Tobey in repose
Author Archive | Alison Rosen
And to think I almost moved without these
So I’m packing up my books and I realized there’s a pile on the floor of my sister’s books but some of mine are mixed in. Thank God I realized that, I thought to myself as I recovered my trusty copies of:
Joy Shtick (or What is The Existential Vacuum and Does It Come with Attachments?) by Joy Behar
But Enough About Me… by Jancee Dunn
The Scorecard by Greg Gutfeld
The Verbally Abusive Relationship by Patricia Evans [not a how-to, unfortunately]
Happiness is a Warm Puppy by Charles M. Schulz
What we talk about when we talk about moving
Dustin: happy packing!
Me: oxymoron!
Box: 1; Me: 0
I’m having a fight with this boxTwice today I’ve found myself talking out loud even though I’m alone. The first was when I nearly stepped in a street loogie and let out a little yelp and then the second was this afternoon when I put together this wardrobe box which refused to crumple down in any way that would allow for neat and efficient taping. I’m pretty pissed at this box right now. Not as pissed as the woman I passed this morning who was berating her dog Lincoln because “Did I tell you you could get up, Lincoln? Did I? LINCOLN!” At first I thought she was yelling at a dog named Winky which made it even sadder. It was kind of like when you pass someone who’s yelling at a kid and you want to reach out to the kid and report the parent but instead you just glare, kind of hoping they’ll notice you but also a little afraid of what they’ll do if your glaring causes a confrontation. But then I was thinking that she wasn’t hitting her dog, she was just upbraiding him, but it was upsetting all the same. And she was a little thing and the dog was a big thing (a black lab) who was sort of putting up with her even though you could tell she was a total pain the ass.
But anyway, back to this box, it’s just very spirited and on the one hand I don’t want to break its spirit but on the other if it’s going to house my clothing it’s going to need to learn to cooperate.
Sometimes my finger hits the wrong key
And I end up saying to someone “We should totally do that and blob about it!”
I should get back to packing though. More packing, less blobbing.
Progress
Packing: Before and After
BEFORE
AFTER
Whilst packing
Finding old IM conversations makes me think two things:
1. Why was I dealing with these things on IM?
2. Why did I save this? Now I feel icky!
3. Ok I lied, I think there's a third. I was probably too hard on this guy.
4. No, not you.
5. Actually, I'm going to quote from this, because it's interesting. This is what someone said to me, and I'm afraid it's true. "On the one hand I think you are sweet and reasonable and that all people should be treated with respect and dignity and blah blah blah, but on the other hand I'm getting angry because it's like you have this totally unrealistic expectation of how people should behave towards eachother and you are cutting off a very major area of human emotion — the shitty sector."
I swiftly ripped apart that logic. Like, immediately, but I think there's a little kernal of truth in there that I should pay attention to. Maybe.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
My approach to fashion
Me last night, while idly spooning a blob of mustard off my t-shirt: It’s nice to have a comfy t-shirt that’s so old that you don’t care at all if you spill on it.
Me today, while sitting at my computer: What is that horrendous smell that’s like a mixture of malt-o-meal and blue cheese? Oh my god, it’s my shirt.
I’ll have you know that I didn’t sleep in this biohazard of a garment. I slept in something else and then woke up and threw on this disgusting shirt.
Tobey update
While the rest of you were receiving texts from Obama about Biden, I was receiving an email from my mom about Tobey. This is what it said:
Tobey has learned to roll over!
What a pushover! It’s like, get a spine, you know?