I was in a public restroom trying to poop and it wasn’t going so well. Suddenly, another woman came in and pooped in about thirty seconds and after she left I thought, “Dang, I wish I could poop as fast as her.” And that’s when I realized…I have jealousy issues.
I just realized that “Les Miserables” is French for, “everyone is sad and sings while they die.
The Hummus was NOT yummus
- Ralph: Never buy that hummus again. It was terrible. I mean SO GROSS.
- Me: Oh my god! I'm so sorry! I thought it would be a nice treat for you. It was Thai flavor.
- Ralph: It did not taste like Thai.
- Me: I hate Thai. I sniffed it but I couldn't tell the difference.
- Ralph: It tasted like Home Depot smells.
- Me: Why would you even take a bite if it smelled like tools?
- Ralph: Not tools, it smelled like wood chips.
- Me: Home Depot smells like wood chips?
- Ralph: Have you ever even been to a Home Depot?
- Me: I don't have a Home, so what would I Depot?
- Ralph: Anyway, the hummus was NOT yummus.
- Me: Sorry. I guess I'll go throw it away.
- Ralph: No--I put a bunch of hot sauce in it and ate the whole thing. It's a good source of protein. I'm just saying...for the future.
- Me: ...You have the willpower of someone who shops at Home Depot.
I ordered Philip Pullman’s new translation of Grimms’ Fairy Tales. You know, the one from 2012 with his commentary at the end of each story. I can understand how the Amazon seller could get confused and send me a child’s school book of fairy tales that is from 1945, smells like cigarettes, is falling apart, and has the name “PAULA” scrawled on several pages.
Cranky Old Weekend
This past weekend Ralph and I seem to have never stopped driving, and—for me, at least—I felt like I was driving through my slow decline into old age. Actually, Ralph drove and I held my eye, claiming that my contacts were too dried out to drive— and then I promptly fell asleep. On Saturday morning Ralph was in the city at some music convention and since he confirmed that neither Prince nor Cher would be there, I politely declined.
“Why would you even go?”
“Why would you assume Prince or Cher would be there?”
“This is a huge let down.”
“I’m sorry I’m going to a convention full of powerful music execs giving seminars on the industry and not a half time show.”
“Sounds like yawns. Have fun. I’ll stay here and clean stuff.”
I didn’t clean shit.
I made shortcakes and then I walked around in my underwear for four hours with the radio turned up as loud as I could get away with. I’m a converted clean person. It’s kind of like how nuns used to beat the left-handedness out of people by making them write with their right hands and smacking them when they did it wrong. I’ve had the dirty chased out of me by my mother who is, hands down, the cleanest woman alive. At this very moment there is an 80% chance she bleaching something within an inch of its life. She’s not OCD or anything. She’s old school Polish. And she didn’t beat me with a ruler, but she did make me feel—in the nicest way possible—that dust will send me to hell. My favorite quote from her is, “No one will ever notice if your house is clean, but they will always notice if it’s dirty.” That’s such a Twilight Zone mind fuck. I think about it almost every day when I look at my apartment. It’s been eating at my brains slowly for years and one day I will drop dead from an aneurism and the paramedics who come to pick me up won’t even notice how clean my place is.
So I try to be as clean as possible, but inside I’m still really dirty. I mean, I don’t like to be a slob, but I think my brain’s a mess and suddenly so is everything else. Then My Strange Obsession is on TV and before I know it Ralph’s home and the only time I moved in six hours was to make a bean bag chair out of the un-washed laundry. But I have cleaning bipolar disorder, because one minute the place looks like one of the underground tunnels that homeless people and rat kings live in (never Google “rat king” NEVER), and other days I hit my turbo charge button (a coffee followed quickly by a diet coke) and then I hit the apartment like Rosie from The Jetsons and Iron Man had a baby.
Rosie is a cougar.
It stays clean for like, twenty minutes.
But it looks SO GOOD in those twenty minutes.