Thursday Thoughts

Last night I watched Grey Gardens, a documentary about two batty old chicks living in a mouldering mansion. They went from fortune and a very excellent pedigree to living in a house so filthy that the health authority tried to bounce them. The daughter of the pair was a debutant and was engaged to the heir to an enormous fortune and then something happened, I'm not sure what, but there she was 25 years later living in complete squalor.
4 monkeys for being interesting, though screechy.

I pondered the film for a while and thought, could that be me? Over-educated, proposed to but never married, old and alone, with raccoons and (God forbid) my mother?
It is unfathomable.

I also watched Blood Diamond.
5 monkeys. I got all misty at the end. Twice. God damned ridiculous.

Crap, about which I worry: my foot.
So tomorrow I am scheduled to get another cortisone shot. You may recall that that hurt. A lot. And only provided me with brief relief. But now my foot is greatly improved. Could this be a product of the shot? Or merely of time and good care?
Am I just attempting to avoid the temporary discomfort of hurty-foot and risking longer term hurty-foot?
I do not know.
But if you have an opinion, particularly one that involves me NOT getting the shot, I would welcome it...

Lately I've been feeling kind of guilty. Guilty for being so privileged and wanting more and being wasteful and environmentally harmful. I choose to blame Al Gore.
On the other hand I saw the movie Happy Feet (3 monkeys) and decided I didn't like it because of the unnecessary, awkward, and forced environmental message. So I felt all tough and badass.
But then I watched The Pursuit of Happiness (5 monkeys) and felt all guilty and privileged again.
Finally I watched Smoking Aces (a mess attempting to replicate Lock Stock and other movies of its ilk with no success- 2 monkeys) which made me feel sad that Ryan Reynolds didn't take his shirt off.

I guess I'm just all over the place... like this post.
Sorry!!

Hello, my name is Quiana, and I work in a button factory.

Random Collection of Thoughts:

I only watch two shows on TV in real time (as opposed to DVD) Greys Anatomy & Good Eats.
Monica and I have noticed that the commercial breaks at the beginning of Greys are shorter than those towards the end. The super-sized commercial breaks hold my nemesis: the ridiculously long commercial for Lost. I am not watching Lost in real time. I do NOT want to know what is happening in Lost. I am waiting for the DVD, STUPID ABC. This is very frustrating because now there is a huge commercial block through which I am not allowed to look at my own TV.

Some day, when I pay off my student loans and the left over car related debt, my tax refund could be used to go on a vacation. And now wouldn't that be sexy?

So far only one job rejection. Although not calling is like a tacit rejection I suppose. I think I will not spend time dwelling on this thought though.

Last night I felt a twinge of jealousy when a friend of mine revealed exciting new plans for more education. A trust fund is a damn handy thing to have.

I have made an appointment to get started with this cortisone shot thing. Cross your fingers. And also your toes.

I am having lunch at the EDCC student chef run restaurant with coworkers I like. I am excited. Much more excited than a student chef prepared lunch probably warrants.

Tonight is fondue and cocktails with the girls. There will be fruit and we will enrobe it in chocolate. We will drink appletinis and play cards. I am looking forward to this with great anticipation.

I tutor a high school boy in English and even though he initially did not get Of Mice and Men, he brought a rough draft of an essay to yesterday's session and it was not the gibberish I have come to expect. Although he did use the phrase "beat the crap out of someone," which was excised in favor of a phrase not containing the word 'crap.' We edited the essay and it looked pretty darn good by the end of our session. So that is pretty exciting.

Yesterday I edited some previous entries for clarity and grammar, so if you're super bored you can play spot the changes.

My left shoe has developed a squeak. This is displeasing as I cannot be very sneaky if I am squeaky. (That should be some kind of product tagline.)

Apparently we've banned luxury exports to N. Korea. This is to Provoke Crazy Jong-Il to attack America pressure N. Korea's confusingly wealthy bastard communist leaders to quit screwing around with nukes. Hopefully they will feel deprived when the next new I-pod comes out (in apx. 3 seconds) and never ever toy with global domination again. So there. I like this idea-almost everyone in N. Korea is starvation level poor and we are leveraging these assholes with revocation of jet-skis and Jags.

Crap, about which I am thinking.

Last night I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep because I was thinking about Nip Tuck and body image. I was actually provoked to thought by an original FX series. This is almost as bad as the Sci-Fi Channel Original Mini-Series calamity.

In other news, I am very seriously considering getting the cortisone shot to my hurty foot. Apparently this hurts like the very Dickens. My coworker, who might I add has actually borne a child, said that this was the most incredibly painful thing ever. Advise.

Today I noticed a huge clump of animal fur on my butt. This is troubling because when there is a big clump of white/grey animal fur on black pants it stands out. Meaning that countless people have noticed, and did not mention anything because they did not want me to think they are butt looker-atters. And with all this dilemma, now they are not only butt looker-atters, they are now butt thinker-aboutters. If someone had brought this up, it would launch them into the butt trifecta: looker-atter, thinker-aboutters, and now talker-aboutters. Further, if someone tells you there is something on your butt, you immediately try to look at your own butt- which is not even possible. So now you are some freak turning around like a dog chasing its tail. Then you are a butt-brusher. And if you can't get whatever is on your butt off by blindly brushing, you need an assistant who is now a butt-toucher. Which is too much for me, at least in the workplace. After careful consideration, there is not one person I would like to have butt-touching with in my entire office. Perhaps in the satellite offices I could find someone, but there is simply not time for that sort of thing.

Not regarding butts, but as an interesting side note, I would like to welcome you to the gun show. My uncle and I, having viewed The Descent, determined that those skinny minnies couldn't do a single push-up, and definitely couldn't use cramp-ons (or whatever they're called) to climb across the top of a cave. In fact, I figured I could do more push ups than those nambi-pambies. Unfortunately unless they couldn't do any push ups, they could to more than me. I managed 1.5 push ups, which you may recognize as down, up, collapse. In the last 10 days I have been doing as many push ups as I can before bed. I am now up to 8 push ups. Last night I was brushing my teeth in a wifebeater and realized I had completely forgotten about the family arm curse. You'll be glad to know that I look like Pop-eye, post spinach, a washerwoman, or possibly a Marine. Surely there is some online fetish thing for this, so I should be wary.

Physical therapists think that they are funnier than they are.

Today I casually asked my PT how long she thought I would need to visit her.
"A year, maybe longer," she said as she attached electrodes to my feet.
"Really?"
"No."