Well, folks, I’m only writing because my readers tell me that I haven’t updated this mother in a while, but I don’t have an actual point to this one, so bear with me. I guess I never have much of a point in doing this, come to think of it, but that’s another story for another day.
I feel sort of inept typing without my sexy weezer/secretary clark kent glasses on. I left them at work. I feel like I can type faster when I have that Marilyn “How to Marry a Millionaire” look. I go through these phases.
Let me see.
My life has become so insanely ridiculous since I moved to the left coast that I now fully anticipate craziness every single moment of my life. When I am not inundated with insanity, I feel bland and empty. Funny how your standards shift like that. Maybe it’s like if a dog gets kicked in the stomach a lot, and he comes home to his owner, and the owner starts going to AA and thinks he’s all redeemed and whatnot and decides to stop beating his dog, so he starts petting him instead, and the dog is like, “WTF? Why aren’t you beating me? What the H am I supposed to do with this?” so he pees on the rug and hides under the bed in response. To me, that’s like a day of normality. WTF is normality? I want the crazy.
If I wrote about every crazy thing that happened every day, I’d have carpel tunnel and your eyes would have diarrhea. So I’ll just hit a few high points.
Maybe I should introduce my insane life experiences with a little blurb about how my coworker and I went out for some beverages and decided to go ice skating and wound up with…You know what? This is the worst idea ever. We’ll just go straight to recent occurances.
I went to Vegas a few weekends ago with a bunch of nurses (plus one teacher) from the South. I have never been so happy to hear the word “y’all” in all my life. I miss that melodious southern accent. Something about it is so saccharine and delicious. You can feel it when people talk. Sounds like rain. I have also never been so happy to hear the familiarity of a Memphis girls’ Ipod, with one song playing 3 6 Mafia and the next playing Garth. This is the dichotomy of my hometown. Utterly hood, utterly country. Beautiful. As much shite as I talk about that town, it made me who I am, and hell, everyone out here calls me Memphis anyway, so I might as well have a little pride.
Speaking of 3 6, they happened to be in Vegas when we were, and the Memphis girls got pulled up on stage and danced with them. Not sure if our mothers would have been devastated or proud, but it was a night to be remembered. I’d get into the deets of this one, but I think most of it is better left unsaid. This is what I mean, though. Every time I go to Vegas, I swear I’m never going again, and then every time, something happens- I make out with David Copperfield, I’m taking shots with Criss Angel, I’m getting pulled up on stage with 3 6 Mafia. Then every time someone dangles the Vegas carrot, I’m back in route to that place of sheer insanity. I just can’t leave crazy alone. It draws me in.
I watched “21” last night and haven’t been able to stop saying “Winner winner chicken dinner” all day. Pretty sure my boss almost knocked my teeth down my throat at one point during the 37th time that I yelled “WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER!” today. I did this every time she received an email. Like getting junk mail from Viagra warrants such a celebratory exclamation. Let me tell you. It most certainly does.
Next. I went to the worst party of my life last week, and a can was thrown at me. This is a true story. People love me or hate me. I say this a lot because it’s true. I am a very UP or DOWN person. I have no in between. I live my life passionately and this either attracts other people or makes them want to cut my throat. Can man was choice B. This guy clearly hated me AND THREW AN EFFING CAN AT ME. You’ve got to be kidding. My insurance sucks, and I’m sure it doesn’t cover reconstructive surgery. What an a-hole.
What else. Oh yes. I went down to the OC last Sunday, which was pretty fun. The suburb of Memphis that I’m from is the only thing that I can really use as a reference point. Germantown housewives. Oh, how funny they are, with their expensive weaves and manicures and Mercedes and nonfat lattes. The OC is like Germantown on meth. More plastic surgery, more highlights, S class benz instead of E class benz. I felt like I got sucked into the 2010 version of “The Great Gatsby,” with champagne and money and that high, bubbly laugh that people have when they ride on boats. Interesting exposure.
It’s sort of weird how one weekend I’m shakin my backyard with Juicy J and DJ Paul, the next a can is thrown at my head, the next day I’m on a boat with Gatsby, and then I’m back to work on Monday. Sick as a dog, mind you. Sick as a dog.
There’s nothing lonelier than being sick as a dog all by your lonesome. Being sick without a mom is the saddest feeling in the world. I had to leave work early on Monday because I was about 80% sure that I was on my death bed and if I typed any more reports, I would immediately die and my body would be stiff with rigor mortis in the typing position and then when the funeral home people tried to straighten me out to lay in my casket, they wouldn’t be able to, so they’d just have to dip me in wax with my keyboard in my death grip, and they’d have to find some sort of casket that opened up like a harp case to shove me in. This is why I had to go home on Monday. It’s the only thing that made sense.
The point is, being sick without someone there to watch over you is the most lonely feeling ever. Also, taking prescription cold medicine that expired during the Nixon administration is the worst plan ever. I took some of that nonsense out of desperation because I couldn’t even drive to CVS to get medicine, and next thing you know, I’m mad as hell and wanting to fight and wanting to jump off my balcony into the pool just to see if my depth perception was better than I thought. Oh, Rachel. You need help.
What else. Did I tell you that I saw “The PeeWee Show” a few weeks ago? It was absolutely magical. Hysterical. I rarely laugh so hard that my entire core hurts the next day, but man, oh man. It was absolutely brilliant. I love that PeeWee, even if he is… questionable.
Super Bowl is coming up. Can’t wait. WHO DAT. Time to play Grand Theft Auto. I’m out, beeches.