Wednesday, July 28, 2010

the tea party.

i have.

this is why i hate sam's club: when standing at the helm of a cart the size of a small honda, facing pallets and pallets of shiny, glistening produce, it's hard not to be swept up in all of the life-changing possibility of those gorgeous fruits and vegetables. seriously. that shit is overwhelming. i can't even handle it. it's too much and i am too dumb to process that amount of food and folding chairs and small electronics.

when i got out of the hospital, armed with a handful of prescriptions and detailed plans and hastily scrawled lists of the myriad ways my tormentors wanted me to start getting my shit together, i was drained and weak and smelled like a wild animal, but i was really excited about the prospect of and wholly committed to this new food and drug administration. BUT. my refrigerator is typically stocked crackhead-style: two eggs, a bunch of old scallions, expired bottles of salad dressing, a box of baking soda, and three open cans of cat food. the freezer is a little better, but not much, fucking lean cuisines, ice cubes, batteries, and vodka.

so i was telling carol about all this shit i have to do and she suggested a trip to sam's club and i IMMEDIATELY said yes. even though it's not practical in any way considering my lifestyle. and, in my case, lifestyle means "i live by myself and cooking every night is annoying and leftovers make me want to die." that did not stop me, however, from purchasing 2 pounds of haricots verts, bags of frozen shrimp, two large containers of blueberries, half a dozen bell peppers, two cases of la croix, eight boxes of cheerios, bags of bananas, bushels of strawberries, a sony dvd player, and six fucking pounds of cherries. then i went to target (the grocery kind), and bought soups and almond milk and whole grain crackers and nuts and orange juice with no added sugar. my kitchen looks like an actual person might live here. it's unbelievable.

i've been cooking EVERY SINGLE DAY since i got out of the hospital, and someone really should be standing up and cheering. if you know me in real life, especially. i come home every evening, EVEN IN THIS GODFORSAKEN HEAT, and i make meals that include fresh vegetables and lean meats and no dairy. while i sweat. SOBER.

so everything is working out pretty well, i guess. i get up and blend some orange juice with frozen strawberries and bananas and blueberries, take some pills, shower, take a few other pills, then eat corn chex with almond milk. i take the lunch that i packed the night before and some healthy snacks to work, then i come home and start the process all over again.

this, to me, is worse than death. don't get me wrong, I'M DOING IT and IT'S FINE, but i fucking HATE it. this rote domesticity is the reason i can't say shit like "i want a family," because i had to literally walk away from the counter after the first hour of washing and slicing strawberries so that i could freeze them in individual snack bags for my smoothies in the morning. seriously, i was like "bitch, just slice your wrist open" as i looked down at my blue- and purple-stained fingers. this shit is MADDENING. no wonder middle-aged housewives are drowning their kids and shit. after the twelfth sliced banana baggie i almost snatched helen keller and dropped her in the toilet. it's just too much.

i can't. i just CAN'T. senam is convinced that mister wonderful is going to fall out of the sky and i'm going to have his babies (wrong) and be a wonderful parent (double wrong), but doing all of this shit for just one person is already pushing me over the edge. if i had some bastard children taking all of my shopping and chopping and preparedness for granted i would go on a killing spree. i'm serious. all of you would be DEAD the minute some ingrate husband of mine neglected to fully appreciate the time i'd spent slaving over some stupid dinner. it's killing me even now. the other night i cut and snipped and grated and made a nice salad and zucchini fritters and a stir fry to box up for lunch this week (kill me, please) and when i was done i looked around and no one was clapping or telling me what a good job i'd done and that made me mad. hmph. and seriously, if my pants weren't falling off more and more by the day i'd be seriously contemplating a little drano cocktail right now.

this morning i decided to tackle the chopping and freezing of those six pounds of cherries, because did you know that fruit can still start to go soft and bad even when you put it in the fridge? golly gee, i learn something new every day. who woulda thought? this heat gives me an attitude and i knew instantly that it was a mistake to begin such a task, but i did it. and my fingers look like they've been soaked in blood, plus i cut one clean open because i was trying to text without getting cherry juice and perspiration all over my phone and didn't watch where i was putting my free hand. FAIL.

as i was cursing my ass off and using one of my fancy dishtowels to put pressure on my gushing wound, i remembered that last night herbal tea and i decided to have a first date in the middle of the day today, because i don't meet weird dudes at night anymore. so i've had enough conversations with him at this point to no that he's a little bit of a self-important windbag (i'm trying to be polite) who, in addition to mapping his life out according to the plants and moons and stars, is really anti-government and aspires to live his life off the conventional grid. dear lord.

i'm uninterested in dudes with that approach to life for the simplest reason: BEING SELF-RIGHTEOUS IS EXHAUSTING. and listening to it makes me tired. plus, it often doesn't really mean anything. for instance, he was explaining to me how he is currently suing the government in federal court to GET HIS IDENTITY BACK (i can't) and the twisted logic and laws he was sourcing were, dare i say it?, INSANE. i can hang for a little astrology discussion, but once you start talking about dismantling your social security so that you can be a corporation unto yourself and maintain control of your own money withing the federal reserve and you don't believe in drivers licenses or registering your vehicle based on a treaty that the moors made a hundred years ago and zzZzZzzzz.

oh. i'm sorry. i think i fell asleep. what were you saying about the matrix again?

FUCK, DUDES. i just got home from the most boring lunch ever. here's some arrogant shit about me you probably could have guessed already: since i'm all smart and hilarious and shit, it is INCREDIBLY AGGRAVATING to me when someone else dominates a conversation. i'm funny, man, i SPARKLE. so sitting in a fancy restaurant across from a dude wearing a fez (you read that right) and watching his lips move as he just DIDN'T STOP TALKING about the MOST BORING SHIT EVER really almost made me cry.

first thing i noticed? SHORTS. epic failure, only made tolerable by the fact that we agreed to meet at noon on a wednesday in july. and fuck you if you think i'm a bitch, SHORTS ARE INAPPROPRIATE. i had a good mind to shake his hand and leave, but i was raised right. or something like that. so i accepted my fate and settled in for my punishment.

second? CUT-OFF SHIRT. now this i can't get over. before you start envisioning a grown man in a crop top i should amend this to say that the sleeves were cut off of his shirt. gentlemen! this is a NO! this is ABOMINABLE. i can't eat a pancake across from your armpit hair. sorry, but i just can't.

actually, i might have noticed the fez first. when you're 6'4" (hey now), the first thing people do is look up. and when i did i almost choked. you know what's lame? i always get a touch self-conscious when meeting a new dude for the first time, not so much that it ever keeps me from going out, but i do think "HOLY SHIT, i look ugly today" sometimes, but then i remember how they totally don't give a fuck and will come out to meet a hot lady in all sorts of ridiculous garbage and i get over myself. i'm an asshole, so i jokingly said, "where's your little car? have i already missed the parade? where's your organ grinder?!"

listen to me, kittens. you CANNOT wear a fez, in public, on a date, with THIS BITCH, and not expect a little playful ribbing. (and a ridiculous amount of shit-talking later on my blog.) and he smiled, but it was sort of a "fuck you, bitch" smile. (a "fuck you, queen" smile?) and whatever little bit of wind that had been left in my sails died down immediately. and we walked into the restaurant in stilted silence to begin the longest short lunch ever eaten.

here are the highlights: he found something suitably vegetarian on the menu, he touched my bare foot with his bare hand and then CONTINUED EATING HIS SANDWICH, he tried to rub the purple stains off my hands (i see what you did there!), he had a nice smile, he's tall, he has a brain. albeit a singularly focused one. sigh.

i know i talk a lot of shit, but i would almost rather have a dude try to take my panties off with his teeth when i first meet him than to endure an hour-long dissertation on his political and religious ideologies. i mean, he was talking so much i wondered if he could even BREATHE. from one tangent to the next, like a human fucking bagpipe never coming up once for air. then he had the nerve to ask why i wasn't saying anything. seriously, sir? even when he took a break to let me counterpoint (ie, COMPLETELY FUCKING DESTROY) every single one of his arguments, he kept cutting me off to try to re-prove the point i'd already heard him make. it was an exercise in futility for me to even try. so i sat there. like a boring, unfunny bitch. getting TALKED AT. by a moor. while i ate one blueberry pancake and a potato. please kill me now FUCK my digestive system wah wah boo hoo.

a moor who expected me to pay, by the way, because somehow in the tricky way this date had been set up it became MY suggestion. i don't believe in that AT ALL, and you hoes know it. and you know what? it's cool. my favorite fucking thing ever is to not be beholden to anyone, and if paying for your grilled cheese absolves me from feeling like i have to sit through ANOTHER hour on the phone explaining why there is a pyramid on the dollar bill then it is ALL GOOD. also? HE TOUCHED MY HAIR. and you know how i feel about that.

i don't know where this leaves us, lovers. on one hand, i haven't had sex since december and my vagina is bored. and incense dudes usually know how to lay it down. to his credit, his hug was nice AND he called me a tattooed aphrodite, and that kind of thing, while making me giggle for sure, makes me feel sort of sexy. i just have to figure out how to convince him to wear the ball gag. or let me shove a rag in his mouth. maybe i can call it a venus rag and tell him i got it from a shaman? HOLY HELL, MY LIFE IS DUMB.

i am going to a fancy benefit this evening with one of my hot bitches. a fancy benefit for which i have to wear a fancy dress. hopefully there will be someone there who will want to have sex with me. that will not be the case. why didn't i die in the hospital again?

ps, he drank lemonade. shit.