Busy day.
I had off today because I was the West Coast girl all week and worked until 7:00. Dang people in California.
Last night, a slew of us went to karaoke at the Ass Splinter bar. I wore my Ass Splinter Pearls along with my Scully suit, thus was karmically protected from harm. Or at least I like to think I was. There was a bunch of wackiness. Phil showed up. I talked Joel into doing ‘This is How You Remind Me’ and it was the version which apparently plays in the Twilight Zone because it was surreal and wrong, and I felt very bad that I had insisted that Joel sing it. And then we reprised our stint as the Fully Clothed Ladies and did ‘If I had $1,000,000’, which shows just how wonderful of a guy Joel is, especially since I had just inflicted him with Bad Karaoke. I’m certain that got him just a little closer to heaven.
When I left the bar, it was 60 degrees. I drove home fast with The Cure playing loudly and frantically. I wanted to drive my favorite run down by the Bay, but I was too sleepy, so I just went home. I did open the window on my side of the bed, though, and slept lovely wonderful spring breeze sleep and woke to birds singing.
I woke up, watched Martha Stewart, ate a bagel, did some laundry, then attacked my dining room. The dining room has become a catch all for all of the junk in the house. It’s kind of like the kidney/liver combo of our home. The cats eat and poop in there as well, because Chelsea is too decrepit to make it down the stairs to the basement, thus it always smells like the funk. We don’t eat in there. It’s a dark dingy little troll hole of a room. I had only meant to put away the ironing board, honestly, but somehow that turned into a full-blown overhaul until I got wheezy from the dust. The majority of the room has been tamed, however, and I feel an inordinate amount of pride for having accomplished that all before noon. Some days, I’ve only got ‘Take Shower’ and ‘Stare blankly Into Space’ done by noon.
I had a moment of weakness and buzzed through McDonald’s. I ordered a Big Mac meal (the shame!!!) and waited, anxious for some yummy piping hot French fries and bubbly Diet Coke nectar of the gods. They handed me the bag and .07 seconds later, my hand was grabbing for some fries.
They were cold. Cold and woody.
Now, the old Weetabix would have shrugged, muttered some choice curses and slugged through a bunch of cold and woody fries. But I never even considered that an option. I wasn’t going to eat cold fries and I wanted hot fries! These fries were not fit for human consumption! I circled McDonald’s and got into the drive thru again. In retrospect, I should have parked and walked in but in my holier-than-thou-minimum-wage-employee mood, it didn’t occur to me.
I waited. And waited. Finally, I got up to the speaker and told them that my fries were cold. The boy told me to pull up to the second window and they would ‘deal with’ me.
Hokay.
While I waited to approach the window, I looked again at the bag. There was a large oil slick down the side. WTF? The fries weren’t hot. I mean, I could understand a bit of oil slick if the fries had been hot but the lard used to fry those little artery cloggers had likely congealed on their cold little bodies. I peered deeper into the bag and found that the oil slick was due to the fact that the Big Mac was only half in the container and one of the all beef patties was pressed up against the bag.
Yummy.
I got up to the window and finally the girl came and asked what size the fries were that I wanted replaced. I said ‘No, you’re replacing the entire meal because the Big Mac was apparently assembled via Salad Shooter’ She said nothing and took the bag from my hands. Five minutes later, she returned with a greaseless bag and handed it to me. ‘The fries are hot’ you can check.’
Apparently, the minions of McDonald’s are accustomed to blind allegiance to Lord Ronald. She was obviously unnerved by my reluctance to bend over and get my bung crammed with McCheese.
Yeah, I don’t know what that metaphor meant either, but still.
Anyway, I’m taking this as an important step in my recovery from addiction. I’m not going to be their bitch anymore. I’m going to be the one kicking their ass, pressing my spike heels into their tender flesh, screaming, ‘Say my name, McBitch! Say it!!’
I’m willing to bet that someone spit on my Big Mac, though.
Mo requested a favor.
It seems that she wanted to visit Mafia Grandma tonight. M.G. sent Abby an Easter basket and Mo knew that if she didn’t call or do something to thank her, in M.G.’s eyes it would be a sin worse than kicking puppies. It would get written down into M.G.’s big book of grievances, written in indelible ink. My mother is still paying for the time that she asked M.G. to pick up my birthday cake for my fifth birthday party and M.G. got into a car accident on the way to the bakery.
You see, if you keep long grudges, it’s a way of being immortal because you can never die.
Thus, Mo wanted some Mafia Grandma buffer and she figured that if she brought me along, she wouldn’t have to take the full brunt of M.G.’s ire. And, she admitted, she was a little afraid.
So I said I would. But then I had to buy her a lemon merangue pie because I had no child to bring her. That’s what we childless do. We have to be creative and offer substitutes. Thus, for $6.75, I had a substitute grandchild.
Mo is a bit upset for reasons other than Mafia Grandma. It seems that Steve from Blues Clues is leaving at the end of the month. Steve is Mo’s pretend boyfriend. Much like children, she is soothed by his green top and big wooden pencil. She wants to do naughty things with him in his thinking chair. I think she wants the lesson on good touching and bad touching.
‘And his replacement’ Joe’it’s supposed to be his cousin or something’ he’s not even cuuuuuuuuuuuuute!’ she bemoaned over the phone.
I hear that Sponge Bob Square Pants is always looking for some action, Mo.
So we went over to M.G.’s house. She was very pleased about the pie. She tried to feed it back to us. Then she told us about the problems she’s having with her dead cats.
She’s one of those cat ladies, you see.
But not any cats’ big expensive snooty Persian cats. At one point, she had something like thirteen. Her house perpetually smells of cat urine and there are always long white clumps of cat hair on everything. Her daughter, Aunt Drusilla, forbade her from acquiring more cats, but then came the awful task of waiting for her existing cats to die. She’s down to four, but she’s acquired a yippy little snitty dog somewhere in the process. She had a scare with her youngest cat recently and she was telling us that her primary fear was that she’d have the cat put to sleep and then it would be too cold to bury her. (The youngest cat turned out to be fine, by the way.) What is more, she has six dead cats buried in her backyard and she’s beginning to forget which cat is where. She didn’t mark them, apparently. During the entire conversation, as she told us of her dead cat quandary, Mo and I could only make goofy faces at each other and try not to laugh at the absurdity. Mo suggested that M.G. could have put the cat in the freezer. I commented that I’d always be worried that my ice cream would pick up a funny taste, reminiscent of Fresh Step. M.G. just made a face.
At least when I’m in hell, I’ll have Mo there to keep me company.
Esteban, Markus, and I went to visit Kim V and her husband God and their new child. During this visit, God played a video of last summer’s Renaissance faire adventure. There was a short clip of us dressed in our Ren clothes and I made two rather disturbing realizations in rapid succession. First, it was rather scary to see how ginormous my gut was. I mean, it’s still ginormous, but less than last summer. The thing that scares me is that last summer, I didn’t seem to think it was that ginormous. Maybe it was the shorts I was wearing in part of the video. I don’t know. Yuck. The second thing was that I am one annoying pain in the ass. At one point, I said something that I distinctly remember thinking was very funny, but it came off like so egotistical and bitchy I can hardly stand it. (I believe it went something along the lines of ‘I feel like I’m a haughty noble and you’re all my peasants or something.’) I said ‘Oh my god!’ and Esteban said ‘I know’ aren’t you embarrassing?’ which has been something that he’s said in the past’ that things come out of my mouth and I say them with such a straight face and monotone expression that it’s hard to tell that I’m kidding. And I had to agree with him. I am one uncouth mofo. So I said ‘I never realized that I’m a complete bitch’. And no one argued with me. That’s a friend, baby. They like me anyway. It’s amazing.
Anyway, that’s all. Have a great weekend. And I mean that in a good way. Really.
