Prayers for all!

One of the things I’ve found astounding, working with clients, is their total lack of appreciation that there is a line of demarcation between Friendly Customer Service Representative and Person Who Gives a Shit.

Frequently I receive emails from clients that inform me of some kind of trial or tribulation they are experiencing, some political stance they are sharing with the world, or, you know, stuff that has nothing to do with my job for them.

Today I received a missive calling for love and prayers (and cash donations) because the client’s adult daughter has been hospitalized due to a “critical medical emergency.”

I’ve never met this daughter. I’ve spent time with her parents because they were my clients. I don’t know where they live, if they prefer contemporary oak dining sets to repurposed barn boards and I’m not sure whether they have a dog. But for some reason, I’ve been included in this mass email cause to give a damn about humanity.

This all irritates me considerably as it intrudes upon my consciousness*.

However, my time in reading the whole thing was rewarded as there is a fantastic typo in this heartfelt, massively inappropriate email.

“May Bod bless us all.”

That’s right, the Bod that watches over us and keeps us safe. Thank you, Bod, for all of your blessings.

*that’s right, I got it in!

Matthew McConaughey is My Power Animal

I have an itchy trigger finger when it comes to my emotional outbursts over injustice, contempt, and anger. I get this from my mother. We are both Sagittarius if you put any stock in that Zodiac business. We do — but only when it suits us.

Frequently my mom will call me, like today, simmering and just about ready to boil over about some perceived atrocity that has befallen her. I often call her in a similar state.

I’ve decided lately that this is no way to live and so I tried to talk her down. She kept saying her favorite saying, “I’m just going to be like water.” This of course is a total bastardization of the old proverb (or maybe Bruce Lee said it according to this website) that water doesn’t fight obstacles, it instead goes around them, over them, just wearing those obstacles to nothing and doesn’t let obstacles get it its way. This is great if you are a normal person or maybe Bruce Lee.

However, when we are “like water” my mom and I are really angry, indignant water. It’s not a calming motto or a way of being for my mom and I. Instead, it’s a passive way of dealing with something. Which really isn’t dealing with it at all.

So today I told her, “Don’t be like water. Don’t get all stone-faced and not say anything. This is not the way to be. You need to be like Matthew McConaughey.” And in that moment, I knew I was right.

What would Matthew McConaughey do? Maybe not the real MM, but the MM that lives in our perception. MM would just takes the news, shrug his shoulders, look out at the waves — gives his toes a little wiggle in the sand maybe, and then just say, “Cool. I’ll be over there,” and he’d point to a spot on the beach. “You let me know when you work that out.” And then he’d saunter off (I imagine MM saunters without attitude) to check out a Frisbee game.

This isn’t to say MM doesn’t know when to take a stand. He’s been embroiled in a few legal battles over paparazzi, he has been arrested for “resisting transportation” during the infamous nude-bongo-weed incident, and he’s involved in a lot of charity work, according to his official website.

In fact, he originally went to school to be a lawyer. So it isn’t that he isn’t into justice, a moron, or just wandering around in some catatonic state (well, maybe he is sometimes as he is known to enjoy a little weed here and there), but rather I imagine MM knows when to get cranked up and when to just shrug his shoulders, smile, and see how the waves are doing while everyone else sorts out their shit.

And that is why being like water is bullshit.

Be like McConaughey. Just. Keep. Living.

My day

Today my day started out better than yesterday as I actually slept all the way through to to 5:20 a.m. when my alarm was going to go off at 5:30 a.m.

The day before, I woke up at 3:30 a.m. and couldn’t get back to sleep until 6:25 a.m. (which was then horribly interrupted by my bed mate’s alarm going off at 6:30 a.m.).
So honestly, today really did start out better. Even if when I woke up at 5:20 a.m. a dog then stepped on my foot and it was cold.
Then my day perked up. I found my new motto. Well, at least another new motto. My favorite still being the family motto which is, “Fuck ’em.” Someday I must design a family crest with that emblazoned on it.
My new motto is: Pretend you are right and just move forward. Really this motto is not much different from the family motto, but it does have more syllables. Wait, that makes it harder to embroider onto a pillow. Hmmm…
Then the crash of the day. I called a client, happily told them I’d help them on their message machine. Then got off the phone and started complaining about said client. Shortly thereafter I realized I’d not clicked the button to hang up, but rather hit the button for SPEAKERFUCKINGPHONE. So not only did I maybe record my message and me the subsequently berating them to a colleague but also recorded THE COLLEAGUE berating said author.
Luckily, they are old, so either they didn’t hear it, there is a god (or several as I did go to an Indian place for lunch and may have winked at their Ganesh statue for help and a few other lesser Hindu deities — for the record I first spelled that dieties which is kind of funny — nearby) or maybe it never happened. I’ve talked to them since and they seemed unaware of my verbal thrashing, so, fingers crossed. Luckily I’m pregnant and I can blame everything on the fetus. Might as well, when it’s in therapy later in its life, it will blame me for everything. I’m just getting started early in the parent-child blame game.
In three minutes, I will call another client who is a slow talker who may or may not understand my jokes. I WILL make sure the phone call is disconnected before telling my coworker all about it.

Dirty Ways to Hate

As an English-major, I’ve always valued the written word and people’s ability to precisely and effectively wield it. Take Oscar Wilde, for instance. Nothing says I hate you, quite like calling someone a “blinkering cockslot.” But in the modern era, the art of insult once refined by the likes of Oscar Wilde and William Shakespeare has all but been lost. Why shouldn’t we hate with passion and with zest? Why should only our happiest emotions be colorful and elaborate?

Thus, I give you the first installment in “Dirty Ways to Hate,” a record of articulate and colorful ways to hate thy neighbor or issues or really anything–all observed in real life.

“Calculus can suck my dick. And not in a fun way: in a face fucking, skull-shattering sort of way.”

“People Who think ‘trickle down economics’ work can go use a suppository made of Vick’s Vapo-Rub”

“This day can suck my syphilitic cock”

Enjoy your day!

**It should be noted, that these gems all came from one very angry man.