Thursday, December 22, 2005

I, Sassie

I dreamt I went up to Jack Black and told him I thought he was the funniest person in the universe and then I was about to kiss him. I don’t know what it says about me that I have sex dreams about Jack Black, but there you have it.

I have pink eye right now and I look like a cross between a Cyclops and Richard Gephardt. It is NOT a good look. I have the stupidest diseases—ear infections, eye infections—like some gigantic baby. But that’s OK, in the realm of diseases I guess I’ll take my puny infections. BECAUSE I am editing some mighty powerful documents right now. I know, when I am working that takes time away from you, so I thought I’d share a sentence I am working on: When these cells are introduced into nude mice, they form tumors. Hmmm. Nude mice. What does that mean? That kind of takes the thunder out of the whole “tumors” thing because all you’re thinking about is: what is a nude mouse? It goes on, ...agouti sister mice are genetically identical but environmentally distinct. One is of a normal size and has a brown coat, whereas her sister is obese and has a blond coat. Are you imagining a mouse in a blond mink right now? Nude underneath? Like she just put it on to go to the store? Me too. I also think the blond mouse hates her skinny ass twin sister. Wouldn't you?

Anyhoo, when you have PINK EYE you can’t wear mascara and for me this is a very serious challenge. Some people compete in marathons as a challenge; I have to talk myself off a ledge every morning because I can’t wear mascara. Like I need a 12-step mascara group er something. I would like to say I don’t wear a lot of mascara, but the fact is, I do. I USED to wear Lancôme Aquacils (I have written about my mascara habit before—sorry) and now I wear L’Oreal’s Lash ARCHITECHT.

It is not enough to dust my lashes with a hint of black color, I need to steel gird them with an impenetrable layer of decorative tar. Sooooooo the problem is, when you suddenly strip yourself of this black armor steel girded coating, you look like a really horrendous version of yourself—the version you are HIDING from the world when you carefully sculpt and layer those dainty translucent lashes every morning.

Do you remember that episode of The Flintstones when Dino gets cast on “Sassie” a TV show about a loyal dinosaur (think: Lassie)? Remember that? NO? How come? Don’t you have every episode of The Flintstones on a convenient brain rolodex that you can call up at will? Hmmm, that’s weird. Well, I'm here to help you out, whilst searching for a picture of Sassie, I found this French version of the show subtitled, "An Amour de Dino." The synopsis is Dino quitte la maison: Les adventures de Sassie! Ze French! Mon dieu...zey make even the love between dinosaurs sound romantique!

Anyway, Dino gets cast on “Sassie” and Sassie is this beautiful dinosaur with curly hair and long lashes and, of course, Dino is in love with her, nay obsessed (kind of like me and Jack Black.) So one day, on the set, he is standing outside her dressing room, looking in the window, and all of a sudden she pulls off her wig AND peels off her fake eyelashes and there is this bare bones straggly haired bald-eyed dino sitting there and he is AGHAST. I, ladies and germs, am Sassie. Robbed of the illusion, no paper lanterns and candlelight to hide the glare, the reality.

MZA has been sleeping on the couch because he is so afraid of getting my pink eye so I have been sleeping, sprawled and uninhibited, across the entirety of our bed. I woke up this morning with my face firmly buried in my pillow, my arms outstretched, like I had been slammed into the bed with a great velocity. Ian came in and lifted one corner of the covers and surmised that no one was there, so firmly implanted in the downy depths was I, and he got that worried inner/outer toddler voice and started walking toward the stairs—“Mommy? Daddy?” Convinced that he had been abandoned somehow in the night. I told MZA later and he said, “Why didn’t you call to him?” THAT is a really good question! I guess because I was so immersed in analyzing his toddler response. Or I just couldn’t barter the cushiony solitude of the dark warm morning for the reality of tending to a forlorn cub. Or something.

Because I was sleeping so hard and so soundly, with my face pushed into the downy depths, I have these super attractive LINES carving a gorge down my swollen puffy eyes and cheek. It’s so cute. I look so cute today. AND it is “casual WEEK” which means I have had to summon FOUR adorable, casual, yet professional, yet tasteful, yet “young” yet...ARGH...outfits from a very uncooperative closet.

But really, these are small things aren’t they? Wasn’t there something else I was supposed to focus on? Oh yeah! World Peace! That old fussbudget. And goodwill toward men. Jack Black is a man…


Cynicism is another word for reality

Email me, you derelict wastrel

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