Occupying Wall Street. Yet.

that’s because I just finished occupying my kitchen.
And it’s evil.

There’s a TOTAL misuse of marinaded mushroom, and an excessive excess of prosciutto. It’s not even domestic prosciutto but IMPORTED prosciutto. And it was eaten by bourgoise fingers.

Fingers that haven’t had a manicure in a while, but look like maybe, just maybe they could again.

What the hell is happening here?

Why? How? Who would have the kind of greed and immorality to sit down and snarfle up these frivilous yet delicious deli goods meant to be snarfled only at lunch time in prepared salads for which Tupperware which were specifically bought?

Anger. Disillusionment. Impotent Fury.

I shall move away from this occupancy and proceed undaunted.

Instead of not occupying Wall Street and I stumble through to occupy my living room instead where I’m faced with even more discrepencies.

It starts off okay.

One(1) somewhat cracked and filthy out of date Mac book in which to gain and send information to the people? Check

One(1) highly aware uber goldfish named Pedro already occupying his tank (long before it was cool) and one(1) fish follower? (That guy is total poser) Check

One(1) bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon to ease the writing process?…..

No!

No?

No! that is not okay or acceptable. Where are my meaningfully named garden brewed beers, where are the stranger’s lovingly passed water and/ or gnawed on coffee cup specially donated to me by the assistant to the special assistant of Susan Sarandon?

Now I’ll have to drink the entire bottle of wine in order to angrily recycle it. Oh the fury of occupancy!

I’m now stumbling off to occupy my bathroom as opposed to Wall Street. But because of my lack of twitter and facebook skills I find myself alone. Alone! In the bathroom! And we were doing so well. I send a text to myself to send a text about it. This is exactly the kind of thing that could trip us up if we’re not ready for it. Next time I enter my bathroom I expect to see a plethora of determined yet relived people.

Or at least a twitchy determinedly good humored line of people who have yet to be relived.

Finally I intend to occupy my bedroom instead of Wall Street. Once again I’m…well, let’s not say annoyed or angered but rather gently disappointed. And by gentle disappointment I mean I break an ugly but meaningful vase that was given by a relative.

That’s because I care.

What’s the use of occupying my place if I can’t get at least one meaningful liberal yet delightful celebrity in my bed talking about meaning? Aren’t I the 1%? who need to be convinced, preferably by hot nakedness?

Since I know how many of the occupiers will be reading this tonight on their anti-government ipads under their extra heavy sleeping bags (lined by the hands of small Asian children) I have the following phrase for you to shout out and then repeat the next day to one another (oh yes I know how your sound system works) I will shout it out now in my occupied apartment and hopefully you’ll hear it from where you lie on the cold flagstones of Wall Street.

MARK RUFFALO! MARK RUFFALO! SOPHIE NEEDS YOU TO HELP OCCUPY HER BEDROOM.

He must answer the call. It is the call of the people. It is his destiny. Right?

All this occupancy is making me sleepy. I’m off to plan further plans about where to occupy. I’m thinking something retro, something that will really shake them up and get things going….

Poland?