And by that, you really do get I have no comprehension of my environment, right? My entire *life* is spent at this level of inattention. Seriously, it has been said (by Sister, damn her) one of the miracles of the world is I've survived this long. Surely a piano should have dropped on me by now.
But getting back to the taping--I decided, today, to go see what i was recording, as I apparently recorded a lot of it. I got a lot of Dead Like Me, which is one of those shows I kept *meaning* to watch but never got around to doing so, as that would require me to, again, pay attention to my environment. That's not happening--that's why svmadelyn emails me every Wednesday these days to tell me that Smallville's on, the ep title, and that I want to watch it. These are basic facts I will not remember on my own. Tha's why last week, I set the DVR to record it for me. IF the tiny flashing red light doesn't tell me, at least I can watch it eventually, possibly when I'm emailed to be reminded.
And I have no idea what it says about me as a human being that the fastest and easiest way to get my attention is to email me. Face to face won't cut it--but email? I *notice* email.
*sighs* Piano. On the head. I might notice that.
Okay, this show is *good*. Oh shut up--I'm aware the rest of the free world and Tibetian mountaintop monks are all just groaning a duh here, but okay. I'm still not entirely clear on what's going on. I mean, I got the plot I think, thank you God for first-of-season-video-montages and taraljc's LJ, but still. It's so *cool*. I'm only slightly bitter that three eps didn't come through--I'm guessing those are the times the electricity was out, or so the dates suggest. How long was this season anyway? I saw six eps. Is it over yet?
And am I supposed to be worried about Mason's drinking? It's fun. I like George. She makes me smile. I'm not fond of the blonde chick, but she'll grow on me. I mean, even *Lana* grew on me eventually. The chick that was once on It's a Differnet World is fun. I like people who carry guns. Mason is cute, and I like his accent. I'm all into the creatively bizarre ways people die. That's just cool. I need the first season. Must go price on amazon, for post-NY, when I am allowed to freely spend money again.
The drama continues at work, moving into the subtle-annoying-gossipy stage, where everyone acts like they just hold every secret in the universe and wnats you to ask just so they can be smug and tell you no. Oh. Please. Like I have *time* for that. I just abduct a coworker for lunch adn have her spill. THsi would be Missy, who turned down a bushprince and all, and who somehow manages to get everyone and their puppy to spill their guts. It's kind of admirable. And scary. She also told me ways to skin people so they live awhile, then coat them in honey for the ants to get. We were getting a breakfast burrito at that moment. I love my friends, but sometimes I wonder if I have some magical force field around me that makes people tell me things that are pretty much guaranteed to keep me up at night.
Anyway. I finally dragged out from M why everyone gets weird about telling me things. I mean, seriously, not in a not-trust-jenn-way--I mean, I've been confided in far more than I want about two cousins, one's husband, and an apparent drunken night that really, I could have lived without for the rest of my life quite happily, but when it comes to office politics, things get sticky.
M: You're just so--you seem innocent. You're nice to everyone. It feels weird to tell you this stuff.
Me: You're worried about corrupting my innocence.
I have no idea how to answer this. Which may be sensible. It took me an inordinate amount of time--say, until OtherM told me--to realize that the supervisor I liked so much was actually hitting on me, along with every other female-shape in the office. This is not stuff I'm going to notice left to my own devices. It also freaked me out. Casereader Guy is a second case, though I caught on to that one. I still think he's just flirty, just uncomfortably so. Every time he comes into my office, M comes in, sits down, and stares at him while making smartass banter until he goes away. I think she thinks she's protecting my virtue.
But anyway, at lunch, rumors flowed like wine. Super may be fired. M and C may be fired. M and C got the permission of the person a step up from S to take the entire afternoon off (true and verified). Civil Right and HR are deeply involved. There could be lawyers and Legal Aid soon. Everyone is deeply involved. You know, except me.
S is being really nice to Missy and me. Neither of us are sure what to do with that level of attention. I ate brownies to stave off my nervousness. Cookies weren't available.
Still don't fucking *fit*. I've gone through three sizes; 32 is too big, 30 is too small, and 31 is too small. I *made* them fit. Oh yes, I did. They groveled, man.
I might have mentioned this already, but C is getting married and we went looking at dresses. One of my cousins is also getting married, proving the rule that there is something about weddings--they come in like, groups or something, swarms, like killer bees and mosquitos. C's is in Georgia. If I'm invited, I just might go. I've never been to Georgia or a formal wedding. I'm not even sure what a formal wedding is like. THe ones I've attended are--not formal. At all.
Anyway, while looking for her dress, I ran across My Dress. I don't know how that happened. Frankly, it's kind of creepy, considering. But there it was, just sitting there, saying, buy me, buy me, you don't *have* to get married to have me, and I'm like, I'd need to take out a *loan* to afford you and what the hell would I do with you once I had you?
But it's My Dress. I know it the same way I knew that three inch and above heels were my fate the first time I strapped them on. This is My Dress. There was a dizzying half-minute where I stared at it and saw myself--I'm not joking about this--wearing that thing, in a Church, with people and flowers and oh my God, I heard organ music. I even knew someone was going to give me a Kitchen-Aid mixer. I had my bridesmaids dressed in tasteful blue and wondering how much a wedding trip to Italy would cost and if Milan really has such great shoes.
There could have been a groom involved, but you know, all men in suits? Not sure which one he was, really.
This took all of thirty seconds, before I snapped out of it.
This happens. When I first saw The Guy Much Too Young For Me a few weeks ago, I had us married, with another kid, and divorced in twelve years when he left me for his younger EMT partner, Barbie, while I drank vodka and involved myself in romantic self-pity and revisiting my dark bad poetry phase, notable for the fact I changed to blank verse, not sonnett. That took about forty seconds, as I was imagining the deep, endless pain of shattered love and bitter betrayal when he finally told me he'd been seeing her for a year and wanted to start a new life with her and her perky breasts. I didn't get far enough to contemplate a broken, miserable future involving trying to jump off bridges, but I did remember that Brother-in-Law's sister once stole a gun and stood in front of her ex-boyfriend's house, yelling for him to come outside so she could shoot him for the lying dog he was.
*rubs temples* I only wish I were joking about that.
I need to read something. Must go searching. God knows, sleep isn't even trying to make an appearance right now, dammit.