i made absolutely no use of the past 48 hours. accomplished nil. i have officially lived in the new apartment for over a week, and no more has been unpacked than from the first day. the den is inhabited by a pack of seemingly-less-than-wild boxes. they lounge, haphazardly strewn around the floor, bellies full from a days old feast on my belongings. they stare back at me, strangely sleepy, but i am wise to their treachery. there is nothing good about those boxes.
it still smells like fresh paint, too. i've since become immune to the odor, but i know it's there. everything i eat has a tinge. my daily cologne is made by sherwin williams. my perception of time from the past week or so is slightly hazy, ever-so-altered from inhalation. perhaps, now that i have heat, i'll open a window and air the place out a bit. good-bye, free high.
while i may not be unpacked, that time spent otherwise did allow me to become fully versed in the 50 steamiest southern stars. thank you, e! for your neverending supply of television perfectly suited for killing an entire day. spoiler alert! beyonce took home the number 1 spot on the list, further proving that her thighs look so huge in the soldier video because she has an entire network living up her ass. i must admit i was shocked to see her rule over all the other deep-fried, "i do declare"-ing stars and starlets, as e! just finished following matthew mcconaughey around on his publicity junket for "sahara" resulting in an e! exclusive special, "matthew mcconauhey, uncut". mr. mcconaughey came in at number 2. it's comforting to see they haven't completely lost their minds.
the young are wasted on weekends.
living all by my lonesome for the past week, i fear, has intensified my already harrowing love affair with the drink. molly is yet to settle into the new homestead, so i've been left to my own devices, which mostly consist of jack daniels and e!. i've found myself turning everything into a drinking game that can be played with only one contestant. i, now, have certain commercials, catch phrases, jingles, and character entrances that require a shot. perched indian-style (still not sure if that's p.c. or not) on my makeshift couch - an incredibly sad stack of assorted blankets, sleeping bags, and floor rugs - i eagerly, hungrily even, watch the boob tube. awaiting an anticipated peter francis geraci commercial (for which i am required to drink from the beginning until he says his name), i find i'm cheering for myself and booing my competitors. i almost always win.
all this time socializing with myself has had an added benefit: i enjoy my own company so much more now. i found out that i'm pretty entertaining. for two fridays in a row, my friends have been late meeting me at the bar. late to the tune of 30 to 45 minutes. i found this delightful. i got to spend more quality time with a few of my favorite friends: jack, jose, and me. i've truly learned that i can be independent. i make myself laugh, i'm good at meeting people when by myself, and i pretty much never disagree with myself. i'm my own perfect friend. i'm my own bff.
...yet i long for molly to move in because my new besty and i can't be trusted to make my own decisions. i mean, it makes sense. of course my logic is clear and persuasive to me. me trying to convince myself that my decision is at least right for the time being is like convincing a dog that he loves snausages. all dogs love snausages. they're so delicious. likewise, my decisions are always right at the time they're made. it's the reviewing them later thing that causes me so much trouble. hindsight is a curse, and foresight is nonexistent. i really need someone around asking me the important questions. "is that really the best thing to say to her right now?" "do you really want to eat that?" "shouldn't you sleep in your own bed tonight?" "wouldn't it be better to call first?" "is licking that dog's back really the greatest of ideas?"
without molly around, i'd probably go with "yes" on all counts.
irrational fear of the day (from here on to be known as i.f.o.t.d.): while boarding the l, i am consistently stricken with the fear that i'll somehow fall into the gap between the platform and the train, dying much in the fashion of the stick figure on the signs warning about the electrified rails.
posted by brett @ 3:43 PM
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