My waking life is much more satisfying than my dream life. But this might only be due to the poor quality of my dreams lately. Last night I dreamed about eating a bowl of cereal. This took about a million years. It was Grape Nuts! I don’t even eat cereal. So tedious. Take a bite, and then another bite, and if one is having fruit along with the cereal, one must worry about ratios and golden rectangles and cosines. It is too much.
But sometimes the universe just tosses a delectable bon-bon right into my mouth, Jolene. No, more like an everlasting gobstopper. People humiliate themselves without me lifting a finger. I complain, and the problems solve themselves. My lips to God’s ear. God said to have Kraft dinner again today, but I told God this would be directly contradicting Jessica Simpson. We have struck a solid bargain with tuna right out of the can and a martini. I’m kidding about the martini, Lord. I don’t drink until Happy Hour, and that is not now.
Dear Ask the Internet*:
A friend keeps sending photos of her child. Her child looks crosseyed. Should I ask what the hell his problem is? I really wonder. You’d think he would have grown out of it by now.
Signed, an Observant Jerk
Sorry, Google doesn’t know enough about what is wrong with your friend’s kid yet.
Yours, the Internet
Tomorrow: Find out what the internet thinks that stuff stuck in your keyboard is.
*Snaps to Lisa, who also likes to tell people what is wrong with them.
Oh mercy and muskrat love. I am nearly at the finish line in my race to wear the same pair of shoes every day this summer. Of course I count summer as June 1 to August 31. Meteorological summer. Hey, at least I’m wearing shoes at all.
I’ve got God talking to me again, and you all know what that means, and Jessica Simpson told me to start doing squats. So I started doing squats, and my butt hurts. She is right to tell me to improve myself. I am glad the celebrities of this nation are looking out for me. It only hurts because I am weak and useless.
Anyway, God said to have Kraft dinner for lunch, and I can’t argue. He helped me find my book of stamps. That’s more love than some parents show their children in a lifetime.
My own mother recently let me know she is reading a book that reminds her of our life in the woods. She said “There is a description of drowning a rat in the toilet, and lot’s [sic!] of references to Green Acres and about every backyard having a willow tree. (Ours would have had a willow tree except the deer ate it twice so it was still pretty small when we left the country. It was the tree we planted to commemorate Cara’s birth.)”
She has such flair, and she doesn’t even know it. The rat in the toilet was my discovery. I was about six. I just opened the lid, and there he was, swimming around all beady-eyed. We never figured out how he came to arrive in the toilet, but there was a complicated theory involving the septic tank and a ventilation pipe. My dad held him under the water with the fire tongs until he stopped swimming. He was much too big to flush.
* attended most lackluster holiday parade ever. Floats included an ambulance, a snow plow, a city bus with the sign set to “happy holidays,” and a Toyota Tercel that apparently made a wrong turn into the parade route.
* could not look away from Nick & Jessica holiday special. SO GOOD. Jessica emoted like a well-meaning special education teacher, and it was truly mesmerizing to watch her lick a pole.
* saw Pixies. Damn, damn, damn.
* was vomited on.
* am only 357,000 extra calories from being morbidly obese!
* did not die of cancer, although a friend’s husband did. same friend’s parents were sucked out of a plane a few years ago. la la la, i have no problems. shut up shut up shut up.