She Looks Like One of Those Rap Guy's Girlfriends

I read today in the RedEye that the one thing Sarah Silverman will not do is make fat jokes about women. She said, "We live in a society where fat women don't deserve love."

I am pretty indifferent to Sarah Silverman in general. I think she is funny when I see her, but I don't actively seek out her comedy. That is probably the problem with her career in general. However, she gained my respect with this comment.

This comes fresh on the heels of my being called a "fat ass" twice by a drunk girl last night, simply because I had the audacity to walk around her. To be fair to her, she just could not manage to walk in her heels, despite her boyfriend/guy friend repeatedly telling her to just take them off. She refused to do so, or even take the hem of her pants out of her one shoe, and really, I should have just waited patiently for her to get where she was going, walking ten steps behind, not marring her vision with my huge exposed calves marching along, unhindered by three inch heels or long pants. She probably didn't think I could move that fast and was startled by me walking around her at such a rate, especially when she was teetering to begin with. I should resume my reclusive lifestyle, hiding in my room watching Sandra Bullock films and eating Muncho's, because when I go out, man, do I fuck with skinny women's lifestyles.

Of course, this is not the first time I have been called fat by a stranger on the street -- the most notable instance happened when a teenager on a bike catcalled at me, and then without missing a beat said, "Nevermind, you fat." It made me particularly angry, however, that a woman did it. Sometimes women make me sad with their treatment of other women -- and then John McCain goes and essentially tells America that he is using a woman simply as a vessel by making her his VP, and I wonder when we will ever win.

The funny thing about this is that I am probably not really fat -- I am smaller than the average American woman, even though I am thick. But still, apparently there is a girl even thinner than you waiting to call you a lard, despite how hard you work, despite how much you do, despite how you may feel about yourself. That's great for the sisterhood. But you know, I could have pointed out that compared to that lady who hasn't eaten in 14 years, the drunk trixie is a fat ass. I also could have pointed out that there are TONS of calories in alcohol. But she seemed busy trying to teach herself to walk, so I didn't want to distract her.

But at least Sarah Silverman has our back. Our rolly, rolly backs.

Tramps Like Us

I managed to watch some of the delegates actually casting their votes (I suppose that is what it is referred to? Does it have a technical name?) at the Democratic National Convention yesterday. I was using the elliptical while I did this, which will be good to note in a minute.

I turned the television on with more than enough time to see New Jersey's delegation do their bits. And let's face it -- most of this casting was two to four minutes of telling everyone just why one's respective state was just so rad, and then casting 10% of their delegation's votes for Hillary, and the majority to Obama. I thought about seeing if "Mythbusters" was on (because the other day, before Amy made me change it to the DNC!), but then we got to the N's.

Of course, I hadn't watched the whole thing up till this point, and New Mexico kind of stole a bit of the thunder for me. Regardless, Governor Corvine got on up there and spoke loudly about what a grand state Jersey is, home of the Boss and Bon Jovi, the Garden State, where the sun rises on the shore and sets over the mountains. This all got me very emotional as it was. And then? Then John Corzine, noted Hillary supporter, gave all of New Jersey's 127 votes to Barack Obama.

And that is when I started weeping on the elliptical machine.

I have been dealing with Amy watching the DNC for the past three days. Amy is overcome with the spirit of the democratic process, and will weep whenever she hears the words "America," "change," "future," or a Clinton or an Obama says anything at all. I scoffed at her initially -- until I found myself in a sports bra and yoga pants weeping while I pretend ski-stepped.

Thanks to the Olympics, I have been crying on the elliptical a lot lately. It is pretty easy to place blame: the elliptical is where I do the bulk of my television viewing, and the Olympics love to feature heart-tugging human interest stories. (Honestly, I mostly cry whenever I watch a relay of the men's 4x100 swimming relay. As soon as Michael Phelps starts screaming, I sound like Claire Danes trying to bring one of her works to an emotional conclusion.) Colleen has suggested I take a new twist on http://www.cryingwhileeating.com and start filming myself Crying While Exercising. I am considering it.

This moment was broken when New York came up soon after and Hillary made her grand entrance only to proclaim she was asking Obama be accepted as the nominee through acclamation. This was wonderful and gracious, but I was only eerily reminded of Stephen King's The Stand where Harold Lauder marches into the Boulder Free Zone Committee meeting to move the ad hoc committee be elected en toto -- only to serve his own nefarious purposes. And we all know what happened to Harold.

But Hillary is in the past now, regardless of what my mother and the die-hards maintain. We are watching history, we are moved by possibilities, and we are crying on home exercise equipment about it. Some of us are ready to canvass.

Bitch bitch bitch

I had a rough week last week, and I thought this week would be better, but the week started to me thinking Jose could possibly be dead. Yesterday seemed to show improvement, but we're back to where we started today, as Jose continues to be missing and I am back to crying at work.

Jose was not at the 7-Eleven today either, which means he has not been in all week. This is unsettling for many reasons, most of which involve the fact that whoever is covering the coffee area for him is doing a real shit job of it, as they ignored the button marked "French Vanilla Cappuccino" yesterday and filled it with Vanilla Chai, which, as luck would have it, is disgusting when mixed with half a cup of ginseng-infused coffee. I mean, I drank it though. I need caffeine. Today it poured straight-up water, which left me extremely unhappy. Also, there is the fact that the only man who may ever love me has not been seen for days after a crime scene clean up van was parked outside his place of employ, but that doesn't keep me up at night.

Or does it? I haven't been sleeping very well lately. I wonder if it is my subconscious worrying over the Mexican guy who gives me free coffee.

Filled with this sense of unrest, I went into work only to discover that my inbox can no longer be contained by the physical wire basket. As such, my supervisor has begun stacking my work up on the floor next to my desk. To recycle a metaphor I like to use, my inbox is tall enough to ride roller coasters without a parent. Now, my inbox has a friend that is tall enough as well, so my work's parents can sit on the bench and relax for a while.

I made the smart mistake of asking if I could have overtime so I can catch up. I am not sure when I will actually do this overtime, seeing as it is a holiday weekend, so I have no intention of going into the office Saturday or Sunday. I have to work box office on Thursday and Friday, and since my co-workers there would not cover me when I had $200 Justin Timberlake tickets, I don't see any of them jumping at the chance to work over Labor Day weekend. So...I get to come in from celebrating the work force to even more work. Hurrah.

I'd love for something to redeem this week, but seeing as how this weekend looks unpromising, my hope is dashed.

Maybe Jose will be back on Tuesday.

Morning Jolt

This morning, I was walking into the 7-Eleven by work to get my usual cup of coffee when I was met with an unsettling sight.

Parked directly in front of the store was a white mini-van with the incredibly comforting logo "AFTERMATH: Tragedy and Crime Scene Cleaning Service." Two men wearing those bright blue rubber gloves walked to and from the doorway, loading stuff into the van.

Obviously, something tragic or criminal had happened in my 7-Eleven. My immediate concern, of course, was whether they were still open, because I hate drinking the Flavia at work. But as I managed to get in the door and get my half cappucino/half ginseng energy coffee, my worries turned to Jose.

You will recognize Jose if you have followed from my old blog. Jose is the coffee guy at the store -- the one who works exclusively in the mornings, making sure all the coffees are full and fresh and wiping Splenda off the counter and putting more delicious powder in the machines. At my former 7-Eleven in my hometown of Point Pleasant, a miniature man who I think is Italian does it. Jose is the guy on the corner of Washington and Wells.

I usually deny accusations like this, but Jose is kind of in love with me. And let's face it: Jose is pretty much the most stable male relationship I have right now. I know exactly when I am going to see him next. He is always happy to see me. He gives me presents in the form of free coffee. And hey, that means he clearly knows what I like. Sure, nothing will ever actually happen, as we're from two different worlds. Sure, I told him my name is Jenny. But still, it's always nice to be wanted, right?

Jose was not at the 7-Eleven this morning. The logical part of me believes this is because he probably works weekends, and everybody has to have a day off, right? But still, the unnerving Aftermath truck makes me worry about him.

So maybe we are a little in love after all.

Weird.

Brandy new

Welcome to my new blog. I figured I have joined 2008 and signed up for the Facebook, I should probably go to blogspot too.

I hope I will be inspired to update this more frequently now.