UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE
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Universal Donor
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Wednesday, November 05, 2003
Yesterday I awoke feeling like a hot bag of crap, so I went back to sleep. Eventually, I called in to work and told them that I felt like hot crap in a bag, and they told me to stay home until I felt less fetid and sack-like. I had spent the early hours of Tuesday in a feverish hot/cold cycle of sweats and shivers, which may have been caused by an actual fever but may also have been caused by poor radiator calibration. My building, when it cranks up the heat, is committed to recreating the tropical island homelands of my neighbors, temperature-wise. Unlike the dewy torpor of the Caribbean, the heat in mi edificio is so fucking dry that I wake up with a mouth like a salt flat, as if I spent the night chewing on those "do not eat" desiccant silica packs you find in shoeboxes or vitamin bottles. This is not quality slumber! Fuck you, building!
At home, I did nothing, and I did it all day. I avoided the poison of daytime television, I didn't look at the internet, I didn't get any exercise or do any work. When was the last time I did nothing? It seems like forever ago, but probably it was during my "employment hiatus" of 2001. It's a strange thing to get out of bed, walk into the living room, and fall directly onto the couch. What's the difference between these states? Sleeping, reading, lying down -- as far as I can tell, the difference has to do with eyelids. I didn't want to talk to anybody, I could barely imagine going to work ever again, and I just wanted to go back to sleep ALL DAY LONG. But I still don't have mono, despite being around at least three people in the last couple months who carry the virus around like a bad attitude. And anyway, I didn't kiss any of them, so unless they backwashed in my Orangina or surreptitiously licked my Chupa Chups before I did, I think I'm in the clizzear. I mustered the energy to vote, which was a treat because I got to shake hands with both of my City Council candidates, who were hovering outside my polling place like hobos looking for a hatful of pie. And also of course it allows me to feel smug and superior to all of you non-participant fuckwads who were too lazy, busy, or spaced-out to gather your skirts and shamble over to the broken-down house of worship in your 'hood. May their broken-down deity bless these diabetic grannies staffing my 3rd E.D. table, who are required by law to eat a cookie every five minutes on a rotating schedule (so there are always gonna be "Dutch" butter cookie crumbs in my democratic face) and goddamn you'd think they would have mastered the ALPHABET by now, because, wow, lady, you are looking at a page with Baldacci on it so why the fuck are you heading back towards the letter A? IT'S BRRRROOOOMMMMM-FIELD ALREADY. Ok, yes, thank you for the obligatory remark about my comical signature and its attention-craving proliferation of loop-de-loops. Why don't you try writing "Mrs. Agnes (or whatever) Broomfield" all over your binder and see how long it takes to devolve into a rejected Spirograph project. Gabble. Chunk, flit flit flit flit flit flit flit flit flit flit flitttttlte, flit, chunk. That's the sound of voting in NYC, baby. I asked Agnes for a cookie on my way out, because I felt that post-vote blood-sugar drop. She almost bit my hand. So I shot her, jumped from the balcony onto the stage, and shouted "sic semper tyrannis!" Then I went home to sleep the sweaty sleep of the righteous. 0 comments |
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MY IMAGINARY GIRLFRIENDS Chan Marshall Rotem of the IDF Eleanor Friedberger Amy Goodman Bernardine Dohrn ('69) Maya Rudolph Joanna Newsom Imogen Heap Caroline Dhavernas Shana Rae Ray DISALLOWED FOREVER "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!" - "from whence" - "...the exception that proves the rule" - any use of the question "spit or swallow?" - the phrase "drop trou" - fake-o reviewer verbs: "penned" for wrote "helmed" for directed "lensed" for whatever - "expat" - the euphemism "passed away" - pronouncing merci beaucoup as "mercy buckets!" (see also: "grassy-ass!") PET PEEVES "confinscated" - trying children "as adults" - "drownded" - misuse of reflexive pronouns, as when someone says "Please talk to Bob or myself." Come on people now. "Myself" is not just a fancy version of "me"! LEARN IT. - tattoos in the Courier font - any use of Comic Sans |