July 17, 2007
big winner
I am so tired right now I could cry. Instead of bawling, which is my usual release for all things stressful, including the purchase of my first car which as you might imagine was very embarrassing for me given the presence of all of those clapping Nissan salesmen, I have become a hefty combination of dry drunkenness and what an ex used to term “inconsolable.” Stacy and I have had a competition going as to which of us can go batshit more quickly this month, and after my serious failure in the Bang Off of 2005, all systems are go for me to leave her in the dust on this one.

My latest ex used to tell me that I at times reached a point at which absolutely nada would make my world right while nothing anyone else did was technically acceptable, either. This is one of the things he may very well have been spot on about, along with the fact that I am much better blonde than even remotely redheaded. In the past few days I have felt like a walking contradiction, a Type A sloth calling people on their neuroses while very deftly maintaining my own, bringing Bug up to my chest and then finding myself irritated by his heat, genuinely wanting space from another and then questioning it when it’s given. I’m like a cranky baby. I wail with the tone reserved for the binky, and when I get the binky, I hurl the damn thing across the room, barely missing the three-legged cat. If you were here you’d check my diaper, because you’d be sure that discomfort must be the root of this evil, this whiny malaise that is a product of little sleep and too much wine and not attending to the things that I know keep me anchored. But you’d find the diaper dry as a bone, and as you’d scratch your head thinking of your next move, I’d clock you in the face for having bothered me. I’m irritating myself just writing this.

Humor is my way to pull through these episodes, the ridiculous ones that occur something like once every season (hey, the ex isn’t here to tell you otherwise). It’s not only the way in which I handle most situations, including Christmas Eve service every five years and my annual pap smear, but it’s a survival mechanism that protects me from the realization, and the distinct possibility, that I am just a paper-width away from two dark shades of crazy.

On the way home from work tonight, a ride during which I was apparently just gutted given the fact that I couldn’t stay in my lane and hear Stacy and listen to Peter Cetera AND smoke a cigarette at the same time, all the while maneuvering around those GD Metrobuses with their asshat, likely-unlicensed drivers (straightens skirt), she and I actually got into a tirade about CourtTV being pillaged by Turner Networks, a move that will involve the introduction of lowest common denominator programming into our pseudo-intellectual weeknight crime obsession. We actually raged.

“I can’t believe they’re changing the network over to a stupid extreme tv channel. Ugh.”

“I know. We’ll be losing all of the meat of it, Stace. The smart stuff like City Confidential.”

“And Noreen!”


“And Bill Curtis!”

“And Bill Curtis.” I took another drag of my cigarette and tossed an expletive at a slow old woman crossing in front of my car.


“You said it.”

We took a moment to seethe in our collective silence. I took another drag.

“And by the way, if I have to see one more episode of Most Shocking, my head will motherf#%!ing explode.”

“Not to mention if I have to see another c^$&sucking episode of Cops in some lame ass city like f#@$ing Cincinnati.” I exhaled. “I’ll probably smother you in your G*ddamn sleep at BlogHer.”

Destination: Batshit. I win.



Blogger *kb* said...

I so dig your writing and can most definitely relate with so many things you speak!!

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Three words: Extreme Urinal Confessions.

Blogger Sizzle said...

i'll meet you at the corner of Crazy Ct. and Bat Shit St. in 5 minutes. i've been making my way there for months now.

Wow girl! you are so tightly wound. lol I must admit I am really impressed with your highly developed self awareness.

Blogger sween said...

"I’m irritating myself just writing this."

This could be my favourite sentence of the month. It sums it up perfectly.

[Kisses fingertips in the manner of a stereotypical French chef.]


Blogger whoorl said...

You were the very first thought that popped into my head when I heard about Court TV.

Damn, you are having a SHITTY month. May I buy you several drinks next week?

Anonymous Anonymous said...

One more thing: the irony is not lost on me that my family is the cause of both of our misery.

Good times.

Blogger Jorge said...

Dear Mama,

Please don't be batshit for too long. That stuff is bad for your eyes.


Blogger Jake said...

Stop being so fucking perfect.

I love when you get in ragers like that. The cigarettes just make them more dramatic.

The other night everything was pissing me off and I went on a rager about something that didn't even matter, like a new restaurant or some shit. I can't even remember, but it was hilarious.

Keep 'em coming, Kris, your writing is something we look forward to...

Blogger Beth said...

Oh, get out. Are you talking about Bill Kurtis, venerable, sonorous-voiced newsman/documentarian/Mr. A&E? (If so, he spells it with a K.)

Funny thng is, he's a friend of mine. I just called his office yesterday to see if he was going to be around this afternoon, so I could take him a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies. He's addicted to my oatmeal raisin cookies.

Blogger playfulinnc said...

Have you noticed that your hit counts go up in times of unrest?

Oh no! No Bill Curtis? How am I going to get my fix of

"For American Justice.....I'm Bill Curtis"

Anonymous Anonymous said...

I want to be your friend. Even your anger is adorable. That, and I have no friends who smoke.

Blogger Bridget Jones said...

I'm with freckledk up there. Even batshit, you're a Star!

Sending you jokes....and am with you on the Pamploma asshats.

Blogger Tinsley said...

Peter Cetera always makes me feel so weepie :(

Blogger Paige Jennifer said...

Yeah, um, I cried when I got my first car too. But at least I held off until I got home. And it was a Nissan too. Maybe there is something in the interior that makes girls cry?

I thought I was the only one who got like that -- you know you're being crazy, but you can't stop it. For me, it's usually a hormone thing. Damn hormones.

But about Court TV... I was in Lake Havasu this weekend on a pontoon boat with 11 friends and we were "pulled over" by lake patrol. Onboard was a guy taping the whole thing for Party Cops, which apparently will air on Court TV in January. ...and even after four margaritas, I knew that sounded lame.

Blogger Tracy Kaply said...

And that, my dears, would be why I heart you both so very, very much.

See you guys at Batshit, population 3.

Blogger Daszzle said...

I came so damn close to tears when I signed my apartment lease this month... I totally relate to automatically switching to tears in times of discomfort and stress.

You just have to find a guy that always comforts you when you cry... that guy will (crosses fingers) hopefully never stop caring or get to annoyed...

I found mine I wish you the best of luck finding yours!


Blogger A Unique Alias said...

I love that it's being changed from CourtTV to 'tru'TV. It's like they're retarding it for the internet generation.

I can see the network dopes sitting around a laquered mahogany conference table now . . .

Head Suit: Listen, guys, we need a gimmick for the new network. Something that people trust. Something that will really grab 'em by the cojones! What do people trust?
Suit 1: Toyotas?
Suit 2: Morley Safer?
Suit 3: Sunshine! People trust the sun!
Suit 1: No, this is all wrong . . . what do people really trust? Wait - - they trust The Truth. It's true!
Head Suit: Eureka -- that's it! But we need to 'hip it up' somehow
Suit 1: We could do a guerilla campaign in Boston with flashing LED signs . . .
Head Suit: Too risky.
Suit 2: Expose a nipple during half-time?
Head Suit: Too risque.
Suit 3: We could distribute ceramic bracelets emblazoned with "TrueTV" . . .
Head Suit: Too wristclay.
Suit 4: I know! Let's pnointlessly mispel "True"!! All teh target demographics are mispleling things LOLZ!
Head Suit: Perfect! Absolutely perfect! The name alone will ensure we get the low-IQ audience we're looking for, highly susceptible to both fads *and* unoriginal marketing campaigns! We'll be rich I tellz ya! RICH!

uhm. I took that a little too far. And wristclay. Sorry about that.

Blogger ps said...

the bf labeled me a 'malcontent' the other day. it hurt until i realized it was true.

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