I Concur

Does this count?

Slug Girl

I just can’t seem to wake up today.

Yesterday I passed it off as Monday blues, the sluggish feeling, the heavy tiredness. The Mean Reds, if you will.
Maybe there were some energy vampires in my midst, because I couldn’t seem to get motivated. Hello, Tuesday, and no better. My mind is more alert, but that may be from the can of Coca-Cola coated with condensation next to me. Of course, that could be the very reason I am not alert – the caffeine, the long hours, the little exercise.

Maybe the fog will clear with a jog around the park after work.

Maybe I’m just a little burned out by my job. I’ve had a lot to edit in a very short time.

Maybe I just need something more than lanes of concrete and office walls.

Maybe I just need to duck out of work right this second and go eat Indian food.

I’m taking option D.

In other news, 400 words of clichés do not a column make. Nor a blog entry. Future self, take note. You know what kind of writer not to be. Now try your hardest to be the kind of writer (and person) you would want desperately to imitate if you met them on the street.

Questionable

I don’t get it.

I really just ... don’t ... get it. To be fair, I didn’t "get" Hanson either, and these twits seem to the tight-pants reincarnation of the blonde boys-who-looked-like-girls. Supposedly, some of these are wax statues, but damned if I can tell them apart.

On a side note, my grandfather owned a pair of shoes just like the kid/statue in the tacky blue suit. Do The Jonas Brothers’ shop at the Goodwill in our fair city?

(This post can also be seen on the blog of the newspaper where I work, but I felt Flaneur needed some love today too. Sorry for the repeat, but I'm so swamped that I didn't have a chance to write something new. Hurry up, September!)

Note to myself

Remember to: Write how you felt, how bare and exposed, how bleached, the skeletal curve of your spine left in sun and out of the cold clear waters of the sea.

Unhealthy

My breakfast.

Seriously.

A can of Coca-Cola and Goldfish? Yeah. And as long as I am tied to my cubicle, vending machine fare will remain my constant diet. I don't know if evolution really prepared us to sit for 9-plus hours a day in gray walls lit with a glaring computer monitor and harsh fluorescent overheads.

Today, work is as about as appealing as sticking my bare hands into bee-covered poison ivy while naked in a field full of broken glass and rabid baboons on a scorching hot day.

If you love me, which you very well may, please appreciate your local alternative weekly paper so my hours will not be in vain.

(Seen on my desk, some random time today. And note that "Baked With Real Cheese" doesn't necessarily mean there is any real cheese in said crackers.)

Not a bad idea!

From: Natalie
Sent: Tuesday, August 12, 2008 10:59 AM
To: Jamie
Subject: Re: Tuesday

Whee! Tomorrow I’m getting my picture taken for my new (say in a booming voice) Official Press Pass!
So I can roll up onto crime scenes and say, “I’m with the Press!” and help the detectives solve mysteries. Sweet.

From: Jamie
Sent: Tuesday, August 12, 2008 11:09 AM
To: Natalie
Subject: Re: Tuesday

You are going the abuse the hell outta that thing. Gimme free Starbucks, I’m press.
Gimme free gas, I’m press. Gimme free booze, I’m press.

Busy, Busy, Busy

Blur = my vision and days

As much as I want to write on my little Flaneur blog, work has kept me from writing anything not deadline related, and two huge issues in one month make me hate looking at the computer screen.

Sorry, blog.

(Unintentionally artistic photo taken yesterday on my cell phone on the way out to dinner after the intense need to be neither in my apartment or in the office took over.)

The Lost Epidemic

Another sad earring found on Natalie's head, its mate lost somewhere in the office today.

I was going to write that this is the third earring I lost this month, but it's August 1st, so the tally starts anew.
At this rate, I have more earrings for one ear than Vincent Van Gogh. It confused me as to where I kept losing them but I've come up with a theory.



See that? That hair?

My hair is the Bermuda-freaking-Triangle of Earrings.

The earring equivalent of the Marie Celeste. The Roswell of earring cover-ups.

Because between the cell phone, head phones, and that tangled, almost-elbow length (longer now than seen in this picture), sweaty-because-it's-a-hundred-degrees-outside-and-I'm-almost-out-of-gas-so-no-
AC-in-the-car mane I will continue to post sad little pictures of my mate-less, lonely ear bobs.