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punch the chunks
Oct. 8th, 2022 07:13 am- So I guess one of the people working at my favorite local cheese shop is a secret comedy genius? It's a family run place -- a husband and wife and their twenty-something son, and I've never gotten that vibe from a single one of them. They're all nice and normal-ish. Just friendly enough. But, I mean, those posts don't lie. They're priceless and I'm obsessed, and also kind of identifying with a wheel of Mimolette at the moment. Should I say something next time I'm in there?
- Anyway. Speaking of my last entry's title (which, no, we weren't. But we could've been! Dare I say, we *should've* been!)...does anyone remember an SNL skit from the late nineties with Will Ferrell as a night nurse? He spent the whole thing crooning Bob Dylan's Lay, Lady, Lay to his patient, who I wanna say was...Robert Duvall? And it went on and on and on, from funny, to unfunny and then back to funny again? Ugh, no one does. No one remembers this thing but me! And I can't find it and it's all I can think about! This is the worst pain anyone has ever suffered. I deserve your sympathy. I demand your sympathy.
- I just found out they shut down my favorite Lush! The one by the big Macy's! Now I have to go all the way down to 14th Street to finagle my free samples! ("All the way". It's two extra subway stops. But I'm annoyed!) (Also, I'm allergic to half the items in their holiday collection this year. Stupid food dyes. So, doubly annoyed!)
OK, so. The birthday. It went alright! They're never really as bad as I think they're gonna be. Except for the ones where someone dies. Which has happened. I didn't magically wake up looking like the cryptkeeper that morning -- YAY. Not that that's a thing I'd ever freely admit.
To caring.
About.
At all.
Because nope, I don't. Not one bit. And anyway, my mother is aging, like, fantastically. Her skin looks amazing. And then you find out she spent the entire 1970s laying out in the sun with nothing but a big hat and God's own mercy to protect her, and you're like, WHAT. But what's weird is that I forget. I do. I honestly forget sometimes that I'm not her direct clone. We're so close and my father's people are such a strange, faraway concept to me, it's easy to forget that half my DNA is just. Unquantifiable. I have a few, fuzzy memories of my dad's mother. Mostly I remember platinum hair. Scary red talons. A lot of fur. This woman was committed to her aesthetic and apparently that aesthetic was: Cuban Cruella.
I guess I wish I'd paid better attention to her face.
Next week it'll be twenty five years since my dad died, and if there's a standard way to commemorate something like that, I don't know what it is. I don't even know if I'd be up for it. I'm still so angry at him; it hasn't gone away or died down at all. If anything, I'm angrier now than I was fifteen, twenty years ago, and it makes it impossible to mourn him properly. One more thing to discuss with that therapist I refuse to pay for.
And...there she is. My headache, right on schedule. I knew she'd find me. I was gonna go into the apartment stuff, I really was, but...maybe y'all won't mind if I raincheck this? Prepare yourselves, though, because next time, you're gonna hear a tale of woe and real estate! Featuring: the NYPD! Veterans of foreign wars! And at least one ghost! A SPOOKY STORY FOR THE SPOOKIEST SEASON. OOOOooooOOOoooh!!
- Anyway. Speaking of my last entry's title (which, no, we weren't. But we could've been! Dare I say, we *should've* been!)...does anyone remember an SNL skit from the late nineties with Will Ferrell as a night nurse? He spent the whole thing crooning Bob Dylan's Lay, Lady, Lay to his patient, who I wanna say was...Robert Duvall? And it went on and on and on, from funny, to unfunny and then back to funny again? Ugh, no one does. No one remembers this thing but me! And I can't find it and it's all I can think about! This is the worst pain anyone has ever suffered. I deserve your sympathy. I demand your sympathy.
- I just found out they shut down my favorite Lush! The one by the big Macy's! Now I have to go all the way down to 14th Street to finagle my free samples! ("All the way". It's two extra subway stops. But I'm annoyed!) (Also, I'm allergic to half the items in their holiday collection this year. Stupid food dyes. So, doubly annoyed!)
OK, so. The birthday. It went alright! They're never really as bad as I think they're gonna be. Except for the ones where someone dies. Which has happened. I didn't magically wake up looking like the cryptkeeper that morning -- YAY. Not that that's a thing I'd ever freely admit.
To caring.
About.
At all.
Because nope, I don't. Not one bit. And anyway, my mother is aging, like, fantastically. Her skin looks amazing. And then you find out she spent the entire 1970s laying out in the sun with nothing but a big hat and God's own mercy to protect her, and you're like, WHAT. But what's weird is that I forget. I do. I honestly forget sometimes that I'm not her direct clone. We're so close and my father's people are such a strange, faraway concept to me, it's easy to forget that half my DNA is just. Unquantifiable. I have a few, fuzzy memories of my dad's mother. Mostly I remember platinum hair. Scary red talons. A lot of fur. This woman was committed to her aesthetic and apparently that aesthetic was: Cuban Cruella.
I guess I wish I'd paid better attention to her face.
Next week it'll be twenty five years since my dad died, and if there's a standard way to commemorate something like that, I don't know what it is. I don't even know if I'd be up for it. I'm still so angry at him; it hasn't gone away or died down at all. If anything, I'm angrier now than I was fifteen, twenty years ago, and it makes it impossible to mourn him properly. One more thing to discuss with that therapist I refuse to pay for.
And...there she is. My headache, right on schedule. I knew she'd find me. I was gonna go into the apartment stuff, I really was, but...maybe y'all won't mind if I raincheck this? Prepare yourselves, though, because next time, you're gonna hear a tale of woe and real estate! Featuring: the NYPD! Veterans of foreign wars! And at least one ghost! A SPOOKY STORY FOR THE SPOOKIEST SEASON. OOOOooooOOOoooh!!