Sunday, July 1, 2007

a weekend in three parts ...

how lazy does a person have to be to become completely irritated when she realizes that she has to physically unbutton this particular pair of pants before she can use the bathroom?

typically, i wear pants that are just a wee bit too big around the waist. i take great pleasure in never having to unbutton, nor unzip. i just yank. yesterday i wore a pair that fit-fit me and had silent rage in a public restroom when i realized i was going to have to untie the little belt, unbutton two buttons and unzip. the whole experience made me wonder if i should maybe just continue to sit on the toilet until i built up another bladder-ful so i wouldn't have to go through this madness again.

watch your local independent books store for my memoir: christa and the sisterhood of the elastic pants.

seadawg had a deck party on saturday night and there were about a dozen people on hand, including my friend dude, who lives in two harbors.

"such a menopausal city," i lamented to him. this is, afterall, my favorite thing to say about two harbors.
"that's why it never snows there," he said. "the hot flashes."
"the warm front coming in from the bingo game," chuck added.
"from the yarn store," i said.

i ate about three pounds of summer sausage and the equivilent of an isthmus of cheese.

jcrew and i were building a pile of cigarettes in the back yard when she confessed that losing her dog spanky, which is imminent, is going to be horrific for her to overcome. "he's like a brother to me," she said. "seriously."

the conversation went on. my little friend had been bothered for three consecutive weeks with morning-puking and after ruling out the obvious reasons for the purge she decided that it was stress related.

"you know, carrying the weight of spanky's death on my back before it even happens. my body was preparing for the grief," she said approximately. then shrugged. "turns out it was just women's one a day."

by the end of the night, jcrew had raided the medicine cabinent, deemed our host a metrosexual and decided that she wanted to punch me in the face.

"by the time she gets out of the bathroom, she won't even remember why she wants to punch me in the face," i predicted. sure enough, when she came down the steps she told bubbles that she was going to punch her in the face.

i was cozied into the couch, absentmindedly picking dead skin off my feet and politely placing the slivers in my pocket when my entire toe started to bleed. i cupped the gushing wound in my hand until we could beat a retreat. now my toe looks like a shark attack.

we were driving in canal park today, under the false assumption that hell's kitchen had finally opened and hopefully eliminate another assumption, which is: most meals should be, and subsequently are, taken at burrito union. i love burrito union, but a girl can only read so much of "endless love" in a given day -- if you know what i mean.

chuck seethed as he looked for a place to park and once said a little extra loudly and with great emphasis: apparently you have to be staying at a hotel if you want to get a parking spot down here!

he finally found a spot. we walked to the restaurant, he yanked on the door, and it was closed. we looked in the windows and hell's kitchen looked more like hell's storrage room. since i was about to make a meal of concrete, cigarette butts and globs of old gum, we quickly headed to pizza luce. but first we almost got run over by, i'm assuming, a tourist.

we pulled up next to the fountain in canal park. various animal-people spring fountains of water into a small pool. a woman was taking a photo of her husband standing in front of it and i noticed he was not facing her. no, he was facing sideways, with his hands in a position to suggest that in this vacation photo he wanted it to look like he was emitting one very grand stream from his waist-level stream-emitter.

brilliant. potty humor from the retiree sector. my favorite.

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