WTC WTF?

From Consumerist:

Here comes the......what the eff?

The creepiest ebay listing ever.

Almost famous?

Received today via my web site:

Dear Michelle,

I'm a collector of autographs. I have more than 3.800 authentic autographs of politicians, sportsmen, artists and authors from around the world.

Therefore, I would ask you if you would be so kind to send me an autographed photo of you
(or your autograph on a piece of paper with some words written down).
I will be very delighted to got your autograph in my personal collection.

Anyway, thank you very much, and may God bless you and your family.

With warm greetings from Belgium.

Uh what to do, what to do?

Brrrring! Brring!

Remember this? The funniest thing EVER. From an unlikely source.

Strange AND compelling!

Betcha can't watch it just once!

Huh? Or, ring my bell.

This morning I woke up and realized I had slept with my cell phone.

Bleagh....and wtf?

Yeah a copout title if there was any...but my stomach is basically inside-out and it's tough to concentrate.

I meant to report something bizarre that happened in therapy aka shrinkage Monday. I was talking about things (as I am wont to do when paying for someone's attention and mad therapeutic skillz) and when things got too serious, I found myself slowly passing out. For real. My eyes started fluttering, I slid down on the fairly-comfy armless sofa (chaise? shrink sled? Whatever), my back against the seat of the sofa and my legs on the floor, finally pulling my legs up in hazy defeat as my eyes slammed shut. I drifted in and out of 'sleep' mumbling occasional answers to my therapist's questions and muttering "Am I dying?" from time to time (since I was convinced that this wasn't just stress but actual death). When I arose from the sofa I was disoriented and frightened. She said I'd shake it off, and was unsurprised and unstressed about it (unlike me).

Then I went and had a couple of drinks and saw a show.

Weird.

Here's an actual poo contest. Enjoy!

Confused? Yeah, me too.

I was trying to find a nice bouncy cynical song to post, but this is the one that popped into my head:

I don't know how to love him.
What to do, how to move him.
I've been changed, yes really changed.
In these past few days, when I've seen myself,
I seem like someone else.
I don't know how to take this.
I don't see why he moves me.
He's a man. He's just a man.
And I've had so many men before,
In very many ways,
He's just one more.
Should I bring him down?
Should I scream and shout?
Should I speak of love,
Let my feelings out?
I never thought I'd come to this.
What's it all about?
Don't you think it's rather funny,
I should be in this position.
I'm the one who's always been
So calm, so cool, no lover's fool,
Running every show.
He scares me so.
I never thought I'd come to this.
What's it all about?
Yet, if he said he loved me,
I'd be lost. I'd be frightened.
I couldn't cope, just couldn't cope.
I'd turn my head. I'd back away.
I wouldn't want to know.
He scares me so.
I want him so.
I love him so.
- Jesus Christ Superstar, "I Don't Know How to Love Him"

For the life of me, I have no fucking idea what this means.

Disturbing yet merely annoying, really.

Today I came to work in a ten-year-old (at least) black V neck sweater and huge red marks on my neck. I don't know why no one noticed, or no one said anything. I felt a little scratchiness last night but paid it no mind. Today I've been itching like mad and when I checked in the ladies room, there was a giant red blotch and smaller red marks across the front of my neck. (From the best I can determine, it's a result of my scaredy cat kitty latching onto my neck and shoulders during the storm yesterday; I didn't think anything of it, just wore her around the house like a scarf with claws. And I think I'm developing a cat allergy much to my dismay.)

But then again, what would people say, really?

I feel the need to explain it somehow but that just probably makes it worse.

After this, not a peep out of me.....

From peep research:

Peeps loaf!

Redux

Casual conversation with my grandmother (and neighbor) this morning about my late neighbor:

"Oh there's been about three (jumpers) from this building I think...two from (your aunt's) building...and of course (family friend's) sister..."

Wow. I did not know that.

For those who don't know I live in a 21-story building in a complex of 16-21 story buildings in a neighborhood of four-story tenements. We stand out.

Sad

My neighbor down the hall committed suicide this morning.

Mrs. "A" was a lovely Chinese woman with a sweet husband; I'd say she was over fifty but under seventy if that makes any sense (I'm a terrible judge of age). I'd see her shopping, coming back with stuff in orange bags from Chinatown or big bulk packages from some suburban shopping club. A very sweet lady.

Once, she asked me where my (ex) husband was and I told her that he'd moved out. She nodded, and said, with little hesitation, "Men...they're trouble."

I realized I hadn't seen her for a while; I didn't realize it actually until my next-door neighbor, in his fake-tan glory, grabbed my shoulder and whispered "This is terrible...Mrs. A jumped out the window...her son is here, this is terrible...I just wanted you to know, she was sick, cancer, kidneys" and then rushed into the elevator shaking his head as I stood stunned in our 16th floor hallway.

Poor Mrs. A. Poor Mr. A. and their son.

Our building is a murder weapon; an instrument of death. Our home - her home - was the last place she saw before flying away.

I didn't walk through the backyard where she must have fallen. I may, later.

I'm so tired.

I've been having terribly vivid dreams lately. Last night I even had an improvisor dream, the first in awhile.

All I remember is being in an elevator (yes) with a bunch of male improvisors. Improv Guy 1 had an incredibly large mouth and was showing it off. Improv Guy 2 (didn't look like a local but more like Bobby Lee of Mad TV) had an incredibly long tongue and was showing it off. Improv Guys 3 and 4 were stroking each other's exposed privates, which were impressive. There were a few neighbors in the elevator, short and indifferent.

After exiting the elevator I was walking across 4th Street with a large backpack. Improv Guy 3 grabbed me by the shoulder, surprising me. He told me he missed me. We looked up at the tall buildings on my block, which were covered in scaffolding and white sheeting, and laughed and laughed.

I don't get it.

Remind me to tell you about the dreams of trains in tunnels.