Sunday, April 1, 2012


One day, a long time ago, my great aunt called my grandmother and said in an emotionless voice, "I have cancer." My grandmother, obviously, got really upset and started crying about her only sister having cancer, until my great aunt cackled, "April fool's!" and hung up.

I'm probably a bad person because I think that story is REALLY funny.

Saturday, March 31, 2012

I'm going to die of spore-lung

I've asked Richard if he could please bleachie the hell out of the mold growing on the wall above the shower. I would do it myself but I can't reach it, even with a stepstool (am troll-sized). But Richard's goddamn ridiculous routine of procrastination and anxiety repression is so delicate he's NEVER going to do it, I can already tell. In the morning, he freaks out about all the work he has to do and leaves the house in a panic. When he comes home at 2 for lunch, he MUST IMMEDIATELY lie down for an hour and then he again, MUST leave the house in a panic because OMG HE JUST WASTED AN HOUR. So there is no time before or after the afternoon home visit where this mold-scouring is going to occur.

Oh wait, I know when he'll do it. The second I say, "Dinner's ready." That's exactly when the light in his head about the mold will go off.

If I sound bitter and annoyed, that's only because those are the only emotions I have anymore.

Friday, March 30, 2012

Fine. You ARE the Black Swan.

In the ongoing war against my body, I bought this Ballet Beautiful DVD. I just threw it away in a rage after 16 minutes of boring, overly prissy torture.

Mary Helen Bowers is beautiful and precariously thin, and is an accomplished ballerina with elastics for joints apparently, so the entire time I vacillated between seething with bitter jealousy over her perfect perfect body/face and flailing in hopeless agony over my pathetic inability to stretch my fucking leg over my fucking head what the fuck. I can MAYBE get it to a 90 degree angle while lying down. And there was no indication that this flexibility was something that would be gained through faithful adherence to the workout- it was implied that you should obviously be able to extend your legs in a reverse split like a broken drafting compass encased in a smug white (white!) leotard. Additionally, she goes way too fast, doesn't explain anything, doesn't stretch long enough, repeats the same movements endlessly, and lies about how many sets we're doing ("Last one! One more!" LIES).

Just typing that out makes me think throwing the DVD away isn't nearly satisfying/dramatic enough. I want to set it on FIRE.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

It puts the lotion on its fur

This morning at about 4:00, I got up to use the bathroom. As I was about to pull up my shorts, a motherhumping MOUSE ran into the bathroom under the crack in the door. I screeched and, in a feat of adrenaline-fueled acrobatics, shot up on top of the toilet, managing to both get my shorts on and flush at the same time. I perched on the closed lid and watched in horror as the mouse did a few laps around our very small bathroom and then disappeared behind the sink. I thought he was just hiding so I waited, cursing Richard for not hearing my squawk. Eventually I shoved the rug by she sink aside and saw a cranny where he must have escaped. I leaped off the toilet, washed my hands quickly (OCD for the win!) and fled back into the bedroom, convinced an army of mice was at my heels. This morning I found evidence in the pantry: droppings and a nibbled bag of barley. Time for the traps again. Great.

The award for best Mouse in the Bathroom Story, however, definitely goes to my sister-in-law. She woke up one morning and used the bathroom. When she got up and turned around to flush, she saw something... moving in the toilet. She freaked out- because she had only peed!- and went to grab her glasses. Oh yes, it was a mouse, swimming in pee-water, looking up at her like, "Seriously? I've been swimming around here all night and you PEE on me?" They fished it out at set it loose outside, which, rookie mistake. I think once you pee on a mouse it can track you. That's Science.

I really should have expected this. My sister had a mouse in her apartment a few weeks ago. When I asked her what she did about it, she said she had trapped it in her closet. "And then what?" I asked. "Well, two days later it was dead."

I was aghast. "Are you serious? Are you fucking Buffalo Bill now? Did you lower in a bucket of lotion? Jesus christ!"

Although now, thinking about that loathsome little gray body whipping around my pristine apartment covering everything with plague, I'm thinking I should get Sissy up here to take care of business, serial killer style. Before it touches all my bras and lays eggs in my bed.

Friday, August 19, 2011


I've finally cracked and applied to an unpaid internship, which goes against all my morals and ethics (and I don't even have a lot of those!). I believe internships are huge, illegal scams that are unpaid professional labor masquerading as "exciting opportunities to gain experience." They're just a way for non-profits, hit by the recession, to staff their institutions. "Administrative internship" my ass. That's "please do our photocopying for free."

I threw ethics to the wind and applied because it's my ideal job. (And it is a job; two FULL TIME jobs, actually. I think they're kind of delusional). I'm disappointed in myself for applying because it directly devalues my entire education and years professional experience for which I deserve compensation. But I've been asked for an interview (of course I have) and I'm going to go. And I'm going to accept if they offer it to me.

I have basically become the equivalent of a scab- all my other over-educated and over-qualified poorgeoise comrades stood strong and resisted the exploitation brought on by the recession, and I grimly shouldered my way through the picket line and descended into the coal pits because I have a family to feed and a degree to depreciate.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011


On Sunday I walked around a lot while wearing heels and ended up with a huge blister on the ball of each foot. (I don't blame the heels,* just the amount of walking I did.) The blisters were kind of shockingly huge and totally disgusting, all filled with evil fluid and throbbing. The only reason I didn't pop them was because I was afraid it would hurt and I wanted to be able to keep up my running schedule, but I was terrified they would burst open in a blast of intense pain and grossness. The first day back on the treadmill I felt like I had tiny time bombs on my feet. I tried to run like a gazelle- gracefully, lightly, weightlessly- but I would panic and start putting my weight on the sides of my feet. So yeah. I ran like a gazelle. A gazelle stricken with intermittent bouts of cerebral palsy.

*I blame the heels