Thursday, March 20, 2008

feet made of gaping mouths ...

* today's everything bagal and egg sandwich included chives. CHIVES!
[sometimes i make very important meals, and forget to use the leftover herbs.}

* i hunker down with the most recent epi of "one tree."
[every week, on tuesday, my internet partner in tv-show geekery laurie posts some sort of almost "one tree hill" spoiler as her facebook status. my interest is usually so picqued before i go to bed that i spring out of bed early, start chuck's car, point it toward the post office, hand him his travel mug filled with coffee and push him out the door. "but it's only 10 a.m.!" he tells me. "you'll work overtime and you'll like it!" i say. "and mail this for me!"]

* were i to try to describe this episode using only my most basic physical responses, it would look like this: goose bumps, goose bumps, weeping, weeping, weeping, weeping, weeping, anger, weeping! goose bumps, goose bumps. then finally anger because the show was cut off by some inane something involving a meth addict's tonsilectomy and i never saw if dan strangled that hussy former nanny in that dirty hotel room.

* i buy hippie shampoo and conditioner from whole foods. why? because it makes my head's pores feel like each individual hole is eating lemony-flavored halls menthol cough drops.

* i visit toonses, the orphaned cat. since our last meeting, he has had diarreah in close proximity to the litter box, and i've received another new yorker. since i'm in the neighborhood, i look for my tax information and my insurance card. i find half of the former, all of the latter.

* i buy a book, stopping by the music department to visit the rock star, see if she wants to gin margarita the shit out of each other later tonite, only to eventually stare awkwardly at the man working and grunt "amy here?" "she's off," he replies. i buy a book.

* i wander the dregs of the mall with a huge quandry: i want legging, but they only sell them at wet seal. wet seal, for the uninitiated, is for whores. if i were a person who washed my hands with any sort of frequency, i'd be in a full lather before i left the store. i stop by sears and am amazed that this world exists beyond christmas time when i'm looking for a place to get a gift certificate for my dad. and, true story, sears is where i got my eighth grade graduation dress. i felt great shame. whatever. i wander past the photo studio to h&r block. i'm going to let them do my taxes this year. prompted only by the fact that i got a letter last week from the IRS asking me to stop doing math on my fingers. we set up an appointment. later i browse the mrs. field's counter, treating the chocolate this and thats just to give my pms something to look at. leaving the mall, i realize i've seen a lot of really sad things.

* i get my oil changed. when i see that they've finally employed a woman, i want to joke with her, call her "alex" and make "flashdance" references. i'm showing my age. the cashier can't stop smiling. his customer-service face bugs. and i leave surprised that i'm not flogged for negligence. i consider the cost of an air filter to be my pentance.

* at target i find the right shorts in the wrong sizes. i find the wrong shorts in the right size. socks. a new sports bra. i've become a champion-brand loyalist. later, i will be dressed in head-to-toe in champion attire. i like the idea of me in the ad, fresh from a run, my gut circled in red with the words "i like cheese" written on it with a red sharpie. walking through the store, i almost drop the socks and spill my water bottle right by the greeting cards. i flag down a target employee to clean it up. later, about four employees are gathered around the scene of the crime, one woman hovering with a warning sign dangling over my mess. this is probably why you shouldn't BYOB at target.

* i'm watching an original lifetime movie starring tori spelling. admittedly, it's a little scary. trying on my new shorts, fast forwarding through a commercial, i hear my phone vibrating. i run to it, but its not my phone. i run to the bedroom to see if chuck left his phone at home. but, no, we've already texted today ... i check his old phone to see if it was doing some who-do-voodoo-shit residual. it's completely dead. the vibrating phone? no idea. a man hiding in the closet? very casually i pack my gym bag and back out the front door, freaked out, but somewhat quelled by the fact that I'M NOT DEAD YET, MR. VIBRATING PHONE! if he really wanted me dead, he'd have done it already. this is cocky talk in my head from when i'm safely in the car. from BEFORE i realize i'd left my purse inside. i creep back into the apartment with jcrew on the phone. i can't think of a better witness-by-cell-phone to my untimely strangulation. i leave unscathed, but the apartment smells like oranges and i don't remembe either of us eating one. ... this is a mugger with a citrus deficiency.

* i go for one long run. i'd love to tell you about ole OCD on the treadie next to me ... but this person wrote themself into their own post entirely. stay tuned and i'll tell you about breaches in treadmill etiquette. [hint: airborn sweat. airborn snot. armpits.] mostly i'm thinking about what i'm going to do when i'm done with the run, now that an orange-eating closet hider is in the apartment.]

* i get "the wire," more bagals and pizza. this time fannie gets to monitor my cell phone death knell. she stays on the line as i wander through every cranny of the apartment.

* chuck secures the premises when he gets home.

* on tuesday night i said: "i think we should go out tomor-" and chuck cut me off like and screamed "yes!" he then told me that i hadn't gone out since feb. 24. "how do you know that?" i asked. "i checked your blog," he said.

*we go to the brewhouse. i'm craving the fire beer. dthe red star lounge is pumping with a techno light show. "take me to the hippies, stat!" i beg, longing for the comfort of unkempt beards and home brews instead of sequins and ace of base remixes.

* the brewhouse is having a festival of sorts. a strong smell of petoulli, wild rice, folk music and hops fills my nostrils. we walk to carmody, instead.

* it takes us three drinks to loosen up. by then it is last call. a last call that was not announced and that i do not was called legally. we cab home. i can't walk. i'm on negative calories for the day. i can only walk home if the route is paved in pizza and my feet are made of gaping mouths.

* first we listen to music, then watch the moment of truth. we close the night with an episode of scoobie doo. [we tivo scoobie doo.]

5 comments:

Miss Kate said...

Christa!!! You don't need to PAY H&R block, you can go to their website and do your taxes for $20! Do you think the H&R Block people are CPAs who have tax code memorized? Heck no. Many tax accountants use the same exact computer programs that consumers can buy at Target.

And if it makes you feel any better, I received one of those letters from the IRS for doing the old-school paper returns for one of my friends. When I was an accountant.

feistyMNgirl said...

great post. i can see the lights of barnes and noble, smell the empty-closet smell of sears, taste the patchouli from the hippies, and picture two 20-something duluthians slapping their big-mouthed feet home from the bar...

can you please write a novel, and make it like 1,000 pages of THIS?

L Sass said...

You haven't gone out since 2/24? That makes me feel slightly better about my lame life. Thanks!

Beverly said...

I'm not one to pick a fight, but I say, don't listen to an accountant who tells you that taxes are easy enough to do yourself. Cause, hello? She's an accountant. I am not kidding when I say that just getting my taxes ready for an accountant this year made me cry.

Laurie said...

I can't believe your Tivo denied you the awesomeness of the ending of OTH. It was so so good.