My New Job: All You Need to Know

It just occurred to me, while sorting through medical supply orders, that I am now in a position that puts me one baked good away from making my Ultimate Stompie a reality. That is joyous.

It all comes back to South African cigarette butts.

Second Verse, Same as the First: A Play in One Scene.

[Two women. One old conversation that is new again.]

[And by new, I stress new. As in, of recent weeks. Because you'll all have heard this fucking refrain before.]

me: WHY WHY WHY DOES SHE SUCK SO BADLY, AND WHY WHY WHY DO I CARE?

Caitlin: I think you care because you are an inveterate romantic.

me: Oh fuck, don't go wishing that on me.

Caitlin: You deserve better. No judgment on her as a person (although you know which way my suspicions lean there), but you deserve to be treated better than she has treated you.

me: Thank you. Again. I think so too, but it's just... sometimes they get under your skin, and then it's hard to dig them out. And I swear I've got an innate sensor that's gone wrong and lets the wrong ones in.

Caitlin: I know. That's why you have people like me! To remind you of the stuff you're willing to put aside.

me: Every time I think I've got it sussed, that I've finally found someone who's Got It Together, she turns out to be just like all the others. And then I start sounding like That Girl and I hate myself a little more.

Caitlin: Dude, everyone has been there. Making excuses for someone because they have gotten under their skin, making allowances for them, letting yourself accept less than you deserve.

me: I wonder what it is. What causes that. Because I feel like we're all smarter than that.

Caitlin: It's at those times you need friends to remind you that you are awesome, and deserve someone who is going to treat you right and make you a priority... of course, maybe you shouldn't listen to me on that, as I will probably die alone due to my stubborn determination to settle for nothing less than true love. I'm a sucker.

me: It's not stubborn. It's Homeric.

Caitlin: Hubristic?

me: Heh. No, that's what my friend Anthony told me right before I left Sydney. That my life would always be a quest because I'm always going to be looking for the right job, the right girl, the right home. Not just whatever's there. Not settling. Except that it ended up sounding a bit dire, and I wasn't really consoled.

Caitlin: I keep looking for jobs, and every once in a while, it occurs to me that many people-probably most people-get that they may not like their job and are OK with that, and maybe I should just look for anything, instead of just things I want to do. But I am the way I am. I want to do work that I care about doing. Etc.

me: It's all the same, really. And it's wise, and true. But it's a real bitch.

Caitlin: Yeah, no comfort there. But I don't feel inclined to compromise on those things. Much as that might end me up alone and miserable.

me: You're right not to.

Caitlin: Well, of course you're going to say that. You're as bull-headed as I am!

me: Natch. But if I don't support you in making that right choice - and it is the right one - I'll never have a hope of supporting myself in making it.

Caitlin: Moral of the story: Confuso would be a compromise. And she's mean.

me: SHE IS MEAN! Like, that was a really mean thing to do, right? Fuck her and all her noise.

Caitlin: Yeah. She can suck it.

me: Damn RIGHT she can. Besides, I have a date with a lawyer on Saturday. Who's cute and funny and thinks my sarcasm is AWESOME.

Caitlin: That's the spirit!

me: YEAH. And I'm going to sword-dance the FUCK out of some Röyksopp this weekend, just to piss her off.

me: (Okay, I'm not sure how it would piss her off, seeing as she won't know about it, but the hell with logic. I'm ANGRY.)

Caitlin: That's quite a sentence! Picture that out of context. It would be like your overheard thing.

me: Oh my god, it would! The Ultimate Stompie!

Caitlin: Yes! That!

me: I feel much better now. Thank you.

Caitlin: Any time.

me: I will try not to bore you with stories of her anymore.

Caitlin: Hey, if you need to, you go ahead. That way, I can remind you that she is MEAN.

me: Yeah she is. Evil Dr Confuso. Meanie.

Stompies We'd Like to See

I love overhearing bits of conversation out of context. Sometimes those bits are sad, sometimes they're incomprehensible, and every now and then they're breath-stealingly funny. Several years ago, Trace told me that in South Africa this is known as picking up stompies: 'stompies' are cigarette butts, so 'picking up stompies' means collecting the butt-ends of other people's stories. Excellent, no?

Today, though, I had kind of the reverse experience. Prompted by I-don't-know-what, the phrase 300 bags of saline and a strawberry cupcake popped into my head. Leaving aside for a moment the psychology involved in unpicking that thought process, I did immediately recognise that this was the stompie of my dreams, the ultimate prize. Can you imagine strolling past someone and hearing those words come floating by? It's majestic, the dernier cri. I giggled to myself on the street for several minutes and eventually needed to duck into an alley to pull myself together.

So here's the challenge: I want you-all to come up with your Dream Stompies. Hit me up in the comments. I'm expecting particularly good efforts from Ev, Nath and Anthony, just so you know.

XOXO