 HEY! JAMIE LEE! |
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There is a parking lot attendant at work with hair like Coolio's who once asked me in the line at the snack stand, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Jamie Lee Curtis?" I just sighed. Because I have been told that before, and I think I look nothing like her. (Although I love her, and I love her children's books. Where Do Balloons Go? makes me sob out loud.) (I guess it's better than being told that I look like Anthony Kiedis, which I have heard practically all of my life.) Now whenever he sees me he calls across the parking lot, across the lobby, what have you, "HEY! JAMIE LEE!" (in manner of the girl who screamed, "HEY! UNTO YOU A CHILD IS BORN!" in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever) and I duck my head, rush off hurriedly, and pretend not to hear him, because people look from him to me and wonder, "The hell?" I overslept this morning (rather, I lay there fully awake and opted not to get up on time) and decided I needed some music to help break me out of my surly mood, so I put on "I Love to Boogie" from Billy Eliot and was overcome with the need to dance around my study. I don't know why. Maybe it's because Billy and his teacher dance to this song in the movie and I love it, love it, love it, need to watch it soon. My dogs didn't know what to make of it. They would approach me and start to jump around but then back up and run away, scared. I mean, I was doing trenches in my pajamas. It was maniacal. I got very out of breath. But as God as my witness, I was awake. Also, I cannot dance. You know what's dumb? Feeling nostalgic affection for your ex-future-mother-in-law to the point that you purchase and mail her a card on which you write that you are sorry for what happened and for any pain it might have caused her even though it was completely not your fault and that you feel blessed to have gotten to know her and her husband and that you hope she will be shown the appreciation she deserves for being such a generous and thoughtful person on Mother's Day and then telling yourself you don't expect any contact in return for your effort to reach out and bid a proper farewell but apparently if based on your sense of hurt and disappointment subconsciously expecting her to reply kindly in some way either with a phone message or an email or even a card of her own. THAT IS DUMB. So don't do it. I sent Allison and Chris a couple of CDs off of their Amazon wish list. Don't you want to, too? I'm also going to finally box up the books I've been meaning to give away and send them, a great idea I got from Beth, because being suddenly bookless must suck such a fat one. (In addition, of course, to everything else that sucks about this situation. Which is mind-blowingly a lot.) I also have an extra pizza cutter still in its shiny plastic wrap, and I might send that, too. I mean, everyone needs pizza, right? Speaking of food that everyone needs, last night I got Chinese food for the first time in months. An act of reclaiming yet another restaurant. It was simultaneously good and gross in the unique way that only Chinese food can be in my life. I mean, I loved it, but all the while I was thinking, "This is going to make me feel very, very ill." Whatever! Buffets are to be occasionally embraced. I haven't been sleeping very well lately. (Surprise.) I woke up at about 4:30 on Sunday morning and watched TV in bed for hours. 90210 and Sports Night are both on extremely early. I watched SN. It made me happy. Casey was trying to help Jeremy edit his highlights tape and Natalie was trying to convince Dana that Casey needed spoons and a fork. On 90210, some professor was trying to sexually harass Valerie, who, as I'm sure you can imagine, was not having it. Claire and Steve were planning their first time to have sex, and he wanted to be kinky, and she didn't, and Donna's new gigantic breasts were looking horrendous, as usual, as was her white blonde hair, as was Ray Pruitt. Kelly was dating Colin, who was sleeping with some woman in order to advance his art career. Oh! And Dylan! And Toni Marchette! I never see reruns from this season, apparently, as all of this seemed like a distant memory. This was the season of the dark matte lipstick, black eyeliner, and dark bras underneath crocheted tops. Good times.
© Copyright 2003 elb |
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