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Feb 06
2011
2011
Peak, Valley
Peak
On Thursday, just as I was leaving work, I saw a tweet from Elizabeth Wurtzel, author of the infamous and polarizing memoir Prozac Nation.
I’ve never been too good with names…but I remember faces. Am I the only one slacking off? Insofar as I was ever happy, it was 1992.#Dando
Now, a not-insignificant portion of the bliss that was my freshman year of college is directly attributable to the Come On Feel the Lemonheads album, which she is quoting here, and Prozac Nation is THE iconic book about depression for my generation, so even though I am really not a starfucker at all, I replied to her tweet.
@LizzieWurtzel Love love love it. If I was a fridge, would you open the door?
Because that is how the song goes, man, and I’m hip. And then I went to therapy, where we talked about why I keep blocking my own happiness, HMMM? Because it was Thursday, and I’m 35 and single and introspective, and that’s how I roll.
And when I got out of therapy, I saw this.
@hilarity_shoes That song is a masterpiece. Evan should retire. Pretty much the perfect song. And I’m a little grubby from just being around
And that is how it happened that the author of Prozac Nation tweeted at me about Evan Dando while I was in therapy talking about my wildly first-world problems. Unless the future holds a threesome involving me, Wynona Ryder, and Ethan Hawke, I’m pretty sure my life as a GenX navel-gazer peaked at that moment. So of course I wanted to record it on my blog.
Valley
I employ the services of a cleaning company, and have for years, ever since my sister’s and my bitter standoff over whose turn it was to mop the kitchen floor devolved into a public catfight. I have not held a mop in….a long time. I’m okay with it. The people who clean my apartment kind of suck, but I’m a slob so I don’t complain. I chat with them when I see them, and tip generously at Christmas, and try not to be an asshole about the whole thing, even though the fact that I employ cleaning people is inherently kind of assholic.
The one wrinkle in this is that I had forgotten my cleaner’s name. She has been cleaning my place for over two years now, and I knew it once, but it’s long since slipped my mind. I know everyone’s name, and their mother’s and siblings’ and nephews’ names, too. I pay attention, and I have excellent recall. So I feel terrible about forgetting hers, like an overprivileged, self-involved twat who does not deserve any good fortune. Who the fuck do I think I am, employing people whose names I don’t know?
So I hit upon a plan. When I saw my cleaner (see how careful I am never to say “cleaning lady?”) last week, she apologized for not calling the week before to tell me she wouldn’t be able to make it in the ice, and would come the following day instead.
“No worries,” I reassured her, all non-yuppie-scum like. ”I was just thinking I should have your number, too.” (She works through an agency, which is who I deal with, and the proprietor is impossibly elusive when you need her.) I pulled out my phone.
“Spell your name for me so I can put it in my contacts,” I said, to this woman who has a key to my apartment, and also cleans my sister’s house, and knows my dog’s name, and has most likely seen the contents of my sex toy drawer. I smiled expectantly.
She hesitated. ”Spell it for you?” I nodded.
“Uh, OK…S-U-S-A-N.”
Susan. Who the fuck can’t spell Susan?
“Oh-ho -ho, Susan,” I chuckled, shaking my head fondly, “I meant your last name, of course!”
And then I hurried outside so I could smack myself in the head privately.
At least she doesn’t know I have a cheese history.
omg..i did the same thing!!!..and i couldnt call her for YEARS…to change the day or anything..cause ….yeah i didnt know her name… AND i forgot the name of the service and phone number.. .then one time i accidentally/ok kinda on purpose LOCKED the door and she couldnt get in and she had to call me and say “hi its Angela..im here!” fucking hell …i AM yuppie scum…
xoxo
Ha…at least I don’t have to feel alone now. I guess this sin;t quite a “great minds think alike” moment…more like a collective fail?
oh, that really is a gen-x glory moment. nice.
Yeah, I don’t really see how my generational identity improves from there.