Monday, or something.
There's a semi-infamous scene from Office Space where the waiter, at the mock TGI Fridays, says "Sounds like a case of the Mondays?" He makes a dorky frown face, talks in a deranged voice, and provides a moment of asshat humor. All in all, the guy is just a little too happy for a chain restaurant waiter . . . or any waiter for that matter. Well, I can't say that I have a case of the Mondays, but it has been a Monday.
I woke up this morning to the roommate's dog throwing up in front of the bathroom door. Apparently, she ate a toy--the arms and legs specifically--and then decided to greet us with it this am. Lovely.
On the way in I spilled seltzer water, maybe it was coffee once I got to the office. Luckily I had on a girly, semi-frilly, and gauzy blouse in deep purple. So instead of a large gonorrhea looking lactated stain on my right boob, I had a dark circle on the right breast. Either way, I sported the lactating look all day. I left my sweater jacket on, to only see it covered in a layer of white chalk dust.
Then, while sporting a small brace on my left knee instead of the large one from the past two weeks, overcome in my glee of being able to wear jeans again and the semantics of the War of 1812 I jostled my knee in class. I hobbled for a few but continued the fight. Rest assured, the Americans still regained use of their ports with the stalemate truce in 1814.
Women's Studies hour was my favorite lecture of the year. The infamous lets look at Cosmo and rip it apart. My students got a little TMI with their sex lives, and I blame Cosmo and it's survey on naughty things in the bedroom. In the course of this, and connecting Cosmo to the readings on reverse feminism, one article discussed The Man Show. Apparently, The Man Show and Manswers are not only popular among inmates (as I learned last year) but among non-incarcerated chumps. Now I have images of my male students weilding harpoons to fend off a Zombie attack while clutching an elephant's tusks and punching it in the nose to prevent the elephant from attacking. What can I say? At least they talk. Spot on.
But, then I came home and found this in the mail. I ordered it last week from N-Style ID.
There is an upside. Since, I have finally succumbed--after eighteen years--to wearing a medic alert bracelet it doesn't look generically cliche. Instead, of immediately sending alarms that my body doesn't act normal or respond like the atypical one it looks shiny and pretty on my girl wrist. Let's face it, who really wants to wear a daily reminder that her body hates her--often literally--and a charm that sends the connotations of someone needing life support and daily help? Not I. Instead, I opt for rock-star beautiful, and if you want to remind me that I have Lupus by saying so or pointing out my rash you had better be prepared to fight. Seriously, I know what I have. I know what I look like, as I see myself in the mirror more often than not. Boot up your ass if you want to point out the obvious.
On that note, not an entirely bad Monday. Thank-you very much.
I woke up this morning to the roommate's dog throwing up in front of the bathroom door. Apparently, she ate a toy--the arms and legs specifically--and then decided to greet us with it this am. Lovely.
On the way in I spilled seltzer water, maybe it was coffee once I got to the office. Luckily I had on a girly, semi-frilly, and gauzy blouse in deep purple. So instead of a large gonorrhea looking lactated stain on my right boob, I had a dark circle on the right breast. Either way, I sported the lactating look all day. I left my sweater jacket on, to only see it covered in a layer of white chalk dust.
Then, while sporting a small brace on my left knee instead of the large one from the past two weeks, overcome in my glee of being able to wear jeans again and the semantics of the War of 1812 I jostled my knee in class. I hobbled for a few but continued the fight. Rest assured, the Americans still regained use of their ports with the stalemate truce in 1814.
Women's Studies hour was my favorite lecture of the year. The infamous lets look at Cosmo and rip it apart. My students got a little TMI with their sex lives, and I blame Cosmo and it's survey on naughty things in the bedroom. In the course of this, and connecting Cosmo to the readings on reverse feminism, one article discussed The Man Show. Apparently, The Man Show and Manswers are not only popular among inmates (as I learned last year) but among non-incarcerated chumps. Now I have images of my male students weilding harpoons to fend off a Zombie attack while clutching an elephant's tusks and punching it in the nose to prevent the elephant from attacking. What can I say? At least they talk. Spot on.
But, then I came home and found this in the mail. I ordered it last week from N-Style ID.
There is an upside. Since, I have finally succumbed--after eighteen years--to wearing a medic alert bracelet it doesn't look generically cliche. Instead, of immediately sending alarms that my body doesn't act normal or respond like the atypical one it looks shiny and pretty on my girl wrist. Let's face it, who really wants to wear a daily reminder that her body hates her--often literally--and a charm that sends the connotations of someone needing life support and daily help? Not I. Instead, I opt for rock-star beautiful, and if you want to remind me that I have Lupus by saying so or pointing out my rash you had better be prepared to fight. Seriously, I know what I have. I know what I look like, as I see myself in the mirror more often than not. Boot up your ass if you want to point out the obvious.
On that note, not an entirely bad Monday. Thank-you very much.
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