Four days of work in a row, tired, blah blah blah. I'll say no more, lest the floodgates be opened. I'm too negative lately as it it! And I don't want to be, it's annoying and useless unless accompanied by lots of funny, and I ain't got much of that, either.
I blame caffeine. I've been trying to quit drinking coffee, and I know, they say it's difficult, and they say you get headaches, and they say it's right up there with cigarettes and cocaine, damn near impossible to kick. But they forgot to mention one thing. Yeah, sans caffeine I am a lot less prone to a racing heartbeat and wild mood swings. But my baseline mood, my so-called zen, is so utterly BLAH that I feel like a testbook example of anhedonia. In fact, someone at work the other day said "are you okay, Mary?" and I told her "I think I'm having some flat affect right now." She just nodded with a worried look on her face. So I broke down and drank half a cup of coffee and WHEE. Feelings! Let me tell you. They're fun. I'm sure all my cow orkers think I'm on drugs, the way my personality changed after that little bit of liquid sunshine, and they're right.
So yeah, I knew about the anhedonia thing people get when they kick coke or crack or whatever, but I sure wish someone had warned me about caffeine. Fuck the tachycardia, and the perimenopausal shaking. CAFFEINE IS MY FRIEND. *clutches coffee mug with logo of old job on it*
But I did have fun today, wandering around the Salvation Army store, wondering, as one does, at the sheer wealth of ugly ass clothing in the world. Does anyone ever really wear the mint green seersucker shorts in the first place, or do they go straight from the manufacturer to the thrift shops, like the straight-to-video releases of the fashion world? The gaudy polyester big shirts, you know, those swingy long-sleeved things so popular in the 80s? Plaid fleece hoodies, and full length dresses like big denim sacks? I mean, my god. I bought a book and a copy of the Crash Test Dummies' cd with the Umm Umm Umm Umm song on it. But people around me were holding up the linen fuschia big-shouldered sports jackets and SQUEALING. It was wonderful.
And then I got to thinking, as one does, about what it must be like when Chris and JC go shopping. JC drags him out to these really chi-chi places on Rodeo Drive, because... well, black warm up jacket under black suit coat, with headband, at the Grammies. Do I need to go on? And then pretends to look through the racks while Chris wanders around, but really he's spying on Chris, hoping to pounce at any sign of good taste, because obviously Chris just needs a little direction. Chris, of course, is fully aware of what he's up to, and has his own opinions about some people's fashion sense (vive El Gaucho!) and so, being Chris, has to fuck with him a little bit. So he purposely picks out the ugliest, tackiest shit he can find, the orange burlap zootsuits and the pastel tracksuits and the giant pants that weren't even popular in the 90s. And when JC's really agitated, slamming the hangers along the racks and muttering under his breath, Chris begins.
chris: [holds up fabulous brown leather pants] I like these!
jc: [rejoicing, secretly] gonna try them on?
[wanders some more]
chris: [points out sweater in greens and yellows that jc might even try himself] sweet!
jc: want me to set it aside?
chris: mmm... naw.
[tosses it on top of the rack as jc watches forlornly, then grabs a perfect purple shirt that chris would look amazing in]
jc: yes! yes! try it. please, try it. please?
Of course by this point Chris is smirking and JC totally clues in to the whole thing, and no doubt there's some kind of chasing and then dressing room sex ensues, but I ain't gonna write that. I dislike the dressing-room-sex stories. But I had a great time, wandering through the Salvation Army, holding up the halfway decent stuff and every time imagining JC's hopeful look and Chris's "naw." But then I'm easy. When I'm medicated.