Clearly I need a karmic tune-up. Therefore I sent several emails apologizing to people I’ve been avoiding.
Dear you, I am writing to say that I’m sorry for not touching base again about your client’s project. It sounded tedious and terrible, and I am sure you are a terrible person to work with as well. I trust you’ve found other options in my absence. Good riddance. Yours, Licketysplit.
Er. At least that was the subtext. And I would not really say “touching base.” That was just for effect.
I also volunteered to teach underprivileged children things. The program director responded enthusiastically, so this looks like a go. I am trying to figure out what underprivileged children might like to learn. They can teach me how to fashion a convincing shiv, and I can show them how to organize the extra buttons and thread you get with garments. I think I am going to have them write about their dumb lives, because who doesn’t like writing about his or her dumb life? They already do it all over the sides of buildings. Adorable urchins! Adorable!
I am also cleaning the house and doing the laundry, all by my lonesome. I gave Zellweger a whole week off. She’s in Tijuana. I hope she can hitchhike back in time to drop off the dry cleaning. There are flies circling that pile. For some reason, I just thought that last line in a Katharine Hepburn voice. Flies. Circling that pile. There are.
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.
So the replies to our ad in search of an attractive and emotionally competent roommate have been pouring in. My favorite by far is a fellow who is coming over tonight who swears he is “hotter than Lionel’s nut huggin’ panties on an LA night”. The mind chafes!
I am not sure that I will live to make this appointment, however, as satan himself has taken to dumping snow onto Boston. But i am not worried, I believe the Patriot Act defines an excess of weather as “eco-terror”.
In other news, people that aren’t me are still dreadfully tedious. I take care to remind you all that the poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to see himself and others, as he wishes. So thought Baudelaire, anyway. I implore you to employ wit as though your brain were more than just a vegetable capable of computing your taxes. Don’t make small art. And above all, Make Life Beautiful!