Friday, May 11, 2007

the product placement ...

i've potentially had one of the greatest days of my life. but, to be honest, it was one of those days that would go forgotten if not for the Internet! i'm coming to you from chuck's couch. he is asleep. i'm watching grey's anatomy and drinking his beer and eating cheese out of his fridge and using his computer (a mac, nonetheless). the point of my post is going to be how much i love love looooove using other people's stuff -- fingerfuls of some bagged cheese concoction i found, swabbing my zits with his random potions, adapting to this new toothpaste that does not combat smokers' breath). i haven't slept in my own bed for years. my very comfortable bed is being homesteaded by a 30 pound tabby.


our cars were downtown. we'd cabbed home the previous night. but we'd both driven to the bar.

"so," chuck says. "a mile and a half to our cars. that should take us ...?"
"um. 28 minutes," i say. i walk at about a 4 mile per hour rate. i think, based on the ymca's treadies. but i'm not so hot at math.

we're trudging along fourth street. he's telling me a story. i'm distracted. a futon is laying in the middle of the road. it slipped from the back of a pickup. people are weaving around it. i interupt chuck to point. we watch as the drivers and a random put it back in the bed of the truck. one guy ditched his truck on 10th to help. it is like 85 degrees outside. i love this moment. these boys. this drama. this futon with cracked legs and these people swerving.

"what a great story," i say to chuck. then immitate the boys. "duuuuuude. then the futon totally fell out on fourth street."

he laughs. we cut down lake. we're at about lake and third when i look at him. sunglasses. dark t'shirt. jeans.sweaty forehead. i think: jesus. he is hot.

somewhere at lake avenue i become wicked hungry. like stomach eating itself hungry.

we turn right on first street and meander past coney island and chuck is like: "should we eat at coney island?" and my first inclination is "no." one time a friend found a fly in his hot dog. but hunger prevails. we at least browse. and as soon as i see a cheese hot dog on the menu, i'm salivating out of my toes.

"are you gonna eat?" i ask chuck.
"if you do," he does.
"i want the cheese coney," i say.
"two cheese coney's," he tells the teenager.
"i could totally go for a sprite," he tells me.
"i want a coke," i say.
"here or to go?' puberty asks.
"to go," we both say.

because we want to walk down first street drinking sodas out of wax based cups and fucking maul this meal. a bun with chili and cheese and onions and hot dog. we hardly have enough hands to negotiate this whole great moment. but eventually we settle things. later in the night, twice, chuck will say to me: "we were living in 1979. did they say 'totally in 1979?'" everything is more fun with him. we have the same vision: a hot dog is better with someone else walking down first street.

we still have like four blocks to go when chuck turns to me and says "this is fun."
sometimes i get caught up and forget. but he's right. this is fun. this is mundane living but this is fun, walking down fourth street and then first, eating a coney, continuing along. he's better at noticing.

we find our cars. stop by goodwill. chuck accuses me of being classist and i admit to the character flaw by telling him i was a child of privilege "16 YEARS OF CATHOLIC SCHOOLS!" we part ways until later.

***

jcrew and i are planning on eating at thai krathong. i have a wicked craving for drunken noodles. she's pliant when it comes to great food. we finally negotiate the situation to a compromise. jcrew comes over to watch grey's and eat thai.

we do not hang out as much as we used to. she no longer has the luxury of staying up late. i have a boyfriend (hot!) and she has a different boyfriend (almost as hot as chuck). our lives are different now that i cannot hear her every primal whim through my floorboards. but tonite we had this night where i thought "oh yeah! she's fucking hilario! good bless jcrew!" i loved every shared belch and scorned fart and we deconstructed the show like women who are far more boring than we actually are. i bled from my nose at my drunken noodles; she dared me to eat a mushroom from her soup. i love jcrew. what a fucking handful. she's worth it. and she has great hair. and, she finally admitted that she is partly the "samantha" friend, if we were to delve into sex and the city.

then chuck called and he and i went to fitgers. his friend wasd dj'ing. this was fun. just conversation. making fun of people. beer. matthew sweet. chuck wanted to go to red star, which was fine by me because even though i'd heard they'd gone smoke free, i suspected it was not yet official.

i drank sophia coppola's chamagne in a can.
chuck got a key lime martini.
i got a key lime martini and so did chuck.
we went to his house.

now chuck is asleep and, like i isaid, i'm watching grey's and drinking his beer. which brings us to products. i loooove using other people's products. when i stay at fannie's i love using her toothbrush, blowdryer and make up. one day i sat a jcrew's special space and used her hand sanitizer and lotion. chuck has nice lotion. a better apartment. and, aside from the toothpaste, better everything. i always enjoyed using my mom's makeup more thn my own.

this brings us to No. 6 or No. 7, whisky marie. I PREFER TO USE OTHER PEOPLE'S PRODUCTS TO MY OWN.

3 comments:

ps said...

loved this one. and love how you love your cute little boyfriend. xoxo

whiskeymarie said...

You can come to my house and use my products anytime- I've got a ton as I have a bit of a "problem" with the health & beauty crap.
Karmically, I deserve it for all of the bathrooms I've nosed through over the years.

Just don't use my toothbrush. Or at least dry it off to make like you didn't.

some guy said...

my wife has the same fetish for using other people's products. yeah.