Today with Lou: 9/11/05

Blurgh

I think I made that word up, blurgh. Maybe not , but no matter the attribution, that's the feeling today. On a daily basis, I try to ignore the Tiny Condescender and The Horse-Faced Girl (these are stellar nicknames for two crazies with whom I work -- if you saw/experienced them, you'd know how clever these nicknames are), but today, I had to school a bitch ... well, two bitches. Here's the thing: You know how once in a while you need to ask someone for a favor? Well, if they say yes, they are REQUIRED BY THE UNIVERSE to give that favor without complaint. If , upon being asked a favor, you say, "Oh, okay, I'll do it", and then huff and puff and act like it was demanded of you, or if you point out AD NAUSEUM that you've done the favor, IT IS NOT, ASSHOLE, A FAVOR ANYMORE!.

I'm just saying, the cross is only so big, and there's pretty much room for only one martyr on it. That martyr would be JESUS. So, if you want to climb up there and try your luck, go ahead, but DO NOT expect me to give you a leg up, okay? Just say no next time.

For Rich

Winston

+
Testosterone

+
Female Cat

=
Izzy

That's all I'm saying.

Monday, Monday

Career path. Hmm. I'd like to find one, but I bought my compass from the dollar store, and it stopped working the minute I got it home. I think I need a career sherpa. I don't want to be the person that has all the potential and none of the success. That's only cute and interesting for a year or so, and even then, not so much. The problem is, I also don't think I want to work very hard. Or, maybe it's that I haven't found what I want to do yet. I for sure cannot afford any more edumacation. Lord, Lord, Lord, I am for sure funding the salaries of at least two people at Sallie Mae. You're welcome.

I went to Boston today to see about another job -- doing the same thing I do now, but with better pay/better title, and a motherfucking TARGET a mile away from the office. When I was a little girl imagining my future life married to a prince and living in a castle with the prince, my mom and dad and scads of pets (including a pony), it never would have occurred to me that I'd have a career, much less that the choice of that career would depend largely on the availability of inexpensive housewares near my place of employment.

Maye I'll develop the next great consulting business. I was thinking on the plane that I shoudl patent some sort of "Passive Aggressive Tools for Living" consultancy. The first module will be the PAPSP - passive aggressive personal space protector module. I was testing it out on my row-mate on the flight back to NYC, but it clearly needs some field testing, as he was not moved to stop thwacking me in the arm with his newspaper (it was 6pm for God's sake, the news of the day is over) and quit hogging the arm rests. I'll test more tomorrow on the M2 on the way to work. An infomercial cannot be far off.

A Story in Pictures

This is the story of Izzy's first week in my home (as told by Izzy, for the most part):

"Yeah, whatever. Thank you for adopting me. You suck. I will sit on this coffee table and pout that I live in an over-priced one-bedroom in Harlem with you and your stupid dog, Louis":

"Why is he always staring at me, by the way? How rude. It's called training, you should try it. You're boring me now, so I will be napping in the window until dinner":

"Hey, what are you doing? I said I was taking a nap. Put me down right now. Uncouth."

(Wriggling)

"That's better. Look deep into my devil-red eyes (I don't know how to remove red-eye) and do my bidding: Fancy Feast

"Fine, I'll get it myself."

"But first, I'll rest here on the arm of your futon -- by the way, who has a futon anymore? How old are you anyway?"
(I serve dinner)

"Okay, that was decent. No Fancy Feast, to be sure, but Kitty Kibble in a plastic "goblet" will have to do, I guess. Now, I'll lay here on the couch -- I mean, futon -- and contemplate my paws for a while before I go back to sleep."