Posts Tagged ‘fuck’

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>Maurice Runs the Wheel Out of My Head

October 28th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Damn, fuck, mortification, writing

>Earlier this year, I handed in a story in my lit class. I thought it was really good, so I was surprised when my instructor gave it back the next week with no comments. When I asked her why she didn’t like it, she explained that she always looked forward to my work, so she was disappointed to read a story I had submitted before.

I was confused, as I was certain that I had been thinking about the story for weeks, so I didn’t see how I could have handed it in already. But when I looked through my files, I discovered that I had written a story, turned it in, forgot, and then wrote almost word for word the exact same story and handed it in. It was scary.

Nine months later, I decided to write a story about my work with Haven Coalition. I knew I wrote a short piece about it first semester, so I re-read it, and used what worked. I thought I wrote a scene in which I was at my desk at work, the phone rang, and my first hosting night was arranged. But when I looked through my files (eerie music), I found a story I wrote almost exactly a year ago that, almost word for word, had the same opening.

Maurice, the hamster who runs the wheel that powers my brain, is scaring me. On one hand, if I wrote almost the exact same thing a year apart, I think it means that I had an important idea, and I’m glad that I did not forget. The fact that I have no memory of doing this is disturbing.

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>This Really Reeks

October 7th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in evil, fuck, mortification

>A friend asked how I felt about the renovation now that it’s been complete for over a month. Because I am a cynical bitch who only looks at the downside of things, I told her it made me feel poorer after all the money we spent. Then I paused and realized how much I like some of the changes.

The new linen closet is amazing. The old one was narrow and deep, which made it impossible to find anything. The new one is in a strange location (the entry foyer), as that was the only place to put it, but it is amazing. It is wide and just the right depth. Everything is sorted semi-neatly. Every time I use it, I am happy.

The faucet in the new bathroom sink is perfect. It is just the right height and arc for me to use it as a drinking fountain. It makes me smile.

Best of all, the washer and dryer have made what was once a hugely stressful chore into something easy and almost even fun. I no longer have to schlep all my stuff down to the basement. The wait for the elevator (my stupid building has no stairs that go into the basement, a fire hazard if there ever was one) is eliminated. My battle to find an unused washer and a dryer that actually works has been won. What is not to love?

Oh, right – the smell of sewage. For the last week, something has gone terribly awry with the plumbing. I hear a surge of water in the pipes, then the smell emanates through the white doors that shutter the washer-dryer closet. Sometimes it is so strong it permeates the bedroom down the hall. Other times, it is just faintly noticeable as you pass the closet on the way into the bathroom. It smells like a cross between shit and rancid Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup.

I’ve looked everywhere for a leak, but I don’t see anything wet. I can’t see behind the machines, but he smell dissipates within 30 minutes at most, so I know there isn’t standing sewage water. It flush-smell-dissipation process repeats a few times a day. Oh, and did I mention that my super is on vacation? Even if he wasn’t, I’m almost afraid to have him look into it, as tearing up walls at this point is my second worst nightmare. (The worst nightmare: there is a sewage leak and the washer-dryer must be permanently dismantled.)

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>My Subway Pervert

September 24th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in fuck, hilarity, random

>Usually after class, I join my classmates for drinks and bonding at a restaurant/bar near school. I happen to loathe the gathering spot, as the waiters seem to count the second from when we walk in the door to when we will leave. Nothing makes me feel more like socializing than an ancient waiter in a red coat throwing my overpriced Diet Pepsi at me and demanding payment the second the mini bottle hits the dirty reddish table cloth. The free snacks do not make up for the general nasty atmosphere.

On Monday, we went elsewhere, and while I now fear that I misled the waitress about my interest in her, at least no one yelled at us or forced us to keep ordering as we chatted into the wee hours. Despite our positive experience, the group headed back to the crappy restaurant bar. I decided to go to a wacky open mic event instead.

The event was still going strong when I slipped out at 12:30. I could barely keep my eyes open. Fortunately, I did not have to wait too long for the subway. I sat toward the front of the train, reading a magazine. A few stops into my journey, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone with grey-ish colored jeans walking rapidly toward me.

The woman sat in the seat on the bench next to me. What the fuck? I thought. The entire car was empty. What was wrong with this asshole? Then she pressed her thigh against mine.

It took me a nanosecond to decide that this was bullshit. I didn’t even look at her. Eye contact seemed like an invitation to chat. I got up, walked out of the car, and re-boarded the one behind it. I had just settled down to read again, when the jeans reappeared. Fuck fuck fuck!!! I knew I shouldn’t wear a dress that was so low cut. Now I have stalker.

The woman sat down on the same bench on which my ass resided. I looked over at her. It was my friend T. from school. I burst out laughing, as did she.

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>Notes on the Economic "Recovery"

September 23rd, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Damn, fuck, random

>Several times in recent weeks, I read blurbs in newspapers about how the economy is recovering. It’s not like economists are all gung-ho about it, but there are supposedly glimmers of a happy smiley sun peeking through the rain clouds of economic woe. Let’s take a moment to sing:

Hey la, hey la Wall Street’s back!
It’s been gone for such a long time
Hey la, hey la Wall Street’s back!
Now it’s back and things’ll be fine
Hey la, hey la Wall Street’s back!

Didn’t that feel good? No? Well, there’s good reason for that. As the 99.9% of the time right on NY Times columnist Bob Herbert wrote last week, Wall Street may be be on the rise again, but so is unemployment.

When I resigned from my job at a nonprofit organization in May, I joined the ranks of jobseekers. I knew that the economy was bad when I decided to leave, but there were other considerations that were stronger. It was a scary and tough decision, but I noticed that the various places that advertised jobs in my field offered lots of interesting opportunities.

I saw many positions that interested me, and I cast my net far and wide. I went to interviews. I took consulting jobs. I worked on my thesis for my master’s degree. It was difficult, but busy. Then mid-August hit. No one ever advertises on mid-August, so I only worried a little bit. Things did not pick up after Labor Day. I worried a lot. Classes started again, so I went to school and continued writing. I worried more.

I’m far luckier than most unemployed people – Husband works and we can live comfortably on his income. Still, I thought I’d contribute my anecdotal evidence that the overall economic situation is getting worse in some parts, not better.

Hey na, hey na – bring the job market back.

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Oy Vey Iz Mir

September 21st, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Damn, fuck, Jewishness

>Oy vey iz mir means “woe is me” in Yiddish. Things sound much better in Yiddish, don’t they? I’m having some technical issues today, and it is making me feel slightly better yelling, “Oy vey iz mir,” as I pull my hair out.

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>The Squirrelly and the Acorn

September 16th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, Damn, evil, fuck, What is wrong with people?

>It’s been a bad morning. I overslept, then while eating breakfast, read several depressing stories in the New York Times. The one that upset me most was about a “sting” operation enacted by two ultraconservatives who decided that they would bring about the right-wing wet dream of destroying the community organizing group Acorn.

Acorn is not perfect. It has had a series of scandals involving its officers over the last few years. But it also has done legitimate work to empower and engage disenfranchised, low income Americans in politics and economic growth. In New York City, Acorn has helped families frozen out of the housing market obtain places to live through shrewd credit counseling, homeownership classes, and technical assistance. People who participated in Acorn’s programs here are not losing their homes to foreclosure.

Conservatives hate nothing more than when low income people ask for their fair (or I should say, fare) share of the heaping American apple pie. Actually, forget the “fair share” – they loathe when people who have been locked out of the mainstream systems that benefit white, middle- and upper-classes as for even a crumb or two of what they deserve. These groups and people, many of which have engaged in questionable activities themselves (remember Rush Limbaugh’s illegal prescription addition and how he blamed his maid?), thus must bring down organizations like Acorn that are successful.

Today’s New York Times article explains that two squirelly right-wingers dressed up as a prostitute and pimp, then went to Acorn offices and asked for help acquiring a home that they could use a brothel for under-age El Salvadorean girls. Two Acorn workers didn’t blink an eye, explaining not only how to obtain the property, but also how to hide their illegal activity from the government.

There is nothing excusable or OK about what these Acorn employees did, and they have been fired. As a result of disgusting actions, Acorn is losing federal housing funds. But here’s the problem with these incidents: they were isolated. And we don’t find that out until deep in the article. See, the Times notes that the filmmakers “spent months visiting numerous Acorn offices, including those in San Diego, Los Angeles, Miami and Philadelphia, before getting the responses they were looking for.”

Why is no one demanding the rest of the tape? The evidence where almost everyone they came into contact to at Acorn did the right thing? It’s like shutting down an entire hospital because of one awful doctor and a shitty nurse. Investigative journalism is NOT when you go out and do undercover investigations, find one thing that confirms wrongdoing, and then portray it as rampant corruption. YouTube may have made this video popular, but it certainly did not help tell the truth.

Between these squirrelly, unethical “truth seekers” and the fucking lunatics who protested in DC on Sept. 12, I really give up. Americans are not, as far as I can tell, interested in truth or justice. The sad part is this is what the real American way might be.

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>MMM (More Medical Mishaps)

August 7th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Damn, fuck

>Somehow, both of my little toes developed humps. I think they were initially blisters that turned into calluses, but whatever they are, they hurt like fuck. I need extra wide shoes so that the Hunchtoes of the Upper West Side don’t rub against the shoe while I walk. The problem is that even my gym shoes are not wide enough to get me through a full day as a New Yorker, which requires a lot of walking, even though I’ve been sitting at a desk for hours while doing a consulting job. I’m trying my hiking shoes today. Bah.

After limping to Cosi for internet access, I called my ob/gyn to schedule an appointment for September. (I had to google her phone number.) When I saw her last year, I really liked her. I found her after reading an article she wrote for Glamour magazine about the dangers of Brazilian waxing. It was meant to be.

“Are you an existing patient of Dr. O’Connell’s?” the receptionist asked me.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Oh, well next week is her last week before she leaves here forever.”

“WHAT?!?! May I ask where she is going?” I prayed quickly that I could just follow her to her next doctoring gig.

“Massachusetts.”

It took everything I had in me not to scream motherfucker. When I first moved to New York, I retained my gyn in the suburbs of Chicago and made my yearly appointments when I was in town to visit my family. I loved that doctor. Then she moved to Champagne-Urbana, which is about four hours from Chicago, so I sucked it up and found a doc here. I hated her.

My co-worker then referred me to her doctor, who I adored. After two or three years, she completely fell off the planet. (Dr. Pollitz, if you are out there, I miss your care!) I saw my friend Sara’s doctor. Sara swore by him, telling me that he always took lots of time to talk to her and answer her questions, but he was super late to my appointment and rushed me through a history while I was sitting on the exam table in a paper gown. I was not impressed.

A few months after that disappointment, I visited my friend Dr. P in Florida, where was doing a fellowship. Dr. P had a subscription to Glamour (good bathroom reading?), and that’s when I found the article by Dr. O’Connell, whose byline noted that she worked at Columbia Medical Center in NYC. I decided that this was my future doctor. I waited another few months for my yearly cooter exam time to arrive, and had a very nice appointment with her. Which of course is inevitably why she is leaving.

Now I have painful toes and no snatch examiner to boot. Motherfucker.

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>Greetings from Pittsburgh, Part 3

July 26th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in fuck

>Actually, the greetings are from Corapolis, PA in a hotel room about 10 minutes from the airport. The ground stop at LaGuardia was extended and extended and extended, so at 10:30, the plane unloaded its human cargo. We were given vouchers for a very clean Marriott near the airport.

The problem is that the hotel has only two shuttles, which run every 30 minutes. I need to be at the airport at 7 AM for my 8:25 flight. Since each shuttle only seats about 10 people, I am getting up at 4:30 to be sure to be there. If I miss it, there are no other flights available to New York until Tuesday. I really do not want to rent a car and drive home….

Speaking of missing things, I will not be back in time for my interview at 11:00.

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>Double Tongued

July 19th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Damn, fuck, hilarity

>For dinner last night, Granny took Bubbe, Mom, Dad, and me to dinner at a Jewish deli called The Bagel. I sat sandwiched between the grandmothers, and found myself surrounded by tongue. Granny ordered the boiled tongue, while Bubbe opted for pickled tongue.

Before I departed for Chicago, I was supposed to buy a train ticket to visit my sister and nephew in Iowa. Shit hit the fan and splattered far and wide last week, though, so I didn’t have a chance to do so until Friday night/Saturday morning at 12:30 AM. “Train sold out,” flashed at my across the monitor when I put in my online request. Fuck – that left me with Greyhound.

My six hour Greyhound odyssey will begin at 11:45 am on Tuesday. I think I will try and dehydrate myself in advance so I won’t need to use the on board facilities. I will also not have another mint milkshake (as I did with my friend and her four year old daughter when I arrived yesterday), as that left me with an angry digestive system.

The only plus side is that I’m curious what the Greyhound bus station in Chicago is like these days. My only reference point is from Adventures in Babysitting, when teenage Brenda (Penelope Ann Miller) runs away from her lux suburban home and then changes her mind and calls her friend Kris (Chris? either way, Elisabeth Shue) to pick her up before her parents find out what she planned. Hijinx ensue, including a homeless woman stealing Brenda’s glasses, leading Brenda to wander around with blurry vision and pick up a furry little beast that she thinks is a kitten but is actually a jumbo sewer rat. Oh, the hilarity!

At any rate, the Greyhound station featured in the film was torn down and a new one built on the Near West Side. I also have not been to the Near West Side in eons, and am curious what that formerly extremely crime-infested neighborhood is like these days. Yeah. I’ll hope that my contact lenses don’t pop out of my eyes, and if they do, I will avoid touching anything that looks furry. (Given how bad my vision is, that would be pretty much anything.)

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>So Burn Me at the Stake Already, You Fascists

July 12th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, Damn, evil, fuck, Jewishness, random, What is wrong with people?

>During the last presidential election, Husband regularly received mailings from the McCain campaign requesting donations. (He regularly gives to Democratic candidates around the country.) After the election, issues of The National Review mysteriously appeared every month in our mailbox. On Friday, when I retrieved our mail, I discovered the scariest sacrilege yet: an envelope depicting black cloaked priests lying face down in the aisle of a crowded church, next to a picture of priests holding a “Dominicans Friars for Life” banner at a march. In the upper left corner, the envelope read, “God is calling new men to the battle. And the Dominicans are answering – again. (Battle plan enclosed.)”

Inside, a six page letter read:

Dear fellow Catholic:

About 800 years ago, a poisonous heresy arose in southern France. Left unchecked, it could have threatened the very existence of the human race.

Its adherents saw the human body as a prison for the soul, and thus adopted an anti-life philosophy. They forbade procreation, applauded divorce, and openly encouraged suicide.

The Church called these beliefs Albigensianism.

Seeking good men to fight the Albigensian heresy, Pope Honorious III approved the founding of the Order of Preachers, better known as the Dominicans.

St. Dominic and his preachers rose to the Pope’s challenge, using Truth to blot out heresy. They did their job so well that, nowadays, you’ll never meet an Albigensian.

I interrupt this letter for a moment to point out that we would never meet an Albigensian regardless of the Dominicans because they all would have killed themselves or died through lack of reproduction. Also, Husband is not a “fellow Catholic,” so “God” is apparently not very good at dictating “Truth” in mailing lists. But back to the scariness:

Today, the Dominicans are rising again – to defend Christian morality against an attack that is even more widespread, vicious, and uncompromising.

Yeah, that first part of the sentence scares the fucking shit out of me.

What is this latest, most ferocious attack on Christian truth and morality? Pope Benedict XVI calls it the Dictatorship of Relativism. Relativism is the “universal heresy” because it dissolves all truth and eliminates all categories of good and evil. This deranges the mind and morals of modern man to a dangerous – indeed frightening – degree.

Fore example, relativism not only dictates that abortion is merely a personal choice, but also dictates that the government muse guarantee the “right” to this choice… Relativism can also cause people to take a good thing – such as holy matrimony – and tamper with its very definition to fulfill their own selfish purposes.

Right. I forgot that love is selfish. Of course, I also think that abortion is “merely a personal choice,” and my people killed Jesus according to this institution’s “Truth,” so what do I know? I’ll cite one more line:

Relativism is profoundly irrational – anything that denies objective truth denies reason.

Am I the only one whose eyes are bleeding? That is the most fucked up twisted “logic” I’ve read since Husband’s free issues of The New Republic stopped arriving last month.

But on a serious note, the remaining four pages of this toilet paper screed boast about the increase in enrollments at their vocational school, and how their latest crop of 54 trainees are going to stamp out my irrational belief in religious freedom and my vile heresy against the One Truest True Truth. It is pretty damn terrifying to think about these people and what they would do to me in order to “save” me. Shudder.

Ironically, I also pulled out a receipt for a donation I made in late May (right before Dr. Tiller was killed by a psychopath who believed he had to stop abortion) to the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice. I very well might send them more money. Because now I’ve seen the enemy’s battle plan – the Truth – and it is chilling.

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