"...we had a laugh as several tables turned around to see who was brimming with enthusiasm over Jimmy Carter's penis..."
Late Again, Dec 21, 1999
It will be over in two weeks, right? The holiday greetings, the Christmas cards, the shopping bags and the dark comedy nights. Christmas is for kids and any adult who feels Christmas is for buying candles and surprising Secret Santas is the kind of person that will keep me living in a city for the rest of my life.
I work in a predominantly female office and we are cycling together. Someone, I thing it is Gyoo, (pronounced Q), our graphic artist, is altering my routine and causing me to have a period every two weeks. I shook a tampon at her last Thursday and said, is this your fault? Stop it! You're ruining my underpants collection. She smiled and applied Photoshop's smudge tool to a face on her screen.
At a company lunch in an expensive midtown restaurant, Gennady's booming voice and thick accent highlighted various conversations. You're Russian, said a woman! (Bringing Gennady along means discovering everyone knows either a Russian or some Russian). My dentist is Russian, she said, and she worships Ronald Reagan. Not us, thundered Gennady, for us is was Jimmy Carter... and his peanuts! Of course, peanuts was mispronounced and we all had a huge laugh as several tables turned around to see who was brimming with enthusiasm over Jimmy Carter's penis.
Several comedians made videotapes for the Comic Strip's Christmas party; I was not one of them. I have an idea for 2000's party, but on Sunday I felt like I was watching the popular kids at my new school play football. I like the new friends ok, but I miss my old ones, most of whom are living in LA. I have an uncommon history with these people: we reminisce back to, oh, '98.
Dear Reader, it's nearly 8:30 in the morning and I woke up before 9 AM because what with all the parties and workouts and freelance sites and late night spots, I didn't have the opportunity to write 'til early Tuesday. If I stop now, I can take a homeless man's shower, (soap up the armpits over the sink) and get to work just late enough so that my boss knows that I didn't move to Manhattan so I could get to work on time.
