What Possessed Me

A brief moment of sanity.

(This is not going to happen very often, so strap in.)

Work has been a total roller coaster over the last year, and particularly over the last few weeks. The economy is tumbling down around us, good people have been laid off, bad people have been fired, and everyone is anxious, over-worked, and bitter.

My usual M.O. when things get dicey is to complain, wring my hands, and get really, really morbid. But today – and probably this day only because I am an ungrateful wretch – I feel really, really lucky to be employed. I feel fortunate to have enough. I feel so grateful that I did something I don’t do very often, which was to bow my head and give thanks.

During my little fireside chat with JC & Co., I may have also mentioned wanting a baby dachshund for Christmas. And someone to walk it. And also, if it wasn't asking too much, a really nice digital SLR, even though I don't know how to use one, refuse to read instruction manuals, and have a perfectly decent aim-and-shoot camera that is only a little bit broken. (Speaking of which, what particular digital SLR would you recommend, seeing that the gods require specifics?)

Where was I again? Oh right. Being happy with what I have and not coveting anything.



Photo via File Magazine.

MAKE

Melissa’s post today reminded me about classes at MAKE in New York City, where you can block print, knit, letterpress and embroider to your heart’s content. You can even arrange a private party with your pals. How stupendous would it be to have your bachelorina fiesta there? I wonder if they allow copious drinking. Perhaps we could crochet a lovely ball sling for the stripper.*

I regret not doing this for Liz, who goes around decoupaging everything.

*Ew. The last time a saw a male stripper was at my nineteenth birthday, and it was all Vivi's fault. He was orange and had bigger boobs than anyone in the room. I am still traumatized. Thanks a lot Viv for ruining my political prospects.

And then the little men in white coats took P. away.

Fauxhawk recently told me about a woman with a disorder that involved remembering every embarrassing/humiliating thing that had ever happened to her and replaying it in her head like an endless film reel. (There is an actual name for this disorder, and if I were less lazy/guilty about not doing actual work right now, I’d look it up for you and contribute to our mutual commitment to lifelong learning.)

“Doesn’t that sound horrible?” Fauxhawk actually seemed quite shaken by this poor woman’s fate.

“Um…it actually sounds like the story of my life.”

It’s true. I’m still cringing about idiotic things I said or did in 1998, much less the embarrassments of this week. I am person who says stupid things and then spends an inordinate amount of time going through various rituals to purge myself of the humiliation. These rituals include:

1. Head smacking and curling into a ball a la Chris Farley
2. Growling under my breath, but sometimes audibly and in an embarrassing fashion

“Growling?”
“Well…yes. You know…” I trail off.

There is really no way to explain this one.

“Honey, you growl?”
“Yes…is that weird?!”
“Sweetie, have you talked to your shrink about this?”

In the comment section of this post, I would like you to tell me three things:

1. How you recover from embarrassing moments.
2. If you think I am a Krazy Lady like the Mexican man said.
3. If you think that men are better at processing embarrassment than women, and if so, if they should be more embarrassed than they are, the bastards.
   

Photo via stylist Lisa Lindqwister.