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Bluh.
By briantologist | May 25, 2004
Man, Christ. I’m just out of fucking gas. I think I’m getting sick again, I’m out of this totally magic time-release vitamin C I was using to ward off the sick monster, and I can’t afford more ’til Friday. We’re out of ibuprofen. We’re out of bread. We’re out of meat. We’re out of coffee. (Fuck, we’re out of coffee.) I’m all out of love. I’m so lost without me. I’m not out of doors that much. I’m out of fucking patience, that’s for goddamn sure. I’m low on friends, or I will be once Max Power and Chesty LaRue move to the big St. Louie. I’m nearly out of decent scotch. (I’ve still got half a bottle of “Sir Malcolm.” But even though for once I’ve got limes, I’m out of club soda, so I can’t even cover up Sir M.’s crappiness by mixing.) As hinted at before, I’m mostly out of money.
On the plus side: I’m not completely out of friends, and we’ve even been getting to see more of some awesome old friends, Gabriel and Joana (code names pending; feel free to suggest them, G&J)(hey, I just realized your initials are the same as Gin and Juice. Are you related?) one of whom just e-mailed me the best link ever, to the most pompous, self-important jackass I’ve encountered, virtually or otherwise, in years. (Seriously. Click and read. You’ve never read worse thesaurus faux-prose in your life, even if you’ve read “The Seduction of Natalie Bach,” by William Luvaas, which remains the worst work of literature ever, even worse than “Humphrey Clinker,” which technically I didn’t even read but still knew was bad, but it still couldn’t possibly have been worse than “The Seduction of Natalie Bach” by William Luvaaas, which I’m kind of glad I remembered because I think I’ll write about it sometime soon. Gabe can back me up on this.)
Another plus: My boss still loves me, and I still love my boss. Which means he hasn’t fired me for being an idiot yet. Or for being a pain in his ass. Or for blatantly kissing up to him because I know he skims my blog occasionally when the other blogs fail him. Not only that, but we’re getting raises this year! Decent ones! Like, decent enough to notice in my take-home pay! I’m super stoked. I love my job so much it makes me feel bad. I seriously feel like I don’t deserve to have a job I love this much. Darleece comes home bitching about work, with seriously good reason, since apparently she deals exclusively with shambling, unwashed mouth-breathers, and when she asks how my day was, it’s always pretty good. My worst day at work is pretty good. A bad day for me is when I don’t get much done because I can’t get myself in gear. It’s not that I’ve got some dumbass boss breathing down my neck all the time, either — again, I love my boss. I like the people I work with. About a third of our day ends up devoted to dick and fart jokes. And our jobs are pretty secure, considering. Also we have excellent benefits. I say again, in summation, that I do not deserve a job this good. So I’m trying desperately to make up for it by constantly being thankful for it.
And by writing long pointless self-indulgent posts at it, apparently.
Topics: Baffled Mutterings | 20 Comments »
May 25th, 2004 at 3:22 pm
I find something amusing about that all being a personal ad on the internet.
May 25th, 2004 at 3:45 pm
Oh. My. God. Liminal! Contumacious! But my favorite bit is that ecofeminism is misspelled.
May 25th, 2004 at 3:57 pm
It’s so amazing. “Losing myself in Prague, leaving everything and nothing.” It’s like she’s worked up some complicated algorithm to produce ungodly pompous prose and used it to write a freakin’ personal ad!
(she smiles)
!!!!!
May 25th, 2004 at 4:03 pm
I don’t feel good.
May 25th, 2004 at 4:37 pm
Wow. Laughing my ass off over here!! Puh-leese! How self-important and self-absorbed do you have to be to put that up for everyone to read. Interesting that it’s a personal ad, do ya think anyone’s calling??
May 25th, 2004 at 5:08 pm
I associate both of those books with you, Brianbyrne. Probably because you gave me The Seduction of Natalie Bach for a joke at graduation and then I moved back in with my parents and was bored enough to read it. And probably because we both should have been reading Humphrey Clinker and instead we spent that time doing shots and stealing the remote at the Buccaneer bar and then eating skillets at Village Inn.
May 25th, 2004 at 6:52 pm
I love that there’s a link you can click on kafkababe’s page that says “don’t view again.”
May 25th, 2004 at 10:05 pm
Yeah, she spelled also ‘Shostakovich’, if not ‘wrong’, at least not the way it’s typically spelt… and, I can’t help but notice that someone named ‘Kafkababe’ might want to list Kafka as a writer she enjoys, and less a sperm donor (with Brad Pitt) to her ideal self-lover…
May 26th, 2004 at 10:32 am
If (she smiles yet again) I think I will have to punch her in the face and tell her NO, I DON’T want a pair of socks to go with my boot-cut relaxed-fit GAP denims.
May 26th, 2004 at 1:00 pm
Hey B,
I know this is off-topic, but I know you’d love this more than anyone I know : A bird pooped in Cyndi Lauper’s mouth. That’s all. God bless. Saunders, out.
May 26th, 2004 at 2:20 pm
Well, there you go. I’ve now got a new best thing anybody ever sent me. I’m not sure if any avian incident will ever top the goose hitting Fabio in the face, but fuck, that’s pretty damn close.
May 26th, 2004 at 2:32 pm
1. I still have a copy of ‘The Seduction of Natalie Bach’, I haven’t thought about it in years, thanks for the memory. It is truly a painful thing, second only to:
2. kafkababe’s personal ad. I can only imagine in what regard Kafka would hold someone calling herself ‘babe’ in his honor. That was just too astonishing not to share.
I’ll see if I can remedy the scotch-shortage situation for you in the near future. It makes me very very sad.
May 26th, 2004 at 2:36 pm
There’s just something hypocritical about calling yourself Kafkababe, then getting all wet for Brad Pitt.
May 26th, 2004 at 3:34 pm
She lists Kafka as a model for her ideal mate. Kafka. Oh, yeah this sounds pretty attractive:
“Kafka lived his life in emotional dependence on his parents, whom he both loved and resented. None of his largely unhappy love affairs could wean him from this inner dependence; though he longed to marry, he never did. Sexually, he apparently oscillated between an ascetic aversion to intercourse, which he called ‘the punishment for being together,’ and an attraction to prostitutes.”
May 27th, 2004 at 12:01 pm
By the way, I want to see a 50 year old, 5′ 10″, 210 lbs, drunken, lung cancer-infested, balding w/ comb-over, Mormon, and patchily-balding man with 4 kids older than ‘kafkababe’ show up on her doorstep. According to the personal, that should be no problem, as Samuel Becket similarly understands… So long as they have an American Express card and their personal telos is not oiled by things of commerce, ya know.
May 27th, 2004 at 1:36 pm
I’ve been totally useless for no good reason lately too, if it’s any consolation…
If you don’t do any actual work at least do your best to amuse your boss. That seems to work for me.
May 27th, 2004 at 1:41 pm
That personal sounds suspiciously like the poetry that goths write in high school.
It IS great that she’s so deep with the “spirituality” and whatnot and then wants Brad Pitt with an AmEx so that she can indulge in “excess drink, excess smoke,” etc, etc. I think we should send her a picture of some fat old guy holding up an AMEX (I’d do it but I don’t have an AMEX) with the message saying “How much do you charge by the hour?”
May 27th, 2004 at 1:42 pm
Who says I love you!?! Back on your head, break’s over.
May 27th, 2004 at 4:27 pm
C’mon, everyone says I love you.
May 28th, 2004 at 12:15 am
You may have to be a genius to read Foucalt, Derrida, and the other books by authors I haven’t heard of, but you must be some kind of moron to not realize that six does not equal five (“five things you can’t live without”).
Splitting hairs, though.