Insomniac + Motorcycle = Hello Kitty

Dear Mr. Wasn't-Loved-Enough-As-A-Child,

Thank you for driving through my neighborhood during the wee hours of the morning on your engineered-to-be-louder-than-normal motorcycle. I could hardly sleep for thinking about how cool and rebellious you are. Your actions sent a clear message to society: you are the counter culture and you demand attention. Well, sir, I'd like to help you with your message. I'm all about stickin' it to the man and giving society the what-for. Plus (if I may be so bold as to judge you by your actions) you seem to be in need of a lot of attention; creating a ruckus in the hopes of making everyone look at me is my specialty. Please, allow me to help you help yourself.

Firstly, we'll need to replace that loud monstrosity with a neon pink Vespa covered in Hello Kitty stickers. I think adding a wicker basket with a lap dog of your choice in the front will add a homey, personal touch. The problem with your bike is that people close their eyes and wince when they hear you coming, so you won't garner the kind of attention you need.

Example:

George: "Who's that asshat on the loud motorcycle?"

Roger: "I don't know, it was so loud I winced and closed my eyes!"

George: "Who's that asshat on the neon pink Vespa covered in Hello Kitty stickers with a wicker basket and terrier in front?"

Roger: "Oh, that's Bill."

See what I mean?

Secondly, I'd like to switch out all your clothes for identical items two sizes too small. Riding around in comfortable clothes tends to give people a strange smug look on their face, almost as if they're singing "Can't touch this!" to themselves. And crowds of people tend to look away from smug people in jealousy. If you looked a little less pleased with yourself and a lot more uncomfortable, everyone who sees you would instantly feel a disturbing mix of pity and empathetic discomfort. They won't be able to look away because they will be unfortunately connected to your experience.

Lastly, I suggest you ride around crowded city centers in the daytime. Very few people are out and about the streets of quiet neighborhoods at 4 in the morning. Changing your bike and clothing will help you meet your goal for getting the most attention as efficiently as possible and I'd hate to set you up for failure.

Make these changes and I can promise you all the attention your little James Dean-esque heart desires. Ride through my neighborhood at 4 am at that decibel again and I can promise only the kind of attention a mysterious, violent murder of a excessively loud scoundrel can bring.

Diabolical Lawyer/Roommate

Well Internet, it has been about a week since I posted. “Why the long time between posts?” you might ask yourself. The answer is simple: my temporary roommate.

My ‘friend’ is staying with me right now. She’s been in my home, foraging my food, using my precious hot water and smearing her skin cells all over the place for about a week now. Actually, it’s been precisely a week. She came the afternoon I posted last. Suspicious? I’d say so.

You see, E* is becoming a lawyer. This week was the first week of orientation for little lawyers and she’s been running around like crazy trying to learn things, make a good impression, suck out souls, etc. It’s tiring work, pretending to be a lawyer. So tiring that you need to use all your resources, all your energy. Perhaps even other sources of energy if you can get your hands on it…

I highly suspect E is stealing my creativity. My evidence is pretty substantial:

A. I haven’t posted in a week. Maybe I was busy, maybe my mojo was being sucked out. Who's to say?

B. All of my jokes have gotten substantially worse over the last week. I went from being Jim Gaffigan to resorting to ‘that’s what she said’ jokes in just a few days. Days, people!!

C. My ability to cook, create an acceptable Pandora station, and put together an outfit has completely deteriorated. For example, right now I’m wearing a purple ballerina tutu, an olive wool sweater, men’s loafers, and a single red glove. At least when I’m operating full force I would have made sure all those items were in the same color scheme!

D. Meanwhile, E is slowly gathering study speed and reading hundreds of thousands of pages of legal documents in mere hours. How could anyone understand such flowery, dry language in a few hours unless they were stealing someone else’s life force and using it for diabolical study habits??

I rest my case.

*E stands for Evil, which she is.

Mathety Mathety Math

High school math really did a number on me. (Get it? har-har!) I am completely incapable of simple math because I keep trying to throw more complicated stuff I don't really understand in there. Here are two scenarios for you, Internet:

1. PRECOFFEE

I wonder how many vacation days I will have in December. Hmmm... Let's see, I know that I earn about 2.something-something every pay period, which is every 2 weeks, and there are...lots of weeks before Christmas, and there's 8 hours per work day. I think I'm supposed to divide by... pi? log? Ok, wait, I'll jot this down.

2. POSTCOFFEE

I wonder how many vacation days I will have in December. Hmmm... Let's see, I know that I earn about 2.something-something every pay period, which is every 2 weeks, and there are...lots of weeks before Christmas. I guess I'll have to look at a calendar...soooo... that's too much work. I'm far too busy and important for this. I'll say 3.

Either way, I aint' addin'. I blame high school. It made me phobic of using simple math. And red pens. And school lunches. And pep rallies. And everything, really.

Illicit Grapes

Confession: I ate grapes this morning. And, in fact, everyday for the past 3 days.

This may not seem significant to you Internet, but it is to me. You see, I don't eat vegetables, fruit, or really anything nutritional at all. Being a true anarchist, whenever The Man (in this case the USDA) demands that I eat precise amounts of anything, I immediately revolt by doing the exact opposite. If I could find a way to eat negative amounts of fruits and vegetables, I would. Besides, I am helping the evolution of mankind by eating only what is readily available and abundant. Someday soon the world will be covered in cheeseburgers and pizza, and your children's children will thank me for giving them the genetic mutations that allow them to digest such foods into Niacin or Folic Acid or whatever.

That being said, I made the mistake of grocery shopping while feeling snackish. As I hustled past the produce section, carefully avoiding any whiffs of grapefruit or lettuce or other rabbit foods, a voice crowed overhead, "Stick your seedless grapes in the freezer! They're a great summer treat!"

"God?" I thought. "You want me to...buy grapes...and freeze them? Curious." The problem with shopping on an empty stomach is that I'm easily swayed by such marketing ploys. I'm always mistaking loud voices for God and dust falling from the shelves as the dust of angels.

I bought the grapes and did as God bid and popped them in the freezer. One fulfilling cheeseburger later, I began to doubt the power of The Mystical Frozen Grapes. What could possibly be so wonderous about ice cold nutrition? The vitamins alone could kill me. Luckily I'm an adventurous lass. I put my life on the line and tried one. It was earth shattering. When properly frozen it has the temperature and texture of extra creamy ice cream. (side note: when they begin to thaw a little, they taste like very cold grapes, which nobody likes.) Ice creamy grapes? I accept.

So today I drove my recyclables to the recycling center, snacking on frozen grapes with a smug look on my face. I was incredibly tempted to shout out, "Look at me! I'm practically a hippie, what with my recycling and my grape eating habits! You could even mistake me for a vegetarian!" It's all so totally unlike me that I can't help but wonder if these grapes are life-altering. What could be next? Jumping out windows of 12 story buildings? Eating Kiwi? Wearing high heeled shoes? All drastic changes. All made possible by eating The Mystical Frozen Grapes.

Working Hours

I’m not really a morning person. The only way you could possibly get me to be nice to you upon waking is if you woke me up while holding a huge cup of good coffee. And a bacon sandwich. And you brought Nick Drake in to croon quiet, wakeful songs to me*. Then, once you have assembled all this and presented it to me in a nonthreatening, gentle, and subservient fashion, you have to slowly back out of the room while facing me, so I know you’re not up to something sneaky like opening the windows or switching out my delicious bacon for broccoli.

Given all this, it is amazing to me that I have a job that requires me to be there at 8 a.m. That’s 8 As in Morning. Not 8 Post Morning. I mean, who comes up with these hours?!?

I think I know what happened. Some guy was sitting at his loom (since this was back in the days of looms) and said, “Hey! This is the way of the past! Time for a new way to work. Let’s all get up at 6, sit in traffic for half an hour just to drive 5 miles, and then work for 9 hours!” Since they used to wake up at 4, sit in mud for half an hour because the cows needed to be milked, and then wandered around the farm and fixed things and then went to bed at 8, it seemed like the wave of the future. Or, to put it in their language ‘Ye New Fangl’d Wave of Le Futschur’

But this is a new time and age. That idea to get up at 6 and work at 8 was for their future, not our present. So, in the name of Worker’s Rights, Civil Liberties, Children’s Futures, and Other Important Causes, I hereby declare the new new work hours of the future: 11 a.m.-1 p.m., Siesta break, 3 p.m.-5 p.m.
That schedule gives just enough time to get work started, take a nap, go back to work to finish up, and then go home in time to catch some sun (unless you live way up North. Then you’re on your own.) This kind of schedule coincides with basic European principles which we really ought to adopt anyway. They’re crazy productive (just look at all the historical crap they churn out all the time!) and they work for 30 hours a week and take 3 months of vacation. Clearly they know what’s what.

I’ll give the president two months to hash this out with congress and labor unions and announce it to the U.S. I’ll even let him claim it as his own idea, just this once.



*n.b.: like from a time machine Nick Drake, not an undead, zombie Nick Drake. Zombies do not make for good mornings. And they only croon ‘braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains’.