Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Bitch and Bitch Some More

So Simons was sick all last week and during the holiday (lifts his hand feebly from the couch to take his soup. And his medicine. And his gingerale. And his fizzy tablets. And his heated neck pillow. And his special popsicles.) and this week has a friend in town who is hunting for jobs...although I personally would be skeptical about giving a job to someone who is too stupid to wash his own dishes.

And I tell you, I have about had it with cooking and cleaning and caring about other people's needs. Fortunately, drum roll please, I am staying with two other girls (women?) at a B&B cottage in Asheville this weekend, yes, for a Aloysius' fabulous wedding, and it's going to be AWESOME! Three whole days of girlish squealing and wine drinking and frolicking and dishing about work and men and other things that suck. And crying over how beautiful and sweet Aleigh looks in her tenth wedding dress. I can't get on a plane fast enough.

LALALALALALALALA!!!!! (I'm bouncing up and down on my yoga ball)

Now, I know full well that I have a lovely husband, and that probably half of the coddling was my own doing, but REALLY, I need just a small break.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

I'm goin

TO BLOGHER 2007!

WHOOOO HOOOO!
Chicago, here I come!!!

Just roll over and die already

Has anyone ever had the unfortunate situation of telling a client to push off and then having them refuse to push? Seriously, I’m at a loss.
I told these people April 17 that I was giving them my notice, citing several instances of being grossly taken advantage of. For instance, they asked me to work over Christmas with no warning. They ask me edit their entire magazine the Friday before it goes to print, which means that regardless of whether I have guests in town or a kidney transplant, etc, I have to drop everything to get it done. And the evil NY whore calls me at ungodly hours to explain Outlook to her when I own A MAC! I do not lie... she phones at 6 am to accuse me of sending my emails to her junk folder DELIBERATELY! Gah!

Anyway, this is just a partial list, but anyone who has been over in the mornings can attest to the fact that this job is a real pill.

So, after the April 17 debacle (in which evil NY whore was so incredibly late, my poor temporarily immobile mother had to take a cab from the airport after I promised to come fetch her), the publisher called and apologized and tried to smooth things over, but I told him I’d stay on only until they found a replacement, whom I would be happy to train.

It is now May 29. I’m beginning to perceive that the advantage taking continues. I begin to doubt that they are really looking. The publisher called me yesterday to make sure I was going to work this week, and when I reminded him that I’m leaving town for Al’s wedding (which I told him about in March), he had the nerve to inquire whether I was sure I couldn’t do it while I was gone. And THEN he asked me, "Well, are you actually in the wedding?" KILL!

This is a freelance position, so where do they get off with this constant crappy behavior? The loss of the regular paycheck is going to be tough, but I’m more than ready to quit the daily harangue and lateness and Christ-bitten hours of six am to noon. Oh, you think that sounds easy, do you? You try getting up in the cold and fog and being interested in the pharmaceutical business day in and day out for an embittered evil old hag whose very existence is a thorn in your side.

Anyway, I feel like this crappy freelance job is keeping me from needing to do smarter work. I don’t HAVE to go out and pitch good writing, because I can make do with boring writing and pay the rent. I’m sick of making do. I’m thirty and I’ve DONE NOTHING WITH MY LIFE!

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Post whereby I admit something shameful

So my ex got married this past weekend.

Now I don’t mind this in theory. I dumped him, remember? He’s a nice guy, and I wish him well and all that, but I wouldn’t want him back. I’ve married the perfect husband, love our life, and we are always out doing fun and exciting things together…laughing toothily and tossing our fabulous hair.

So, in this brilliant concept called "theory," magnanimity is easy. But in practice, my rosy graciousness pales a shade or two when I think that The Ex is somewhere fancy on his honeymoon with someone who ultimately ranked higher than me on his personal awesomeness scale. And that chafes just a little.

I confess, when his cousin sent me an email with the ex’s new wife’s name, I did indeed look up the engagement announcement (which creepily enough looks almost exactly like a picture of me and the ex at a ballet gala about six years ago, only she’s blonde), and she looks…nice. I would probably like her (shyah, as IF!). She has a cool name. And he looks happy, which somehow bothers me not at all. So that's not what is needling me, although I confess I liked it better when he was rebounding with the tattooed ne’er-do-well his whole family christened, “Trasha.”

I’m not crying and wringing my hands or anything. It’s just a vague grumpiness and a masochistic desire to google their names to see if any wedding photos have been posted yet. So the question is: to stalk or not to stalk?

WHY, you ask? Why in the hell would I want to see their first dance and cake feeding and moony wedding glowiness, etc? Maybe it’s just because I know my wedding was better.

Well, no. I mean, mine probably was better, but I’m not that pompous. That’s not the reason.

Maybe the issue that's feeding my masochism is realizing that it doesn’t matter one bit whether I wish him well or not. My opinion no longer matters to him. My graciousness has no affect. I could just as well be rending my hair and frothing at the mouth for all the universe cares. Hmmm...no, actually that feels a little hollow too.

I bet I know. It’s a small and stupid touch of buyer’s remorse. I do it all the time at restaurants—order the filet and wish I’d gotten the fish. Not that Simons is a filet. And if he were, he’d be a Kobe beefcake branded with my name on it: "Destined to be Jemima's. Hands off, bitches!" But if I bought a ticket to Paris, I’d suddenly start whining about Venice. You know? It’s just the thought of something that is never going to happen now because you made a choice. It’s better that it doesn’t (picture here bombs going off in Venice, during a cholera epidemic with those flying monkeys from Oz), but I like to wallow in the odd spot of melancholy, and here is an excellent opportunity.

I think maybe I shouldn’t look at the wedding photos. What do you guys think?

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Bare to Breakers

WARNING: Mentions and images of nudity to follow...

There are so many, many reasons why I am glad I live in San Francisco. The first one is that this fellow is not my dad.
Look closely at the man with the backpack and the yellow hat.

That’s right. He has no pants.

He is not an attractive man. He is not a fit man. It wasn’t even that chilly a morning, but I saw him from the front, and he was not even a well-endowed man. But, by God, he is proud to be a Naked American.

This weekend was the annual Bay to Breakers race here in Freak City, USA, where some people race, some people suit up as Superman and other people man out in their birthday suits. We saw people dressed as storm troopers, centurians, hookers (at least I think they were in costume), the little crazy fellow from Twelve Galaxies, superheros, and the crazy people dressed as salmon who run upstream against the current, spawning, so to speak.
But there were a lot of folks getting sunburn on their wobbly bits. Oooh! Painful!
I was discussing this phenomena with my sister and she brought up some interesting...er, points. First, if you were a man, wouldn’t you be embarrassed if the day was cold and rainy, and things were…small? Or WORSE, what if you took a fancy to the naked female jogger bobbing along beside you, and things started to “happen?”
Well, Dear Sister, I can assure you now, since I have seen and taken note. There is nothing attractive about these people. Sweaty naked people in athletic socks…NOT HOT!

You’ve gotta love The Crazy.

Monday, May 14, 2007

Thank you notes

Thirty today and 68 more to go. World's lamest bride. Under the gun.