more post-mortem

I feel pretty lucky that the only time Ned ever called me on stage to introduce me to the live audience was to do an impression of a woman eating nachos, and it was between segments. Poor Irwin made it into clip show.

Here I am on my computer on a Tuesday at six, and I just looked up and in front of me is a palm tree. And other trees. And the back of my house. I’m outside stealing wireless from the neighbor because the DSL has been down for two days and I don’t know why and I can’t fix it no matter what I do and it’s a holiday and the point is, I’m looking up from my computer, and I don’t see Irwin’s face, head down, staring into his own computer as he listens to his iPod. That’s been the view from my laptop screen for a while now, and it’s very strange that that’s just gone. I can’t believe how long a day can seem when I’m not at the office. These past couple of days have felt like weeks.

At the store today, someone’s cell phone went off, and it was the “Fuck You Friday” theme. This is the cell phone ring of someone at the office who would leave her phone on her desk and then wander off for hours. She was a very popular girl because her phone would ring constantly with this one sassy beat that became the theme for our comedy circus. It was usually late on Friday when we’d realize we weren’t going home anytime soon when that phone would kick into overdrive, and eventually I wrote the lyrics to “Fuck You Friday.” I kind of thought I’d never hear that song again, and I’m sure that woman at the store is still wondering why a girl sang the words “You’ll stay late on Fuck You Friday; Losing all of your friends!” when her cell phone rang.

Meanwhile, I’m engaging in more retail therapy, fermented grape therapy, reclaiming all of the rollover minutes I’d accumulated over the past six months by making anyone who will listen to me whine and cry listen to me whine and cry, and lots of reading. I read four graphic novels in one day, which I think restored my virginity and then a big, strong, musclehead came over to my house and kicked sand in my face. Hey, Optic Nerve is awesome. It’s worth the virtual headgear.

I just said “retail therapy.” I never do that. Ugh.

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