One Wrong Move…
One of my favorite lines from Californication comes courtesy of Marcy who is providing sage and time-honored advice (and a bikini wax) to a porn star: “One wrong move, and you’re the ass licker”.
As much as it pains me, my friends, it is clear, I am the ass licker. Naturally, this isn’t literal in my world because I can’t lick my own ass, and I’m certainly not getting near anyone else’s. But metaphorically, I have sadly embraced my new moniker.
For instance, I got into work this morning at 5:30am for a 6:00am conference call. Right away, that’s bad. As part of this call, the tech people are revealing a new database in New York. But it’s not up as a video conference—no, no, I’m listening to someone describe a database from 3,000 miles away, as I try to stay awake.
What are my friends doing? They are getting ready to fly to London today to enjoy a couple of weeks of travel, plays and film festivals.
What was the wrong move I made? Pen, being a “Doctor Who” fan has indicated that I turned right instead of left. But when? And was there only one wrong turn? Or is it a history of not RSVPing to events that has resulted in me sitting here trying to figure out if bashing my head on the desk would do any good, or just require stitches.
Update: It’s just been suggested in the meeting that I might like to fly to NYC for a day of training. Yeah. Because flying for 12 hours to get a single day of training sounds like the most fun ever.
That Seems Wrong
There are two things you should never do:
- put me in charge of food
- put me in charge of getting men to do something
Naturally, every film project, screening project, random side project I’ve ever assisted on included me dealing with catering. There is something perversely consistent about this type of thing.
And sadly, I’m currently in charge of recruiting men for a charity project.
Now I can see some of you jumping up and down and pointing at me. You’re thinking, “Men! She’s finally talking to men!” Calm the hell down. So far, I’m 0 for 5 on the invite list. And while the rejections have been lovely and thoughtful, and technically, in no way related to me, I’m going to take this personally. Who thinks making me get men to agree to something is a good idea? In order to do this, they’d have to agree to spend time with me. That’s never going to work. That’s never worked. It’s been years since any guy thought that was even a vaguely good idea. It’s as though they know I am kryptonite. Being in my mere presence will destroy them, so they stay as far away as possible. They’d like to wrap me in lead so that no part of my being contaminates them.
Is my island ready yet?