I absolutley hate it when I see someone I haven't seen in a few months, which has been happening a lot lately, because they always have to ask me the same question:
"What have you been UP to lately?!"
I immediatly feel like I have to fart after the question, because great - now I'm backed in to a corner. My line of defense for being backed in to a corner is much like that of an octopus squirting ink, only mine is releasing a noxious gas cloud to divert the would-be information predator away from the question and forcing them instead to pay attention to their nose hairs sizzling.
You see, I want to appear as interesting as I used to be before I agreed to work at a corporate restaurant and had all of my dreams and individuality mouth-sucked out of my body and became a SPEC robot who's idea of an oil can is a beer bottle.
My answer is always the same: "Uh, just working. Working then drinking afterwards. It's a vicious shit storm and I'm stuck in the brown eye."
One of these days, I'm going to actually call someone's bluff and answer the question truthfully. I hope this person has about three hours of spare time because actually, I am up to a lot of new things.
"What have I been UP to? Well, I'm glad you asked. Here, have a seat. Actually, stick a pillow under your butt so your cheeks don't fall asleep because you asked, and now I'm going to tell. Oh no you don't. You're not going anywhere. Oh this? This is just some duct tape so I can uh....tape something - namely your person to the chair and your lips to each other. It's either that or I can bust out my award-winning staple gun skills. Tape is fine? Here, I'll poke you some air holes with the staple gun because I'm thoughtful like that. Okay! Shall we get started?
Gosh, I haven't really been sleeping that well. I never really have, but now it's just ludicrous. You see, I don't fall asleep anymore until about 8:30 in the morning and pass the time alone in my room watching streaming movies and eating a lot of bad food. Sure, sometimes the videos won't load all the way and it makes me so mad that I want to give my monitor a round-house kick, but I would say that I have learned to be a patient individual after this happened to me a bong-jillion times.
In this nocturnal life, I have also learned self-reflection - namely, the reflection of my pale white self in the mirror as I watch myself age from lack of sleep and lack of photosynthesis. I could pack for a weekend trip with these eye bags, and the lines in my forehead look like the Grand Canyon when viewed from outer space. I should know. I've also been doing a lot of space research.
Anywho, so I fall asleep about 8:30 AM, only to wake up at about 1:30 PM to hobble to the coffee machine where I always see an 80-year-old woman peering back at me from the reflection in the window. Since this can't possibly be me, I've named her Weezy, but I can never have a real conversation with her because she always talks at the same time I do. Just between you and me, I think Weezy could certainly benefit from cutting down on the Marlboro Lights. She sounds like Bea Arthur and Barry White's love child.
As I wait for the coffee to brew, I take a little "me time" before hitting the shower to read the news and to smack myself in the face repeatedly. Not only does this ritual wake me up, it also cuts down on my need to buy rouge. Yes, rouge. They don't call me apple dumplin' cheeks around here for nothing, my friend.
After my shower, I attempt as best I can to lotion the shit out of my face, bathe my beadies in eye drops, and plaster on pancake make-up with a caulk gun so that I can tell the nosey nelly's at work that comment on how run-down I look that I have already had a VERY long day and that I'm not actually hungover like a mother fucker again. It is now 4:00 PM. I have only been functional for 3 and a half hours, so you can see the humor factor in this, my blatent LIE and I would laugh heartilly about it, but my beer-gut reducing gurdle doesn't allow much leeway. So sure, my hair looks like dookie and my face looks like it has been beaten by the hag stick, but in my defense, I am 30 going on 31! It's called finally AGING, people.
On my days off I have actually been indulging in a new favorite past-time. I am now a weekly bowler! That's right, I'll say it : I love bowling, and I am getting damn good at it. Sure, at first it was a little challenging. I picked out an 11 pound green booger ball, and went to throw my first roll and heard this enourmous rip, which turned out to be my left ass muscle. But when I put my mind to something, I put in 110%. I bowled another four games with my injury because dammit, I spent $14 for unlimited bowling, and I'll be damned if I don't get a bang for my buck. These are hard times after all, and there are people in Alabama that can't afford to go to a bowling alley. I have vowed to not waste money and to drink every last drop of beer that I buy, including that last quarter inch of backwash at the end of the bottle.
I believe that I deserve a medal or a reward for how much I recycle, because I recycle everything. And I mean everything. Empty cigarette packs, beer and soda bottles, burnt spoons, beer and soda CAPS. I just can't live with myself thinking that somewhere, there is a rusty old Miller Light cap taking up much needed space in a land fill. Can you recycle cigarette butts? Hmmm...
Well, that's about it. There's more, but I lost my train of thought because I haven't showered or brushed my teeth yet and it is 6:00 PM. My teeth feel like someone knit a sweater over them and my fro is brushing against the ceiling, and dammit, it's almost time to BOWL!
Look for me on the next PBA tour!
Oh this? This is just a filet knife, you know, to cut you out of your chair. *Hearty chuckle*. Oh, YOU! It's like you think I'm a closeted serial killer or something. C'mere, let me give you a noogie. Oh dear...I seemed to have accidentily scalped you. Well, I have a good place for it on my wall joining the other people who asked me what I was up to, forshadowed my my collection of tongues taken from those that told me to "smile."