Self-Sufficiency is Overrated

I've had a busy morning. First damage control with the client who couldn't understand why I renamed MS. I had to explain how this "discrepancy" occurred without letting on that it was in fact apathy that was to blame. Then I wrote another script for another client and finally had an overcooked chicken sandwich delivered for lunch. The security guard who told me a couple of weeks ago that he has a crush on me also had a case of the Monday blues. I can't ever remember his name but he's a big black man from Alabama with huge arms and a warm smile. But today he wasn't smiling. "You kept him waiting for a while," he noted as I paid the delivery guy. "I didn't know I was supposed to come downstairs. I thought he would bring it up to me," I said. He rolled his eyes. "You're in a bad mood aren't you?" Yes, he nodded. "Because it's Monday?" I asked. Again, nodding in the affirmative. See? It's not just me.

I scrambled to make deadline on several scripts and now have a reprieve from the mind-numbing press releases I've whored myself out to compose. I don't think I'm PMS-ing but I am in a foul mood. Part of it is this stupid IM exchange I had with some guy in Pakistan. His screen name was "creatureworld2003." WTF? Larry stood over my shoulder and laughed as I humored him in this inane exchange.

creatureworld2003: assalam-o-alekum
creatureworld2003: how are you?
ME: who is this?
creatureworld2003: this is ahmad
creatureworld2003: and i think you have forgotten me
ME: that's a safe bet
creatureworld2003: ok well i was in england and you were asking for your husband to get visa for him
ME: nope that wasn't me
creatureworld2003: then
creatureworld2003: r u in pakistan or not
ME: no
ME: how did you get this email?
creatureworld2003: i guess we have chatted quite many times
creatureworld2003: my real name is Naveed
ME: loser
ME: what a dumb screen name you have
creatureworld2003: your email id is added in my messanger
ME: wait.
ME: Naveed who?
creatureworld2003: Naveed Mahmood
ME: oh, sorry
ME: I thought you were someone else
ME: I actually have no idea who you are
creatureworld2003: what did you think
ME: I thought you were my friend Naveed
creatureworld2003: ohhh God
creatureworld2003: its mean you are the right person
ME: what?
ME: anyway, as much as I would like to continue this cryptic exchange, I have work to do.
ME: bye
creatureworld2003: bye

I don't know what world this creature crawled out of into mine but that conversation is soo 2003. OK. See that? That's dumb. Not clever or sharp or witty. Just dumb. Dumb like the songs DSG likes to bust out with at the slightest provocation. When I asked him why he kept looking at the girl at the table next to us, "Jealousy..," he sang. Then yesterday when I called him a jackass as we were crossing the street, "Our friendship is so sweet.." But when he does something corny or tired, he calls it "slumming." As in, visiting my brand of humor that apparently resides in the ghetto of the comedy world. He, on the other hand, lives in the upscale neighborhood of intelligent humor comprised of biting sarcasm and inspired folly only the comic geniuses of our time have been granted access into. Yes, these are the kinds of analogies that make me swoon.

But, seriously. I am so fucking tired. I am so tired of not meeting Mr.Right or Mr.RightNow. And a large part of me doesn't even want to meet anyone because it's so pointless and exhausting. It's usually my current state of mind that precedes an unexpected encounter. Or, I become so ambivalent about it all that I begin throwing myself at attractive men in the hopes of at least getting laid. Exhibit A: I was at a board meeting on Saturday and as the IT guy comes in to assist in wifi issues, I notice that he's pretty freaking hot. This is unusual for an IT guy. I stepped out to make a phone call and when I came back in he was occupying the seat next to mine at the conference table. He was telling someone how to log in when I leaned over and asked, "So do you make house calls?" This was bold even for me. He smiled and said yes. I was so thrown by my own Paris Hilton-esque behavior that I started babbling about my broadband card. Then the meeting was called back to order and he left only to return in the middle of an agenda item and hand me his business card. My fellow board members snickered. Some stared in awe because they had just heard me ask, "What's his story?" and didn't witness the ballsy exchange I had initiated. But that, too, will lead nowhere. At this point, I really just need. Well, you know what I need. I'm tired of being the master of my domain.

Mondays SUCK!

I fucking hate Mondays. And what a coincidence that when your day seems to start and end on a pissy note, it just happens to be a Monday. Case in point: not only did my alarm clock betray me once again by failing to physically yank me from my bed but I had to contend with every inconsiderate asshole who lives within a one mile radius of my home/work. The first offending party would be the I-banker and his bulldog. Actually, I shouldn't blame his dog. It's not his fault that his owner is a self-absorbed wanker.

I'm walking to the subway and it's pretty damn cold so I'm moving relatively fast. This guy's walking his dog at a leisurely pace. Something DSG said to me yesterday sprang to mind, "If you're gonna walk that slow, don't live in New York." Especially during rush hour! So I-banker is engrossed in his blackberry and decides that his dog is finished answering nature's call even though the poor thing appears to be in mid-stream. So he crosses the sidewalk effectively cutting me off and his dog stays put, determined to finish his business. But jackass is too preoccupied to notice that they're blocking the sidewalk with the leash. I'm not exactly steady in my stiletto Prada boots and this idiot wants me to play jump rope?!

I'm late and the local train actually arrives just as I descend the subway stairs but it's packed as usual. The door I'm standing by opens and about half a dozen straphangers pour out. Good. There's room. But everyone gets on and congregates at the door. Nobody fucking moves in preventing a lot of hardworking New Yorkers from getting on. This really pisses me off. I mean why the fuck would you rather stand packed like sardines by the subway doors when you can simply walk a few steps in and create commuter harmony? Ever the loyal follower of the Golden Rule (do unto others.. yada yada), I opt to move in.. if they'll let me. "Excuse me," "Coming through..", "Christ, people, could you move IN?!" I get a few wary looks and know I'm being billed the bitch but I don't care. I move in to the middle of the car and grab hold of the pole. And encounter yet another I-banker. How do I know? Because he's wearing his Banana Republic striped shirt and Kenneth Cole tie- hallmarks of the conformist capitalist. He gets on and leans against the poll, pressing into my hand. "Excuse me?" He turns and smiles. What? You're not cute enough to smile like that at me at this hour. "Do you mind not leaning on my hand?"
"Oh! I'm so sorry," he says. Whatever. Like you didn't feel that you were crushing my hand. Tosser.

Now I come into the office to learn that in my rush to deliver a script to a client, I renamed the disease they're targeting with their new drug to Muscular Sclerosis instead of Multiple Sclerosis. Nice. It's going to be fun explaining why I'm such a fuck up to my boss. Did I mention how much I hate Mondays?