Know what? Y’all have it easy. Easy! I’m the one who has to go out and
have all these crazy, and frequently painful, adventures, and y’all just get
to sit back and read about them and mutter to yourself, “Good Christ, how
many times can a human person fall DOWN before she finally hits
something valuable and is rendered dead?” Y’all don’t ever have to do
any work. I do all the work in this relationship! I give and I give and I
GIVE. So, guess what. Pop QUIZ, people!
That’s right. Sharpen your Number Two pencils and put on your thinking
caps. You gone WORK today. I’m not doing this shit by myself.
Are you ready? You better be, because here we go. (Good luck!)
Based on your knowledge of me, and my tendency to get drunk,
fall down, and make rash decisions, which of the following
statements is FALSE?
A. Two weekends ago, I went to an Elvis impersonator in Gainesville,
Georgia, and slow-danced with a drunk 18 year-old who had just been
released from a MENTAL INSTITUTION. Did you get that? Shall I repeat?
B. That same night, I did something called a “buttery nipple” shot with
an eighty-two-year old woman named “Aunt Betty” who had maybe two
teeth in her whole entire head. And then possibly I threw up, but none of
y’all can prove anything.
C. I had another fabulous dinner party with El Dukay, Allison, Chris,
Hannah, and the absolutely gorgeous AB and handsome Vince Chao,
where we listened to performances by the Damn Millionaires, and
spontaneously and without explanation, broke into an inspired rendition of
the Diff’rent Strokes theme song. It don’t matter that you got! Not a lot!
So what? This is what we felt at that time.
D. Baked two dozen cupcakes for my evil dog Bo’s fifth birthday party
(shut UP), which I proceeded to serve the next evening to the above-
mentioned guests. Who...maybe did not know that before right now. Hi.
Y’all! Guess what. Those cute cupcakes? They were from a dog party.
E. I tripped over one of my six-inch dog barriers and flew dramatically
through the air, landing on the concrete floor in the garage in such a
fashion as to rip one leg of my TWO HUNDRED DOLLAR Paper Denim
and Cloth jeans in HALF, and also, to create an enormous, gaping,
bloody, gangrenous black hole in my right kneecap, which I did not
immediately notice because I was too busy crying hysterically over the
death of my precious jeans, which I had been planning to be both married
and buried in, because spending $200 for a pair of jeans seems insane
once you’ve ripped those fuckers UP.
F. Flew to Boston for Ziz’s graduation from college this weekend,
unfortunately missing Al and Chris’ house-on-fire party and my friend
Panda’s summer kegger. So I proceeded to buy four pairs of shoes to
make my poor knee and poor non-burning-house-party-or-kegger-
attending self feel better. Bought a fifth pair and accidentally left them in
one of the shopping bags in my hotel room when I checked out, leading to
them being thrown away and me bashing my head into an airplane window
when all of this dawned on me.
G. Had an entire email conversation with Al in the language of REO
Speedwagon, which I will be so kind as to recount here for you:
I have now listened to REO Speedwagon’s greatest Hits at least 15
times in a row. Keep on rollin’.
It’s because you can’t fight that feeling anymore. You’ve even forgotten
what you started fighting for, I bet. But it might be time to take this ship
into the shore. What ever will you do with the oars?
You know, I might possibly throw them away.
Did you know that it is possible to speak in REO Speedwagon? You just
have to practice.
H. Woke up on Saturday morning, and had some sort of fit wherein I
stomped down the hall to my parents’ hotel room, and demanded that my
half-awake mother cut all my hair off of my head in the hotel bathroom
using travel scissors. Ten minutes later, my hair was eight inches shorter,
and looks sort of even, if you are standing sideways.
I. Attended Ziz’s graduation, plus also her “lording,” which is a
ceremony for alcoholics who have consumed 52 different liquor drinks in
this one bar. Little procrastinator Ziz consumed 30 of the 52 in the two
nights prior. Once she was lorded, she was made to chug something
large called an “Irish Car Bomb” while my parents took pictures and
waved. This same evening, met George, unofficial president of the Miss
Doxie fan club, and he is cuuuuuuute.
J. Returned from my weekend in Boston to discover that my four dogs
smelled like a slice of ass (what did El Dukay DO with them all weekend?)
and therefore forced my three guests to help me bathe all four, assembly-
line style, before they were allowed to drink. (The guests. Not the dogs.)
K. Had a moment of sheer terror when I realized that one of the dogs,
but I did not know which one, had decided to take matter into his (or her)
own hands and jump up on the coffee table and drink the entire chocolate
martini I had asked (or forced) El Dukay to prepare for me, meaning that I
had to stare at all four of them for an entire evening, crazy-like and wide-
eyed, waiting for some sign of chocolate poisoning/ alcohol poisoning/
drunkenness. None was forthcoming. The martini thief remains at large.
L. Thought I would save time and be all clever by putting together a
little quiz to summarize the insane amount of shit that has happened in the
last two weeks, and instead ended up articulating every last possible point
in the world including some that are boring, and spending almost two
hours doing so, saving absolutely no time at all, and completely forgetting
to put one single false thing in here, because damn it all if the truth ain’t
stranger than fiction in the world where I live.