Have you ever seen a sadder face in your LIFE? No,
Special love box!
Y'all! Don't you want to join my shiny
Well, I’ve been busy. As usual. This time, I took some time off and went on
vacation, where I got tan. I had a ton of work stuff all land, plop!, on my
head. And I’ve been to about a zillion parties and barbecues and
engagement parties for people who I don’t know, but I will not be going back
to their house, because COCKROACHES! COCKROACHES THE SIZE OF
BEAGLES! HIDE YOUR CHILDREN!
Anyway. So all this has been happening, and I was trying to think of what,
specifically, would make a good entry, because there’s been a lot going on.
But I guess it took me too long to decide, because when I got to work this
morning, I got this email from El Dukay, who is the Official Mouthpiece For
Everyone Who Reads This Site But Those People Are Actually Too Polite To
Say The Shit That El Dukay Will Gladly Say. This is the email, IN ITS
why don't you get off your fat ass and hit us all up with
a new entry?
What I particularly like, is that the subject line is “HELLO!”
Like it’s friendly.
Y’all, why do I date a bad man? Why is he evil personified? Why can’t I find
a nice boy who doesn’t call me “bi-yatch” and insinuate that my fine, fine
derriere is fat? Bad! Especially considering that I say the nicest things in the
world about his own derriere on other people's websites when I am being
interviewed by imaginary reporters.
So. This got me feeling sorry for myself. Which I am good at. And all of it
ultimately led me to decide: Y'all! Let’s talk about SAD TRAGEDIES.
Specifically, Sad Tragedies that keep on happening to ME. (And, um...as
opposed to those other kinds of tragedies, like the...”happy” ones.
Whatever. Shut up!)
ANYWAY. Y’all are going to read this entry and feel SO SORRY FOR ME that
you are not going to know what to do with yourselves. I recommend getting
up right now and getting some Kleenex, because you’re going to need
something to stop the FLOOD OF TEARS that will inevitably occur as you
read about the HORRIBLE HORRIBLENESS that has befallen me. And then
you will get out your best stationery and a pen and you will write a letter to
God that says, “Dear God, why do you torture Miss Doxie every day of her life
with things falling down and falling in and suicidal cabinets and the like? IT
IS TOO MUCH FOR A PERSON TO BEAR!” and then you will start sobbing
Anyway. Here they are. My Sad Tragedies, in a kind of chronological order.
1. The Tragedy of the Cabinets.
This is a big Sad Tragedy. BIG. This one involved actual tears and
What happened, was that I went to a party that lasted all night long (All night!
Like Lionel Richie sings about! When he is not busy mourning the Sad
Tragedy of having a ho daughter), and then went to brunch with El Dukay and
the party-thrower who we will call ALEX because that is his name and I am
tired of making up clever pseudonyms. And we had brunch. It was good.
And then we came home, and I went into the kitchen and was going through
the mail, and Dukay was playing outside with the dogs, and then my eyes
traveled up, through the kitchen, and then I screamed BLOODY FUCKING
MURDER because y’all! Guess what!
My cabinets fell down.
Wait, maybe I need to clarify that for you. My kitchen cabinets? The ones in
the kitchen, that are cabinets that are attached to the kitchen walls and which
hold, like, kitchen things in their cabinet-y way? They fell down.
I mean, people, I cannot emphasize this enough. THEY FELL DOWN.
THEY! FELL! DOWN!
See, when I redid everything in that house, I kept the cabinets and just had
them repainted. And they looked FINE, and so I didn’t GUESS that the little
screws that were holding them to the wall had, like, given UP over time and
were now slowly letting GO. And so the whole fucking thing just LEAPT from
the wall in a tremendous suicidal gesture, or maybe because they wanted to
go traveling and see the world. I don’t know. All I DO know is, cabinets = not
on wall. Cabinets hanging from sad, remaining screws at crazy angles all
over kitchen. Bad cabinets! Doxie cry!
The lucky part is that my dishes weren’t broken, somehow. But THAT IS
THE ONLY LUCKY PART.
And that is the Sad Tragedy of the Kitchen Cabinets (still broken, I might add.
Y’all! Who knows how to fix cabinets? Please come to my house! I love
you!), but the tragedy continued right up through:
2. The Tragedy of the Spaghetti Dinner.
Which is a shorter tragedy, for which you are probably grateful. Anyway, I had
Alex, and Dukay, and sweet, wonderful Dig, and assorted others to my
house for dinner a few days after The Falling Of The Cabinets. I instructed
everyone to pretend that the cabinets were not hanging at crazy angles and
to act like my house was PERFECT and I don’t want to hear another word
about it. And then I made spaghetti, because I make some fucking good
And in the midst of the spaghetti making and me insisting that, oh my God,
besides the cabinets, the house is like TOTALLY FINE and I love it and this
is SUCH A FREAK ACCIDENT and no biggie at ALL and let me come on
over here, past you (excuse me!) and just reach into the pantry for some
garliiiiiic, and will you just open that door for me WHAM!
And the pantry door fell off. Boom!
Y’all. What is going on? Did I catch something? Did I catch curse? Can
you catch curse? Did one of y’all curse me? Is this Dukay’s fault?
3. The Tragedy of the Guest Room Floor.
This is a much more easily explained Tragedy. Turns out, you have to clean
your gutters. This is one of those things I didn’t know. So let us make this a
public service announcement for those of you who are idiots like me:
Clean out your gutters! Or else there will be big rain and your gutters will
overflow and the water will come into your cute blue guest room and ruin
your new floors and you will scream, and you will have to use a Flokati rug to
cover up the damage and your father will tell you that you are a moron,
because doesn’t EVERYONE know that you are supposed to clean out your
The end. Dummy.
4. The Tragedy of the Snake.
There are some sounds you never, ever want to hear. You never want to
hear the sound of a crazy person breaking into your house at night with an
axe or a Vegi-matic with the intention of cutting you into little bits. You never
want to hear the sound of the dog going hooooooonk hoooooooonk right
before he throws up copiously (Copiously!) all in your bed.
But more than anything, you never want to hear the sound of your sleeping
boyfriend, who happens to be naked as a jaybird, suddenly wake at four in
the morning, LEAP FROM THE BED in an Olympic manner, FLEE into the
corner and cover his eyes with one hand, point at the bed and, at the top of
his lungs, SHRIEK:
Because that sucks. Because then you have to try to calm him down by
explaining that he’s just dreaming, but he TOTALLY DOES NOT BELIEVE
YOU, LIAR, and has to remove all the sheets and blankets from the bed to
look for the snake, which was probably a PYTHON, which are SO FUCKING
COMMON in our part of ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
And then he realizes that, hey! He was probably just dreaming. And he
goes back to sleep, all chucking to himself. But you’re lying there, and then
you think, “Fuck. What if there WAS a snake in the damn bed?” and then
YOU have to get up, and look through all the sheets, and the blankets, and
then under the bed, and maybe it went into the closet, and DAMMIT, now you
can NEVER SLEEP AGAIN.
5. The Tragedy of the Lights.
...Especially because about an hour after the Sad Tragedy of the Snake, the
power goes out because of the Sad Tragedy of the Remnants of the Bad
Hurricane that has decided to knock down a shitload of trees in your vicinity.
And then the power stays off.
And the power stays off.
And the power CONTINUES to stay off.
And it is pretty dark.
And now it has been a whole day and the power is still off.
And the refrigerator is not cold anymore, and it is dark, and the power is still
PLEASE TURN THE POWER BACK ON.
The power is off.
The dogs are getting cranky and you smell bad. The power continues in its
offness, which is to say that it is not “on” in any manner, being that is it “off”.
The power stays off.
You give up and go to your parents’ house, at which point the power
magically turns its fool self back ON, but now it is too late and you are
committed to spending the night (read: you're drunk) in your old bedroom,
which your parents have decided to redecorate, and part of the redecoration
process involved the removal of the mattress you used to sleep on, and
replacing said mattress with a huge fucking slab of GRANITE, because that
is the hardest damned mattress I have ever seen in my LIFE, and what the
hell is the matter with you, Parents? Why does everyone HATE ME?
Anyway. And thus concluded the tragedy of the lights.
And there you go! All of my Sad Tragedies. All of the tears and misery I have
endured in my tragic, tragic life that occurred in the last two weeks. I know it
is hard for you to stop crying right now. Please try to pull yourself together.
Thank you for your tears. Thank you for your sympathy and the cards filled
with lots of money that I am sure I will soon start to receive.
And thank you, most of all, to my beloved El Dukay, who knows just how to
gently prod me out of my inaction, and – with carefully chosen words of
sweetness and light – nurture and tenderly encourage me to return to the
El Dukay? My darling?
I updated, Fat Ass.
Y’all, I’m out! Have great weeks, everyone!
Sadder Than Steel Magnolias, Even!