You Remind me of a Winter Storm

It’s January 4th and the furnace has said its final goodbye as the heat slowly seeped out of the cracks of our house. In the winter I become a hermit to avoid the unforgiving cruelty of winter. I stay in my pajamas. I read a lot of books and comics. Watch a lot of movies. And do a lot of blogging. Anything that allows me to stay under blankets. I make excuses to not run any errands that involve leaving the house. Well my winter game plan has been spoiled with the slow death of our central heating. Right now I'm wearing every article of clothing I own. My bed is stacked high with every blanket I own. Lacy and I have consumed everything hot in the kitchen. I’m not sure how there were life forms before central heating. Surely everything existed after furnaces and cell phones. One other thing, I’m convinced nothing is more unattractive than long-underwear.


And my socks haven’t matched in years.

Christmas, The End of 2008 and The End of All Things (An ihatemylife.com Production)

The holidays were rather generous to me. Christmas was full of fancy salamis, warm, moist hand towelettes and Christmas cheer. It was especially generous considering we’re marching forward into economic desperation and recession. I’m glad I went out with a bang, not a quiet whimper.

There is no need for excess where we’re headed. I’ll have to pon off my satin sheets and ivory tusks. Sell everything and live the life I’ve always dreamed of: my tiny cottage with a fire place for warmth and a garden. Just me in my drop-bottom flannel full-body pajamas, a dusty book and an old record player. And I’ll eat porage. I’ll hang old socks with holes above the fire place next Christmas. I’ll be my own Tiny Tim story in 2009 and then I’ll understand its true meaning. I doubt it involves fancy salamis.

I don’t know what the future holds. My dark side, which embraces the spirit of chaos, couldn’t help but feel the curious hush and last whispers of American gluttony. And then my honest side thought, “Dude, how could I even breathe with out all forms of Comcast?!”
[Pushin the Drop Bottoms in 2009]

Our Modern Day Plague

The other night I ordered a large pepperoni pizza. It was way past the average person’s weekday bedtime and definitely past the hour dietitians recommend eating anything. I was starving and wanted to eat that huge greasy pizza all alone while watching and crying to the Fellowship of the Ring. I had a Fat Kid pizza fantasy that I would eat that pizza so fast all the blood would rush to my head and I would pass out right on the couch. I wasn’t really ashamed until the delivery boy showed up at my door and I found myself pretending there were people in the kitchen there to help me consume this huge artery lubricating delight.

“Ha oh Pizza boy you didn’t seriously think I would or even could eat this whole pizza by myself?!” “Billy! Johnny! Fat Pete! Come on! Get out here and help me eat this pizza.” “They must be downstairs or in the backyard making pipe bombs.”

I’m on the swift path to corpulence, the Great and Final Plague of America. We’re feeding ourselves to death like those poor little ducks that make delicious foie gras. I bet my liver tastes yummy and would go well with Walnut Fig Brioche.



Thats me and Fat Pete.

Get Down Girl Go ‘Head Get Down

Sorry if I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but I spent my day off today waiting for my car to get a new chin and a face lift. I say that because I’m starting to feel like I’m married to some gold digger who is divorcing me and taking all my money. I thought me and the Dodger were in love and this was forever, but apparently The Dodger doesn’t feel the same way. It’s taking me for everything I own and leaving me high and dry with nothing. I guess nothing is forever. And I’m back on the market or I will be soon.

Confession

Our plumbing hasn’t been working this past week, which has made for some interesting situations. Last night around three in the morning in my state of delirium I needed to pee so badly it was making me sick. My car was trapped in front of Lacy’s so I couldn’t drive to a public restroom and I didn’t want to wake her up. So what’s a girl to do?! I figured the only logical thing was to pee in the backyard. I know you’re thinking I’m strange right now. It wouldn’t be so strange though if I was a boy or a dog. But because I’m a girl its socially frowned upon. So this morning while Lacy and her brother are on the roof fixing the plumbing (Lacy is Wonder Woman by the way) I confess to them both that I peed in the backyard. Lacy says “Confession, I peed in the shower last night.” Chelsi, our more normal roommate, drove to Smiths like a normal person and used a bathroom.

Brit and I....Twinseys!

I had a dream last night that I was walking around public places with holes in my underwear, only in my underwear! I wasn't insecure that I was only in my underwear, just that I would have holes in my underwear. I think this is telling. I should consult a dream doctor. Inadequacy seeps over into my dream life. Welcome to my world of insecurities and paralyzing self-doubt.

Kill The Clown

I’m on my way to work with my friend Garrit and naturally we are both starving. He eats about as much as I do. We weren’t sure if we were willing to gamble on family meal at work. The odds are about 1 in 10. So we decided to hit up the drive through, which is consistently greasy and delicious and fast- the American Dream. We both established that we were craving McDonalds chicken nuggets with sweet and sour sauce like pregnant women. Garrit, who is quite persuasive, convinces me that we both would be better off getting 20 pieces, each. The lady who takes our order can’t quite grasp that we want TWO twenty pieces. Finally she accepts it. We pull forward and the guy at the window looks at us and says, “it’s gonna be a while.” Garrit is like “Oh that’s fine.” The dude continues to stare at us awkwardly. Garrit gets uncomfortable and is like “do you want us to pull forward?” The guy sticks his head out of the window and is like, “Its forty chicken nuggets!”

Yes. I ate them all and two packs of sweet and sour. I don’t even want to go into the nutritional value of that. Or what parts of the chicken McDonalds uses for their nuggets or how much sugar is in one pack of sweet and sour. I just don’t even want to go into that. Well here’s the ihatemylife.com part of this whole story. Last night, I spent a good hour on the bathroom floor reeping the benefits of twenty chicken nuggets and two packs of sweet and sour.