My dear seeing eye drones, I am reading a book about how everyone is not really as busy as they claim to be. Apparently we in America have something like 30 hours of leisure time available to us each week! I don’t know who these poor saps are who a) only have 30 hours of leisure time and b) don’t even know they have 30 hours of leisure time. This is unlike my life in every way. Just look, I have the time to read a book! Or have someone read it to me, but who has time to keep score? Not most us, apparently.
I maintain an assuredly robust list of projects and obligations, plus a calendar of personal appearances and disappearances, but what is the point of living a single day on Earth if you can’t chuck most of it on a whim and roll around on the floor listening to a record as loud as you please? Go on, wiggle your toes. You want to be adoooooooooooooooored!
A recent look at just a segment of my to-do list, for your perusal:
Now, I have no idea what most of that means. This is from maybe 2 months ago. No matter, I am sure it was all very important at the time, or I wouldn’t have written it down, right?
Is the world a worse place because I failed to launch a Snapchat suicide hotline staffed by the remaining members of TLC at Sea World? Or because I failed to write a self-help book about how building materials and quiet contemplation lead to enlightenment? Maybe you’re all just gagging for my panda porn script treatment! I think further down that list I was supposed to go to CVS. Did I go? Who knows.
And this isn’t even my work to-don’t list, which goes more like “File the files, I guess. Write a deck, or not. Get around to that email, or wait until it is no longer relevant. Put that wine bottle in the recycling bin, unless you were going to make a lamp or something.”
Time-pressed masses, the first step to opting out of busyness is recognizing the value of complete absurdity. The second step is inventing time travel. The third step is
It’s Tough Love Thursday over here. During a commercial break in the surgery show I like so much, I caught two seconds of Dr. Phil’s oversized maw saying “You’ve really got to pull your head out!” I never found out whom he was addressing, so I will assume “all of us.” So I switched back to surgery, pondering this message from our next President of the United States, and whaddya know, they were pulling a head out on that show, too! It’s like God is talking to me.
OK, God is talking to me. He keeps sending me a bat. I can’t be sure if it’s the same bat every time, but they all certainly share the same accusatory aloofness. God also said to order pizza. God frowns on poor life decisions, like smoking crack and having children with people you don’t like. God approves of putting thought into one’s hairstyle and good fuel economy. God said to start a spaceship religion, but I only got halfway through filling out the non-profit tax forms. I wonder how the Lutherans managed? Those things are complex.
God also provided me with a handy list of things to talk about on internet “blogs.”
1. What have you eaten lately?
2. What do you plan to eat in the future?
3. Read any good NYT articles?
4. How’s the weather? Do you have any thoughts on how the weather is?
5. What are your terrible, boring hobbies?
6. Do you have a child? Is it developmentally on schedule?
7. Date much?
8. What gives you the damn right?
9. Isn’t Michael Jackson strange?
10. Pets. You must have pets, a well-adjusted person like you.
I made a “to do” list the other day, titled “Things hanging over my head.” It started out innocently enough.
1. Roll over errant retirement accounts from two jobs ago, which involves contacting people in jail
2. Finish wedding thank you notes, now that “the gift too heavy to mail” has arrived
3. Purchase more attractive filing cabinet, file random pieces of paper
4. More fucking laundry
It devolved from there.
5. Figure out life’s “special purpose”
6. Purchase first home in a state where a shitty ranch is still 450k
7. Get own TV show
8. Reproduce, or not
9. Vomitola book deal
10. Get job, any crappy job
11. Stop occasional weeping fits, they tax delicate undereye skin
12. Give up on all of the above and purchase Baskin Robbins franchise
13. Figure out what to make for dinner
These are in no particular order, but you get the idea. Most logically, we would get the book deal before the TV show. I’m just saying. You know where to find us.
This is my roomie S. at our impromptu karaoke party on Saturday. I tear up when he sings I’m Not in Love. Even with the pornorific pencil moustache.
Last night one of the greatest rock bands ever was in our neighborhood. The first time I ever had a psychedelic snack, I was watching the video for Under the Milky way when they kicked in. I have not been the same ever since. Which is why I had to do a urine test when I applied for a job at a movie theater. Don’t worry, I always carry a spare. Oh but they still got it. Marty informed us that he has so much talent and charisma, it was bound to ooze onto the first two rows and coagulate there. At one point he needed a stool to support the weight of his genius. WE LOVE MARTY!
I quit my job. But I got another. I am going home to watch Bartleby.
Here are some more things that ROCK:
1. Leaving for sunny Berlin in a week-ish.
2. Orange Julius
3. Going to the roller rink this weekend.
4. Starsky and Hutch!!!
18. If you can read this, you aren’t dead.
16. Venti Latte
15. Doin’ the Butt
14. Finding out that someone else who isn’t you just got fired/demoted/a bad perm.
13. The number 13
12. Swivel chairs
11. STIFF, A book on the interesting lives of cadavers.
10. Cardigans with “Lambchop” stitched to the shoulder (you should all feel good about this)
9. Anticipation of Starsky and Hutch, the Movie.
8. The Miss Gothic Massachusetts competition
7. Andy Gibb’s smile
6. Someone probably admires you.
5. Lunch dates with ex-Mormons
4. Electric pencil sharpener
3. The Microscopic Robots of the Future
2. Sun rises
1. A new little sister!
(for those of you keeping score at home, I have a potential little sister through the Big Sister program. I am going to meet her soon! Until then, I am obligated to keep her identity confidential. Stay tuned!)
I am once again a germy mess! I should be quarantined, in one of those rooms with the built in black rubber gloves. That way, someone could reach in safely and apply cold compresses to my fevered brow. Luckily, the wireless access extends to the bedroom. Once I am well, I am still not leaving the bed.
– People’s Choice would be a great name for a Chinese restaurant.
– The hawks that live along the river bank have figured out that we have a cat to eat, and they inch closer to the deck every day. They are practically pressing their beaks against the storm door now.
– I’m hungry, why does no one bring me food? Just a little Kraft dinner? Bastards. I give and I give.
In other news, the baby shower for a relative is a week away. People are pestering me by asking what they can bring. So I thought of assigning things I need around the house anyway. “Um, you can bring trash bags and dish soap.” Or maybe “The baby needs a massage gift certificate, or a tasty bottle of rioja.”
It’s Friday the Thirteenth, and as you can see, Charlie Brown is about to get bollocked by a tribesman. I guess because it is also Black History Month.
We here at Vomitola like to reserve special days like these for taking stock. So here is a handy checklist on how we are doing:
Job: Lambchop (1) ; ClamShandy (0)
Marriages: Lambchop (1, failed); Clamshandy (1, still good)
Children: Lambchop (ha!); Clamshandy (hmmm…)
Friends: Tons, thanks!
Cocktails: The Maryann and Ginger for both of us please!
Chicken Sandwich: Lambchop (1); ClamShandy (still waiting on that info.)
I have lost a day in there somewhere. Really. I spent all of yesterday believing it was tues. And was hopelessly unable to count or determine how many days had passed since sunday without getting up and looking at my desktop calendar. It just goes to show you, a day without a blog is like a broken pencil. Pointless.
Its all about self-improvement, though. Yesterday i learned how to purge an eggplant! (it does not mean what you think it does. thanks to Stu for the scrummy link!)
It has been pointed out to me that this Blog is rather lacking in personal information. I, who get to spend all day being me, am not sure this is a deficit. But ever ready to please, here is a List of the Top Ten Things I Hate That are In My Closet:
10. The punk rock belt I am no longer punk rock enough for.
9. The tube top with the picture of the dog on it. (I was with you, Lickety, when I bought this- please explain!)
8. Underwear that is only fit to be bled upon.
7. Yards of leopard fur that I am going to “do something with”.
5. That silvery dress that looks so pretty on the hanger but makes my hips look like airport terminals.
4. Moths (i really do HATE them, scourge, but it’s too dull an item to occupy the top spot)
3. The unfathomable tangle of run, colored stockings.
2. The pink feather boa that Sheds.(I got rid of it on another continent and still get greeted by a puff of feathers when i open the door)
1. That stinky corpse.
Top Tens are all about payoff, aren’t they?