Sunday, September 27, 2009

Stopping the Big Fat Stupid Head Timer

Sometimes I amaze myself.

Often times I disappoint myself.

And other times I just have to deal with myself.

And so, at this particular moment in time, if you mash those three things together into one fine mess, you get a screeching halt of the Big Fat Stupid Head timer for Challenge #3. Yes siree, Missy. The clock has officially stopped. No more ticking here or there. Nope. We are full speed ahead into a full-blown, 5-alarm Big Fat Stupid Head clock stopping crisis.

Oh, pah-leese, don't look so surprised especially after last week. You knew I was teetering on the edge of the great dark newspaper deadline abyss. While I never once picked up an ax, I did have that Lizzie Borden, ax-wielding, fixin’ to go postal, crazed look kind of smile all week long. And, no, neither the Emergency Chocolate nor the Superduper Secret Emergency chocolate could stop the inevitable.

But let’s go back to the amazing, disappointing and dealing with oneself bit…

I am rather amazed that I managed to muddle through for 266 days, 11 hours, 26 minutes and 21 seconds (more or less) before my Big Fat Stupid Head outburst. I say “more or less” because I technically didn’t stop the timer until two days after the fact. I shrieked those words at my newspaper staff on Thursday during deadline because, well, quite frankly, they were all Big Fat Stupid Heads. Although just a mere two days away from turning in the newspaper, we still had vacant boxes where cartoons were supposed to go, empty columns where stories were supposed to be and blank spaces where photographs belonged.

Once the BFSH words tumbled out, I was a bit disappointed that I couldn’t stop myself. Blame all that chocolate or that shot of espresso, but even as the bell rang, I continued saying, “Goodbye Big Fat Stupid Head No. 1, Big Fat Stupid Head No. 2, Big Fat Stupid Head No. 3…” and so forth and so on.

I felt a tad bit like Chevy Chase in “A Christmas Vacation” in that scene at the beginning of the movie where the corporate types all file past him, but ignore him as he wishes each one, “Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas…” until he realizes that no one is listening to him, so he starts saying other things–– as in things that will get you fired.

Now, calm down. I didn’t say any of those things, but I did find it all rather cathartic to say Big Fat Stupid Head, Big Fat Stupid Head, Big Fat Stupid Head, over and over and over again. It sort of became my mantra for that day, and, yes, the next day, too.

And the kids? Well, they do what they always do--laugh.

So I’ve decided, at least for the next few days, I’m just going to deal with the entire shebang by not restarting the timer, until I have this whole Big Fat Stupid Head thing back under control and my Emergency Chocolate Drawer restocked.

In the meantime, I’ve even made my own, “Don’t be a Big Fat Stupid Head” stickers. They look like this…

So you can see why it may take me just a bit longer before I crank up that timer again.


Melissa B. said...

The more things change, the more they remain the same. I continue to be amazed at section editors who say, at the end of class, "My page is done, Mrs. Scribe," when that's never nearly ever the case. I think I'll be spending some planning time this week trying to straighten out the big, fat stupid head mess they've wrought. Or not.

Mike Rush said...

What a funny telling of your crisis. I love your elements, especially the emergency chocolate drawer. I need one of those. And weren't Chevy Chase's greatest comedic moments when he was speaking under his breath. I remember one of the first Saturday Night Live shows I ever saw. He was doing the news and when the scene opened he was at the news desk on the phone saying, under his breath, "No honey, you don't actually blow on it." Thought I'd die.

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