I don’t have time to write anything new right now, so I was going through old posts I’d left as drafts, trying to find something funny I could steal from myself. It's like making a sandwich out of the old stuff in the back of the refrigerator. No one wants that sandwich, but you’re hungry and you get halfway through it before you’re so consumed with self-loathing you have to puke.
I found this list, from when I had the flu in December. I have no idea what most of this means, but man, I wish I remembered. I should always write while heavily medicated:
- being goth without the makeup
- Vicks vapo-rub
- parents’ wedding night
- eating bacon, Onion party, poker party
- don’t puke on all these grandmas
- crying in the cab
- ordering a ginger ale at the Algonquin – shirley temple, phonebook to sit on, some crayons
What? Why can’t you have a fever when you’re well? I guess you can, and it’s called drugs.
I also found this conversation snippet from January:
B: “And then I realized, my workout playlist is all Eminem and Destiny’s Child and Dwight Yoakam.”
N: “Wow! It’s like the seven people I want to meet in heaven, all right there on your iPod.”
And just this one line, from last spring:
“I will now fly back to Dork Mountain on the back of a bat-winged lady dragon and await my next mission.”—Brian Byrne
And some thoughts on candy bars, from October 2005:
I spent $2.49 on a Toblerone, a candy bar that I always seem to forget that I don’t particularly care for, one that as far as I can tell is made of third-rate chocolate and ground-up baby teeth, but has some pretty good packaging in the same bright cozy colors I associate with my kitchen so some part of my brain tells me time and time again that I should try eating one.
And this almost-complete post, from late May 2006:
I am broke right now. Broke like I cannot afford to buy a stick of gum, assuming that some questionable merchant somewhere is selling individual sticks of gum. It’s my own fault, because I forgot to figure in two major bills when doing my budget this month, and also because my monthly budgets are not so much numbers on spreadsheets, but shimmery ideas that fly around inside my head like hibernating unicorns. This is a constant source of disappointment to my financial planner father, who asks me questions about my 401k or Roth IRA and I’m like, “Yes, eleventeen. Negative three. Colorado.”
Anyway, Cingular Wireless service representative Kevin called me yesterday to let me know that I owed them $59 and if I did not pay them RIGHT THEN my service would be interrupted. I thought that was a little harsh, since I’ve never missed a payment before, but whatever, I don’t run in these circles normally. I told Kevin I could not pay them RIGHT THEN, but I could and would pay them Thursday, when I got paid myself, and the minute I said it I realized that was probably exactly what people who don’t pay their bills say. Kevin, why are you trying to shame me? If you interrupt my service, I guess the only thing I’ll miss out on is some drunken text messages, but when you’re not currently sweating anyone, even those aren’t much fun. I wake up the next day, read my Sent messages, and am not even embarrassed. Instead I’m like, “Ha. I’m funny. To me.” So you can’t even strip me of that, Kev.
This is how our conversation ended:
Kevin: And is this address still correct?
Kevin: And I see you have a birthday coming up. Miss Brown, I’d like to wish you a happy birthday from Cingular Wireless.
I’ll have you know I DID pay that bill, and I DID have a happy birthday, NO thanks to Cingular Wireless.
That’s all I got right now. I am hurtling towards my book deadline, not showering and taking pills, like Judy Garland at the end. Or maybe most of her life, I don’t know. I’ve got the fever. I’m eating the sandwich. See you on the other side, Mama.