shutitdown: livin' for the anecdote

shutitdown: taking one for the anecdote

January 2006 Archives

max: i saw a little kid vomit on the sidewalk today
max: outside of radio city music hall
max: it looked like he had an entire tub of chocolate soft serve ice cream for breakfast
max: and the lady watching him didnt notice so i was like "hey"
max: and she looked at me and i pointed
max: and the kid looked at her and then puked again
max: it was a thick stream like a big soft-serve snake
max: so cheer up buttercup
max: it could be worse
Lina: i'm like
Lina: lina gone wild
Fran: you really are
Fran: your life is like a chick lit novel
I did four interviews this week, spent hours chatting it up with my potential boss, and spent significant amounts of time trying to restrain myself from giggling when words like "bollocks" were used. All in all, a good week.

...
Interview #2

"So, Lina, what do you think you will need to do to prepare yourself for this new position?"

I think for a minute. This is, after all, an interview with my boss's boss. "Well," I say finally, "I think I'm going to need to work on my alcohol tolerance."

...
Meeting with my new boss

"So what else am I going to need to know before I start this new job?" I ask, in all seriousness. I've been voraciously devouring Powerpoint documents and studying reports as if my life depended on it.

"You're going to have to start watching cricket."
"What?" I asked, confused. "I was being serious."
"So was I," he replied. "You're really going to have to learn about cricket."

...
Around midnight, at a club. After running into one of the men that interviewed me the day before, I begin to merrily harass him about how he would rate my interviewing skills.

He considers me for a moment and then said, "Lina, I think you are going to fit in well in our office."

"How's that?" I ask, pie-eyed.

"Well, you're double-fisting your drinks, and you just tried to kiss me on the mouth.*"

Well played Lina, well played.

...
*Just to state the obvious, I did not actually try to kiss my boss's boss on the mouth. I think he may have tried to do some strange European custom of kissing my cheek as a greeting, and like a frightened American deer, I turned my head at the wrong moment.

I've been trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to add category listings to shutitdown. This has forced me to go through all of my posts in order to label them. This was, initially, a very painful experience. Being confronted with one's own horrific grammar mistakes and webcam abuse is not easy, by any means. There was very little good about this experience, with the exception of a few things.

I found some posts that I had forgotten about, but that still amuse me to no end.

  • What do you do for fun?
  • The time where I tried to get in shape: what a workout and what a workout part 2
  • Summary of my life so far: I go from one extreme to another
  • The heat of the meat
  • One bad-ass mofo

    Additionally, I've realized that in spite of all of my self-hatred and cable TV, I'm becoming a better writer. At least, better than I was four years ago. Maybe those 9 years of college did make a difference, after all.

    In the news lately, there have been a number of articles about young writers who have duped the public in some way. JT Leroy is one, James Frey is another. The literary fraud angle is interesting, certainly. Are memoirs held to the same standard as news? Is one allowed to play with the truth when writing about herself? Am I committing a crime when I paraphrase my mother? (If so, cuff me because boy, am I guilty!)

    Intriguing questions, especially for a blogger such as myself.

    In light of these articles, I've been spending more time thinking about young authors as well. Yesterday, my friend Pam and I were talking about the Debbie Gibson song "Foolish Beat." She wrote, produced and sang it at the age of 15, and it was a #1 hit. Pam remembers listening to the song when she was 8 and thinking she was already a failure because Debbie Gibson had started her songwriting career at the age of 5. I can relate, because every time I see a book by someone who is 22, I die a little bit.

    And although I know that if I had to pick a career to survive off of, I'd still have a better chance with stripping than with writing, I take solace in the fact that I'm getting (slightly) better. Maybe by the time I'm 70 my blog will be really good.

  • lina: i was driving today and a handicapped person cut me off
    lina: and i was thinking
    lina: i wish there was a hand gesture i could give that would insult their handicapped-ness
    lina: like a limp wrist to a homo
    lina: and then i thought
    lina: max is right
    lina: i am an awful person
    max: what
    max: what am i right about?
    max: oh that you are awful
    max: i only mean it halfheartedly
    As each year draws to a close, my friend Kathleen likes to make a list of the people she has slept with in the past year. Has she made any noticable improvements since the year before in either quality or quantity? Are there any noticeable trends or patterns? Most importantly, what, through close examination, can she predict for the year at hand?

    As counting one's sexual encounters is rather coarse for a well-bred girl such as myself, I try to limit myself to other, less base, evaluations.

    Heart-wrenching breakups: 1.5
    First dates: 7?
    Countries visited: 2
    Countries dated: 5
    Countries considered: 25
    Pictures of cocks with "Lina" written on them received: 8
    Dental appointments: 3
    Episodes of Law and Order: SVU's watched: countless
    YTMNDs created: 27
    Job titles: 3
    Number of times I said "I hate everything" over instant messenger: 136
    Sessions of tattoo removal: 5
    Popes dead: 1
    Car accidents: 2
    Shirts with collars: 7
    Cable TV: got it.
    401(k): check.
    Shoes purchased: 13 pairs
    Teeth lost: 0
    Number of haircuts: 6

    I ran out of ideas for my list. Little help?

    Last year's inventory.

    The cock gallery is back in its full glory. And it's not safe for work.

    Shutit


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