The flowers at the table were beginning to wilt. And even though the dishes weren’t piling up in the sink, the kitchen was always unbalanced, the overflowing drying rack preventing the handful of dishes on the counter and in the sink from being washed. Wires between computer speakers, a power cord, the wall scuttled across the table, books heaped in mismatched groups around the table, and Geoff’s desperate eyes stared hopelessly at the screen. The world around him was turning into a complexity of zeros and ones: one – music coming out of the speakers; zero – couldn’t remember his last meal.
Archive for November, 2010|Monthly archive page
Let’s experiment. We decided to go off of processed sugar, and it felt pretty good, so it’s been a few weeks. But the jury’s still out because the effects are a mixed bag. On the one hand, it’s resulted in delicious homemade no-sugar-added bread and produced incredible pasta sauce because I had no idea that normal-looking pasta sauce adds unnecessary sugar for no reason. On the other, the brownie I ate at lunch today was the most sickeningly sweet thing my pallet ever remembers eating, and I can proudly say that I now know what ADHD on crack feels like.
“All you must do is sit here for twenty minutes and not think about anything.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel relaxed?”
“Relaxed and renewed.”
“But it’s so frustrating to me that I need to make myself do something in order to feel relaxed. If I were actually relaxed I wouldn’t need to do this at all. Sitting and emptying my thoughts just reminds me of the fact that I need to be calmed down, and that makes me feel frustrated. Why can’t I just be calm?”
“Does being an athlete mean you can win the race without training?”
“The Olive 100: a sleek bodied machine ready for your everyday olive needs. High powered, ingeniously engineered, fully functional, this is your new best friend. It will slice, dice and de-pitt 100 olives in under 3 minutes. Not to mention it flies around your house and hovers at just the right height to pop a freshly skewered olive into your open mouth. Want a challenge? The Olive 100 will shoot olives in your direction for you to catch! Why wait? To get your Olive 100 now with FREE extra blades, call 1 800…”
“Oh, I actually meant All of 100″
In Sunday school, they’re running around, spilling punch on the pews. In junior high, pastor’s son is chasing girls, flipping up their dresses, while his sister smears on glittery eye shadow that makes her look like a harlot, Mama Esther says, as she drags her by the crook of her arm to the bathroom. In high school, the son smokes weed in the parking lot and the daughter is being felt up in a bathroom stall by the deacon’s son, who is quietly unrolling the nylons her mother insisted she wore because ladies didn’t show their bare legs in church.
PHOENIX – Late Thursday, Americans here emphatically demonstrated their newfound fear of cell phones by rioting, tearing iPhones and Blackberries out of mobile phone stores and their own pockets.
“It’s so scary,” said Jeannie Liplicker. “I always thought my phone was so innocent.” She then snatched a Samsung from a passerby and curb-stomped it.
In the latest wave of paranoia to sweep the area, the rioters cited wiretapping snitchers, brain-radiation cancer, catchy jingles, and corporations trying to screw them as threats to their American way of life.
“They’re like Commies or wetbacks sitting right next to our balls,” said Josephat Carlson.
Airlines are doing it all wrong.
When it’s time to board the plane, they have the passengers board the plane in groups going from front to back. Instead of boarding like that, planes should board from window to aisle.
Front to back boarding doesn’t solve the big problem where I have a window seat, I arrive at my row, and the person with the aisle seat is already seated, so he has the choice of getting face-raped by my backpack as I trip over him, or getting up and letting me go in first.
Window seaters should board first, always.
miserable wizards fizzle sizzling like lizards innards overlooking cooked dinners so winners rove over and over atrocious gophers motionless christophers know copious ropes poking jokes at blokes cantaloupes elope scant of hope rants fantastic spastic lava flasks masked as raw mauve shark attacks park effects dark charging defects slinging margarine larger than fingernails assailing barges failing to barrage garages travails trailing montages of monetary collages capillary papillary snap your hairy flapping derriere carrying cherries very precariously or hilariously stare and you will see fairies burying chariots mares idiots vintage insidious perilous merriest carolers ferrying manila barrels of killer carrion bearing
I’m in bed, on top of the sheets, dead cockroach style. A voice from the other bed floats over: “Fannie? Do you need me to tuck you in?” Not moving, I loft a playful “no.” Movement at this point seems almost impossible. My shoulders are finally getting to de-hunch after a day’s work in front of the computer. Content, I smile. Then it hits me: I have to get up! I forgot to write! Do I have to? My watch says: 16 minutes until tomorrow. My computer’s off. Well, I got up. Looks like that’s all the inspiration for tonight.
I noticed her hand tattoos first, when she flicked her pen to take drink orders. Both her arms, her neck, even her cleavage, were covered in a small museum’s worth of art. Against her pale skin, the deep bold colors were even more luring, and I wanted the full guided tour. I’m not usually into tattoos like that, but she had the sexy confidence that goes with committing to a style, any style, and this was more than just this season’s boots.
“Hey,” she said and smiled. I ended up having a coffee and spending the afternoon at the museum.