Caustically Optimistic

shooting blanks

Valerie, you asked why I am not returning your calls.  I am not feeling well and cannot take a phone call. 

I’m having one of those weeks where I feel like Kevin from Home Alone – not the icky “I fathered Michael Jackson’s baby” feeling but the, “I think everyone is out to get me – even if I know that’s false, right???”  I hate feeling paranoid, I feel it lumps me in with the Wal Martians at those Tea Parties about the taxes in brackets they’re not a part of. 

I came to this realization at lunch.  On Saturdays our firm buys everyone lunch – we have it ordered in and we all eat the same thing.  It’s always garbage.  It’s also ordered by the office bully – and I’ll never understand how or why under performing people are always tolerated but those of who produce have to have lazy, fat-lards nipping at our heals.  I also don’t understand why, when we have pizza for lunch, we have to have several over-sized “gourmet” pizzas piled with low-grade meats and questionable vegetables but having a plain, cheese pizza is unthinkable.  I’m not asking for my own pizza or something special, I’m asking for something basic.

But there is a lot about human activity that I don’t understand.  I don’t understand how women can car around those enormous bags full of the detritus of the fall of humanity from Eden but somehow exclude their wallet and keys from the mix.  I would never stick my hand into someone’s bag – that’s rude, but I find women confusing in general but this whole shtick of carrying around a duffle bag with apparently nothing in it is mystifying.  My same lady-friends who send e-mails about how men are stupid will comment on this about, “not getting it,” but I always know where my iPhone, keys, and wallet are. 

I understand that when I was teenager people found it tacky that we wore out-sized clothing but apparently they’ve only run clothing for men once because ‘kids today’ seem to be all wearing jeans that don’t fit them but in a way that makes you wonder if they’ll ever be able to have children – and secretly hope they cannot.  It must be parenting because if your son were able to get himself out those nut-huggers, he’d be shooting blanks.  I had friends whose parents had to keep their sisters out of their clothing but I never dreamed I’d see the day when we’d be asking our sons, “Are you wearing your sisters pants?”  I will no longer be taking complaints about how much money my parents had to spend so I’d look like a hobo in high school. 

I am tired of looking out into the world and not understanding it, and I don’t understand why I want to understand it. Why would I want to understand Humans, Wal Martians, and the other inhabitants of the planet? 

Well, whatever, I out performed the office bully two to one last month and carried a quarter of all production on a staff of ten and I think I deserve my own damned plain cheese pizza. 

Yes, other readers, I do have these conversations with Valerie – well, before becoming consumed with worry about the contents of my belly button.  

a tiny pianist

I  like nonsense and non sequitur, and even if I can’t pull together a collected thought that moves freely and logically from paragraph to paragraph I enjoy all the crazy ideas in my head.  I don't enjoy posts that ramble on about unhappiness 

I like hearing the old lady play piano at the department store in the mall.  It reminds me of Leah Monster and how life is a great deal more complex when you have to keep up with her train of thought.  When I can afford it I will pay a pianist to play in my home while I write.  I would hire Leah Monster but when you came over, you would comment, “My, you have a tiny pianist.”  It is very rude to comment or poke fun at the size of a man’s pianist. 

I like that the fries at Red Robin are bottomless even if they’re contributing to my bottom.  Today I am joined the gym and broke up with my longtime boyfriend, Ronald McDonald.  He doesn’t need to know that I’ve been cavorting with Dave Thomas and Colonel Sanders.  I’m breaking up with them, too.  My friend Jason would suggest jogging around the block and not joining a gym – he’s right that if you don’t go then you’re wasting your money but I am tighter with my money than you’d suspect because if I’m paying for something I am going to get my money’s worth. 

I like that everyone is gung-ho about any new trend that comes up to show support for breast cancer research.  I’ve just lost a dear friend to colon cancer – or what had began as colon cancer – and I’d like everyone to support research to cure all cancer.  After that, let’s search for a cure for a-holes.  I’m very sad that I’ve lost my friend and dejected that Satan’s younger brother sits in the desk behind mine – but unlike seventh grade, I can’t clown him into submission on the technicality that he’s my boss.  

I like that the plant on my desk hasn’t died, despite my best efforts to the contrary.  I am anti death and I’m glad that this plant has chosen life and to overcome my indifference to watering it on a regular basis.  If it were a human, or perhaps a canine, I would do my level best to ensure quality of life from conception to death.  However, it came up out of the ground and is on it’s own – even if it can’t move. 

And most of all, I am glad that YouTube has subtitles for programming from Britain and Australia in English so that I could pretend to enjoy them but I’ll be honest – I have no idea what’s going on.  I wonder if they have as hard a time understanding people in the United States, even those of us with impeccable Midwestern accents and perfect diction.  I’m not sure if that should have ended in a question mark or in a period; I am confident that this should end.