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rejection, whoring, sticky bins, and backwashing the filter
07/30/2006 = 11:00 AM

Another day, another rejection slip.

I know I can (and probably should) self-publish, but when you're an attention-whore like me, you get tired of walking the streets in these extremely cute but uncomfortable shoes, and kind of hope someone else would pimp you for a change.

Without, you know, bitchslapping you around and smoking, snorting, or shooting up all your hard work, mind you.

It's probably too much to ask.

Sometimes I'd rather be a real whore. It seems kind of harsh to have to work a real job to support myself since I can't make any money doing what I like best.

Also, I like sex. But I don't think I could make any money at that, either. Unless I charged by the pound.

So, yeah, I was feeling kind of bummed Friday about the rejection slip, plus the horrifying news that Anthony Bourdain (after whom I lust madly) has been stuck in Beirut when all he wanted was a little hummus and maybe some lamb, so it really should have been no surprise to me that I found, when I got to work, that someone had ganked my last piece of gum.

Adding insult to injury, the culprit discarded the wrappers into my recycle bin instead of my trash bin.

Much ado about nothing, you say. But.

Not having any gum makes me want cigarettes.

Wanting cigarettes makes me feel even more wretched, and wanting cigarettes the day after having come home from work to find a rejection slip in the mail sucks pretty hard, and wanting cigarettes when I've just found out that the chef after whom I lust madly had to be rescued by Marines, well, that sucks about seventeen colors of ass.

Which causes having trash in my recycle bin to make me get all Jeff Goldblum in ID4. Why bother having two bins next to each other if people aren't going to respect it?

But I consoled myself with the knowledge that I will write something better that will, sooner or later, suit someone's present needs, that my chef is still alive and well, though looking much more gray-haired than he did in the most recent episodes of No Reservations, and that a gum thief who doesn't hold onto his or her wrapper is going, eventually, to toss the used gum into his or her own trash bin (or recycling bin) without wrapping it, and wind up with a sticky bin. And "sticky bin" sounds enough like a sexual disorder that it definitely serves him or her right.

Then, later in the morning, I wound up, not completely cheerful, but at least amused, by the following exchange:

My Friend Who Isn't But Is Sort Of: Sorry I'm a little late. I had to backwash my filter.
Me (snickering): IF you know what I mean.
MFWIBISO: I feel compelled to point out that I really am referring to the pool filter.
Me: Some of us don't have pools. We have to cool off in the gutter where our minds already are.

You so want to work with us. We're fun like that.

New podcast. Go get you some.

http://golfwidow.podomatic.com

I added canned laughter and rim shots and things to this episode so I could pretend I'm funny I'd have something to react against.

Also because One Should Never Depend on Strangers.

The podcast is searchable on iTunes now, by the way. So even though you can totally subscribe via Podomatic, still go on iTunes and search for "golf widow" so you can write a review and see your name all up on the iTunes page.

Tags: rejection slip, Tony Bourdain, podcast

drinking: coffee
listening to: cobra starship, snakes on a plane
this week's give-me-happy: to man-mel (as opposed to lady-mel) who gave me a really quool shirt free-gratis-for-nothing. also, no charge and complimentary