(or, the essential blog post. The ur-post. Watch the internet come flying towards you in a massive centripedal implosion as every single living being clicks on this page to read what’s happening to me, Sari Gordon.)
I woke up this morning after a nightmare about a cabal of Shiseido models, designers and employees putting on a big show in a technical college in Vadnais Heights. Everyone was beautiful. Guess who wasn’t? I had to wear pumps that made my feet completely vertical and then had to climb up a rubbery wall with little footholds in it if I wanted to get into The Bar. What I really wanted was a phone so I could call a cab because I couldn’t figure out how to get home and even though it would have been like $300, I didn’t care and then I woke up. Do they even make Shiseido anymore?
So I make coffee, watch the new guy, Tom Butler on Channel 9, who I think is going to turn out okay. At least he’s an improvement over that temp guy, “Flanders” – but I’ll buy–hell, I’ll make a Bundt cake for anyone who gives me the clip of Dr. Ruth repeating “moist vagina” while being interviewed by the poor substitute anchorknob. But I love Keith Marler because he’s an unapologetic Trekkie and toupee wearer (“better put a little extra glue on the toupee today folks!”) and Alix is very stern and judgmental, so I love her and she’d kick Diana Piss’s ass and I love MA Rosko because she’s a geek and has an excellent dog.
Where was I?
Oh yeah, so after a few minutes of CSPAN (to cancel out any Oprah I might watch later), I take my first nap of the day from 7 to 8. Then I get up, check the caller ID to make sure I didn’t ignore anyone I actually wanted to talk to, went to the keyboard and checked for new Google mash-ups and find a new mash-up for that tired old ?Hot or Not? crap. I am here to testify that a good 30-minute session of judging others is entirely more satisfying than 20 minutes of my old Transcendental Meditation higgledy-piggledy.
I mean, look at this car-wreck but please, don?t bother slowing down:
Shut the fuck up. I hate you. I hate your smug face, I hate your hat, I hate your t-shirt, I hate your bottle of something, I hate your brands, your blinds, your stupid printer and most of all (and here’s the number one clue that you only rate a “1”), if you cropped your picture specifically to include the fucking dolphin, I really hate you. Dolphins hate you. Dolphins would rape you if they were in the mood, and apparently when they’re in groups, they are in the mood. Much like you and your frat brothers.
Ditto for this turd-burglar. Though he receives prominent tool ranking for setting, i.e. track lighting, paneled ceilings, ruffly curtain dressing and oval-matted portrait. Go take a couple of pretend hits off one of your mom’s Marlboro Lights and barf in the woodpile behind the cabin.
I realize there is the slightest possibility that this is a funny person however he gets a 1 for making me dizzy with all the disorienting patterns and scale issues.
Probably sticking his finger in a Jell-O shot. Lighting fixture from Menard’s automatic disqualifier.
1. If you can post a picture of yourself while you’re on duty in Iraq, you’ve got it too good. Get back to work.
2. It’s not your weapon. It’s Army’s*.
3. That war thing. Just sort of a turn-off.
4. You’re in the supply room. Without the gun and the G.I. Jeans, you’re just another schmedrick stealing violet notepads in Peoria.
Okay, this guy almost survived the axe. I think he got a 6 because he looks old enough to enjoy naps. The goatee–even with the upgraded pencil-thin, boy band beard addition–is quite gay, I have to say, but he looks like he could be smart. He looks like he could be on break from a sales seminar and about two clicks from shoving his face into a stripper’s change machine, too, but there’s something a little charming about that. The biggest and most damning bit of all is, of course, the wallpaper. Those flowers say one thing and one thing only, “I’m divorced and visiting my sister.”
He needs time.
Oh and sorry, Bub. Zero points for posing with your kid. Especially with a picture of your wife and kid in the background. Minus major points for Slumberland lounger.
Then, all my friends have been telling me they?ve been having the same problem as I have. I keep misreading shit. The bad part is that I have to read a lot of stuff twice because I know I read it wrong the first time. The good part is that what I think I see is pretty coherent and pretty funny. One of my friends always sees something raunchy. The bad part is that this will all melt down into delirium and nonsense sooner than later, so I might as well enjoy the previews.
Today, for instance, I was listening to The Clash and I looked down at the iPod screen to see the title and I thought it said, ?Lower Back,? which tells you something about the cognitive lake I?ve been fishing in lately since the real name of the song was ?Lover?s Rock.?