An Honest Question

Yesterday, my friend, Stacey, reminded me of a conversation we had while working together at an ad agency:

Her:  "Would you eat a plate of poop if it meant you would be skinny the rest of your life?"

Me: "Whose poop?"

Which we followed up with lunch at Chicken Out. (Our preferred lunch spot over "Repressed, Closeted Chicken.")

Speaking of jobs, I have always had this fantasy of starting a new job and at the first function that included guests,  I'd bring my husband and make sure he met and talked to as many people as possible. Then, at the next function, I'd bring someone who is his complete physical opposite (Gary Coleman, perhaps) and say to my new co-workers, "You remember my husband, right?"  I'd repeat this scenario with a woman, an albino, Siamese twins...or until I got fired.

"Working" for a living,
Brutalism

Powerless Over It

E-mail to my oldest and dearest friend this morning:

This is kind of a hard e-mail to write.

I'm sure you may have noticed over the years that I have a bit of a problem. Even though I knew it was not good for me, I was a slave to my addiction.

It started because I liked the taste. Gradually, a taste was not enough and before I knew it, I'd be adding a healthy splash -- even to my morning coffee. I was one of those "functioning" types --  I'd hide it in my insulated cup and take it to work...and for years, none of my co-workers was the wiser. For chrissakes...I don't even want to think about the number of times I drove under the influence.

It soon became a daily thing, and the shame of my secret was becoming almost unbearable. It got to a point where I'd start hiding bottles when friends came over. (It hurt most when you, my oldest friend, made a comment during your last visit about how unhealthy this was. I knew then that I needed to make a change.)

I considered seeking the help of a professional or 12-step program, but then decided that I could muster the inner strength to fight the demon.

I know that the majority of the battle is ahead of me and I will just have to take it a day at a time, but I think that I am ready to finally tame this beast. The beast that is...artificially flavored coffee creamer.

A (now) proud and loyal organic half and half drinker,
Brutalism

You Wanna Make Sumthin' Of It?

Unlike the rest of the universe, it seems, I have not watched one episode of "The Jersey Shore." (Trust me when I tell you that I am not mentioning this as I feel superior in some way. Quite the contrary. I'd watch one episode and be sucked in forever, much like the midsection of every Spanx-wearing middle-aged woman.)

Knowing nothing about the show does not, however, prevent me from taking time away from my very important work to play with the Jersey Shore Nickname Generator: which translated the following names for me:

Me:  The Position (So true. And I'm guessing that would have been plural when I was single.)

My daughter:  The Good Time (Fingers in ears singing "la la la la la la la".)

Canetto: Tan Jovi  (Right era/wrong look. Hai Karate Kid would be more apt for the Ralph Macchio lookalike who stole my heart.)

And just for kicks, I went ahead and entered my blog name:

Brutalism: The Back End

Can't argue with science,
Brutalism

Finding Balance...Sheets

This morning, I did one of those things I would never do if I was not married. (Yes, Mom,...have sex.)

I was actually referring to going to a financial planner. You see, before I began cohabitating with Captain Spreadsheet, I never once thought about investing strategies. Why I ever went to business school is a riot, because the mere mention of finances and ROI and M&E and margins causes my eyes to glaze over....and not in the good way. So, during our meeting this morning, I likely bet it all on red, invested in Enron, or put Canetto's second wife in a good position to be a lady who lunches. (We celebrated increasing our life insurance coverage by planning a nice little hunting trip -- that Canetto thinks of everything!)

This meeting today got me thinking of other things I have done over the past ten (married) years that I never would have done had I spent those years as a single lady. 

I would not have been propositioned by the swingers at my friend's wedding.

I would not have had to worry when my friend noted casually, "Isn't that Tim over there chatting up Halle Berry?"

I would not have had the pressure of keeping my husband's horrible secrets. 

and

I would not have laughed myself silly over an episode or two involving Canetto at the doctor's office that I am not allowed to write about EVER...or else. (See "nice little hunting trip" above).

So I occasionally have to suffer through sex a financial planning session. I'd say it's worth it. This blog ain't gonna write itself.

Dirt Boxing

A new friend from Ireland found Brutalism recently by googling, "story feels so dirty in my ass."

Which first made me think, "Well, that is not the most pristine place to keep a story, Seamus." But it also made me think of the old game that everyone plays while reading the slips of paper in fortune cookies. You know, the one where you add "in bed" to the end of every fortune as you read it out loud. Like, "you'll have a great year" (pause for delivery of tired old joke) "in bed." Or "you will have much success at work" (wait for it, wait for it...) "in bed."

I'd like to propose that from now on, we change the ending to any statement (fortune cookie-wise or just in general) to "in my ass." (Example: "I am so happy with our new pool boy....." or "The priest offered me Holy Communion....." or...well, you get the idea.)

Help me start the movement (heh) by leaving a comment in the form of an unrelated statement followed by an "in my ass."

I cannot wait to see how creative you get...
Brutalism

Playhouse Forum

Yesterday on Facebook, someone (kiddingly ha ha isn't that funny not at all even close to the truth) commented that I show my child pornography. (Dear FBI...I apologize in advance that the previous sentence required me to put those two words together. And that my site is called Brutalism. And that I honestly thought your acronym stood for "Female Body Inspector" until just recently...)

You know, we kid around a lot here at Brutalism headquarters, but please know that I would never, ever show my child anything that was not specifically geared toward children. Which means, I guess, that we will not be reading Shel Silverstein anymore:

"Piece", "Big O", "roll by yourself" -- really, Larry Flynt Shel Silverstein?

But that was not enough for you, was it, disturbing combination of John Wayne Gacy and Ron Jeremy Shel?:

Curled up in a fetal position,

Brutalism