Posted by: loripalooza | April 1, 2010

Got Life?

Patience you few faithful readers, for it is not Lori, but I, Evilelven Twin (ET), currently commandeering the most mysterious and magical ether waves, taking up the Abyss of Slackdom your co-host bloggerette has created, if it were even possible to create a nothingness as large as that.  I have awakened myself from my cold yet delicious sleep of the dead and through my blackened fringe of ennui I will make a half-hearted attempt to fill you in on some of the quirkeccentric comings and goings of the Sometimes Perky One, Immature Lori (SPOIL).

SPOIL has succumbed to the powerful draw of Spring in Seattle, pawing her way each morning through the piles of black clothing we have purchased together over the years for colors suitable to the season. “Chartreuse!” she bellows to my two minions disguised as cats, Dharma and Patchouli, who sit starring at her in abstract curiosity.  She ends up stuffing her winter-softened body, clad in black tights because that’s all she ever has in the drawer, into a dark denim skirt and covers up whatever color she may have found with a too-worn black sweater, sighing. I scornfully note she has been optimistically expanding her wardrobe with items that will look better minus five+ pounds; she could start a clothing company called Hang on, It’s Going to be a Bumpy Ride.

At work, where she is the Mistress of Office Drudgery, she performs her most mundane-of-the-mundane tasks with the nearly mindless motions expected of one who has been there for 18 years; an apple-cheeked zombie, an anti-anxiety drugged automaton administrative assistant. It is, however, the hell of her own choosing – Office Convicted Drone (OCD).  She confesses to the UPS man that to entertain herself she changes words she reads repeatedly when she is proofing a report.  Rates become rats.  Economy becomes enemy.  (Mind-numbing boredom becomes creativity.)  She’s a real survivor, that one.

I slip my unnaturally pale hand into her cheerful red Bolivian suede purse and pull out a paper scrap scrawled upon in spunky purple ink, with a few favorite words she has come upon in her personal reading lately:  Draconian (from The Man Who Ate Everything, which she bought thinking it was a psychological study like The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, hoping maybe he eats cars or something, but turned out to be a series of articles by a lawyer turned food writer for Vogue – I know!).  Zaftig (from Chronic City), with a side-scrawl “Zaftig Like Me? – potential title.”  Kerfuffle (from The Power of One), an older book just recently discovered, kind of a guy-book but most excellent.   Actually, she had written kerfuffle kerfuffle kerfuffle, like she was in love with it.  I took my blood red pen and added, in perfect Goth-script “Got life?”

At home she is pathetically addicted to books, either reading to herself, reading to the wide-eyed Joe-dog (who ironically for such a cat-woman is the mate of her soul), or more often, being read to by the Joe-dog. Here’s a list of their favorite Live Audio Books, as she calls them, I found on her desktop:

David Baldacci, The Camel Club Series
Lee Childs, Jack Reacher Novels
Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games
Michael Connolly, Harry Bosch Books
Gordon Dahlquist, The Books of the Glass Dream Eaters
Stieg Larrson, The Millenium Series
George R.R. Martin, Song of Ice and Fire Fantasy Series
Christopher Moore, any of his, the characters jump books
Jeffrey Overstreet, Auralia’s Thread Series

It’s embarrassing when they start talking like the characters they’re reading.  When they read Christopher Moore’s latest, Bite Me, she spent most of a day using California-Goth-Speak, my Dark Lord of Dimples and most fly this and Nosferatu-dude that, and he was all faux Hawaiian Rasta surfer dude – Irie sistah –slowly rocking head-nod included.  When they got their book signed after his “reading” (he doesn’t read), instead of getting their picture taken with him like he’s a real friend or something, they made him do this:
If I could mystically transport myself to materialize in front of you, you’d see me rolling my totally haunted looking black-lined eyes.


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