Shit List
The holidays have officially begun and thus so has my yearly bout of winter grumpiness. In an attempt at some sort of catharsis, please find below today's Shit List.
Construction work. For the fourth week in a row, the jackhammers in the alley behind my work building are rattling the glass windows in my office. I try to leave for lunch around 1, when the crew is at its daily pinnacle of destruction. I come back to find various items rattled off my desk, rolling around and broken on the ground. Then I wake up this Monday morning at 6:30 am to shouts and the unmistakable beeping sound of heavy machinery thrown into reverse. I look out my window and see cement-breaking tractors on all four corners of the nearest intersection. The air reeks of hot asphalt. That night, I trip over my street, which is bumpy and uneven after being stripped in preparation for re-paving. I live on the first floor; when I go to sleep my head is approximately six feet away from this street, which is about to become a hundred times noisier and smellier than it already was.
Those awful fucking Gaede twins. They have been repeatedly referred to in the media as “white pride” activists, and compared to the Olsen twins. Since when does hatred, bigotry and racism qualify as activism? And referring to their cause as “white pride” is like referring to the Grand Canyon as a hole in the ground. Worse yet, this family—which stands for everything rotten and putrid about America—is getting more sustained press coverage than your average hate-crime. They’ll probably be Senators some day.
Being lonely. As winter approaches and my three-year relationship steadily dissolves into a series of increasingly embittered arguments, it’s easy to feel a bit shut out by the world. Living in Jersey City doesn’t help. At least if I lived in Brooklyn I’d be completely surrounded by emo youths with great haircuts and perpetually tormented love lives. Instead it’s a bunch of bankers and some old Dominican ladies who call me “sir.” To be fair, Jersey City also contains one of my favorite people ever, my crazy Russian landlord Boris; friend of Brodsky, foe of Dali, pervy and often drunk. It’s good to have Boris around.
I’m glad that everybody is happy and beautiful and about to embark on that wonderful adventure called Life with a sexy, steadfast partner who cannot live without them. It’s exciting that my friends are getting engaged and married. But do I have to be excited for them all the time? Really?
Smoking / Not Smoking. I’m a failure / I’m miserable. I’m killing myself / I want to kill myself. Now that it appears my apartment is going to smell like hot tar for the next few weeks, I don’t even get the non-smokers benefit of living in a house that smells good.
Maureen Dowd-bashing. A woman attempts to create a public discussion about gender, touching on the fears, assumptions, and questions many of us harbor to some extent, about our lives and ourselves. Punish her.
Bitching. Bad Screwsan.
Construction work. For the fourth week in a row, the jackhammers in the alley behind my work building are rattling the glass windows in my office. I try to leave for lunch around 1, when the crew is at its daily pinnacle of destruction. I come back to find various items rattled off my desk, rolling around and broken on the ground. Then I wake up this Monday morning at 6:30 am to shouts and the unmistakable beeping sound of heavy machinery thrown into reverse. I look out my window and see cement-breaking tractors on all four corners of the nearest intersection. The air reeks of hot asphalt. That night, I trip over my street, which is bumpy and uneven after being stripped in preparation for re-paving. I live on the first floor; when I go to sleep my head is approximately six feet away from this street, which is about to become a hundred times noisier and smellier than it already was.
Those awful fucking Gaede twins. They have been repeatedly referred to in the media as “white pride” activists, and compared to the Olsen twins. Since when does hatred, bigotry and racism qualify as activism? And referring to their cause as “white pride” is like referring to the Grand Canyon as a hole in the ground. Worse yet, this family—which stands for everything rotten and putrid about America—is getting more sustained press coverage than your average hate-crime. They’ll probably be Senators some day.
Being lonely. As winter approaches and my three-year relationship steadily dissolves into a series of increasingly embittered arguments, it’s easy to feel a bit shut out by the world. Living in Jersey City doesn’t help. At least if I lived in Brooklyn I’d be completely surrounded by emo youths with great haircuts and perpetually tormented love lives. Instead it’s a bunch of bankers and some old Dominican ladies who call me “sir.” To be fair, Jersey City also contains one of my favorite people ever, my crazy Russian landlord Boris; friend of Brodsky, foe of Dali, pervy and often drunk. It’s good to have Boris around.
I’m glad that everybody is happy and beautiful and about to embark on that wonderful adventure called Life with a sexy, steadfast partner who cannot live without them. It’s exciting that my friends are getting engaged and married. But do I have to be excited for them all the time? Really?
Smoking / Not Smoking. I’m a failure / I’m miserable. I’m killing myself / I want to kill myself. Now that it appears my apartment is going to smell like hot tar for the next few weeks, I don’t even get the non-smokers benefit of living in a house that smells good.
Maureen Dowd-bashing. A woman attempts to create a public discussion about gender, touching on the fears, assumptions, and questions many of us harbor to some extent, about our lives and ourselves. Punish her.
Bitching. Bad Screwsan.
posted by Screwsan at 10:55 AM
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