Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Oh I Wish I were an Oscar Meyer Weiner...

Because then, I'd have my own song. And people would really, really love me. Of course, it would also mean that I would meet a brutal death where I would be eaten alive by insanely strong stomach acid and drowned in a pool of beer.

Which really, doesn't sound like a lot of fun.

But at least, I wouldn't have to work here. Which right now, drowning in beer and being eaten alive by stomach acids doesn't sound so bad. But maybe I'm just being whiny.

Today is a very sad day, because I've realized that I've run out of things to bid on on eBay. I just never saw this tragic day coming and yet this morning, I woke up, stumbled to the computer (I'm a hard sleeper, not a drunk, just for the record) and logged on to the only auction Web site worthy of my business. And there it was, sheer joy. But as I got ready to click on the little white box located over the word "browse," all of a sudden, my mind went blank. "Think!" I screamed to myself (silently, since Sweetie Pie was still asleep). But nothing came to mind. My mouth went dry. My throat closed up and my chest started struggling for breaths as I realized that I had bought everything there was ever to buy on eBay.

I wonder if I can get in the paper for that? After all, that idiot who ate 20,000 Big Macs got tons of coverage. It's funny to me how idiots like that guy can manage to singly get more coverage than anybody else. Oh the number of times clients have had actual real newsworthy announcements and we PR folks can't get them any coverage. I think I'm going to start getting my clients to eat Cinnabons three times a day or IHOP pancakes six times a day, since they have a lot of catching up to do. At this rate, we'll get them great TV coverage in about 20 years.

I think I need a new theme song. My theme song for the past seven or eight years has been "Semi-Charmed Life" by Third Eye Blind. And I have to say, as far as theme songs go, it's served me well. It's peppy and whenever it comes on, especially the part that goes "I believe in the sand beneath my toes," it makes me feel happy and like this sitcom I call my life actually has purpose. But then I wonder if I've taken the part that says "I want something else to get me through this semi-charmed kind of life" way too seriously. Because i just don't seem to ever be happy. It seems that I can only appreciate the things I have for a few seconds before I go "Ooooooh! Cookie!" Which having been around kids lately, I've noticed is really cute when you're two years old.

"Ha ha!" The grownups around the two-year old say. Isn't his lack of focus hilarious? Don't you wish you were two again? Which makes me think, why would I wish to be something I already am? That'd be like me wishing for big boobs. Oh wait! I already have them and they prevent me from looking non-slutty in anything not called a muumuu. I really think I am two years old on the inside. The fact I've managed to keep this blog going for a week now (not every day I admit, but still...) is like a small victory for me.

The only things I've managed to keep going for long periods of time are the following:

- Breathing (which is HUGE kudos for me!)
- Feeding the cats for eight years on my own (although I cheat with this one, the cats usually yell at me for two straight days when they're out of food, so I admit that I kind of get forced to keep feeding them)
- Sweetie Pie, the first man who didn't bore me to tears after a period of time that previously ranged from anywhere from two minutes to one year. And that's probably the most amazing thing to me. Five and a half years and although he can regularly piss me off, he can't seem to bore me.
- Hmmm, that's it... End of the list. Just wanted it to look longer by inserting a fourth bullet. Did it work, were you fooled?

So these are the only things that I've managed to do for a long period of time. Is that sad? Could it even border on the pathetic?

Why is it I can't have a job that will keep me interested and happy for longer than three-nine months? Am I doomed to be unhappy until retirement? And will I then be unhappy during retirement because I'll get bored with gardening (oh wait, I already did that last year), crocheting (wait, I'm already bored with that too! I could only make a long string instead of a blanket, so REALLY got bored with that one) and cross stitching (didn't really get bored with that one, but got very bored with Sweetie Pie's comments about me looking like I'm 80 years old)

When I look back at my childhood, it amazes me the amount of things that I got bored with. If I'd stuck with all of the activities I was enrolled in at some point in my childhood, I would fare so much better than J. Lo. in the hyphenations. I would be Catwoman, Black Belt Karate World Champion/Gold-Winning Olympian in gymnastics, swimming, synchronized swimming, softball & horse back riding/World-Famous Pianist/World-Famous Ballet Dancer. And I'd hand people a business card the size of a small town and they would read it and fall over. "How did you do it," they would ask. "Simple, I stuck through everything I ever did and refused to quit until I got it down."

Of course, only problem is that I wasn't really good at any of that stuff. The ballet teacher told my mother I was out of the recital because I was so bad. My mom begged her to leave me with my pride intact. So I was allowed to perform about three feet back from the other little girls, snugly placed against the back curtain of the stage, where I promptly proceeded to do all of the same moves as everyone else, just a few seconds early or late. By the time I was signed up for softball, I'd started realizing that activities were probably not the best use of my time and that I was pretty darn bad at softball too. When the opportunity to sign up for a second season of softball came up the following year, I told my mom that I wasn't very good and didn't want to go back. Thinking I had self-esteem problems, she called the coach and begged her to convince me to come back. The poor coach called me up to ask why the runner up to MVP hadn't signed up yet. Unfortunately, I went on to believe that lie for years (13 to be exact) until I signed up for a company team and when I excitedly told my mom I would get to once again use my killer softball skills, she blanched and told me I really wasn't any good. And yes, I'd already told everyone at work about my being runner up MVP. Wouldn't you have?

Well, I'm realizing that this is an especially long blog entry, so I think I'm going to stop right here and spend the rest of the day finding some random item to buy on eBay. I mean, I'm not ready for THAT relationship to be over damn it!

Love,

Catwoman

1 comment:

Koree said...

Too funny Catwoman. You are a very gifted writer. I hope you don't get bored with the blog... :-)