Posts Tagged ‘(undeserved) self-pity’

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>Damn, Damn, Damn

March 29th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, What is wrong with people?

>Earlier this week, Husband worried that he was coming down with a cold. I advised him to take it easy, particularly since he was leaving for the Old World for a week, and being sick while traveling is miserable. Of course, I did not take my own counsel, staying up all hours and running around in chilly, damp weather, and now I’m knocked again with a fucking cold. Will this winter of discontent never end?!?!

Yesterday evening I journeyed out of my sick cocoon and was distracted by a store offering 70% off the original ticket price of certain items. I found a great sweater, and was pleased by my savings. The cashier told me that they had another shop around the corner with more items, so my friend and I sauntered over there. I found a flattering wrap dress that was originally $98. When I went to pay for it, the cashier said it would be $39.

“Oh, the sign said that the items in that section were 70% off the original price,” I told him.

“Right,” he nodded. “That’s $39.”

“No, it’s less than that.”

He sighed and pointed at the tag. “It was originally $98.”

I took a deep breath. “Yes, I am aware of that. And 70% off of 98 is NOT $39. It is $29 and change.”

Long sigh from the cashier.

“OK, forget it,” I snapped. “I don’t want it anym…”

“That’ll be $29.40.”

Damn, people! Of course, when I woke up this morning and looked at the original price of the sweater, I discovered that they overcharged me by $5.60. Gah!!!!

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>Lord, I Was Born a Rumbling Man

March 15th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in fuck

>The less pleasant symptoms of my undiagnosed mysterious digestive ailment returned last week, making my life stink. These include:

  • Gas that could kill infants, toddlers, and small animals;

  • Explosive bowel movements that fill a toilet bowl; and

  • Acid reflux.

Thus far I have been spared the once a month, wake up in the middle of the night vomiting that is so violent it comes through my nose. Unfortunately, I also have not experienced the only upside of this misery: weight loss!* Even more disappointing, my ailment strikes hardest during my free time. So while my evenings and weekends are spent groaning and trying not to smoke Husband out of the apartment with my toxic fumes, the stupid condition doesn’t lead me to miss work. It’s bullshit.

Still, the other odors in the air at the Allman Brothers concert that I attended on Friday night were far stronger than my noxious gases, so I didn’t feel too self-conscious in that regard. The show did remind me how conservative I am at heart. Not only is smoking not permitted in public places in New York City, but the historic theater that the show was at was recently restored, so I was seething from the second the envelope of various smokes enrobed my head when when I walked through the lobby. People were also spilling their beers everywhere. Between the ashes and the beverage, I fumed about the useless of restoring the building. Plus, all the smoke gave me a headache and made my throat itch. Later, I fell asleep during one of the many jam sessions. I did groove to special guest Bruce Willis’s harmonious harmonica, though. That was exciting.

Rumble, rumble.

*No need to worry, though, I’m just trying to look on the bright side of a bad situation; every cloud has it’s silver lining; etc.; etc.)

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>Satan Comes In Many Guises

February 25th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, hilarity, I am a bad person sometimes, What is wrong with people?

>Just as I prepared to hit the sheets last night, I noticed a message in a Facebook thread mentioning that so-and-so was not planning to hang out after class on Wednesday night because her class was canceled. Incidentally, her class is my class (let’s sing it together, “This class was made for you and me…”), and I didn’t know bupkes* about class being canceled. I spent the next hour or so clenching and unclenching my fists while inhaling and exhaling deeply. Long story short, this is the second class (out of two classes) where the administrators of the program don’t have me on the list.

My tuition is $22,000 and change. I take a whopping two classes per week, and attend some literature readings and weekend seminars. For all that money, I expect that people could make some fucking effort to figure out who is in what classes. Since this is obviously not the case, I decided to attempt to transfer to another school in city that shall remain nameless but costs 1/4 of the price. Last week, a woman who blogs about how God dictated her stories to her and she writes for the glory of Jesus received a phone call admitting her to the program that my tax dollars support. I did not. (Fists clenching and unclenching, deep breath in, deep breath out…) No, I’m not bitter at all.

Once again, I had a restless night and on my way to the subway this morning I passed by a group of people tempting me with forbidden apples, if it is possible that the plaza in front of the 72nd St. subway station is Eden. Yes, that’s right: they were giving out granola bars. Along with propaganda about the seven deadly sins. (Motto: “They may be deadly… but they sure are fun.”) My cravings for granola bars are somewhat less this week than last, but still bad. Fucking religious nuts, screwing with me everywhere, I swear!!!

I took a granola bar. I decided that I would not eat it, but save it in my desk at work just in case I ever got snowed in or something and needed sustenance. (I also have a large bar of Jacques Torres milk chocolate, distributed by the landlord of the building for Valentine’s Day, stashed in my drawer. And an insulated container of 2% milk, the kind from Horzion that doesn’t require refrigeration. It’s almost enough to make me hope I get snowed in so I can chow down, but I digress.) Really, I took it because it was free, and I hate turning away free things. Also, I wanted to waste the crazy church’s money. However, I am not so evil that I took two. God didn’t give me that story to write.

Sigh.

*Yiddish: shit

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>Carb Cravings

February 20th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in random

>Until this week, I never lusted after a granola bar. Last night, I dreamed that I drank half of a glass of apple juice before realizing that it was not part of the South Beach Diet; I don’t even like apple juice. (Later in the dream it dawned on the that the gallon of vanilla ice cream that I ate before freaking out about the juice was also verboten.) I might kill someone for a bite of a cookie. (Could I use the South Beach Diet Defense in court? “My restrictive diet made me do it, your Honor!”)

The first phase of South Beach is the most restrictive because carb cravings generally come from eating carbs. In theory, if you only eat good ones (i.e. – vegetables) for a few weeks, then your body will no longer miss the baddies like granola bars. Clearly, I am driven by psychological and emotional food cravings. Or, the problem might be that I used too much artificial sweetener, which is allowed on the diet. It turns out that the latest research shows that the body produces insulin whenever someone consumes artificial sweetener as if the person ate regular sugar.

On the other hand, once I found out about the Equal/Sweet n Low/Splenda problem and smacked my head and sighed dramatically multiple times, I cut down the amount I used to two packets and tried to drink less than 12 ounces of diet pop a day. That’s when the cravings intensified. Craziness.

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>What? Who Am I and How Did I Get Here?

February 13th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in hilarity

>My future is grim. Case in point: this morning I arrived at a doctor’s appointment with a coat, scarf, hat, mittens, backpack, and bottle of water. Before leaving the exam room, I put on my coat and scarf, then attempted to grab my hat and mittens, but they were nowhere to be found.

“Shit, I hope they are in the waiting room,” I muttered to myself. Then I headed over to check out. After paying, I ducked back into the lobby and sure enough, my hat and mittens were on the chair I used. Fine. I put them on and left for work.

As I walked to the subway, I noticed that my throat was dry. “Damn, I wish I had a drink,” I thought. And that’s when I realized that I left my water bottle in the bathroom at the doctor’s office. Sigh.

I am only 33 and senile already. It’s amazing that I remember the password to my blogging account. (I guess my brain knows what’s really important.) I’m so fucked.

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>Sunday Spazz Sessions

January 25th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Uncategorized

>On the way home from a lovely weekend visit with Alex Elliot & family, Steph, Husband, and I discussed cars that our parents had driven when we were kids. Steph mentioned a Cadillac Eldorado that her dad lusted after and finally purchased after years of motoring around in Toyotas, only to have it sit around in the garage after they drove it from Pennsylvania to Disney World one summer. Husband said that his dad installed an 8 track machine so that he could listen to Sesame Street songs in the sensible sedans they drove. I talked about the Bobcat debacle.

I am not sure when my dad bought the Mercury Bobcat two door hatchback or why, but by the summer of 1984, the air condition no longer worked and the driver’s side door didn’t close properly. (The driver had to pull the door up while yanking it closed, or it would pop back open.) The car had four bucket seats, making it inappropriate for car pooling, and yet my mom inherited it. I fondly recalled sitting on the fuzzy light blue “hump” with no seat belt in the back between the two bucket seats while we sat sweltering in traffic jams on the way to my allergist appointments. The Cubs game blared over the radio. That was probably the best summer I ever had.

As I regaled Steph and Husband with my tale of the Bobcat, I realized that not only was that a great summer, but it was probably the last time I was ever consistently happy. When I went back to school, none of my friends were in my class. I had a horrific asthma attack while running in gym, and was sent to the hospital via ambulance. After that, I wasn’t allowed to exert myself in gym, so by the end of third grade, just when I was sliding into early adolescence, I lost touch with my friends, stopped exercising and gained weight, and hid in books.

In fourth grade, I experienced my first bouts of depression, gained more weight, and failed a test in school for the first time. (I got a 49% on a fractions exam.) From then on, it was low self-esteem, and increasing frustration as I began to understand what a horribly unfair place the wider world was. Suddenly, it mattered that I didn’t live in a nice house or wear trendy jeans. At the same time, I knew that millions of people had it worse than me, and I was lucky.

Almost 25 years after I cheered for the Cubs with all my heart while my mom hoped that we wouldn’t get into a car accident that would send me straight through the windshield, it vexes me to realize that no matter what I attempt to do to improve my situation and be happy, I’ll never have the same constant satisfaction with life. Sure, I’m happy at times – and frequently – but underneath it all is the frustration that I can’t balance what I want. I can’t find a combination of paid work, writing, education, leisure, family, friends, exercise, etc. that satisfies me. It’s always too much of something, leaving me stressed, anxious, and worried. And yet I know I’ve got it good, making me feel guilty for not being happier. The hump on which I perched so cheerfully is long gone, leaving me without a vehicle to get where I should go.* Maybe the summer that the Cubs finally deliver is when it will all come together for me, too.**

*How’s that for a metaphor?
**Of course, I happen to think that a Cubs World Series victory is a sign of the apocalypse, but that’s another story.

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>The Grass is Always Greener When You’re Born a Ramblin’ Man

January 12th, 2009 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Uncategorized

>As usual, I’m behind. I promised people who submitted essays for the potential anthology COngratulations, You’re a Woman Now! that they would hear back about their work by the end of 2008. I’m not even close to finished reading the submissions. (But I swear I will, and I apologize profusely.) I haven’t read blogs in a few days, which makes me feel disconnected from the online community I so cherish. Yet I’m spazzing out about what to wear to work for the rest of the week, so I’m not going to make much progress on the things that I want to do. (And oh my god, I didn’t realize how short my wardrobe falls for a 5 day a week job that requires more than cords and definitely is not jeans-friendly…. Panic.)

Of course, the last quarter of last year, I was pretty unhappy with my massively underemployed status. I felt useless, which made me anxious and depressed. Now that I’m overemployed (in the sense that I hoped to secure a 3 day per week job), I’m anxious and depressed because I’m worried about all the commitments I made and the things that I want to do that I no longer have time for. Argh! Is there no middle ground?

On another grass-related note, Husband and I are going to an Allman Brothers concert at the Beacon Theater this spring. Every year, the Allman Brothers plays approximately 15 dates at this smallish theater near my apartment. The streets fill with characters not usually seen on the streets of the Upper West Side, including hippies, trailer dwellers, and undercover cops poorly disguised as hippie trailer dwellers. Husband decided he wanted to see what the hoopla was all about, and I thought it would be fun to go along, although I fear the secondary high. (Yeah, I’m a big fucking nerd. I can’t help it!)

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>Worst.Headshot.Ever!

December 13th, 2008 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in hilarity

>Seriously, this is the worst photo I’ve ever taken:

I look like Adrien Brody’s long lost twin:

Oof.

But, for anyone who wondered what I look like with lipstick and terrible, terrible lighting, there’s the answer.

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>Backfire

November 12th, 2008 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, What is wrong with people?

>I hate my workshop. Two weeks ago, our writing workshop professor asked us to hand in a copy of the comments we left on other students’ papers so she could have a sense of what we were thinking about feedback and criticism. I suspect that my complaint about Cunty McCunterson’s rude comments and illustrations in my paper played some role in this exercise. While I am not obnoxious, I also do not think I leave the most useful feedback in the world. I try my best, but sometimes I just don’t know what to say. I hoped that the professor might have some useful tips for me.

Instead, she photocopied Cunty McCunterson’s comments and handed them out to the class as an example of how we should all provide feedback. Of course, Cunty’s comments were far more constructive when she knew that the professor would be reading them. Only an idiot would turn in something rude and insulting when she knew the prof would see it. Sigh. I knew this would backfire on me.

There’s another woman in the class who didn’t read anyone’s work for two weeks, and yet we all workshopped her story last week. She also yelled at someone last night for using the word “analysis” to describe the analysis of film that another student wrote, insisting that “analysis” was too Freudian. (I wonder how upset she would be if she knew that I applied for a part-time data analysis job yesterday.) I watched the person whose piece we were discussing doodle in his notebook the whole time. I’m not sure he cared what anyone in the class thought.

That I am counting down until this class is over (only four to go…) is upsetting. It didn’t have to be this way. I like the professor a lot on a personal level and tremendously value what her insight. But that two or three people have managed to make class so dysfunctional and unpleasant for six of us (I think one person is unperturbed because she is low key like that), infuriates me. I can’t believe how much money I paid for this. I am getting things out of it, so it’s not a total loss, but it’s enough to make me apply for a part-time data analysis job. Ba dum dum cha.

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>A Blue State

November 9th, 2008 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Uncategorized

>In my 32.75 years of existence, I’ve only lived in two states: Illinois and New York. Appropriately, these are both states that are “blue” – i.e. have gone Democratic in presidential elections. New York as a state is turning even bluer, as out of 29 House seats, we are down to sending only 3 Republicans to Washington.

My mood for the last few days has matched the color of New York. Sure, I’m ecstatic that Obama won the election, and every morning I’m devouring the news as to who he’s appointing to his administration (Rahm Emanuel is a fellow liberal Jewish New Trier graduate, which is a rarity) and what his next moves are. Still, it’s been raining and gray and I’ve been sitting around with not enough work to do, which is upsetting. In this exciting time, I want to be doing public service work again. My consulting job owes me money and more work.

I’m hoping that I am offered the position that I interviewed for two weeks ago. But that’s stressing me out because I know that I can’t really handle a full-time job, school, and my other commitments. I could do it, but I’d never see Husband, socialize or go to the gym. That’s not good. The problem is that there are no part-time jobs that are in my field at my skill level. Frustrating.

Plus, I know that Steph moved away five years ago and Dr. P has been gone for 18 months, but I still miss them like hell. My other friends are great, and I appreciate them immensely, but last night we had a post-election celebration party, and I felt their absence acutely. As Husband put it, there was not enough cackling without them in attendance.

Hence, I spent the day stuffing my face with chazerai: jelly beans, chocolate, cookies, and other goodies left over from last night. All that junk food is both comforting and also makes me feel worse. It certainly is negating the 6 mile run I did in Central Park yesterday. Bah. I hate being old, unemployed, and lonely.

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