I’m sitting here at my computer listening to my jams, when David Bowie suddenly decides it is time for me to dance. So of course I’m all like, Check out my Fly Girl shimmy, yo.—because it’s freakin’ David Bowie, right? I’m in the process of transitioning to my most advanced moves, when all of a sudden Little White Dog—who, by the way, is a TOTAL asshole—freaks out and runs to the other room like he’s being chased by a syringe-toting veterinarian.
Then I’m all like, WTF Little White Dog? You perform your Capoeira-ass ninja moves every time I walk in the goddamn door, but once in a blue moon the dance gods speak through me, and you act like I’ve been possessed by Elaine from Seinfeld. How do you think that makes me feel? You are a cold-hearted bastard, Little White Dog, but you shall never contain my inner dancer. Never.
I just had a very brief and unpleasant conversation with my husband. While my business seems to have hit a plateau, Mr. W. is experiencing great success with his. Am I happy for him? Of course. Proud? Hell yeah. Seething with barely contained hostility? Absolutely.
Envy is the most opportunistic member of the emotional community. While Optimism and Confidence gossip over cappuccinos, and Introspection sits in the corner with her arms crossed, Envy stares inside longingly from the street, waiting patiently to be invited in. (Envy is also a drama queen so she’s standing in the rain, and a car just sped by, hurling a wall of water at her back.)
Envy is the most unnecessary of all emotions. At least Fear serves a purpose: Hey—Do you see that Gila monster over there? Don’t touch it. Envy serves only to make a person feel less than someone else: Hey—Do you see the $10,000 jacket that woman over there is wearing? Don’t touch it.
I hate Envious Ilene, but unfortunately she and I are conjoined twins. As much as I want to tear her off like an ugly sweater, we share some important organs I’d like to hang on to. In an attempt at compromise, I have come up with a few coping strategies to help me live in peace with this reality:
Try not to compare oneself to others. This is much easier said than done; especially when you’re suffering from PMS and have a giant pimple on the tip of your nose.
Remember that nobody’s life is perfect. Things seem to balance out over time. For example, I am envious that Mr. W. has a great new client, but I am not envious of his hairline.
Acknowledge how much you have. This one’s pretty easy, as well as highly scalable: I have shoes. I have socks. I have feet.*
*Note that using the inverse of item #3 has the potential of doing more harm than good: She has Manolo Blahniks. She has weekly pedicures. She is a whore.
Although not always entirely successful, some coping mechanisms can help. Case in point: After writing this post, I’m less obsessed with my husband’s recent success. Instead, I’ve decided to focus on my new hobby—making little voodoo dolls from the hairballs Mr. W. leaves in the shower drain.
Every few months I gather up the nerve (and stomach) to clean out my refrigerator. It wouldn’t be quite as disturbing if I’d just dump the science projects directly into the trash. Unfortunately, the guilt of wasting food (as well as a virulent case of the Jewish) has me convinced that the least I can do is recycle the containers in which my plague-ridden leftovers reside.
Here are seven of the most vomit-inducing moments in Weenie refrigeration history:
1. Is it a shrunken head, or is it a lime?
2. I don’t think cottage cheese is supposed to be pink…
3. Honey, there’s a decomposing finger in the freezer.
4. “Name That Puddle”
5. Why does this white ball smell like foot?
6. Is that a zucchini in your crisper, or are you just suffering from syphilis?
7. Remember the missing avocado from last summer? Neither do I.
One might think I’d learn my lesson and clean out the fridge more often, but then what would I have to submit to the Oxford Journal of Infectious Diseases? Plus, I might be growing another cure for syphilis. (Then again, I might be growing another version of syphilis.)
Everyone’s favorite game, Draw Something, is all the rage right now. Here is one of my recent entries. I like reminding people that I have a degree in art. Beyond keeping me humble, it does make me wonder if my parents got their money’s worth.
This game would be a lot harder if I weren’t able to use arrows.
After reading an old post of mine, “Another Psycho in the Shower,” I began thinking of all the times I’ve pulled stunts like that. There are certainly too many to remember, but I thought I’d give you the highlights in the form of potential blog post titles (in no particular order):
Hiking for Dummies: A Literal Cliffhanger
Midnight Express: Mexican Mange & Food Poisoning
A Tale of Two Exploding Ovens
Napping on Train Station Floors: A Retrospective
Ambien’s Greatest Hits! Includes such classics as, “Sleeping Pills & Showers,” “Yoga Before Bed Seemed Like a Good Idea,” and the ever popular “Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwiches Under the Covers.”
Roman Holiday: Italian Bus Drivers Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Rules
Turn of the Century Shoulder Dislocations (See “Hiking for Dummies” and “Yoga Before Bed” above.)
Tales of a 6th Grade Weenie: The Closest I Will Ever Come to Owning a Porsche 911
The Art of Snore: How to Sleep with Japanese Businessmen
Honey, Why is There a Giant Hole in the Ceiling and a Child in the Backseat?
So now it’s your turn. Vote for your favorite from the list above, and perhaps it will become my next blog post. I can already feel the excitement building…
