ham fisted theatrics

I think one of the biggest arguments for me as a person is that never once have I had a loud cellphone conversation in public about how "stressed out I am!" Especially not while walking quickly anywhere. It's not like I doubt that anyone ever endures conditions that might cause them to justifiably "be stressed," it's just that there's something so repugnant about that phrase. "Stressed out." When you hear that, it's like, of COURSE charging down the street. Of COURSE you're talking louder than necessary and hoping other people hear you and think you important. Of COURSE you're wearing pink warm-up pants with PRINCESS in gothic lettering on the seat.

Hell, I get frazzled sometimes. I'm insanely busy on occassion. If you're not a complete waste of life every so often you feel like you may have taken on too much; I've always been part of the "bite off more can you can chew then chew it" Orson Welles school of thought. I don't get off on telling people about it, but if I do tell someone, "stressed out" never crosses our lips. We have to use this language, people, so let's have fun with it. When you have to tell somebody you're really really busy and feeling overloaded, tell them you're cowfucked, or, for emphasis, super-cowfucked. If the workload is really severe, say They've really got me cowfucked around the maypole on this one, Bob.

Don't thank me. Thank the fat girl who left the building the same time as me this morning, keening to someone on the other end of the phone she was two blocks away from (that came earlier in the conversation) about how she was sorry she was late but she "just, like, wants to have like five minutes to just like, breathe, you know?"


The blognova continues: you can leave comments but I can't read them. So that's fun. E-mail me instead: dcpierson at nyu dot edu. Seriously. I would love that.

I fixed my headphones, kind of.