And Then Kubla Khan Said We Should All Just Look At A Puppy
If you have to work for a very long time, and then you finish everything and realize that, oh: now I kind of have nothing to do for a few days, then maybe you will do something productive with your random abundance of time. Maybe you will volunteer for the Peace Corps, or learn how to cook, or commune with nature in an outdoor fashion. Maybe you will take that opportunity to catch up on your pathetic emailing, because every time you even look at your inbox, the weight of the unanswered and unread mail makes your brain go hazy with terror. Or, hello, maybe you will just do some fucking laundry already, as you have pretty much reached the point where you are clothed only in a loincloth and hair, because nothing is clean, exactly NOTHING, and you are seriously considering just BUYING some socks and underwear instead of actually washing those which you already own, because that is the kind of laundry-backlog we are discussing. Maybe that is what you will do with your unexpected downtime.
Or. On the other hand, you could just sit on your ass and stare vacantly at the television set. You could cover yourself in a blanket of weiner dogs and eat Ben and Jerry's "Pistachio Pistachio" ice cream while watching the abomination that is the personage of Tori Spelling trying, in vain, to get her dumb self killed in the cinematic masterpiece that is Mother, May I Sleep With Danger? And, being that you know a thing or two about the Spelling family's recent drama (thanks, Us Weekly!), you kind of imagine that Candy Spelling would be all, "What, Tori? May you sleep with danger? Absolutely. Have a party. Sleep with a lot of danger, O Child Who Has Brought Shame Upon This Household, And I Am Not Just Talking About That Time You Played Screech's Girlfriend On Saved By The Bell." And that kind of makes you giggle, while you readjust your loincloth and weave pistachio shells into your unkempt hair. Maybe THAT is what you will do. Y'all just go and guess which one I chose.
Anyway, so sitting on my ass has been pretty uneventful, and so I don't really have much to share, but I am trying to resolve not to have any more Blank. It's like a New Year's resolution, even though it is currently July. Whatever. I am turning over a new leaf! Even if I have to write about Tori Damn Spelling, I'm posting something. I am sure everyone is breathless with glee over this prospect, because yes, that is what we have all desired: to see what random shit is lurking in my brain. Superb! Sounds like a fantastic plan! Off we go!
And actually, on that entirely self-absorbed note, have y'all ever just...gotten a phrase stuck in your head? Like, it is not really a phrase that makes sense at all, but just, like -- I don't know, some words? And you keep thinking them, and they keep popping into your head for no discernable reason, and you really, really wish that you had some excuse to say whatever it is out loud, because it just seems like that would be really, really satisfying?
Okay, so maybe this has not happened to you, but it's been happening to me quite a bit lately. A few weeks ago, I couldn't stop quoting Samuel Taylor Coleridge, of all fucking people, and spent waaaaaay too many hours silently reciting "In Xanadu did Kubla Khan/ A stately pleasure-dome decree," which is actually a pretty good rhythm for Crazy, particularly if you kind of rock your body in sync to the words. While twitching. And when someone says, "Did you just say something under your breath?" you get to say, "Uh, I said 'In Xanadu did Kubla Khan/A Stately Pleasure Dome Decree', and then I kind of...you know, rocked," and maybe you will end up with medication. Score!
So, that was before. Now, the new phrase, which is far less literary, but equally pernicious, is: Participating Eyebrow. These are the words I cannot get out of my head. Participating eyebrow.
This phrase does not make any sense whatsoever, and I would venture to guess that nobody in the history of the world has placed these two words next to each other in such a fashion as to describe an eyebrow as "participating" (in what? Bocce?), but I am blazing new trails here. I have also decided that the phrase needs a definition, so I determined that when someone can raise an eyebrow in surprise, or in performing an impersonation of one-half of Jack Nicholson, the "Participating Eyebrow" is the brow that takes part in the action. It's the raising brow. It is the participating eyebrow.
Sadly, I have not had the opportunity to use the phrase, and it's annoying me. I think it would be peculiar to just walk up to someone on the street and say "Participating eyebrow!" but oddly, that is exactly what I feel like doing. I will probably get arrested.
I was trying to explain this phenomenon to our best friends, when one of them said that he'd had a similar phrase stuck in his head. After a trip to Whole Foods, he had found himself unable to stop thinking the words "throbbing purple eggplant." To which I said: Ew. And also: Excuse me while I share your dirty brain with the internet.
Now, that is just...disturbing. I mean, I might rock in rhythm to my mantra of eighteenth century poetry, but at least I am not some kind of vegetable pervert. I've got some standards, people! I mean, obviously I do. Lots of standards. Indeed, let's see what happens when I spill the contents of my brain on y'all poor unsuspecting people. In the prior paragraphs, I have discussed:
Throbbing purple eggplants
Yes. That is some deep shit, right there. Welcome to my brain: Less Bell Jar, and more Melting Pot.
So anyway, because this has been fucking fascinating, I am sure, I will leave you with this last bit of delightfulness, and maybe that will prevent angry people from sticking my head on a stake or something. Because, I have pictures to show you! They are not drawrings, but photographs (remember those? Photo entry!) and, frankly, y'all are maybe not ready for all this adorableness that is about to be all up on your computer screen. I mean, people -- are you ready for the snoogly? Because, I have brought you some snoogly.
But, first: minor backstory. I have to tell you about Darlene. Darlene is a charter member of the 24 Viewing Crew. As such, she comes to my house every Monday, drinks along at all the necessary words, laughs with the rest of us troublemakers until a very late and irresponsible hour, and sometimes has to sleep in a guest room. That is a pretty standard Monday for the 24 crew.
Now that 24 is over, though, we have all started watching Lost. None of us had seen it before, so I picked up Season 1, and we began at the beginning, as one does. That way, we can continue to hang out on Mondays, because really, the company is more important than the show.
(And oh, ew. Isn't that just such a mushy and saccharine little thing for me to say, here on this Tuesday morning? It totally is. 'The company is more important than the show!' Ugh. Listen, what I meant was, "the company is more important than the show, because Bo and I are working on a plan to skin them all and bake them into an enormous pot pie. Personally, I’m on this 'Ed Gein-meets-Martha Stewart' kick, and want to use their skulls as soup bowls (which I will then stencil!), but Bo thinks that we should make them into some lovely ceremonial hats. Anyway, will eat all the guests soon.")
(Or, possibly that is taking things too far in the other direction. Maybe threatening to eat your guests and make their skulls into soup bowls is really not nice. But maybe I am just not a very nice person. Tori Spelling, for example, probably thinks I am an enormous bitch.)
(Actually, now that I think about it, maybe none of this backstory was necessary. Hmm.)
So, we love Darlene, and Darlene loves us, and Darlene loves dogs, and Darlene’s awesome dachshund Benson died in May and it was horrible and bad, but then she had herself a birthday, and so…meet Jackson. And he is named for Jack Bauer, as it should be.
Hello. My hobbies include being squooshy, taking naps, and world domination.
Hello, human mother. I now own you, and you shall be a pawn in my master plan.
AHHH! WAIT. Put me down immediately! I have a master plan for world domination! I am not for cuddling!
Free at last, to roam the den like my wild dachshund ancestors! No cage can hold me!
ROAM ROAM ROAM.
ROAM ROA-well, helloooo, interesting greenish person.
Dammit! Captured! Stop picking me up, people! You are interfering with the master plan!
Although...perhaps a small snuggly.
But, no! I will not give in! Instead, I shall use violence to escape!
HA HA HA! FREE AGAIN!
...and, snatched again. But NOT FOR LONG, SIR.
You shall now be distracted by my tiny adorable kisses!
HA HA MAN CAPTOR! You too have been fooled by my trickery! AGAIN I ROAM FREELY.
World domination, here I come! Jackson OUT.
(Five minutes later)
Or, I could just sleep on these boobs here. Whichever. Master planzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
And thus ends the smooshy, the Xanadu, and the Tori Spelling. Let's hope those elements never again combine.
Y'all have a good week!