Somewhere between Bell's Palsy and death
Saturday, April 07, 2012
Blame SBrown for this one

Man, to think at this same time three weeks ago, I was sitting on a real live deck (not my puny little balcony) in a real live backyard at an undisclosed location in a pair of basketball shorts and a tie-dye while my friends’ hound guarded the perimeter (and when I say “guarded the perimeter, I really mean peeing on everything he hadn’t already peed on twice—prednisone sucks), and now I’m .... not. I got to grill out for my charge and me, and people, I GOT TO TAKE A SHOWER LONGER THAN A SLIGHTLY LONGER WHORE BATH. Do you know how long it had been since I’d done that!?? And my blowdryer didn’t overheat as fast, either. Perhaps there’s something to the whole home ownership thing. Today I spent ... sleeping, which is equally as awesome, really, but also has me on guard because between the sobbing I’d been bitching about all week and need for copious amounts of sleep, the cook at the restaurant better not have gotten me sick, is all I’m saying.

I’ve been instructed by one SBrown that I must tell the story of my first laser hair-removal treatment—no no, not THAT kind of hair because a) NO, and b) the Groupon that allowed me to purchase this dreamprocedure didn’t cover that business. And anyway, what I went for is, at least to me, much more embarrassing: my face, or more specifically, what I refer to as my “meatbeard,” much to the dismay of my sister, who thinks that’s the grossest descriptor ever, but I (and other people, thankfully) think is hiLARIous.

So like I said, Sbrown wanted to hear all the gories—except there weren’t really any, other than I had to put gauze in my mouth to cover my gums and had to put cotton pads over my eyes beFORE the blonde, fuzzy-bunny, 20-ish year-old aesthetician strapped the solid-metal tanning-booth goggles over my eyes. She then spread ultrasound goo on the area, kicked up the jams to whatever voltage felt like a rubberband snapping, and it was all done in less than five minutes. I’ll go through it five more times, the end. The REAL bitch of it was that I was a mere five minutes from the greatest mall in the world ever (A FREAKING TESLA DEALERSHIP, PEOPLE!), but I had to be back for a finance meeting, so I didn’t get to go. Next time, you’ll have to pull me out of Nordie’s shoe department. Mark my words.

Meanwhile, chatted recently with a familiar character ‘round these parts—because of job crap, she’s asked me not to use her name, but I’m sure you could figure it out if you’re so inclined—and she was telling me about reconnecting with a guy she dated a million years ago. She friends him on fb, they talk for a few days and everything appeared to be fine until one day, when first he was all “Hey, when you going to be on?” and then when she gets on, he hits her with the following:

I’ve been thinking a lot and I can’t think of one positive memory of you. I really don’t like you. I’m sorry I was abusive ... (something something gibberish we couldn’t quite parse) ... I don’t want to talk to you anymore.


Then he blocks her as if after that, she’s going to pursue any sort of further contact.

So naturally, that guy deserves ALL of the scorn because WHAT!?? Who the fuck reaches out to someone to tell them they don’t like them!? More than that, though, I’ve come to really not understand what possesses someone to apologize when they don’t really mean it, and by “mean it,” s/he thinks the apology’s enough in and of itself.

Self-indulgent story time, and I’ll even throw it below the fold for y’all:

It is the job of a good person to be honest. To be self-aware. To deliberately explore the fault lines of your character and try desperately to not inflict suffering in this strange, ghost-ridden world of worked and fabricated objects. Sometimes the jobs of writer and good person coincide. But more often they don’t. There are way more writers in the world than there are good people.

100 things
Info meme #1
Typelogic says I'm an INFP.
Check my weekly astrological groove here.

Give it to me, baby.

Pssst ... My birthday's Feb. 3, and I want this, and this, and this ...


The Make-Believe Oral Cancer Foundation (M-BOCF) is now accepting donations on my behalf. Won't you please help those of us who jump to hideous conclusions regarding our oral health and help me get a root canal or two!??:



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This explains that large bit of type at the top.

Tagline by Ben F'in Mollin, talking about those times you wake up still drunk from the night before.

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