Titles

A friend and I, in conversation over her latest boy drama stated to me matter of factly, that she always signs her name "Dr. Jen X," while indicating that she signed a form for a bicycle she was buying that way. I had to interrupt the story and say, "but really?" In fairness, she is, technically a Pharm. D. So she is a doctor of pharmacy, but then again, I just find it so ludicrous that she actually signs forms for things like bicycles with the title. I don't sign my credit card slips "Ms. Christine XYZ" nor do I do Christine XYZ, J.D. or Esq. And moreover, I have always found people who correct someone with their title, when not in a professional setting, a little rude.

In fact, when I encounter an attorney with the email address "AssHoleEsq@aol.com," well I think of them as exactly that. It's kind of like my take of that guy in the giant Hummer taking up the prime parking spaces in front of my house: Little Penis.

For what it's worth, it ended up sparking a conversation between Dr. Jen and the owner of the bike shop and led to a couple of dates before the drama mentioned above. But I'm curious, what do you think?

Funny Today.

So I once had this here blog thing. And I used to update frequently (ahem) more than once every month and a half. Yeah...

So I would tell you that I'm busy, but that can't entirely be all of it, can it. I can tell you that I bought a dress for the wedding and that all wedding stuff is basically accounted for minus the DJ (important!) and Tony's suit (less so) and finalizing the invitations (somewhat important. I guess.)

And yeah, while I would like to make this a wedding blog, because I have recently become obsessed natch (totally a result of obsessing over trying to find a wedding dress I actually liked). (Also, I blame my wimpy wine intake tonight at dinner with the girls for me being sober enough to actually type, but feeling the need for excessive parentheses. Sorry.)

I really came on here mostly to regale you with the story how my mother has lost her mind since my grandmother passed and my (her--Parenthesis! again!) family has been extraordinarily douchy since, but feh. I just got off the phone with her and the long and short of it is, people suck. No I don't feel the need to have a familial relationship with people who are essentially walking feces. End of story.

In the above story's place I will tell you a tale about me. It starts when I was very young. As an aside I have a frequently terrible, but occasionally awesome memory. For example, I remember meeting some people that I went from first grade through twelfth with, and can tell you that one Kelly Schmurphy wore a daisy dress on the very first day of first grade and I believe an Ann Schmavis had her hair in curly puffy pigtails and I thought both the puffs and the dress were unbelieveably cool.

Any how. Before this, before first grade where I cried every day for the first few months*, I went to Catholic school for kindergargten where I can actively remember one girl from my class telling another about how it sucked that I had to go to speech therapy (administered in a trailer in the parking lot -- the Catholic baby Jesus keeps things classy). But even before this, before the speech therapy in parking lots, in trailers that were probably later fashioned into mobile meth labs, I was in preschool.

I went to a local preschool program that was run by the high school I would later attend. There an actual certified teacher was present, but so were a number of high school students who took the course in early child-ed as an easy A, and each of these generally unenthusiastic students would take under their wing a preschooler. Except for me. Not that I wasn't taken as someone's best little preschooler, the difference was that my "teacher" was enthusiastic.

Indeed, so was I once upon a time. And so on one fateful day, early in preschool, one very enthusiastic, slightly goofy teenager asked a class of preschoolers what the weather was like today? And I, ever so enthusiasticly, and also sporting an awesomely bad lisp, tried to tell this person that the weather was sunny! It was SUUUNNY. But no. "The weather is Funny." After which laughter followed, and that very goofy teenager and I were matched up. And so I quickly learned (although I may not always follow on this advice) that I should think before I speak and consider the ramifications of my speech, lest I get stuck with maybe the goofiest human being for a year of my life (back then 20% of my life to that point!) as my "mentor" thus having to spend extended periods of my day with him.**


* Since I had gone to private school earlier I already knew how to read by the time I entered first grade. For months I would cry every day. The teacher told my mother this, concerned for me and thought maybe I didn't like her. They asked me, or maybe my mother just asked me. I answered that I liked my teacher very much, but I was sad because they had put me in the class of people who weren't smart and couldn't read.
**As an aside, the fact that I remember this probably sweet goofy guy in this way and the fact that I felt like I got slighted getting stuck with him as my mentor probably tells you that I am a snob. But I'm not. I'm just a weirdo, who even at a young age thought that geez, this preschool business? I call bullshit.

I don't like Mondays

I've found that lately I waver between liking my job enough and really trying to succeed at it, to abject despair and telling one of my supervisors, "Hey if I get fired, I would completely take a couple of weeks off, plan the wedding, maybe finally find a dress and clean my house." To which she responded, "Clean your house?" And well, maybe her house doesn't look like mine, or perhaps she has managed to walk into her similarly slovenly home and not lose what little optimism she has. But for me, the messy house is the icing on my depressive cake. Mmm...icing.

In more joyous/boring news for some, highlights of dress shopping have included finding that I am slightly too large to fit into any of the samples at bridal boutiques, so most of my dreams of finding a nice deal on a sample gown are being crushed by the minute. And not to hate on your wedding dress, because to be certain, you looked lovely in it, but really bridal designers, why all the poof? sequins/beading? and strapless? It really shouldn't be near impossible to find a simple non-beaded column or slight A-line dress in a nice fabric with a strap that isn't a halter. C'mon (always said in my head a la GOB). For pete's sake, some of us have beefy arms and larger chests that would be better served in something with a nice cap sleeve.

Although, I will say that I had a friend take pictures of me wedding dress shopping and naturally a fair amount of them were shown sideways...and well, I'm lazy, I would rather turn my head than simply flip the picture and I thought: hot damn Christine. You look GREAT. Before realizing that no, in reality the many pounds I gained these past 10 months are visible and that viewing the pictures sideways had warped me longer. For a few minutes (*cough* days) I was really pretty pleased with myself. I am an ass, one who consoles her dissatisfied self with delicious food. Don't hate.

The daytime of the night...

We've been into concert going of late. It has everything to do with the fact that deep in the midst of a love affair with Flight of the Conchords and Ray Lamontagne a radio ad came on announcing: FotC tickets and RL tickets on sale! for 4/4/09 and 4/18/09! And who could resist? Certainly not me.

And while the Ray Lamontagne concert on the fourth was highly enjoyable, it was not without incident, including a fight in the back of the theater and a woman and her husband who were really into dancing dramatically in their seats. But, because mere dancing like Elaine on ecstasy was not enough, she also liked to throw her fists triumphantly in the air while screaming: WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! (not unlike a damned lunatic.)

So yesterday I was fully prepared for the lunacy that only Philadelphia can bring to what should be a relatively mellow show. What I was not prepared for was the woman sitting next to Tony. I love Flight of the Conchords you should know. The crowd loved them too. There was laughter. Exclamations of love. And you know, it was a concert; there was loud music. But no matter, because the woman at the end of our row, took her seat promptly before the show began and then immediately fell asleep, leaning towards Tony, mouth agape. She remained that way for almost the entire show. She woke up during maybe two of the songs in the middle of the set. She did not wake up when Tony nudged her to fall towards the aisle rather than his face. Nor did she wake up when the person behind her stood above her face and took a picture of her (with flash!)

I don't understand the allure of going to take a very expensive and uncomfortable nap in a theater. But what do I know. Whaddya think? Narcoleptic?

....

Well, it feels weird to be writing here again after so long. So here goes...the biggest news in my life is that we finally set a date. Which means that after October 16th I'll be a married woman. Which is weird, but weirder that we're actually doing it. I mean, that's just crazy. Of course, nothing is done since putting our deposit on a place, so there's that. And I'm still trying to convince Tony that what we really want is to elope to Vegas and I would refund the deposit. Hell I could even afford the wedding by myself and hell we could get married by Elvis! or a singing chicken! (Is this actually possible? A singing chicken? I don't know where I got the idea, but I am kind of obsessed with it. Please don't burst my bubble.)

* * *

That aside, what has really been in the back of my mind these past few days are the Spohrs and the Gorillabuns crew. And while words fail, well it all sucks. If you have a couple of extra dollars, you can show your support for the Spohrs here (with links to Maddie's March of Dimes and the paypal link set up for the Spohrs, personally) and the Gorillabuns(es?) here. It isn't nearly adequate, but sometimes the thoughts behind our actions are all we have.

Robotrippin

Lately, I've been sick. It's probably the result of stress, but twice since the new year began I caught colds (or the flu.) Working hard and playing hard does not do a body good.

That said, I've had the following highlights this year:

1. Finding out that in some apartment buildings, if you are willing and shameless enough, you can have someone come up to your apartment at 12:oo in the morning to plunge your toilet. I know this because apparently a friend of ours' toilet was not prepared for my and my boyfriend's visit to the Big Apple. We brought our friends a bottle of champagne for their "housewarming," apparently we should have bought them a plunger.

2. I may be sick every other day, but Nyquil gives me some wacky dreams. To wit, one night I was Nostradamus and able to tell the future (for a profit!) from some floating spheres in the air. Then just recently I dreamed that I had eyebrow hair that reached a length of about a foot, that I just pushed back into my hair. I specifically remember thinking in my dream, "it's so weird that no one has ever noticed how long my eyebrows are." Who needs acid? Give me some Nyquil and a nap.

Blogshare: Is Dreaming Allowed?

The anonymous post below was brought here through the magic of blogshare and the very hard work of -R- (who has a brand new adorable baby, go say hi).

***

I have a job. Given what's happening around this country, and the world, with the economy I should be grateful to have employment.

I'm not, really.

For awhile, I thought I might be one of the many made redundant. I thought I'd be joining my friends in the unemployment line, waiting for a check that was a pittance of my former pitiful salary.

I want a break. I've lost track of how long the list is for things I want to get done around the house. I don't mean cleaning either. So many projects. And all the books I want to read, music to listen to, and little extracurricular things that I keep pushing aside because I just can't fit one more thing into my schedule.

I want to do something that I know I will be truly passionate about. I have this dreadful feeling that I'll always be stuck working in a job that I don't love because I couldn't afford not to. Bills don't stop coming because you've decided to pursue your dream. And just when I think I might be getting ahead financially in my savings, something happens that eats it all up again. Car needs to be fixed, major house repair, appliance dies, dog needs to visit the Vet's office...

I feel selfish. I should be thankful for my position. I shouldn't dream. This is real life. You don't get to get everything you want.

***

Want more blogshare? Want to guess which one is mine? Check out the other websites!

And You Know What Else
Andrea Unplugged
Blue Soup
Bright Yellow World
Bwildered
Caity of the Keps
Catheroominations
Citystreams
Daily Tannenbaum
Did I Say That Outloud?
Dispatches From The Failed Mommy Club
Face Down
For The Long Run
Full Of Snark
Heidikins
In Java, Literally
Just Below 63
LizLand
Malfeasance
A New Duck
NonSoccer Mom
The North Is My Snowcone
Not The Daddy
Operation Pink Herring
Pants, Pants, Pants
Red Red Whine
Sassy Buster
Sauntering Soul
Shushing Action
Snarke
Snow-Covered Hills
Swimming With Sharks
Thinking Some More
Trueish Story
Way Way Up
Whiskey Marie