Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Sloth at Sea

While the nickname debate rages on, I will be sailing for the next few days on this boat: Oh, what's that you say? You will be wanting to speak to me in the next few days? Oh, I'm so extremely sorry but that will not be possible. I will be busy swimming and looking at things like this: So everyone have a lovely 4th of July weekend and wave those freak flags high, baby. If your job sucks the puckered ass of Satan as much as mine does, you will know how squeakily delighted I am at GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF HERE for four whole days. Anyone have any big plans? Spelunking? Pillaging? Spellunkaging? Anything of that sort? I hope to have a tan upon my return. I'm Irish. Wish me luck.


Monday, June 27, 2005

That's HAWT!!

It is UNBEARABLE here, you guys. For those of you with long hair, you will know what I mean when I say this: I feel like that wad of hair that gets pulled out of your head after you rinse the conditioner out. You know, the one you roll into a little mat and stick to the side of the shower wall so that it doesn't clog the drain, but always forget to go back for and find still hanging onto the tiles the next time you go in. I feel like a wet clump of hair stuck to the side of a hot shower wall. So So Gross here. Muggy, hot, you can't move without sweating. Luckily, sloths don't move much, but come ON. I slept on the couch, less than a foot from the air conditioner last night and I was still hot. I met the new man's brother and sister-in-law and some of his friends at a cocktail party this weekend. Wore a much-admired dress. Dark brown, empire waist, gold sparklies around the bodice and gold-sequined sandals. I had to put tissues under my boobs so I wouldn't sweat through my dress and then I realized that was tantamount to stuffing my bra. I'm 29 and still stuffing my bra. ... Anyway, his brother is this bombastic salesman-type who laughs too loud and wears polo shirts and couldn't stop fiddling with the new camera phone he got that day. I sort of wanted to shove the phone down his big, loud throat but didn't want to make a bad impression. His wife is gorgeous. Oddly, after two children, she is comepletely flat-chested, but gorgeous nonetheless. Even more oddly, the guy whose party it was had it catered......for eight people. There were eight of us and the party was catered. Should I say it again for emphasis? No? You get what I'm saying? I mean, the host was perfectly friendly but I kept thinking, "Jesus Christ, dude, just because you're rich doesn't mean you have to be so fucking LAZY." After the party I went to the see the new boy's band play at a local club (we have to come up with a nickname for him, eh?) and was introduced around. He asked me how I wanted to be introduced and I said "friend" was fine. It was really fun, mostly because I was in that super awesome dress and sparkly shoes and because the band turned out (THANK THE GOOD LORD I DON'T BELIEVE IN) to be really really really good. I leave on Thursday to go sailing over the 4th on the Chesapeake. Yee haw, baby, that's HAWT.


Thursday, June 23, 2005


All you pervs can just stop right there. The new boy just left me a long, rambling message in Spanish which I believe included the words for "beer" and "boat" so I assume he's sitting on his boat drinking a beer and wanted to gloat. In Spanish. He also speaks Cantonese. Odd fellow. Anyway, I thought I would include a photograph of roughly how I felt when I was reprimanded at work yesterday for occasionally being 5 or 10 minutes late. (Apparently being occasionally 5 or 10 minutes early is not enough to offset the late part. Neither is staying late to make up the few late minutes. Neither is calling work to, in complete honesty, say, "My bus just hit a car. I'm going to be late." None of these things are enough to assuage the elephantine woman who jammed her finger against the table as she told me that she will be keeping a VERY CLOSE EYE on me for the next few months. This coming from a woman who rolls into our office once in a while and NEVER EVEN NOTICES ME SITTING HERE. Twat.) Anyway, I'm clinging to my ass-sucking job even as I look for a new one with utmost stealth. And this is what the above paragraph looks like.


Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Boy-talk (sorry)

CB's comment: you are one smitten sloth. i love it. I think the new man is like a better looking Peter Horton. AND that present you gave me made me hallucinate and act irresponsibly on the plane. My answer: Really? Did it make you have sex with a Vietnamese ballroom dancer? Cuz that's what it did to me on the plane. Details. I want details. And I just googled Peter Horton...and you're RIGHT!! I did the walk of shame this morning with crazy hair and sunglasses through the courtyard of my building at 7 a.m. Is it still the walk of shame if you feel no shame? I think we should come up with a new name for it. Well! Good morning, Slothville. My so-delicious-that-I-accidentally-spent-the-night-at-his-house-last-night-even-though-I-SPECIFICALLY-said-I-wasn't-going-to boyfriend is stuck in jury duty today. Let's all feel the sympathy even though he'll never know about it because he is not allowed to read this blog (see above). He called me on his break to say that he was thinking about how crazy he is about me the whole time they were showing that tedious video you have to watch in preparation of getting to sit there for six hours before being sent home. I don't believe it is a stretch to say that I am not the only one who is smitten around here. One weird side effect of this is that we both basically live in fear of one another. We're so moon-eyed about each other that it's making us act like crazy people. It's like, we're too afraid to be this happy because what if the other one suddenly decides she/he doesn't like me anymore and I'll be so hurt and it will be endlessly painful and I couldn't take it and I feel so needy and weird but if I act needy and weird then she/he won't like me anymore and blah blah blah. At least it's happening to both of us so we can sort of step back and watch ourselves act like psychotic teenagers with a measure of impunity and amusement. He got his hair cut. The messy blonde hair is now a controlled blonde haircut. But I can still grab hold of the back and that's allllll that matters. We're in that stage where it's sort of hard to even eat around each other. I just thought to myself, "I should really be writing this down while it lasts..." and then I realized that that's exactly what I'm doing.


Thursday, June 16, 2005

Oh, by the way...

...did I mention that the new boy used to be a Benetton model? In addition to a bunch of magazine ads, there was a huge billboard of him towering over Hong Kong for a while. He said modeling made him so uncomfortable that they'd have to have someone talk to him and tell him jokes and stuff while they took candids because he's incapable of posing for a picture. Yeah, my boyfriend is totally hot.


Monday, June 13, 2005

Sloth takes a chainsaw

......and cuts down her family tree. This a letter I just sent to my sister after she called my parents and claimed that I'm a................drug addict. Yep, that's right folks. Slothy's a pill-poppin', booze-guzzlin' crack whore. This tree I sleep in is much more comfortable now that I've cut down that annoying branch that was always poking me in the back. Hi M. I just wanted to let you know how much fun your wedding was. Quite a production. What was especially fun was spending just this past hour on the phone trying to convince my parents that I'm not a pill-popping drug addict. As far as offering valium to your friends, J. (maid of honor) was saying how nervous she was. I half-jokingly offered her a valium which I take to help me sleep at night (you may remember how horrifying my nightmares are, or you may not. I'm guessing not, since you really don't know much about me). I'm sorry that your sullen, freakish half-sister thought I was pushing drugs on her. Not sure how that came about but I guess I should apologize for….I don't know, being in the same room with her? Oh, by the way, when we were in the taxi on our way to get our pictures taken at the lighthouse and said half-sister started bad-mouthing your dad (my stepfather for you Slothvillians) as though I wasn't even there - yeah, that was especially enjoyable. Your "concern for my well-being" regarding the fact that I take valium with me when I travel to help me sleep in a foreign bed was pretty ironic considering that any concern for my well-being seemed to be non-existent after my Aunt L. died and you never even bothered to call. Sorry I got drunk at your reception. That kind of tends to happen in situations where I am incredibly uncomfortable and there's lots of free booze. I wasn't on valium, though, if that eases your overwhelming concern about my health. At least I wasn't the one who puked and shat all over one of the bathrooms. At least I wasn't hungover at your brunch which was delicious, by the way. At least I didn't tell the grouchy threesome that is the family you're actually proud to be a part of what I really think of them, no matter how tempted I was. Anyway, thanks so much for asking me to be in your wedding. Of course (400 wasted dollars later), I now wish I had taken one of the suspiciously numerous opportunities you offered me to decline. I love how my former reputation as the reckless black sheep of the family follows me for the rest of my life like I'm a fucking leper. I guess you didn't notice, but I work full time, go to school at night, maintain a 3.7 GPA and have heaps of friends who love me a whole hell of a lot more than you do. It's really nice that when you have something to say to me you do it through my parents, particularly your father who I feel so sorry for all the time considering how you treat him. And my mother who was forced to instigate a conversation with me that made me cry and wish that you had never come into my life. I suppose you couldn't have anticipated how difficult that might be for her. I'm not sure how our attractive, educated, friendly family turned into the embarrassing, trailer trash side that you are ashamed to introduce to your new, super-rich family. I'm not sure how I'm the bad guy here when your mother is the one who walked around the wedding the whole time with a chip on her shoulder the size of Ohio. I guess your hanging-onto-his-youth-by-a-thread stepfather, your inexplicable horror show of a mother, and your shaggy, pouting freak of a half-sister are on more equal footing with the groom's parents because they have money. That's the only reason I can think of that you would hide our side of the family from his parents as though we were feral, foul-mouthed cave creatures. I'M ashamed of YOU and of the ungrateful, prissy person you've turned into. Your father deserves better than you. You may be the "perfect" sister, the one who graduated on time, the one who instantly made a big, beautiful life for herself, but I work my ass off and I made a life for myself too. My life is happy and peaceful and normal and I've left behind the broken girl I used to be. If I can let her go, maybe you can too. So let's keep things equitable from now on, ok? I'll continue to love your own father more than you do, if someone you love dies, I won't call, and you can have your nice, rich, white life and stay the hell out of mine. -Sloth


Wednesday, June 08, 2005


Call from new man: "Hey, Slothy, I just got done mowing the lawn. I'm all sweaty and covered with grass. Wanna have lunch?" Oh, HELL yes.


Thursday, June 02, 2005

Disaster in Slothville

My sister is getting married this weekend. Disasters abound. Wallet stolen Bridesmaid's dress falling apart (cheap piece of shit). No one has the right purses to match our outfits. OH DEAR GOD! BUT. I did happen to go on a super duper fabulous date with someone who I am now prematurely infatuated with. *sigh* My god, if you could see this man. Beyond lickable. Hey, he could turn out to be a sociopath but until I find out for sure I'm hooked like a crack whore. Ok, bad analogy.