. It's a great job, an interesting job, a challenging job, but ultimately just not the job that I want to do any more. Of course, the jobs I really do want to do in my life are "space cowboy" and "Mrs. Herman Cain," but we all end up settling eventually, don't we?

TV Guide


So I'm slightly behind on this, but I just finished reading Vanity Fair's piece on the making of Friends. Yes, apparently Vanity Fair has just discovered '90s sitcoms (I fully expect Graydon Carter to start sporting a "Rachel"), but given that they usually just print pieces about the deceased starlets of the 1950s, this is sort of boundary pushing for them. It's kind of a strange read. I mean, it's Friends, not Roots. It wasn't exactly a shocking concept that people might latch on to a sitcom about six attractive young New Yorkers who have sex a lot. Wasn't it really just kind of Caroline in the city with better wardrobe?

Anyway, it is sort of hilarious to read about all the different people who auditioned for these roles. I for one would have loved to have seen Jasmine Guy as Phoebe and Tea Leoni as Rachel. Not to mention Anthony Rapp as Chandler. Note that I am not making any of these up.

It's also kind of funny that they could only get half of the Friends to be interviewed for the piece. I mean, I get Jennifer Aniston sitting this one out, because she's allegedly a movie star now (but will assuredly die alone), and I'll even give it to Courtney Cox, basically just because she was amazing in that Springsteen video, but what scheduling conflicts does Matthew Perry have? Did he have an autograph signing in Paramus, NJ he had to be at? Or was he just too afraid to relive the whole history of scary thin Chandler, sort of fat Chandler, and bad hair and glasses Chandler?

I do have to admit that I've seen probably every episode of Friends multiple times. I was young and impressionable. Plus, they play like two hours of it on Nick at Nite every night now. It's a wonderful program for falling asleep purposes, I can tell you that.

Target Practice

How did going to Target on a Wednesday night so quickly make the transition from fun lark to annoying chore? I'm guessing the couple loudly breaking up in the middle of the Target Cafe had something to do with it, but that can't be the whole thing, right? I used to love browsing the electronics and housewares for some useless little bauble I could buy for no reason, pushing my cart onto the cart escalator and watching it glide so effortlessly to the second floor, and picking out delicious Target brand foodstuffs like bacon cheeseburger sliders and M&M trail mix. Now I just want to grab my Crest whitestrips and skim milk, toss them into a bag, and get the hell out of there. And no, it's not just because it's in Uptown and I'm afraid I'll get shot. I'm afraid I'll get shot just about everywhere these days, so that's not really a disqualifier.

I think maybe I'm just letting work get to me too much. It's gotten to the point where I really can't even leave it at the office any more. Even if I'm not obsessively checking my blackberry, I'm thinking my way through some problem I have to deal with in a case. Or just worrying aimlessly. This is why I'm so much fun at parties these days.

The good news, though, is that I did finally locate the baby registry and get some lovely items for my friend. Actually the only items remaining on the registry that they actually sell in a physical Target as opposed to just online. Which is good, because taking a printed out picture of an online purchase to the shower on Sunday probably wouldn't go over all that well.

The List Means Life(time)


A few words must be said about Jennifer Love Hewitt's new series "The Client List."

First, I just saw an ad that referred to it as "TV's biggest hit." The TV part I agree with, but unless they've recently changed the meaning of one of those other two words, I'm not buying it. Is there an asterisk I'm missing somewhere? Perhaps it's "TV's biggest hit among homebound 40-year-old virgins hoping to see a nip slip?" "TV's biggest hit among members of the Hewitt household?" I'm trying to meet them halfway here.

Second, the two episodes I've seen (note how I just slipped that in there) are not quite good enough to be viewed unironically and not quite bad enough to be funny. How is it possible that they've created a non-completely terrible Love Hewitt project? Have these people not seen her dance in Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit? Her talent for full body spasms is totally wasted here.

Third, why is the massage parlor treated as sexy and fun instead of sleazy and gross? It's all like passably attractive middle aged men coming in to get rubdowns, not disgusting old dudes with growths coming out of their backsides. Is the message of the show that being paid for sex is really glamorous? Although to be fair, they don't even really make it clear exactly what sex stuff they do for them. Maybe they just have long, meaningful talks about their feelings while they're getting massaged.

Fourth, are they really going for a romance between Love and her husband's brother? Because that's just a really strange choice. Couldn't they at least have made it just his friend? Or John Mayer?

There's actually a lot more I could say, but even saying this much is kind of embarrassing, so I think I'll quit while I'm only slightly behind.

High Society
So today I had to go to this reception for work and be friendly to lots of strangers, which is sometimes a bit trying for me. It's hard to focus on smiling, nodding, and pretending to be interested in people's various thoughts about federalism and whatnot when all I really want to do is go to town on the cheese plate. And I find that society as a whole continues to frown on double fisting, even though it is by far the most efficient approach to volume drinking. Plus people are so rarely familiar with the entire Top Model canon, and I'll be damned if there's anything else on earth worth talking about. Tough times in America.

But this one ended with a doozy, when I approached our hostess, a nice little older lady with an unidentifiable foreign accent (come to think of it, I can't be entirely sure it wasn't Madonna) to say thanks and good night. I went to shake her hand, but she was leaning in like she wanted to do a half hug. So I switched to the hug, only to find that she must just be lopsided or something, because she was definitely not expecting the hug. And for some reason I doubled down with an air kiss. I feel fortunate that security was not called.

He is Risen, Indeed!

I'm truly amazed by the number of Facebook friends I have who suddenly become super religious on Easter. And how many of them I know to have previously been involved in drug-fueld gangbangs. So it's not so much a question of "What Would Jesus Do?" as "Who Would Jesus Give a Dirty Sanchez?" I guess.

Now that Jesus has risen from the dead, I'm guessing he's got a pretty busy day ahead of him and probably won't even have time to Facebook. Thankfully it's not football season any more, so he doesn't have to spend as much time helping Tim Tebow be barely adequate, but he's certainly got his hands full with Rick Santorum. Plus I hear that Heidi and Spencer are super religious now, so he'll have to go and try to talk them out of it. Maybe point out some of the attractive features of Buddhism.

For our part, we've so far spent Easter at the buffet with my grandmother and the dog park. Our waiter added a lot to the buffet experience, opening by asking us "if we'd been to church yet," as though for everyone in the world it is not a question of whether to celebrate the risen savior but when. He then proceeded to leave us without utensils for twenty minutes, presumably in retaliation for our insistence on evening rather than morning services, and upon his return lecture us for being "unsanitary" by drinking directly from the glasses rather than using straws. And after we had paid, he informed us that we were "free to go now," as though we'd just been granted parole.

The dog park was nowhere near as eventful. Just all humping, all the time. Which, come to think of it, seems like a great idea for a theme restaurant.

Spring Break 2000!
I'm in Quincy for Easter and it could not be finer. Actually, it's 50 degrees and overcast, so I guess it could be finer, but I'm super glad to not be working. In fact, the majority of my day thus far has been spent playing games on my iPhone. Although in truth this is vital work that is important to the future of our nation.

The trip down last night was a bit hairy. The train was completely full (for the first time in my experience, I might add), so I had a seatmate, who took up a lot of space and snored impressively for several hours. And two dudes behind me talking loudly about computers for the entire trip. Oh, and a tour group of 31 that they kept paging on the intercom over and over, such that their leader "Bridget" will forever be burned in my brain. Thank God for my headphones, which largely kept me safe from unwanted human interaction.

We also had lunch with my grandmother today. I impressed her greatly by having remained somewhat up to date on her soap opera, thanks to the wonders of noontime gym breaks and closed captioning. We had so much to talk about with Phyllis and the baby that we barely even got to the 1940s. I think that fits any sensible person's definition of success.

My Thursday

One of my favorite things is when people refer to Thursday as "my Friday" because they are taking a three-day weekend. It's actually not the case that your decision to spend Friday with Christ causes a shift in the mechanics of time. Although it will cause a shift in the crowdedness of my commute tomorrow, which will be much appreciated.

I'm taking a three-day myself this weekend, although I've opted for Monday off so as not to have to travel on the holiday. I figure Jesus is rising so I might as well stay put. I'm going to see my grandmother, of course, and will be enjoying the gloriously classy comfort of Amtrak tomorrow night. As an added sign that this trip is the single best idea of all time, the ticket was only $26. I mean, that's the kind of money you frankly just throw in the street.

I am actually looking forward to the train ride a bit. It's rare that I have four and a half hours to just sit and pass the time. I plan on catching up on my reading, although chances are I'll just play iPhone games for any part of the trip where I can get service. I may even enjoy a treat from the dining car, who knows? There is nothing like a bag of corn chips to celebrate our Savior.

Genuine Class

We took a cooking class at The Chopping Block this past weekend. It was pretty fun, and not just because I drank 2/3 of a bottle of Cabernet in the first 45 minutes. It was a demonstration class, where basically they just show you how they cook the meal before they serve it to you. I actually prefer that to hands on, because I seldom end up wanting to eat food my hands have been on. This way I get the sanctimony of having learned how to do something new without the potential food poisoning that would no doubt stem from eating my own creations. I believe that's what they call a win-win scenario.

All the food was pretty good. The soup was switched from butternut squash to broccoli bisque at the last minute, which galled the hell out of me, but it was still tasty if you could get past the vegetableness of it all. The salad involved sweet potatoes and some sort of hearty grain, which sounded gross but was actually rather pleasant. The main course was pork with this amazing sauce that had dried fruits and a bunch of other stuff I don't remember in it and the desert was molten chocolate cake. Wow, I'm really bad at describing foods. It's like if Julia Child got hit on the head with a frying pan and then sat down to write. There goes that Food & Wine gig that's every kid's childhood dream.