Friday, December 01, 2006

and it all feels fine, be it silk or slime

This week would not be complete without thanking everyone one more time. Wrapping myself in comments (from those of you I know in real life, those of you I know through blogs, and those of you who have de-lurked to leave a word) has kept me warm on these strangely cold San Francisco evenings.

Last weekend, I was so distracted by floating on air from good news that I let the long weekend pass me right by. I made absolutely no productive use of the time, and I do not mind telling you that I did not feel the least bit sorry. Last night, though, I started to panic suddenly. Because who said it was okay for it to be the beginning of December already?

Never mind. Drive home with the new song by The Shins piping through the radio waves, and you cannot help but feel hopeful that all will work out. I have to channel some of the invincibilty that comes with happiness into applying myself to some tasks. Not bad tasks, not even drudgery. I made a big production about getting a jump on baking for the holidays, but, predictably, I fell behind schedule.

It's a good thing for euphoria though- along with creating a great forcefield against any soap opera dramarama, it seems to be fending off a nasty bug of some sort. My head is stuffy and I feel fuzzy around the edges, but I keep cheerfully convincing myself that I can shake it off, or sleep it off, or maybe even smile it off.

Okay, but that's a little too saccharine, and that's not my style. I am sure I will reclaim my inner grinch by next week. My cousin is visiting from New York all weekend. He is usually a toxic presence, making disparaging remarks about my appearance, my lack of fashion sense, and my inability to demonstrate sufficient anxiety about being single. Usually, he tires me, but only because I start to ponder whether he is the mouthpiece for his entire gender. Of course, this leads to the conclusion that, if all men think like he does, then there is no sense in getting at all worked up about something so hopeless. I am good at rationalizing my way out of rage, in case you have not noticed.

Tonight, I am getting goosed with the co-worker GBF. Hopefully, there will only be talk of the sweet nectar of the gods, and not of SC. And if I can ride the high I have been on, hopefully, I can defeat the head cold, do some baking, and make some progress on a birthday gift for my grandfather. Again, I really have a problem with whoever gave December the green light.

Oh, and may I issue a little plea to ABC and NBC? Because you know, I am kind of a sucker for America Ferrara from back in the day, and I think the whole thing Christopher Gorham has got going with her is totally twee. But I am also a total goner for Carell and company (like this week, the Danny Glover remark was enough to induce bellyaching laughter). So, could you please give me a break and stop forcing me into impossible choices? There are plenty of other nights that you're showing nothing but utter nonsense anyways (cough, Mondays, cough). Spread out the love a little, and stop the comedy-on-comedy crime. And don't give me the lecture about tivo or watching the episodes online, either. You know I'm way too old school for that sh*t.

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