But What Does It All Mean, Basil?

Life here in the city is not easy. At the very least, day-to-day life in general is somewhat combative. You fight the traffic, fight the crowded streets and subway cars, fight the lines, fight the good fight at the office and then fight your way home. Your sense of accomplishment is dulled by the sheer effort it takes to get yourself to and from your destinations during the day. Truth be told, if I can make it to the cleaners and the drug store, then still manage to prepare something for dinner more complicated than a can of tuna, I not only feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment, I'm exhausted to boot.

I read an article today on Yahoo that hit me in the gut, hard. It says that adulthood starts at age 26. I counted on my fingers. Dear god, I'm 26! Has adulthood started? I didn't really feel anything. I still have all my limbs. I pay my rent. I have a job, but I'm not really an adult. I take care of myself, feed myself, do my laundry. I make my own appointments for the doctor and the dentist. None of this really means that I'm an adult, does it? I'm responsible for everything that I need to do in order to maintain my life properly. If this doesn't mean that I'm an adult, what does it mean?

It means I've grown up. I am an adult. That's what it means, Austin.

If you find an article that says that the average woman becomes her mother at age 30, do me a favor. Don't send it to me.

Thursday Morning Lament

Last night's become a blur it seems
Riddled with odd and crazy dreams
Singing songs with Shirley Jones
Tom Hanks and I ate ice cream cones

Fat guy dancing with Chris Farley
Smoking ganja with Bob Marley
Johnny Carson's house is burning
Belly dancing with Charles Durning

Falling into open space
That man there he has no face
Now he has one. Carrot Top!
I'd prefer a dirty mop

Why'd I drink that jug of wine?
It tasted much like turpentine
A good idea it seemed like then
Drink away those stupid men

I fell asleep with little worry
This morning now I'm in a hurry
Slept right through that damn alarm
Slept like I had bought the farm

Now I'm thirty minutes late
Roommate's in the shower, wait
Forget the shower, go to work
Hope the boss won't be a jerk.

Coffee, you're my saving grace
Allow me to save a little face
In the office, hour past
Sit down at the desk real fast

No one noticed I was gone
I pulled off a real good con
Tonight there will be no more drinking
I don't know what I was thinking.

Happy hour starts at five?
There will be some music live?
I'll come if you buy my first beer
Then I'll be there, thank you dear.

Inner Monologue From This Morning's Subway Ride

Is there something that I'm not getting about Jim Belushi? I don't find him funny. Most of the movies that he's featured prominently in stink, yet week after week, I tune into his sitcom. After it's over, I cry myself to sleep. For some reason, I still watch. Who can I call to get this cancelled, so I can open up my Tuesday night?

You have Lizzie McGuire. You have that Amanda Bynes girl. Did I miss something when I was 16? Is there some sort of magician performing a bizarre Fantasia-like spell creating hundreds of these poor girls? Also, why do I feel like they have bigger boobs than I do?

Does anyone else find it hysterically funny that there's a law firm in Manhattan with Spanish language advertising that can be reached at the phone number (212) M-A-R-G-A-R-I-T-A? Does this office have their Italian language ads tell you to call (212) S-P-A-G-H-E-T-T-I?

I'd like your shoes a lot more if there weren't a piece of toilet paper stuck to the heel. Should I tell this woman that she's got toilet paper on her shoe? Nah, screw her. She'll find out when everyone in the office laughs at her, like the time the toilet seat cover stuck out the back of my skirt all afternoon.

Were either of the guys in "Wang Chung" Asian?

Memo to Madonna: It's over. Just let it go, OK? It's been a nice, long ride for you. To be honest, I thought it was over after "True Blue." You hung on, not many could have. That's cool. What's this new album all about? The music sucks. No offense, but I think kaballah is a little hard for mainstream America to swallow. Do yourself a favor. Go gracefully. I don't want to see your saggy ass (yes, we noticed) prancing on stage at 60. OK? OK. Glad we had this chat.

All right, I admit it. I've been watching "American Idol." If I were that Josh character, I wouldn't be making any long term hotel plans.

So, scratch an elephant, scratch an elephant ... damn.

I Am An Internet Rock Star

Last week, the kind and benevolent editors over at Yankee Pot Roast saw fit to publish my first piece of anything ever (You may find it on this site in the handy navigation bar to the right of your screen).

Immediately following, I start the greatest blog in the world, featuring stories (both fictional and non-fictional) about and/or by yours truly. This blog is hailed by the blogging community as "one woman's exploration of her least consequential thoughts." I accept these kudos and beg idly for more.

Next, the New York Lottery comes out with their "Scratch An Elephant" campaign and song. This has nothing to do with anything. I just cannot stop singing the stupid song.

Subsequently, YPR posts a response to my piece by their inimitable contributor Sally Reardon. Ms. Reardon's piece challenges my treatise on Why Girls Can't Drive, presenting evidence to the contrary.

Now, I am not one to brag, but ... I AM AN INTERNET ROCK STAR!

Time for a little bubbly.

Lemmings

"How was the weekend, Phil?"

"Not too bad. Went to the in-laws on Saturday. We took the kids to one of those water parks on Sunday."

"We've been meaning to take the kids. They just love the water. How was it?"

"It was really a nice day. The weather held, so the kids were splashing around all over the place. They set up some tables on the side for the adults, so the wife and I sat down and had a nice lunch. It wasn't too expensive either. Next time we go, I'll give you a call and we can take the kids together. I think they'd really like that."

"That sounds like a great idea. I'll tell Brenda tonight. She's been in Phoenix the last few days. Hey, where are you going?"

"I don't know. I'm following these guys. Why is she out in Arizona?"

"There's some conference out there for work. She says it's been boring meetings all day, every day, but she and the girls go out for some drinks at night, so it's not all bad."

"As long as she gets some time with the girls, I'm sure it's fine. I wish I knew where the hell we were going. Did you hear what happened to the Logistics division?"

"No! What happened?"

"Someone went crazy and led the whole division off the side of Eastwood Ravine."

"Man, that's the second Logistics division in 3 months."

"I know. Only 2 survived. They'll be heading up the new division. We've been walking forever. I wonder where we're going."

"No idea. I'm following you. Did you catch the game last night?"

"I caught that shot at the end. Unbelievable."

"I know and with no time on the clock. Can you see anything ahead of us?"

"No. I'm sure we're just walking though. Did you ever get the numbers for the Weinstein case?"

"Phyllis said she was going to run them today. I think it looks pretty good for us. Is that a cliff?"

"Nah, couldn't be. You feel good about the numbers?"

"I'm pretty confident. Are you sure that's not a cliff?"

"Yes. All right, let's hook up again later and review the numbers."

"Sounds good. OK, that's definitely a cliff."