- NO phone because I lost it in the dressing room of St. Vincent DePaul’s (miss you baby!)
- Lisa Frank notepad
- mini hairbrush
- several floating dollars
- a blood-covered kleenex
- a copy of “On Bullshit” by Harry G. Frankfurt
- a large golden spoon
- a copy of “On The Road” by Jack Kerouac, through which I am making abysmally slow progress because I only enjoy reading it while drunk
- a postcard from Margie
I just opened a drawer and saw my checkbook, and thought to myself, “I’d like to write a check.” Literally. Literally. Not that I’d like to part with my money, which isn’t exactly flowing out of my ears at this point in my illustrious bookstore clerking career, but that the act of writing a check would itself be, somehow, fun. A fun activity. Check writing. I had the thought in the same offhanded, non-committal way that one thinks “Oh, we should go bowling. That would be fun,” when driving past a bowling alley, or says “You know what movie we should watch again? The Lion King.” Suggestions that are in no way concrete plans, that rarely even lead to concrete plans, but that are simply acknowledgments that that activity would be, if you did ever decide to do it, fun. Fine. But check writing. Check writing. I baffle myself.
I didn’t even spend that much time outside today. I have no idea how it got there.
I want to be Dolly Parton, but I don’t think it’s going to work out. Dolly Parton’s distinctive features are (in no particular order):
- big blonde hair
- aquiline nose
- enormous wide mouth
- are-you-kidding-me joke balloon boobs
Looks like we’re zero for four over here. I’ll have to think of something else.
and here’s why: adult books can be good or bad, but children’s books are always good. I mean, it’s never bad for adults to read but if you’re reading Debbie Macomber novels you might as well be watching Bridezillas on television or undergoing multiple lobotomies. As long as kids are reading instead of playing video games or like, beating each other up, it doesn’t matter what books they choose. Any book is good.
My cat hangs out in my room all the time and she always gives me these mad disdainful looks whenever I change in front of her. And I want to be like, look, cat, you want to know why I’m so naked and hairless and awkward-looking compared to you? It’s because thousands and thousands of years ago, my ancient ancestors developed hairlessness as a trait to allow them to hunt throughout the middle of the day without getting too hot, which was the only way for them to have a hunting advantage over your ancient ancestors, who had much larger and sharper teeth and claws but whose covering of fur made it necessary for them to rest during the hottest part of the day. And why, pray, do you think my silly little monkey ancestors needed to hunt in the first place? It was because their brains had become so large and advanced that they needed to adopt a protein-diet in order to have enough energy to power them. So I would suggest you keep that in mind next time you find my lack of body hair absurd, and just remember who’s putting the food in whose bowl here, okay?
Years since I last had a boyfriend: 2.5
Number of books I’ve read in that time: 91
review excerpt on the back cover of an extremely lo-budge crappy looking sci-fi novel.
I feel like you could have done a better job with that, reviewer. I just feel like you could have tried a little harder here. I don’t think this achieves what you were hoping it would achieve.
A&E Channel: “Next week, on an all-new Parking Wars…
they all say I look so womanly
and I can’t wait to live my whole life through
having babies and taking care of you” —The Ronettes