u s e y o u r h a n d s

So there’s this weird epithelial ridge in my mouth, right side. Like I slept with my teeth slightly apart, and the skin there squished in. It’s a flap that I like to flip. I worry it constantly. And every day, it gets a little smaller. I want to bite it off.

I also want to bite into a big sandwich with plenty of mayo and mustard. So, guess I’m stuck.

Did you know that it is possible to stretch out the eating one square of a vosges bar to over one hour? It makes you feel incredibly full that way. Also vosges has one bar called the Naga Bar, which I believe, has wasabi in it, which i hate. But when I see this bar at Fox & Obel, I start singing “you’ve got to let that Naga drop!”

Sharif don’t like it.

So I randomly decided to take a class at the University of Chicago extension. Random is right, because I just went to their web site, and registered for a class the day it started.

It’s called Short Short Fiction, and looks at writing 1200 words and under. Which is what I’ve been doing on this here webbity for a few years now. Plus at GB. But I was petrified. Because although I’ve made my living as a writer for, like, eight years now, I have never taken a single writing class. Not a one. Which surprises people and astounds me. Not because I’m ridiculously talented and think I never have needed one. But because there was such a gap in my education. This is why you should never rush your kids through school.

Anyway. Here I am. I’m petrified because I’ve never had to share my work. I mean, I’ll put postings out on the Internets, but as far as face-to-face criticism, I’ve never had to do that. Before I sent my first story out to the class at large, I had to completely black out the faces of everyone I’d seen at class the week before. Pretend they didn’t exist. And I reassured myself that if I didn’t like it, I didn’t have to go back.

My class was last night. So scared. We went through one person’s story, then another. And then time was up. Mine has to wait until next week. But at least I didn’t throw up.

So, I have a bone to pick with Rachel Ray, the Food Network, and that show “$40.” Here are my complaints:

1. I do not particularly enjoy her brand of Gidget-y, crooked-smile beauty. Also, I imagine that she’s about four feet tall — another trait that I don’t find particularly endearing.

2. She eats her food in a really weird way. In the epi that I watched this evening, Rach’ ordered a $14.50 grilled salmon and asparagus salad from a cafe in Nantucket. In the first bite, she eats only the salad, saying “Mmmm! It’s got this yummy, smokey taste from the grill. Blah blah blah blah. Mmmm!” In her second bite, she eats only the asparagus: “It’s got a much different taste thanwhen it’s steamed. It’s so good — it’s almost nutty. Mmmm!” And in the third bite, she says, “Now I’m going to try the salad, to taste some of that incredible dressing. MMMMMMMM!” See title.

3. Rachel Ray is a shitty tipper. So, she orders this $14.50 salad, right? Let’s say with tax it’s an even $15. She should leave $18 then, yes? Rach’ leaves a mere $17. I know it’s only a buck, but c’mon. It’s only a buck! Sometimes it’s even worse. It’s like she only ever leaves 15%, which I only do unless I get crapola service. Oh, I hate her puckered little puss, but I hate bare-minimum tippers even more. Grrr!

4. In some episodes (I think earlier on) she goes into the kitchen to watch her meal being prepared. She asks these dunderheaded questions and generally acts totally fake. And she touches people too much
Then, when her meal is prepared, she goes back to her table. Then, the dude she just watched make her food brings it out to her. What? Carry your own meal, yo. That way, that shitola tip makes more sense.

I sort of like the idea for the show. But not with Rachel. It makes more sense for a college student to do the show. You know, someone with a reason to scrimp. Rachel just looks cheap. Quick! Someone check her purse for pilfered diner silverware and potty paper.

What if you discovered that the reason you are special is because you can snap out detailed rhythmic patterns on empty Altoids tins? Kind of a let-down, yeah?

i, personally, have not been blessed with this particular gift, though.

So, I just saw this banner ad for Citibank that had the word “THANXIETY” in big letters, with the definition: anxiety about receiving thanks. I would prefer to know what the multisyllabic German word for this feeling is rather than having a fake word written by a McCool copywriter forever emblazoned on my mind, ready to be thunked about while walking in rhythm down a sidewalk.

Thanx - i - et- y.

Thanki - et - y

Tha- xi - ety.

So Monday I was on the CTA, coming home from a sparsely office, staring out the window. I knew that a woman was sitting in the same row as me, but opposite the aisle and I got out my crazy-dar to see if I had anything to worry about. She looked pretty clean and had a urine-stain-free coat on, so cool. I continued to peer out the window. Until I heard that universal sound of loogie-gathering. That epiglottal purge thing that sounds the same across cultures, genders, creeds, classes, etc. I turned my head and saw the urine-stain-free lady chew the loogie around for a second or two before horking it onto the floor. I didn’t know whether to audibly groan and tell her how nasty that was, or just to switch cars (which I do a lot). So I sat there and felt germs crawling all over me.

But there’s more!

Around Addison, she begins to rub her nose with her index finger. Seeing a string of glistening snot on her digit, she industriously rubs it into the CTA cushion next to her. By this time my skin was nearly humming with the sensation of creepy crawlies marching from her snot and loogie across the aisle and onto my body.

Then she got off and a nice-looking Vietnamese lady with Aldi bags got on. I wanted to warn her, but she was on her cell phone, and i thought I’d sound crazy trying to explain it. And who really wants to know they (and their half-price macaroni dinners) are sitting in snot. Snot me!

So, last night, Brian and I are tucked in to bed and he’s all, “Hey, what kind of stardom would you want to acheive in Hollywood?” I was all, “What?”

Then he goes on to explain how if he were a star(let) he would try to be a fourth or fifth lead on some well-established television show. “Like the B.D. Wong character from ‘Law & Order: Criminal Intent’?”

“Yeah, like that. Like B.D. Wong.”

Cool.

And then I was all, “You know I’m going to blog this.”

And then he tickled me.

Oh, and by the way, I’m at work today. My 70-person office has six people in it.