Sometimes, I read an article about a celebrity and I think things like, “You know, if I were to run into Gwyneth Paltrow at Kroger, I bet we’d be friends” . See also Queen Latifah, Drew Barrymore, Amy Poehler, Reese Witherspoon, Selma Blair, Parker Posey.
The thing is though, that seems at best, unlikely. Because people like them don’t shop at the shitty Kroger. They have someone who can do that for them. In fact, I heard on the radio the other day that Gwyneth is looking for a tutor who can teach her kids four languages and travel with the family. Part time job, $90K a year. They wouldn’t even send the tutor out to the shitty Kroger.
Folks, I hate to say it, but I’m kind of having a tough time this week. I’ve been alluding to some work troubles, and the bottom line is that I’m going to have to deal with some unpleasantness, and I don’t know yet what my strategy is.
Yesterday, I took a few minutes to express my displeasure to one of the powers that be, and probably ended up sounding petty, crazy and angry. Today, one of the people I thought was on my side, who had my back, told me I wasn’t choosing my battles wisely. Which totally hurt my feelings, put my nose out of joint, whatever. Whatever, whatever. He’s probably right, but isn’t it more important to be nice than to be right? These are the times that try men’s souls. And mine.
The house is in better shape than it has been all year. I still need to wipe down the handprints off doorframes, Windex a few glass/mirrored surfaces, sweep, sweep some more, and then sweep again to get up all the dog hair.
Plus, Lola needs a bath.
And I need…
What do I need? Well, I have a few Spa giftcards at my disposal. Do I need a massage? No. I felt pretty good in that respect. If I didn’t have a large painful lump on my head, I’d pay someone to wash my hair, which is the greatest indulgence in the universe. Maybe I should get a spiritual reading of some kind or buy some crystals to fortify my weakened chakras. Maybe I should by a piece of jewelry to wear as an amulet or talisman.
For sure, I need to work out this weekend. There’s nothing wrong with weeping your way through a water aerobics class, right? The tears disappear in the water. And then, with Zumba, the difference between tears and sweat are location, location, location.
Look, I understand I’m feeling sorry for myself. I try not to do that too often. But if I don’t feel sorry for myself, who will feel sorry for me?
Not Gwyneth, not Reese. Amy? Please. She and her hilarious husband are busy raising their hilarious babies.
But Selma, if you’re ever in Nashville, call me –we can walk our dogs together and maybe go have a beer.