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05.27.2004 - 5:35 p.m.


Now what's this? What's the object of all this darkness all over me? They haven't gone and buried me alive while my back was turned, have they? Ah, now would you think they'd do a thing like that? Oh, no, I know what it is. I'm awake. That's it. I've waked up in the middle of the night. Well, isn't that nice. Isn't that simply ideal. Twenty minutes past four, sharp, and here's Baby wide-eyed as a marigold.


I lie there and toss and turn and toss and turn. Blue! Does a person ever get blue lying awake that way!

- Dorothy Parker

I've been down in the dumps lately, and nothing's worse on galloping misery like waking up in the wee hours and reviewing your life with a flea comb. Bah.

Counting sheep does not help, because those sheep will all have spray-painted words on their wooly sides that say mean things about you. And then you will feel sorry for the sheep and desperately wonder if there's any paint-wool-solvent that can help them.

When almost any subject is up for a rousing game of The Myriad of Reasons I Suck, I've found that the most soothing mental exercise is to think of superficial topics that irk the living crap out of me. Once I've run through my hit list a few times, if all goes well the spotlight is taken off my own neuroses and I can fall back asleep for the five minutes before the FUCKING alarm goes off.

Items I've thought about recently:


Okay, this one really chaps my hide. I bought a pretty planter pot (picked a peck of pickled peppers?) at Home Depot recently, and I cannot for the life of me get the price sticker off, which was strategically placed over the little design on the front. Fingernails were put to the task with the irritating result of the top layer pulling off, and a thin paper-goo layer firmly adhered to the ceramic.

This is an ongoing problem with photo frames, I've noticed. Why in the name of god would you put the sticker right there on the glass, instead of on the back, or the edge of the frame? A good solid 20 minutes with acetone made a gooey mess of the front of a frame I got a while back - the $19.95 part was gone, to be sure, but its ghost…remained!

And stickers on vegetables and fruit? AAAARGH. Go ahead, slap a sticker on a banana, I'm not going to munch up the peel, but leave the stickers off my bell peppers! I can't get those off either, and I have to cut them away with a knife - RIDICULOUS. Damn you, sticker industry, with your NASA-engineered fusing capacity!


Okay, before you get your knickers in a twist, I am not talking about handicapped folks, or frail elderly, or anyone who is legitimately unable to get their bags out to the car. But frankly, I almost never see anyone in actual need use the services of the bagperson.

My local grocery store, a QFC, employs a couple older people who bag groceries, and bring carts in from outside. If I bought the entire fucking store, I wouldn't ask for help getting my gluttonous bounty out to my car. These people have a not-fun job to start with and they don't need to be my personal slave to boot. However, time and time again I have seen perfectly able bodied people respond with a "Yes" when asked "Did you want some help to your car with that?"

Maybe it's just me. I've been in customer service, so I might have more empathy for the person who trundles out Mrs. Doe's bags of shit while she chats animatedly on her cellphone - I know I, personally, would be highly tempted to slip an egg under the seat of her luxury SUV.

This is different from the high school kid who's earning tips - because hello, have you smelled the economy lately? It's not high school kids doing this job anymore, and NO ONE FUCKING TIPS.

Just don't do it. Even if you're hugely pregnant. Unless you bought three cases of beer and they are really heavy, in which case I have some health-related websites for you to read.


The sheer, maddening tease of it! The sweet, sweet relief of finally being able to breathe, dear god, finally, and waking up the next morning all plugged up again and being denied! Why invent a miraculous elixir that unstops noses, then tell people they can only use it once? There it sits on the bathroom counter…taunting…your fingers tremble, reaching for it - but NO! The package clearly states that using it more than once could cause symptoms to worsen! What brutish pharmaceutical devil-spawn invented you, Afrin? Damn you, damn you to hell and back!


So, anyway. The early-hour rant. It's just like chicken soup for the soul. Only with more cuss words.

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31 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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