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BY Jodi

09/01 Direct Link

It was never meant to be a "forever" thing, I tell him.  Really, it's a one-time face-to-face get-together at a cafe, and oh my god, if I'd known that his paying for my iced coffee would symbolize a desire for a full-fledged romance followed by an instant relationship, I never would have finally agreed to meet after declining invitations for what seemed like an eternity.

"I thought we had something great going on," he says.  "Was I wrong?"

I remind him we exchanged brief email a handful of times, not vows.

"Next time it's your treat," he says.

Next time?

 

09/02 Direct Link

Hey, guys!  Ten HACKS on how to be a better person when you're not too busy hacking IKEA lamps and hacking hack hack!  Click here!

1.  Wake up every day.  Try it!  It will improve your outlook on life!

2.  Don't be a dick.  It's easier than you think!

3.  Don't read insipid online "articles" on how to be a good person.  Just stop being a dick!

4.  Realize that you're not the only person in the world and get your head out of your rump.  It's refreshing!

4.  Don't be such a fucking sheep.  Think for yourself!

The End.

 

 

09/03 Direct Link

I was anorexic before the doctors really even know what the hell it was.  "I think you have something called anorexia nervosa," mine said, taking another drag on his cigarette, "and we don't know much about it."   He knew I was increasingly skinny, I knew I felt increasingly fat, and I hated him and his gut and his stupid newfangled term and that my mother would be trying to make me eat flounder stuffed with crab meat, one of my favorite dishes ever, which I wasn't eating anymore because I didn't want my weight to enter the fatso triple digits.

09/04 Direct Link

BP scoops ice cream with me at the Reading Terminal Market.  His Peter Frampton hair can barely be restrained in the proper way for food service.  It, like he, is ready to bust out all over the place without warning.  We laugh like maniacs.  I think he's gay, but apparently he's not, because we go back to his mom's house in South Philadelphia, where we do all sorts of things on a threadbare mattress.  The graffiti he's drawn all over the walls is our voyeur.  His quasi-toothless, watery-eyed mama makes us biscuits with white sauce.  I've never felt less Jewish.

 

09/05 Direct Link

He needs to stop sending me invitations to free and discounted events around the city.  He needs to stop alerting me to Groupons and Living Social and Amazon deals.  He and his BOGO need to go the way of the dodo. While I appreciate that this schlub likes a tidy little bargain, it's hardly the most alluring trait to fling around when you want a fling with me.  I'm not going to think, "Well, gee whiz!  A two-fer!"  Sorry, but I'm going to think, "Well, gosh darn!  A loser!"  Keep pinching your pennies, buddy boy, because you're not pinching me.

 

09/06 Direct Link

I don't care why you like that certain song.  You don't have to explain it to me, try to put into words what shouldn't dare be put into words.  See, that's the thing with music.  It wants to be felt, wants to attach itself to your heart, your bones, your viscera.  It wants to give you chills when it's hot out, make you sweat when it's freezing, leave you gasping and grasping for something indescribable, like a fruit whose name you can't remember or doesn't even exist.  Don't try to rationalize it to me or to yourself.  Don't ruin it.

 

09/07 Direct Link

In third grade, in one of our classes we made Easter candy, which consisted of coconut and chocolate.  In the early '70s, they trusted kids with graters.  Our teacher was probably smoking a cigarette by the cubbyholes when some dumb boy started screaming and his pile of coconut was tinged with pink thanks to his freshly grated finger.  I like to recall a lot more blood than I'm sure really resulted, and I like to remember tiny bits of white knuckles mixed in with his batch, but all it probably was was one cut mended with Bactine and a Band-Aid.

09/08 Direct Link

Oh, Amazon Prime, you're worth it even if just for the quick-arriving deliveries that I send myself a few times a month from the comfort of my desk.  Two-day delivery of even the most mundane of items still makes me feel like I'm getting a treat, a much needed pick-me-up to break up in the workday.  In the mood for a new spatula but a trip to Bed, Bath & Beyond or Home Goods or TJMaxx would cost time?  Obsess on Amazon for 20 minutes, find the perfect one at the perfect price?  The slight delayed gratification is almost delicious.

09/09 Direct Link

I bought new bed pillows, to replace those that I bought four years ago.  I don't know how often you're "supposed" to replace them, but I do know that based on the condition of mine, this was overdue.  Now I have the old ones resting in the new ones' shipping box, as I decide their fate.  Do I save them for use as a cat bed?  Do I hold onto them for when "company" stays over on the sofa?  Do I keep them because they're crying and sad that I'd consider tossing them?  Should I be losing sleep over this?

 

 

09/10 Direct Link

I love the way everyone's trying to act like they don't notice that Jim Farinelli's nose looks exactly like the Eiffel Tower.  I mean, I know it's not polite to stare, and you don't want the new kid to feel like an outcast (unless you're a jerk), but still.  At first I thought Maureen Coyle and Keira Mondale smirked at each other, but later I found out it was because of his first name (pervs).  At lunch, he approaches the table where I sit alone and says, "Can I join you, Leaning Tower of Peter?"  I laugh and tilt affirmatively.

 

09/11 Direct Link

In third (?) grade, someone got me a toy soft pretzel maker for my birthday that actually made pretzels, just like the E-Z Bake Oven made real cakes.  I was so excited I thought I was going to burst.  I don't remember what happened to it, but I never got to use it.  I think it was broken or someone said it was broken, and I never got to even try to make a pretzel.  I know I exchanged it for something else, maybe a Lite-Brite,  which I loved too, but it wasn't nearly as daydream-worthy as the pretzel maker.

09/12 Direct Link

The best weekends are the ones where, after my customary Saturday morning Whole Foods run, which has me home by 10:00, I have nowhere else to be.  I don't have to set an alarm, I don't have to care about what to wear, brush my hair, look in the mirror.  I can order in or I can cook.  I don't have to open the door until Monday, not even to get the mail, if I don't want to.  I don't have to open my mouth to speak to another person.  Home avec cat is my favorite place in the world.

09/13 Direct Link

Regret for the passing of summer is limited to the fact that I barely made any smoothies and thus can't celebrate the two-year anniversary of my Vitamix with fond bubble-cloud memories of fruity and/or chocolaty concoctions created to combat the heat.  I don't regret not seeking out picnics or parties or barbecues or anything involving a Frisbee or volleyball.  I don't regret not piling into a jalopy with Archie and Jughead and the Riverdale gang for a jaunt to the beach.  I don't regret the lack of clambakes, bikinis, and bonfires.  And hey, I can still make smoothies in October.

 

09/14 Direct Link

A guy I went out with a couple of times several years ago has a stream of dipshit women on his Facebook page who drool over his profile photos and praise him for being deep whenever he posts a rambling narrative.   Some either aren't native English speakers or, if they are, have an incredibly limp grasp of the language.  Either way, I chortle at the sighs and accolades.  I wonder how many of them have "had" him.  And to those who haven't I want to say, "Get a grip.  He snores like a motherfucker.  And his pancakes aren't the best."

09/15 Direct Link

When I was growing up in the '70s, I was enamored of '50s style, which is part of the reason I was so in love with "Happy Days" (the other reason was Fonzie, natch.  I thought there was no way the '70s stuff was going to be revered in nostalgia at all.  Years later, when it started creeping back, I thought, "I wore that crap the first time around.  No way will I be revisiting it."  Now I can't get enough of it, and I wish I still had all my '70s stuff.  Much of it would probably still fit.

 

09/16 Direct Link

It's cold and rainy outside.  I brought my bike inside from the patio so it doesn't have to suffer.  I've got curry simmering on the stove, waiting for all kinds of vegetables to be added for a mid-afternoon, uh, linner or dunch (very appetizing words, I know), "Six Feet Under" (via Amazon Prime) about to be rewatched for the first time since it originally aired, a blanket under which to alternately curl and stretch out, enormous messy hair, an incredibly cute and cozy cat to hang out with, and nowhere else to be this weekend.  Life does not suck, kids.

 

 

09/17 Direct Link

I'm trying to pretend I don't dislike the new girl, that the little roll of squishy "muffin top" exposed in the gap between her shirt and jeans isn't making me think, "Why?", that her slight lisp isn't rankling my inner Buddy Hinton, that her oversized front teeth aren't making me think of misplaced Chiclets, that her bare toes in her sandals aren't making me squeamish, that her unblinking direct eye contact isn't creepy, but I'm failing miserably.  I can't pretend I'm disappointed in myself for finding her annoying.  I am disappointed, though, that she seems to want to be pals.

09/18 Direct Link

Pamela insists on arriving ten minutes early for her sessions with me so she can water the plants in the waiting room with a large vintage watering can she brings from home.  Every time, she comments to my receptionist, Sandy, about the condition of the plants.  After doing it for two months, she says to Sandy, "They shouldn't be turning brown like this."  When she still says it two months later, Sandy says, "You know they're fake plants, right?"  Pamela looks up at Sandy, pauses in her task, and says, "Of course I do.  That's why I use fake water."

 

 

09/19 Direct Link

Every afternoon at 2:53, you'll find Darren in the break room, standing in front of the vending machine, smiling at the sound of his coins dropping into the slot, breathless as the Twix that is now his drops into the tray by his knees.  You'll hear his slight giggle as he bends to retrieve it.  Although he can't wait to eat it, he takes his sweet time removing the wrapper, and it's at that point that you'll stop watching.  That means you'll miss the part where he kisses the candy, but really, that's enough to make you hate the guy.

 

09/20 Direct Link

Last night while watching a moving, I paused because I started sobbing about Shana.  I heard a "brrrooooot" meow, and Lola magically appeared on the top of a sofa cushion, perched almost on my right shoulder.  I cried harder, and she slunk onto my lap, made herself into a little loaf, and moved closer to my chest.  She reached out her left paw, soft, no claws, and slowly stroked my face.  I cried harder.  She inched closer and did the same thing with my right arm.  She held my gaze with her one enormous gorgeous green eye the entire time.

 

09/21 Direct Link

It is now 1:30.  This was the time and the day that I would've been taking Shana to her iodine radiation treatment at Hypurrcat, for which so many beautiful and lovely friends, Facebook and otherwise, had donated their hard-earned money.  I am trying really hard not to punch holes in walls or smash my face into a brick wall or scream so loud that they'd hear it all the way in Timbuktwelve.  For the most part I'm succeeding.  I feel like for all I did, it still wasn't enough.  One thing I do know is that 15-1/2 years sure wasn't.

09/22 Direct Link

Six days have passed since her sweet little kitty soul took leave of her diminished body and floated off to wherever it needed to go next.  I feel like she may have wafted into me, like she may have known that I need her energy and her spirit to attach itself to, what, my heart, my lungs, my pancreas, the zaniest part of my brain.  Several times I have pressed my hands to my chest and said, aloud, "You're in here," and felt the weight behind my hands and in the hole left in my heart from her passing.  Meow.

 

09/23 Direct Link

Oh, sweet beautiful Shana.  It's been a week since my heart stopped after yours did.  I feel like I didn't do enough for you, little girl, didn't get you diagnosed in time, didn't do all I could in the way of treatment or care, that it's my fault you're no longer in this world and have zipped off into the galaxy.  The next time you are in my presence, it will be in a small box containing ashes that I cannot snuggle or feed or hug or kiss and which won't meow no matter how much I want them to.

 

09/24 Direct Link

A recent need to stash a cat-ton (British weight) of canned cat food in my apartment propelled me to stand, at full height, on the kitchen counter to place it atop the cabinets.  It was then that I got a full view of brown filth tacky to the tentative touch I ventured.  My disgust over the realization that it hasn't been cleaned for at least 9-1/4 years, which is how long I've lived here (and probably much longer, knowing my landlord), was tempered by the relief I felt over not having dated a basketball player in all that time.  (Ph)ew.

09/25 Direct Link

When my mom was my age, she had three kids, 27, 25, and 23, and a 2-year-old grandson.  She had been married to my biodad for 17 years and my stepdad for 14.  She had gone straight from living with her parents to the first husband to the second, with no breaks in between.  I have no kids, no husbands, lived with two boyfriends (at separate times!) (NECESSARY CLARIFICATION!), and have lived alone (except for cats) for almost 9-1/2 years.  Sometimes I think she envies my choices.  I never envy hers, and it made me sad just to type that.  

09/26 Direct Link

I should know by now that when it gets to the point that I remove the keys on my keyboard and clean the tray beneath them with an array of Q-Tips, and then press the keys back into place with mounting excitement (this step I find oddly fun), enough damage has been done that the keyboard won't perform the way I need/require/demand despite this task, and I have to order a new one anyway.  I sigh, of course, and curse, but I'm "secretly" thrilled to have a shiny new keyboard over whom I vow to never, ever eat rice crackers.

09/27 Direct Link

My association with the elliptical has come to an end.  It has never done a thing for me other than afford an opportunity to chat with a friend as if I'm having a stroll in Soho.  I don't even consider it a workout.  Indeed, I feel like I could line the little "lip" to place a book or phone with sushi and wasabi and have a leisurely snack while gabbing.  It's back to the stairmaster, treadmill, and bike, where I'm so involved in trying not to pass out from the exertion that I can't even think about gabbing or sushi.

09/28 Direct Link

I met an artist on Sunday named August Wren whose paintings I adored from the moment I saw them spread out on the floor of Dixon Place before installation on the wall for an event that morning in which I sing as part of a small choir.  Every day for the past two years, she has created a painting in a small sketchbook, allotting herself no more than 30 minutes, and never returning to the piece thereafter.  Not every day yields something good, she said.  I thought, "I should do something like that" and then thought, "Oh.  Wait.  100 Words."

09/29 Direct Link

If you're so awkward that when the laundromat dryer you're trying to use acts up, and the LED display flashes "door", and you and your casted/booted right foot just stand there, pushing the button over and over and, not even bothering to turn around to apologize to the person behind you who's waiting to use the dryer below it (which shares the same coin slot), or at least grimace with chagrin, and you have to be prompted, like you're a toddler and not a woman, to ask for the attendant's help, the broken leg is the least of your problems.

09/30 Direct Link

I can't do this until I do that.  I can't do that until I do this.  If I do that and this, I get to reward myself with THIS.  I am an infant who needs incentives and little baby bonuses in order to accomplish the simplest of tasks.  "If you wash your iced coffee glass right now, you can open the Amazon package."  Oooh!  "You can't check your credit score on Credit Karma until you finish another 15 minutes of the deposition transcript."  Weee!  "You can't order dinner from Delivery.com until you finish the 100 Words you're behind on."   Whaaaat?