Everything is bothering me.

Everything.

Everything and everyone.

Exiting the subway today I saw a piece of graffiti �wobbly butt hole�. Now that�s bothersome. I mean, �wobbly butt�, that�s all right. Brings to mind bad rap songs & such. But �wobbly butthole? I�m troubled. A wobbly butt hole brings to mind all sorts of nasty bathroom Olympics. I certainly want no part of a wobbly butt hole.

And that�s not all.

Yesterday (on the subway again, maybe I should consider an alternate mode of transportation?) I sat next to a woman with a black plastic bag in her lap. This, on its own is rather innocuous. The woman opened the bag and pulled out a head. No. Not a real head. A dummy head, one resembling a life size Ken doll. Even this isn�t enough to drive me over the edge. Surely she is studying to be a beautician. This is her practice dummy. But something was very wrong. If this was indeed her practice dummy then why, oh why was its Ken doll hair shorn away in patches? Why did the dummy�s coiffure look like the result of a fight with hedge clippers? Okay. So maybe she�s not at the top of her class in beauty school. Next, the woman pulls a ball point pen out of her bag and begins to draw on the dummy head (much like my attempts at applying �eyeliner� to my Barbie many moons ago). Now I�m bothered. I�m obviously sitting less than a foot away from a total wack job. This is disturbing to me.

And there�s more�

Getting off the elevator after work a huge Hasidic man stands directly in my way as the doors open. While it�s true I could have easily moved to the right and walked off the elevator, it is polite custom to step aside and let the passengers off. Right? Feeling particularly ornery and bothered I simply stand facing the man and glare at him waiting for him to move his large girth from my line of fire so to speak. He does not. I wait. He still does not move. And finally my desire to smoke fifty cigarettes wins out and I move to my right and exit the elevator. I feel like killing this man. I can�t stop. I hiss at him, �Excuse you� in my most acidic voice. He could have squashed me like a grape but he doesn�t acknowledge me at all. Now I�m really bothered.

One more, then I�ll stop. My head is hurting�

Whenever I�m on the treadmill at the gym I get angry. My sweating makes my face (particularly my nose) itchy. Bothersome. One of my headphone earpieces (the kind you jam in your ears, which is gross by the way) is missing its little felt protector piece. This makes the headphone constantly feel like it�s going to fall out of my ear. I can�t stop adjusting it. Again�bothersome. My running shoes are so old I feel like I�m running barefoot. Every time I buy a new pair of running shoes they feel as though they are crippling me, so I go back to this ancient pair that will surely disintegrate or self implode in the very near future. I have shin splints. My back hurts. You guessed it�extremely bothersome.

Okay, okay. So I have my period. I have root grow out. I don�t own any underwear without holes in them. My best friend just married my mother�s ex-boyfriend (Really. I couldn�t make this up if I tried). My own boyfriend may never marry me. My pedicure that I got last Friday is already chipping. I also have bad cuticles. And of course, of course, of course I feel fat.

I need a hobby. I need something to do other than be bothered. It is very tiring being this bothered day in and day out. It�s a full time job.

So tonight I go to my girlfriend�s birthday celebration. I promise I won�t let the bartender bother me when I don�t get my drink fast enough. I won�t let the fact that I�m sure to spill something on my all white outfit bother me. I won�t be bothered by my frizzy hair.

Whew. It�s gonna take a whole lot of cocktails to ignore all that is blatantly bothersome with tonight.

Chin chin!

11:12 a.m. - 2003-07-24

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

previous - next