Bukz r Guud

Yes, it has been a long time since I’ve posted something.

Even my last few posts had been in my glass “break in case of emergency” box along with a liter of vodka, a luna bar (for protein), a Russian Passport for a Tootsya Woovich, a samurai sword, and a very detailed list of everyone who has wronged me. I just haven’t felt much like writing. So writing has joined the long list of other things I don’t feel much like doing:

THINGS I DON’T FEEL LIKE DOING:

1. Showering
2. Looking for an apartment
3. Wearing pants
4. Taking to people
5. Leaving the house
6. Getting up to go to the bathroom (do people ever get catheters purely for convenience?)
7. Exerting the smallest amount of energy to do anything at all…

Of course, I have been doing these things (…some of them…), I just don’t WANT to. I have the chronic Mondays.

But I have finally been inspired to write due to the horrifying fact that in the precise town I live in there one, count ‘ em, ONE BOOKSTORE.

THIS IS HORRIFYING! I live on the East Coast, outside a medium-sized city and there is ONE BOOKSTORE in almost a 30 mile radius. What is wrong with the world?

The thing is that deep down I have known this for some time, I just refused to acknowledge it. This is a temporary living situation for me, I’m moving pretty soon, but I’ve been here for a year and have been trying to ignore the cracks in the facade, but this just put me over the edge.

And what made me realize this was that I was at the bookstore (I repeat, the ONE BOOKSTORE, so that really slims down the possibilities) and they didn’t have the book I was looking for. Normally, I would hop in my car and drive 5-10 minutes to the other store. Or, even better, if I was where I used to live, I would walk 10 minutes and, BLAMO, other bookstore! But the fact that the only option was ordering it really made me sad.

It’s not just that there is one bookstore in my town. Oh child, no. There is one shared bookstore for all the towns that border my town as well. I want to say 7 reasonably sized towns that all surround a pretty large city. That is more wrong then glitter on a woman over 40.

But let’s examine something: why the hell AM I so sad about this?

First of all, I love to read. And I go through these phases where I just can’t stop reading, which is actually kinda great because I go through many non-reading dry spells. So excuse me for having a lady boner for literature and just wanting books at my fingertips!

Secondly, I love the experience of going to the bookstore. If I have the time I can spend ages in there just browsing, reading the first pages of a hundred books until I make my decision and then once I feel secure in the book(s) I’ve chosen I slyly sneak over to the magazine section and read trashy tabloids, which are perfectly juxtaposed against Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles (I do that on purpose) under my arm.

And lastly, not to get too over-the-top on this, but what does that say about the type of place I’m living in? Do people just not read here? Is it just not the thing to do? Of course, there could be a few small book-stores that only the natives know about but I really doubt that.

And I wonder if I’m the only one who cares about the absence of alternate bookstores. Maybe I just belong in a different era where not everything is a super-store (because obviously the one bookstore here isn’t a little independent shop) and there aren’t TVs distracting us from every other activity. And trust me, I love me my TV, I spend way to many hours drooling in front of it, but nothing can every detract from a good book.

The other day my mom told me she was buying the movie version of Gone With the Wind and the check-out girl saw and said:

Girl: I’ve never seen this! Is it good?

Mom: Yes, it’s a classic! But not as good as the book!

Girl: There’s a book…?

Shoot me.

Advertisement

Life is…

Some mornings I lift my head off of my fluffy pillow, wipe the sleep from my eyes, look out at the beautiful sunrise in the gloriously clear and vast sky and think…

EVERYTHING IS SHIT.

This is not a post for optimists.

Normally, I’m not sure which religion I ascribe  to…optimism, pessimism, cynicism, realism, alcoholism…But I would have to say that on the whole I am a decent mixture of all of them. If I was a cocktail I would be 2 parts optimism, 1 part pessimism, 1 part cynicism, 2 parts realism, and alcoholism…? Well, I think the fact that my metaphor is based on a cocktail speaks volumes. But once in a while all my negative thinking rallies together, starts a revolution in my brain and starts effing with the hardware up there…

I’m out of toothpaste this morning? Well, F@#$% you Crest! And your mother!!

The barista at Starbucks gave me Skim instead of 2%? Is she trying to say something?!

I ripped my tights on an exposed screw? Who put this f%^&*ing screw here?? Was it you, Joe?? What about you, Betty!? I see you giving me the stank eye!

I ran out of gas halfway to work and I’m already running late? Who didn’t fill up my f@#%ing car?? Well, who drove it last?!? Oh…me. Well, f@#%^ me!

I feel slighted by some ass-faced goon I shouldn’t be wasting my time with anyway because he’s rude/5’2”/6’11/unfeeling/married/smelly/pervy/douche-y/grumpy/doopey? What the f@#$%, Woo?! Why are you perpetually attracted to b-holes!?

And when I’m in a mood like this there is very little I can do. All the usual forms of therapy utilized by 20-somethings fall short of solving the problem.

Drinking: I get angrier and start a fight with some 11 year old on the street who looks at me funny until I realize they just have a lazy eye.

Eating: I eat way too much and literally don’t stop because then I will have to confront said eating and then I hate myself for the hours of gym damage control I’m going to have to go through. To deal with that I fight with the same 11 year old.

Hook-ups: I am too cynical and moody to believe that anyone would actually want to be around me so I get aggressive and pick a fight mid flirt. There’s a lot of fighting going on…

Actual Therapy: Well, maybe this one would work…

All I really can do on days like this is lean into it. Because what else is there? I put on my Scooby doo pajamas from the seventh grade, drink wine straight from the bottle, and cry over diary entries I wrote Freshman year of high school where I’m just discovering the word FUCK and use it with unearned aplomb. Thought it is a word I’m obviously quick familiar with now.

It is all about just admitting the fact that for the day I am this:

 

 

About Bank: “Adieu, adieu, to you, and you, and you-hoooo”

Today is my last day at my bank. Sad face emoticon.

Initially I had counted down the days to when my 2 month long 2 weeks would be up (it was really that long, I’m not being cutesy) but now I find myself being dragged out of the vault, talons out, baring my fangs, chest heaving, using a letter opener as a deadly weapon and stuffing money into my bra.

I DON’T WANT TO GO! DON’T MAKE ME GO! PLEAAAASSSEEE!

It feels like camp! You know that camp phenomenon where you can be having the worst time of your life, mosquito bites forming a veritable crop circle on your back, with enough shameful hand-in-a-glass-of-warm-water-until-you-pee-during-your-sleep experiences to wallpaper your bathroom, and then comes the time to go home and you just CAN’T. And there you are, with the same bastard that put your hand in the warm water, hugging and crying and asking for their screen-name so you can put them on your “buddy list” when you’re home! You also listen to THIS, a lot.

Well, that is exactly how I feel now and it is so depressing. The end of Cold Mountain, depressing, where (SPOILER ALERT) you watch the whole effing, 10-hour movie, waiting for Inman and Ada to finally be together and he dies. And so do your dreams. And your patience. And your tissue supply.

New Movie from Dreamkillers

What other job could I possibly have where I could come home with the stories that I have?! What I’ve had the opportunity to share in this blog doesn’t even scratch the surface! I mean, a customer once proudly showed me his stab wound!

And I’m also going to miss the people I work with even though they tormented me for months! Leaving Shamus, alone, will lead to a hard-core break-down that will most certainly include a self-deprecating, Cold Mountain marathon accompanied by the new Ben and Jerry’s flavor Schweddy Balls, which I’ve been dying to try actually…

mouth-wateringly good...?

So, as I begin the day, I must keep my chin-up, remember all the good times (like when that guy threw-up pure Vodka in the lobby at 9 am) and make sure I get everyone’s screen names so we can K.I.T (keep in touch) while we H.A.G.S. (have a great summer). Also, the fact that they are getting me drunk as a parting gift doesn’t hurt either.