3.21.2005
Windows and Doors
Some itinerant readers have decided that Ms. Bling in the ATL has a "distinctive voice" which she infrequently lives up to. According to sources, her last post, Neverland vs. Neverland "could have been written by anyone."
Hmmm. Not sure what I think about that. It could be a good thing - I am always endeavoring to put on a public face that is more like the rest of y'all. Have I succeeded too well, and now you run away bored? Even if so, I remain suspicious of indulging friends' wishes that I be more amusingly bad-girl 24-7. Everyone seems to like to hear the story about how I was hauled in by the director of the rape crisis center for making a grown man cry. Or - how on my last family reunion, we dug up my grandfather from his resting place under the living room floor, took pictures with his dessicated remains, then buried him again in the backyard. Funny ha ha to hear about, but for me, I felt really stressed out and really, really guilty. My friends don't have to live with the consequences of being abrasively, intimidatingly, undeniably right all the time. I do, and its really, really hard.
Case in point: me last Friday night at the supermarket. As I walked in, the security guard at the grocery store told me to, "smile." Unlike Terry Schiavo, I do have a cerebral cortex, so I gave him skeleton face, where I stretch my lips out as far up and out as they'll go, baring all my teeth. Then I cracked up at myself for being an idiot, and he was like, 'there you go. Now thats pretty.' Thanks. I gave him a glare and relaxed all my facial muscles into alexithemic putty - what the boy calls, 'public transport face.' 10 minutes later, as I'm perusing the aisles, one of the staff interrupts a cell phone conversation to exclaim with alarm, "you want cry?" I was like, 'what?' He starts making sad clown face and draws imaginary tears down his cheeks. I was like, 'god, no! I'm fine! thankyou, sorry, yeah, no, I'm good.'
On the one hand, I don't like the presentation-of-self advice. I mean, its 2 in the morning and I'm rousted out of bed by a couple of flea ridden lint factorys to go buy kitty food. Whats to smile about? On the other hand, its not right to walk around the city looking like I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the all night Kroger.
Yeah, thats all I've got to say. I'm handing off data and my interrater reliability correlation for two coders is way, way off and theres nothing much I can do about it now. So... thought I'd procrastinate.
Ciao ciao,
Ms. Bling.
Hmmm. Not sure what I think about that. It could be a good thing - I am always endeavoring to put on a public face that is more like the rest of y'all. Have I succeeded too well, and now you run away bored? Even if so, I remain suspicious of indulging friends' wishes that I be more amusingly bad-girl 24-7. Everyone seems to like to hear the story about how I was hauled in by the director of the rape crisis center for making a grown man cry. Or - how on my last family reunion, we dug up my grandfather from his resting place under the living room floor, took pictures with his dessicated remains, then buried him again in the backyard. Funny ha ha to hear about, but for me, I felt really stressed out and really, really guilty. My friends don't have to live with the consequences of being abrasively, intimidatingly, undeniably right all the time. I do, and its really, really hard.
Case in point: me last Friday night at the supermarket. As I walked in, the security guard at the grocery store told me to, "smile." Unlike Terry Schiavo, I do have a cerebral cortex, so I gave him skeleton face, where I stretch my lips out as far up and out as they'll go, baring all my teeth. Then I cracked up at myself for being an idiot, and he was like, 'there you go. Now thats pretty.' Thanks. I gave him a glare and relaxed all my facial muscles into alexithemic putty - what the boy calls, 'public transport face.' 10 minutes later, as I'm perusing the aisles, one of the staff interrupts a cell phone conversation to exclaim with alarm, "you want cry?" I was like, 'what?' He starts making sad clown face and draws imaginary tears down his cheeks. I was like, 'god, no! I'm fine! thankyou, sorry, yeah, no, I'm good.'
On the one hand, I don't like the presentation-of-self advice. I mean, its 2 in the morning and I'm rousted out of bed by a couple of flea ridden lint factorys to go buy kitty food. Whats to smile about? On the other hand, its not right to walk around the city looking like I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the all night Kroger.
Yeah, thats all I've got to say. I'm handing off data and my interrater reliability correlation for two coders is way, way off and theres nothing much I can do about it now. So... thought I'd procrastinate.
Ciao ciao,
Ms. Bling.
