True Enough For You

Check your thighs in the mirror, ma. I'm done.

Monday, September 19, 2005

How Many References To Trash Can You Count In This Post?


Q: What are President Bush’s current thoughts on Roe v. Wade?

A: He doesn’t care how people get out of New Orleans!

Zzzzzzing! Tips in the jar. I’ll be here all week.

Hey, did you watch the Emmys last night? I did. I must admit that I had to pop open a beer during the ceremony. I knew the moment I saw Doris Roberts feeling herself up in a sexual manner while listening to The Black Eyed Peas (including that Kids Incorporated skank Fergie) and Earth Wind and Fire rapping/singing about the year’s best tv moments that it was going to take some alcohol to make it through. Arrested Development didn’t win much, though they did deservedly win Best Writing for a Comedy Series. Regardless, they begin their third headlong descent into near-cancellation tonight. And I couldn’t be more excited.

Seriously, my life it so sad; I am living for Arrested Development tonight. The other highlight of my day was walking around Whole Foods and eating as many free samples as possible. I entered the store a bit hungry and left quite satisfied. I got the stink-eye from a security guard during my third trip to the Roasted Red Pepper Cheese Spread station, so I grabbed a Jamba Juice and exited post-haste. That said, the champagne bread rolls and the fruit and nut granola chunks were a delight! Thanks Whole Foods! P.S. Loving the hot produce guy stocking the Jonagold Apples today. He was totally flexing as he worked, and I totally respond to that kind of desperation for attention.

As I write this, I am embarrassed to say that Dr. Phil is on my tv in the background. HE is pissed! The name of the show is “I am afraid of my mother.” His guest is this beast of a woman who routinely verbally abuses her daughter by calling her retarded and Helen Keller all the time. Granted, it’s an odd insult, but I give her points for creativity since she claims that her kids are “blind and deaf to everything I want.” It’s not just any verbal abuser who can paint an image with a metaphor as well as invoke the allusion of a strong female historical figure. More importantly, Dr. Phil almost just punched her. Seriously, he pulled back to hit her, and he almost called her a bitch. He’s going to go bitchcakes, and it’s amazing.

Speaking of crazy bitches, I discovered this weekend that I hate one of my neighbors. On Sunday morning JC called me to come downstairs to look at a huge pile of garbage that my drug-addled hall mates left against the side of my building. It was impressive, almost artful, the way they piled so many disgusting things together. I must tell you, reader, by way of background, that garbage is a huge deal with my landlords. One time, junk mail of mine was discovered on the street (it must have slipped out of the recycling bag), landlords called me and asked me to come home from work to pick it up immediately. Sometime after telling them they were insane, I removed the garbage from the sidewalk and had to call the landlords to let them know it was gone. Anyway…

As JC and I were surveying the garbage sculpture, replete with Life Cereal and several forties of Yeungling, a woman exited a car with a suitcase and garment bag. She must have been in her early twenties. She had a short haircut and serious bitchface. JC and I sat on my stoop and talked about the mess, that is, my life when she passed us by with her rolling suitcase and derisively snorted, “Is that your garbage?” It was a bit accusatory for my taste. I said, “No, is it yours?” She said, as if she just cured cancer, “Um, if it was MY garbage, would I be asking you?” and walked to the door of the brownstone next to mine, her suitcase banging on each step. She didn’t pick it up; she just kept dragging it.

Now. Beyond the fact that she didn’t use the subjunctive voice, the fact that she had a face only a battered woman shelter worker could love and the fact that her logic was reaching Xanadu levels of insanity, her tone made me angry. And on top of that, her question did nothing to prove that it wasn’t actually her garbage. What if she had the whole thing planned from the beginning? It wouldn’t hold up in court, missy, it’s not going to hold up on my stoop. Lose the attitude. That must be what you’re dragging around in that clunky suitcase. I didn’t say anything else to her, but as she entered her door, JC yelled to her, “We still think the garbage is yours!” The last laugh was ours.

I must go prepare for dinner at Lolita, a quaint little BYOT (Bring Your Own Tequila) joint on 13th Street. Last time I went there was with an ex. I practically had to be carried home after imbibing a little bit too much T. It was either that or have a serious talk about “the relationship.” Clearly you see the winning side. Oh, hindsight, you 20/20 roguish devil! Or is it devilish rogue?

Maybe with any luck, I will see Lil’ Kim on the way there! That's right. The Queen Bee will be doing her stint in prison right here in Center City Philadelphia. She'll make a more than adequate bitch to someone, or so I pray.

7 Comments:

  • At 7:37 PM, Anonymous Lauren Dawn Gifford said…

    I didn't read this post but I do have to say: SLOW AND LOW.
    Whatever Herpies.

     
  • At 11:58 PM, Blogger jon said…

    After we paid for our kids summer camp connecticut we found it tough to recover! I totally agree with you!

     
  • At 1:40 AM, Blogger xxx said…

    hey, i get that reference. whatever, herpies.

    by the way, are you alive?

     
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