Tuesday, July 24, 2007

I have been very into reading memoirs lately. And I would be lying if I told you I don't know why. The reason I read these witty likely-enough stories of well known contemporary authors is because a) they are entertaining and b) they make me feel better about my sad excuse for a summer job. Steven King once shoved dirty sheets into a industrial strength washing machine to make money. David Sedaris carried boxes of books up and down flights of new york apartment stairs. Sarah Vowell was a temp for 13 months while crashing on her married friends' fold out couch. And look at where these people are now!

I don't intend to be a famous contemporary American author. All I'm saying is that these stories help drive home the fact that even though I hate my job, it pays well and I'm only 20. Also, I realize that living with my parents isn't too horrible 100% of 40% of the time.

I mean Augusten Burroughs, my god. Even if the whole book is lies, the life portrayed is raw and makes me appreciative. His mom encourages him to fake suicide so she can have some peace and quiet. My mom says "how many meatballs do you want?" I say four or five and ask her if she can fix the straps on my dress, I would like to wear it to Amanda's party on Friday. "Just run upstairs and grab stome straight pins," she says. "I only need a couple."

Friday, July 20, 2007

I went to hear a free Decemberists show the other night, one of the great things about the city of Chicago. It was okay, at best. I'm actually not that big of a fan. But free, you know?

I was more entertained by the find-stranger-in-crowd-and-make-up-a-story-about-him/her/them game. Joe found a man who had mistakenly navigated to becomeafratboy.com instead of becomeahipster.com, mine was a dude who had tried to suppress his hipster ways to earn the love of a sorority girl, and Amy's couple met on eharmony.com. This combined with Amy's talent to pick up guys no matter where she goes, (which resulted in a delicious treat of waffles and nutella pulled from their backpack), I do say it was a good evening. We also saw a man who looked like John Lennon, and certainly encouraged the image with his glasses and haircut.

The last few notes of the band which we were really too far away to see brought some light rain, and by the time Amy and I stepped off at her El stop, it was heavily storming. Do you remember that match when Hermione used the impervius spell on Harry's glasses? The weather was like that.

I chucked my shoes in my bag, and spent the rest of the walk home jumping in puddles and avoiding Amy with the umbrella. She found a way to make it more of a weapon against me than a safeguard from the rain. We slopped up her apartment, and agreed it felt more like a Friday night than a Tuesday one.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Am I accomplished?

Said a friend to me the other day on a cream cheese and salsa concoction of my mother's, "This dip is like a 20-year-old, it doesn't know what it wants to be." I found this to be rather insightful and true, because honestly, what 20-year-old knows shit about herself?

But at 21, different expectations are upon us. Around for two decades and one-tenth, have you accomplished something? Anything?

As I was thinking these thoughts, I decided right then and there that I would make a list of 21 things I have accomplished in my life. The list would be complete before this coming Saturday.

I came up with about seven things off the top of my head and immediately felt disgusted with myself. Why did I feel compelled to post a list of my own accomplishments for all to read? What was I trying to prove? Who was I trying to prove it to? And why did I deem 21 the magical number of what I was supposed to have accomplished, what just because I am quicking approaching the age of the same number?

Thursday, July 05, 2007

These are the Things I Look Forward to At Work:

I. Making Active Employee Purple Folders
A. the satisfying eurphoria felt when pounding typewriter keys
B. Rolling my chair between cubicles
i. seeing if I can complete the journey in one roll
II. Lunch
A. Food
B. Not working
C. Reading Harry Potter
III. Brainstorming witty remarks to throw at the Andy-esque character

I also wrote a Haiku, titled "Ode to Old Blisters."

Highlight of my day:
Painlessly peeling dead skin
Below. Fresh, Smooth, Pink

Sunday, July 01, 2007

As I was packing my lunch for my miserable, miserable job tomorrow, I started thinking about things that seemed really important when I was a kid.

This stroll down memory lane was initiated by a recent-running-out-of-paper-bags-event at my house. I had to substitute a plastic bag to contain tomorrow's lunch. I remembered when this sort of thing happened when I was 10 or so years old.

"MOM! WE'RE OUT OF PAPER BAGS" I would inform my mother.
"Just use a grocery bag."
"NO! I CAN'T!"

Mom did not get it. I absolutely could not show up to 5th grade the next day with my lunch in a plastic bag. All the kids would think my family was weird or something. Nor could I put my sandwich in a fold-over baggie, since everyone else had their pb&js in ziplock brand baggies. Nor could I use Roseart brand markers. Everyone else had crayola. They would think my family was poor or something.

I act as if these things were absolutes, but they were quite not for the following reasons: 1. my mother pinches pennies 2. she did not care about my grade school rep. And a result, I was sent to the first day of school with generic brand glue when everyone else had Elmer's, and 10 cent notebooks when everyone else wrote in 5 Star.

Did these things really matter? Was I oblivious to all the mean things the people inside the Spacemaker crowd said about the outsiders? Or did the Spacemaker kids even care? Did I just think they cared because I didn't have one?

Beside all of this, I think I turned out okay. Right?