Dear Iraqi Pen Pal,

OK, this little sentiment is courtesy of my (very funny) friend Caitlin. But seriously, it is a handy little phrase to invoke when you are feeling particularly whiny and sorry for yourself, for no real reason other than the overwhelming anguish of dealing with the banality of typical city life in 2005. Like I am right now. Twaah-twah-twaaaaaah.

I really feel like winding up into a long, whiney, ear-splitting snivel-fit right now. Really, I do. Here is why:

1. I have accepted a new job, which I am scared about. I am very conformable with my current position, and by comfortable I mean: "filled with abject boredom and ennui." So I was offered the new gig, and it will mean more work, more time in the effing car commuting to work, and (the kicker) more money. So I have sold my soul to the corporate overlords and am feeling apprehensive about the decision. What if I hate it? What if I somehow get sucked into working in the Virginia suburbs and eventually just give up on the commute, trade in my cute clothes and sexy heels for dowdy school-marmish suits and running shoes, and renounce the whole living-in-the city thing? (shudder)

2. I have to move. Again. Granted, it is into a much bigger, more spacious home with a freakin YARD, where (one day, when I am feeling saucy) I can plant actual living things and lounge in the sun swatting mosquitos. But still--moving SUCKS, people. And I should know. I moved last fall. And the year before that, too. And before that...well, you get the idea. The point is: I am sick to death of putting all my shit in boxes, hauling these boxes around town like some sort of freaking Sherpa, only to take all my shit OUT of boxes on the other end and have to decide the proper place (again) for all that SHIT. Damn it!!! Not to mention having to endure the tail-lashing fury and destructive mood swings of a pissed-off black cat who is incensed by the prospect of having to deposit her scent all over a NEW house. And who can blame her? She had only just finished rubbing up on everything in the OLD house, for fuck's sake. All that work, just lost.

3. (and this is the whiniest bit of all) I am sick to death of dealing with, thinking about, and hyper-analyzing the actions of basically every single male I meet. I am bored senseless by things that start out fun and then turn into what can only be described as "not fun," due to the fact that I am compelled to play my part in some sort of ritualized dance where no one really knows the steps, but they go something like: "If you show that you like me, I will immediately feel for you only scorn and derision, but if you treat me with disdain I will immediately be compelled by the need to make an ass of myself in a desperate effort to win your affections." It is mind-boggling. The thing is, I am a reasonable person. Really! I recognize the idiocy and futility of this scenario. Yet I play into it repeatedly, seemingly without control over my thoughts and actions. Argh!

But you, my dear Iraqi Pen Pal, probably do not find any of these complaints worth the time it took to commit them to cyberspace. You are probably thinking: "My American Pen Pal is truly the most self-involved, egocentric, and tedious human being to ever suck up more than their fair share of natural resources." You are probably right. I suck.

And to top it all off, I just broke a fucking nail.

Snivelingly,
Viola