Saturday, September 8th. 1:00 A.M.:
I've been staring at Page 1 of Webisode #1 since 12:14, which's when I finished another thirty-minute task that somehow took two hours. I say 'somehow' as if this isn't a pattern I've repeated every time I've done anything, ever.
That's a good lead in to this week's Sunday Top Ten topic, because it's about things I'm bad at [e.g., my continual/endearing underestimation of the amount of time required to complete any given task.]
Saturday, September 8th. 1:15 A.M.:
Zoey just told me whatever I'm doing with my hair, it totally works, and I should become a stylist like Shane. WHEEEEE!!!! Har. I'll call my Salon "Shane," or whatever it is that Cherie Jaffee was going to call the salon that she was opening for Shane before our lives -- in mean, their lives-- fell to pieces.
Saturday, Sep. 8th. 2:00 A.M:
(I don't know what it is specifically I'm bad at,
but somehow I suck at all jobs that other people are able to do
effectively, efficiently, and dynamically)
I have one freelance job where I write recruitment ads. I'm pretty good at this. It involves describing qualities desirable in applicants that I myself do not possess. I think about this when I'm temping: "this would be an ideal position for a motivated and solution-oriented administrative professional with a desire to develop career skills in a dynamic multi-faceted work environment ... not me." Howevs, I got computer skills and that attention-to-detail thing. I'll attend to details until my eyes turn into goldfish and my fingers fall off, seriously.
Last Tuesday, I dashed from the headquarters of Global Wealth Management at a Big Important Bank at 5:30 ON THE DOT, like "GTG film, latez!" after totally rescheduling some super-important world hooha blabla meeting without checking to see if it was okay with the person who'd arranged it in the first place. [In my defense, I did check with my direct supervisor, and it was his meeting, too, get your shit together, mister!] I felt like everyone was mad at me and subsequently thought: "Maybe this's because I look like Danny Partridge today, and they probs had an unrequited crush on him back in the stone age when they were children." The women were talking about internet dating and I was pulling out what hair I hadn't already cut off.
1. I should be able to imagine the sport being played by Native Americans. Like, it should seem like something you could do with sticks and deerskin.
1a. Therefore, no complicated things like ice rinks [I realise ice rinks used to form naturally from lakes in the wintertime, but you know what I mean, yeah? No like, complicated whatzits like they have in hockey] or complicated equipment like in croquet.
1b. Or complicated rules, like in FOOTBALL. They're all stop and start. That's lame, it's like, I wouldn't accept that in a sexual partner, why would I accept that in a sporting event?
2. I would like to see the player's actual faces. Faces matter to me. I'm a people person.
3. Clearly you can see that basketball is the best sport ever, according to those rules.
Sat. September 8th, 2:36 A.M.
Sat. September 8th, 2:46 A.M.
I like to fill every moment of every day with as much activity as possible, even the parts where I am sitting still. I don't sit still; I shake, rattle and roll. I like to multi-task, just not necessarily efficiently, and just not boring stuff, like "9" or "10."
(Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar)
That's my hero, Shirley Temple.
Sat. September 8th, 11:22 P.M.
Hi. Back. Carly thinks I'm writing a Webisode right now, but I'm playing hooky to do this for a minute, because my brain hurts. Guess what? My back hurts too and I know why: it's FROM SITTING IN THIS CHAIR ALL THE TIME!
Re: this chair, which is clearly killing me softly ... once upon a time, back in the June of my discontent, I wrote a comment on a blog entry, that went as follows: "My girlfriend just told me that I've lost my mind because I super-glued a Jack Kerouac postcard to my desk. The only reason I did that is cause I opened the super glue bottle to try to super glue my "T" key to my keyboard, which obvs did not work, and now it's just balanced just So, and then the super glue thing wouldn't open, so I had to cut it open, and then it leaked on the desk, and then It was getting everywhere, so I had to put something on top of it, so I put this postcard on top of it and now it's stuck there forever. That's okay. I got this desk for free from a whorehouse, 'cause the owner was getting a new desk from IKEA and putting her old desk out on the street."
Anyhow, that explains the chair!
Obvs [redacated] was projecting. I'd not lost my mind, I'd caught second-hand madness. I'm not mentioning this for any other reason than its extreme relevance, re: my chair. Also, I thought that comment was brill, at the time, and every time she re-read it out loud to me to really display it's apparent off-the-wall-ed-ness, I laughed more, harder than I'd laughed in centuries. I was laughing so hard my whole body hurt. Also, I figured that comment could double as a "cry for help." Oh well.
Don't cry out, cease fire, ten nine eight and i'm breaking away, I'm all dressed up and I'm ready to play, seven six five four and I'm all over you, counting three two one I'm having fun, your fascination with naked walls of silk and skin with no conditions, I needed you to notice ... that's all I wanted ... (shiny toy guns)
Sat, Sep. 8th. 11:55 P.M.
Oh anyhow, I've gotten way better at this lately, for the purposes of promoting our teevee show. I think that's because it's not pretending. I really do believe in it.
1:30 A.M. Sunday. 9.10
4:15 P.M. Sunday, 9.10
Here I am Again! Now Carly is here, in my room, asleep. Oh! She's awake now. We're doing work. I just did SOOOO much work over the last three hours, I need a break. Whew.
We're on the edge/verge. We had a brunch meeting this morning for some reason at the asscrack of dawn [9 A.M.] at L'Express, I feel like death. I was also clearly late. Carly hadn't slept yet at that point, which is why she was just asleep earlier, when I said "Carly is asleep."
The following members of our stellar production team were in attendance: Haviland, Jessica, Caitlin, Cait, Cesar, Heather and, obvs, Carly & MEEEEEE (Riese!). Wow, that's like, a lot of Cs. I wonder what that means. I hope it doesn't mean we're average. I hope it means we're Certifiable.
11: 25 P.M. Sunday, 9.10
I just went to the corner store to get a Gatorade XTremo, Coca-Cola and Grapefruit Juice, and was cajoled by four different people. Go to bed already! Why's everyone always out on the streets?
I have a new plan: I'm just gonna cut off all my hair. Then people will think I'm a boy, and if they try to harass me, I'll be like "I'm a boy, fuck off." And then if they try to mess with me, I'll be like "Listen up: I am a boy and can crush you with my hands."
My eyes are sunk so far into my skull, I'm not sure they are actually "eyes" anymore. I feel like that guy in the MTV promos who drove taxis and had greasy hair. Remember him? MTV used to be so much better than it is now, yeah? OMG I wonder what happened with Britney tonight on the VMAS!?
Whoah. I just watched like three minutes of that, and my computer battery drained 50%. Why does she look so dead in the eyes? Where have you gone, my sweet Britney Spears?
I searched for women's beach volleyball pictures and this was the first thing to come up. I felt like it was fate, maybe.
Q: Riese, go to sleep.