Bitches Get Stitches

hello everyone, from finals island!
while finals time is always hellish,
this is the first finals in. my. life.
where i am not panicked.
stressed?
yes.
but that little voice that has been telling me for years to work ahead,
get things done, don’t put unnecessary stress on yourself,
a voice i have largely ignored for going on 28 years*,
finally got through, and for the first time
i won’t have to rush to finish.

go. me.

now of course as soon as i hit that little blue publish button on this post,
i will have thoroughly jinxed myself and my computer will explode or
i’ll forget the english language or something.

i guess i better make this post count, then.

one of my favorite activities is imaging that i’ve won the lottery.
the following hour is taken up by a reverie of how i’d spend the cash.
it usually involves real estate and world travel,
with a dash of setting up my friends for life.

imaging the getting of things is my hobby.

i must admit, when i wrote my last post,
i never actually thought anyone would send me a gift.
i was merely indulging in one of my favorite pastimes,
(and thought it might make for a somewhat humorous post)
receiving starbucks cards in my inbox frankly shocked me.
and that shock has left me speechless ever since.

i went through many stages of reaction to the presents.
the first was simply the joyful exclamation of PRESENTS!
then my humility kicked in and i thought about how lucky i am that people think me cool enough to treat me to coffee,
the source of my existence.
then that pesky bit of catholicism that i can’t seem to get rid of made me feel ashamed for asking for gifts;
how greedy.
how selfish.
how humiliating.
i couldn’t get the sound of my friend anna’s voice out of my head; her diatribe against annie modesitt’s greedy call for money reverberates in my mind.

(to be fair, she’s not alone in her contempt, but anna has a special way of putting things that just stays with one)

then i came to my fucking senses.

i wasn’t giving anyone a line. i didn’t say i was in desperate need of aid; i’m not haiti for christ’s sake. all i said was i like presents and as i get older i seem to get less of them and that it annoys the heck out of me that, during the holidays, people don’t just ask for what they want. i mean, people send glozell brita filters and tampax. if friends and strangers want to buy me a cup of coffee, i should just say thank you and smile, knowing there are nice people in the world.

(thank you fairy godmothers of coffee!)

besides.
i’m shameless.
so let’s continue, shall we, with

gifts for steven 2012

day 7
twice a year, i make my way to the douglas j to get a facial. when i lived in chicago and made entry-level cubical money for an evil multinational corporation, i had a beauty regimen that rivaled any aging actress afraid of being cast as a mother in her next film. i can still remember the glorious pain as the polish esthetician (we’ll call her olga for lack of an better memory) buffed my fingernails to the point where i could literally see my face reflected in them. (the first time that happened, i went around having other people look at themselves in my nails) in those days, i was 5 years younger and far more beautiful than i am today. today, when i make my pilgrimage to douglas j and lay down my credit card, i can look forward to the horrified look of the master esthetician as she sees what truly neglected pores look like. she does what she can and i’m frankly shocked with the results; i look smoother, younger, and pinker. with the fervency of a pulmonologist begging her patient to quit smoking, or a dentist praying his patient will finally floss regularly, she always warns me that these results are temporary, that i need to do something to take care of my face on a regular basis. still, for the next few days, i am beautiful again. i don’t even know if they do gift cards, but if they did, maybe i’d get to be pretty three times a year.

day 8
of course all of this might be moot because i’m going to protest at the capital today. i’ll be tweeting while i’m there. there’s going to be a heavy police presence, so i’m sure people are going to be arrested. i won’t be able to get a facial in jail, at least not the kind i’d need to pay for. so for day 8, just wish me and my friends a safe return (and that my union doesn’t become illegal in the next couple days). that feels apropos for the season, right?

here goes nothing!

*holy fuck i’m turing 28 in a week.

ps sending things to bloggers is a tricky business. when i wanted to get something to stephen a.k.a. hizknits i sent it to his then place of employment (blue moon). but then, i’m a particularly innovative stalker when i want to give someone a gift. to the lovely people who have asked for my address to send me gifts, i’m torn. i worry that giving internet strangers with candy my address will put mo at risk. he’s very portable and friendly and even the most ethical person wouldn’t think twice about stealing him. giving you my address is basically inviting you to purloin him.

i’ll think it over.