So, I’ve been absent for like a week and a half. I sort of didn’t realize it. That’s the longest I’ve ever gone without posting, and I’m sure you were all desperately worried about my well-being. You might understand when I tell you that sometimes life falls down on your head, pisses you off, makes you buy a big bottle of vodka and convinces you that you don’t have enough material on any one idea to write any one full blog post. Or that you don’t have enough time. So here are a few thoughts that have crossed my mind, made me think, “I should post about that,” and then promptly been discarded for use in a later compliation post. Apparently.
Newt Gingrich is (finally) no longer running for president. His 23-minute resignation speech was, as we’ve come to expect, almost completely graceless and still delightfully sanctimonious. He thanked his mother-in-law, saying she wasn’t usually with them but watched faithfully online and often didn’t understand what was happening. Which was kind of adorable and kind of just really weird and a little insulting. Callista just blinked and nodded, as programmed. He apologized
for to the voters of South Carolina, who handed him a primary win, for breaking their tradition of picking the eventual nominee. He quoted a congressman from Oklahoma who said: “Newt is liberated to do what he does best: adapt conservative views and values to the challenges of the 21st century. In some ways his best days may be ahead of him.”
I think that might be a threat.
PS Ron Paul is still running. And Gary Johnson is now the Libertarian Party’s nominee.
A lawyer for uber-wealthy and reclusive philanthropist and apparent babydaddy-avoidance-funder Rachel “Bunny” Mellon testified in court Friday that Mellon had told him she was impressed with 2008 presidential candidate John Edwards and thought “he would make a fine president, reminiscent of her good friend John F. Kennedy.” Wowza. Bet she never realized how right she’d be. PS – a little math shows that the eleventy-two year old heiress was 52 when JFK was assassinated 49 years ago.
Bunny’s interior designer, to whom she wrote the $750,000 in checks for use by Edwards’ people, and who signed them over to former campaign aide Andrew Young, testified that he was also Mellon’s “evening friend” – someone she calls for a chat before bed.
I now think some of these people are living in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.
Did you know there’s a website called theofficialbellybuttonforum.com? Yeah. This is almost as surprising a realization as my continuing education on how many people search the internet for photos of tarpon and wind up on my blog. I can’t imagine how many people search for photos of tarpon and don’t click on my blog post. Anyway. Theofficialbellybuttonforum.com recently reposted my musings on my belly button piercing. Along with the repost, they quoted some of their favorite lines and commented on them. I don’t think they were being critical. I have no idea how many readers theofficialbellybuttonforum.com has… and I don’t think I want to… but I’m really, really glad I never post personal photos on my blog. Also, I feel the need to bathe.
I’ve been looking for a job for a while, though I’m still employed. I know, it’s like tempting fate in this economy, but the job I have now is kind of like fiddling on the Titanic while my fellow band members continually try to light my bow on fire. Often on my Japanese game show-like commute, I pass several sign spinners. You know. The guys who toss giant cardboard arrows into the air all twirly-like, trying to get you to pay attention to the fact that there’s an apartment building with vacancies just down the road. I find myself hypnotized by these guys and their talents. I’m weird, right? I mean what’s so awesome about throwing a sign up in the air and then catching it? Besides the fact that they do it for hours in the sun and sometimes very hot conditions. But still I love watching it. I kind of want to be them. The other day I saw one of these guys drop his sign. Ohhhh, I felt so bad for him. I actually groaned aloud in empathy. I wanted to tell him nobody saw it but me. I wanted to spare him some sort of projected humiliation I assumed he’d feel for his failure. I wanted to give him a hug.
I think I have a problem.
Remember I told you about the legislation I worked on with a state senator and his chief of staff? Well what I didn’t tell you was that I might have sort of kind of fallen slightly in like with said chief of staff. I couldn’t help it. The day I testified to the senate committee in favor of our bill, I was a train wreck of nerves and anxiety pretending to be a completely composed, dignified and serene woman in a pencil skirt, dress shirt and heels. I had walked, like, a year from my parking spot, with my skirt spinning around my hips because I’d dropped 10 pounds in four weeks from my mysterious and undiagnosed gastric complaint, and because the skirt was sitting so low, my shirt wouldn’t stay tucked in. So when I finally schlepped my way into the office building, I headed for a ground-floor bathroom so I could fix my bedraggled self. I safety-pinned my shirt into my skirt so that my skirt would stay in place and my shirt would stay tucked in. I was like one of those paper dolls we folded outfits onto when we were kids. Gah. Miraculously, I did not have sweat-stains under my arms. I still can’t figure out how I was spared that particular humiliation. Other than I drove the whole way with my elbows sticking out to keep the air circulating.
Anyway, then I hoofed it up to the fourth floor and down the hall to the senator’s office. I’d never met him or his chief of staff, though I’d been talking with the latter fellow for months on the phone and over email. As I walked, a really, really attractive guy came confidently striding out of an office, chowing down on a double-chocolate chip cookie (hell yes, I recognized it on spec). We nodded greetings at each other and I walked into the appropriate office, which I found to be empty. Seconds later, as I debated how to behave, the guy walked back in, looked at me, said my name with a question mark on the end of it, and we established that he was not the Philip Seymour Hoffman-esque character I’d expected to be the senator’s chief of staff.
Well, screw. This is going to be awkward, now. This is going to be a Thing, because I’m all nervous and secretly vulnerable and now I find you attractive and I can’t flirt because the whole reason I’m in your office is that I had a stalker and that would just look bad, and plus we’re trying to crusade for victims’ rights and you’re the only one who stepped up to get it done which sort of makes you my hero, and our love will have to wait until we’re done with that, which is suddenly kind of annoying.
I swear, it was like a freaking episode of The West Wing.
We recently became Facebook friends. He appeared to have a girlfriend as recently as Easter Sunday, but then all of a sudden, all evidence of her was gone. The other day, he told me he’s looking for a job, too, and he hates it because it’s like dating: “they just don’t work for me.”
Dude. You are ruining my Sorkin-like narrative.
I think I have a problem.
Perhaps not coincidentally… I’ve been looking for a therapist lately. See, a few years ago I started having what seemed to be daily and hours-long heart attacks, but turned out to be panic/anxiety attacks instead. Which sucks because they last way longer than heart attacks and can happen every day and still not kill you. Anyway. Those have come back lately, and as much as I hate it, it probably means I’m going to have to get some meds. But of course, my insurance has changed since last time. Hence the calling of the therapists, none of whom I know, all of whom are random stabs at the map provided by my insurance carrier. How much do I love the irony of mental health insurance carriers making it difficult to find treatment? People: I’m already nearly cuckoo. Why are you making this so hard? It’s like you do it on purpose just for giggles.
One doc no longer takes insurance, another no longer takes my insurance, and a third said their first available appointment is in July.
July. I could be full-on bats!%t by July.
You have been warned.