In a Funk

Ralph and I had a pretty unusual weekend of flops. Every once in a while we get in the mood where we just want to nap, and we sort of mope around and can’t decide what would be fun. We took roughly seventeen naps last weekend, one while we were halfway out of the bed as we tried to get up. It was like an episode of Too Cute: Sloth Edition. Except we aren’t nearly as cute.

“I think I’m building some muscle these days,” I said on Saturday, as I popped the recliner on the couch.
“If you want to build more muscle then you need protein,” said Ralph.
“Let’s get steak for dinner!”
“I walked right into that one. I’ll go make a reservation.”
We couldn’t settle on a place so we just took whatever one could fit us in on a busy Saturday night.
After I changed my outfit fifteen times, we headed to a really great steak place that is near us. It’s an expensive place that’s hard to get into, so imagine my surprise when we were seated in a little private booth with curtains and candles off to the side and away from all of the tables.
“Ralph! Oh my gosh! This is so romantic. How did you convince them to give this to us?”
“Uhh…I didn’t. This was all that was left….” This when he made the connection. “Oh, I should have lied just now, huh?”
That’s Ralph. He’s always stumbling into good luck and also very bad at lying. I love him for both those reasons.
Maybe a sweet dinner out would be just what we needed to shake us out of our funk.
We couldn’t decide what sauce have with our steak because we were still in a weird mood, so we just got all of them. The dinner was amazing and romantic. It involved key lime creme brûlée and Ralph letting me eat the cherry out of his cherry soda. Cute stuff.

Unfortunately, Ralph and I very rarely eat red meat and now when we do we suffer a form of stomachular (that sounds right) wrath unlike any other. By the time we got home we were both a little green in the face. I poured us both ginger ales with Tums chasers and we sat down for the next hour and tried to decide what movie to watch.
“How about The Artist?” said Ralph.
“Oh I have been wanting to see that forever!” I said.
The first real decision we made and it burst in flames because The Artist is only available to BUY for like $15 on Comcast, the PS3 store, Amazon rentals, and basically any place in the universe that you can get a movie.
“UGH Geez.”We searched through movie after movie trying to find something that would hit the spot just as well, but nothing was working.
“How about Cabin in the Woods?” I said.
“YOU watch Cabin in the Woods? Sorry, but there’s not enough space in my asshole for you to crawl in there and hide for the next two hours.”
“If I promise not to hide inside you can we watch it?”
“It’s made by some of the most notorious horror film makers ever and they all said it was their best film.”
“I know! Everyone says it’s so good! That’s why I want to see it. It’s kind of funny, too. Like Scream.”
“Like Scream? What is the last horror movie you’ve seen? The Lorax?”
“NO! …The Ring.”
“Great. I can’t wait until you get to see how much scary movies have worsened in TEN YEARS.”

“You know what. Fuck you. Now we’re watching It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown.”
“Umm…no. But I could go for a cheesy Halloween movie.”
We sat down and started to go through the Halloween movie listings on the On Demand.
“Halloween Town. YES. Picked it,” said Ralph.
“You’re kidding me, right? That’s going to be way worse than you remember it.”
“Not as bad as Return to Halloween Town. THERE ARE LIKE FIVE OF THEM. Oh my god, who made five of these movies? And they’re free!”
“Wooow. They should cost so much more than free.”
Ralph pressed play on Halloween High and then stopped it twenty seconds later.
“Just kidding. I can’t do this. If we’re going to watch a lame Halloween movie we should turn it into a drinking game.”
“I couldn’t feel much more sick right now, so….ok.”
Ralph continued to flick through the movie choices.
“OH. MY. DELORIAN. Christopher Lloyd is starring in a movie called When Good Ghouls Go Bad.”
“Deep end, meet Ralph.”
“It’s an adaptation of an R.L. Stine book. It’s perfect.”
“Press play before I change my mind.”
“No. Actually, I’m going to watch this on my own time. It looks the father of all B movies and I don’t want you ruining it by whining about it.”
“You’re going to pass up the opportunity to watch a movie who’s cover is Christopher Lloyd dressed like a ghost and making his most eyebrow-y face?”

“Yes. With some heartbreak. How about Hocus Pocus? I never saw it.” Ralph pulled my iPad closer to him and googled something. “Look! There’s a pre-existing drinking game. You drink whenever someone sings, says ‘virgin,’ says something 90s or whenever Sarah Jessica Parker flirts with an underage boy.”
“Says something 90s? What if the movie opens up with ‘Push it, push it real good?’”
“I don’t think that it will.”
“If it does though, we should drink the whole bottle.”
“I’m not driving you to the emergency room because Salt and Pepper is on the Hocus Pocus soundtrack.”
“So you admit that there’s a chance that they are.”
“Ughhhh. I’m going to go pour us some shots.”
Ralph came back with a tray of shots and we started the movie. Spoiler alert: It did not begin OR END with a Salt and Pepper song. It opened up with fog rolling over a darkened field.
“Ooo this is kind of creepy,” I said and snuggled closer to Ralph.
“THIS IS HOCUS POCUS. You are the ONLY person in the history of the world to be afraid of Hocus Pocus. And you wanted to watch Cabin in the Woods. I would have had to have a colonoscopy to get you out of me.”
“Love you.”
We lasted about eight minutes before we had taken every shot and nearly fell asleep from boredom. I actually did go to bed at one point and Ralph watched the movie through to the end. He said it was so bad that after it was over he turned it off and five minutes later he actually thought, “I should watch the end of Hocus Pocus.” Forgetting that he had JUST WATCHED IT.

The next day really only got worse.

Sometimes I get the terrible idea that Domino’s is a good idea. What I actually wanted was McDonald’s. You may not know this about me, but McDonald’s is my Achilles’ heel (under cankles, no doubt). When my mom was pregnant with me all she could keep down was salty Mcd’s. My dad said that he was convinced that I was going to come out in a styrofoam container. Once I was born she took me every Friday to get the new toy in the Happy Meal. My collection of mini Barbies was beyond epic. And that’s the story of how I died of childhood obesity.

Naw, I made it. But to this day if you bring me a packet of McDonald’s sweet and sour sauce I will kiss you full on the mouth. One time a packet of it burst inside my purse and I cried—a little about the ruined purse and mostly about the wasted sauce.

ANYWAY I was craving McDonald’s, but only ten minutes before I had stolen every dryer in the entire building to do my laundry and I needed to stick around so that I could guard it like a troll. People often open the dryers and take your stuff out while its wet to put their own stuff in. It’s because the people in my apartment are inordinately cruel and if I ever catch one of them actually doing this to me I will ram a flaming Hot Pocket into their corneas.

Because I had to haunt the halls and check on my damp underwear, I figured I would just order some Domino’s.
Enormous mistake, and I swear to you, Internet, over this Wikipedia Internet Bible, that I will never order from Domino’s again. I’m sure that if you have ordered from Domino’s before then you know that they now have this little Domino’s Pizza Tracker that pops up and shows you the progress of your food. As disconcerting as it is to know that someone named “Chaz” is touching my food, it’s still kind of exciting—especially when it says that it’s out for delivery. Our food went out for delivery at 5:40. We live ten minutes from Domino’s. At 6:25 I started to freak out from hanger (hungry anger).

There is no way that a pizza that was touched by Chaz and then sat for 45 minutes could taste good. I called the Domino’s and the person on the phone sounded roughly fourteen.
“Where is my food, for the love of god?”
“It’s on it’s way.”
“It’s been on its way for 45 minutes. This is ridiculous.”
“The only way I can find out where it is, MISS, is if I call the driver. DO YOU WANT ME TO CALL THE DRIVER?”
“Interesting how you make that courtesy sound a lot like a threat.”
“What?”
“No. Bye.”
I hung up the phone and turned to Ralph with a pout on my face.
“It’s probably a busy night, Hun. It’s okay. I’ll heat up the oven.”
“Ralph! You can’t re-heat up pizza that already tastes like garbage.”
“If it tastes like garbage then why are we ordering it?”
“I DON’T KNOW BUT NOW I’M SO HUNGRY I CANNOT THINK. I AM BEYOND THINKING.”
“Okay, well don’t take it out on the delivery guy. It’s not his fault. It’s probably best if I answer the door. You’re Hulk-ing out.”

About ten minutes later Ralph and I watched the pizza guy mosey up to our building. He was listening to an iPod with headphones and walking at the speed with which someone would walk towards, say, a bathtub full of anal leakage.
“OH MY GOD I HATE THAT GUY,” said Ralph.
“Welcome to the dark side.”

TEN WHOLE MINUTES LATER . I’m not kidding you. It took him ten minutes to get up one flight of stairs and we met him in the freaking hallway. My pizza was missing a topping and it was ice cold and even though I ordered two extra sauces for my cheesy bread there were none at all.
“Please just tell me that you have sauce in the car,” I said to the guy.
“No I don’t. You have to call the manager.”
I have to call the manager…to get a packet of sauce. Let that sink in, readers. It may not seem like a big deal to you, but cheesy bread without sauce is just cheese on bread. It’s not deconstructed pizza like it should be. You know how you shouldn’t try to touch a dog when it’s eating because it will bite you? If you mess with my food I will bite you. And if you are ignorant in the process, I will bite you even harder.

I ordered a buffalo chicken pizza (don’t judge what others do when they are starving and have Internet access, ok?) but they forgot the buffalo hot sauce so it was just cold, plain chicken on a cold pizza. I mourn the poor, sad chicken that had to turn into that pizza. I really hope he is a happy, angel chicken with Jesus now because his life was a fucking waste thanks to Domino’s.

I called the manager before Ralph even fully closed the door on the delivery guy.
“Hi. I just got an ice cold pizza and no sauce with my cheesy bread. Can I just ask why your delivery guy doesn’t keep extra sauce in the car on the off chance that it’s forgotten  and he has to drive all the way back for it while I wait?”
“Well, first of all—we had a lot of deliveries tonight and we don’t bring just YOUR pizza, so that’s why it took so long and that’s why it’s cold.”
“Yes, I am aware of how pizza delivery works. I don’t think that you actually personally bring me my food and then go home.”
“And we don’t let the drivers keep sauce in the car because they end up going bad and then….” (Sidenote: we later read the side of the sauce. Know when it expires? Never. It never expires. It’s like a packet of ketchup. There’s probably an expiration date, but you’ll die before you ever see it.)
“Okay that story is lovely, but I’m going to stop you there because I’m too starving to really care. I didn’t get what I paid for, so just refund some of my money and we can end it there.”
“I can’t do that.”
This where I handed the phone to Ralph because I was so pissed and he was noticeably calmer.
“All we can do is re-make the entire order and bring it out to you again,” I heard the person say.
“Seriously??” said Ralph.
“Yes. Is that what you want?” Again, it really sounded more like a threat.
“Is that what we want?” Ralph asked me.
I was in a tizzy because all I ACTUALLY wanted was someone to say, “We forgot your sauce and ruined your pizza? I’m sorry. Here’s a coupon for a free one in the future.” Or some shit. So from across the room I said, “She never said she was SORRY. Yeah, make it again. I don’t fucking care. If that’s all I can get, then FINE.”
“Please make it again,” said Ralph. “Also, not to be rude but all we really wanted to hear is that you were sorry for the mistake. I feel like I’m infringing on your time and I know your job is really hard. I totally respect that. But we really are just looking for what we paid for.”
“I’ll send four sauces,” said the manager. Clearly not even a little sorry at all, ever. Ralph and I were the only ones who were sorry. We spent the next hour feeling really guilty, both for the terrible food we were eating and for getting the extra food.
“I hate being mean,” I said.
“I know, baby. but you’re so good at it. You are literally a black belt in mean.”
“I don’t want to be!”
“I know you’re all fluffy on the inside. Like, once you’ve eaten.”
“I just wanted a coupon or something. Not the WHOLE order over again. We can’t even eat this order because we’re so sad.”
“I know. Plus it’s like, ‘We can’t give you your money back—but we can give you a new order that we all spit and jizzed on.”
“Oh god. Do you think that’s true?”
“Yes, yes I do. We’ll just give the guy a really good tip and be done with this ok?”

An hour later our new food showed up. It was cold and there was only one sauce. The other three may have been forgotten or, more likely, it was a final “fuck you” to us.

“What are we supposed to do with all of this extra food?” I said.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s a shame there is no one homeless outside.”
“That’s definitely the first time that’s ever been said.”
“Maybe we could give it to the squirrels.”
“Are you crazy?? We can’t give them more energy to make more squirrel babies. I think they’re already building an army. “
“Well we can’t give it to our neighbors! We haven’t done anything nice to them in two years. They’ll probably think we’re poisoning them.”
“Yeah, plus there’s the whole you spying on them to see if you need to call Child Protective Services thing.”
“LOOK, no kid should cry that much in a day. I thought there might be something wrong. Turns out she’s just a brat and they don’t believe in punishing her. If there was a Parent Protective Services, then I would call that.”
“Yeah….so…. I guess we should freeze this?”
“In case we want to dip into some bad feelings later?”
“We’re never eating Domino’s again, deal?”
“Deal.”
“Now go pick a movie.”
“I pick Cabin in the Woods.”

That was the peak of our funk, but it still had to taper off into the abyss that is Sunday night/returning to work tomorrow sadness. And on top of that, we managed to pick the worst movie ever made to watch.

We ended up—and I really don’t know how this happened—a movie called Suing the Devil. Well, maybe I do know how it happened. Malcolm McDowell is one of Ralph’s all time favorite actors and he played the devil in the movie, and even though it looked terrible, I was feeling bad and let him order it. Turns out the movie is completely unwatchable. One of the lines is literally: ” You know Jesus? I owe him BIG.” It’s said with complete seriousness. That’s part of the argument for suing the devil. I’m not against some good Christian movies by any means. I’m just against bad writing and the tiny flames that they put in Malcolm McDowell’s eyes. I fell asleep at 9:07 p.m.

At 9:40 Ralph woke me up.

“We need to get out of this funk.”

“Agreed,” I said.

“Let’s start over—back to a time when you didn’t order Domino’s and I didn’t order two of the worst movies ever made.”

“Sounds good to me I said.”

And that was the end of the funk. We didn’t travel back in time and undo our horrible weekend choices, but we did watch a good movie about time travel (as Ralph would have it)—Hot Tub Time Machine was on, just in time for us to get in enough laughs to be okay with starting another week of work. Can’t ask for more than that :)