light hurts my head, my own breath hurts my head, hair hurts my head.
chris monroe's art show at starfire screenprinting.
i'm not alone.
"i better wear my glasses," chuck says. "if i'm not focused on one specific thing, the entire world goes" [here he makes a gesture to indicate 'tilty.']
we spent yesterday dabbling in the kind of pedestrianism that can only end with some guy named chad reading pasta specials to you in spotty italian at the olive garden.
thankfully, we come to our nonpedestrian senses short of that.
but we do go to the mall.
the first person i hate is a woman careening drunkenly, and slowly, on a motorized scooter.
what kind of asshole gets mad at a woman on a rascal? me.
"doesn't she know those things can go 30?" i hiss to chuck.
behind me a man says "i mean, i'm not even sure what it would take to make that smell."
this has nothing to do with the woman, or either of us, as far as i can tell.
american eagle is teeming with 16 year old girls.
then i remember: if you are going to dress like a high school sophomore, you should try your hardest to not be annoyed when you shop elbow to bony elbow with them.
chuck sends me a text message from his half of the mall: hickory farms has samples.
we deny the holiday spirit breathing room, and load up on trinkets for ourselves.
we go to target and spend a half hour smelling liquid body soap.
what i really want is something that cleans my body and makes it smell good.
what i do not want is soap that covers my own smell until the exact moment that i come in contact with other people.
none of the bottles specify that they will work in this way.
in fact, none even necessarily say they are soap. they are "body wash."
that sounds like a waste of lather.
we are at cub foods, buying:
kielbasa for the meat raffle.
two low cal powerades for sunday's rejuvenation process.
wild rice soup, which i'm craving despite having never liked wild rice soup.
kielbasa for red beans and rice.
and an onion.
right after i accidentally exclaim "that's tits!" without considering the age of my fellow shoppers -- including a precocious tot with his arms in his t'shirt who i've just beaned in the fontanelle, not expecting something three feet tall to be zipping about -- chas says "i'm surprised there aren't more murderous rages."
"during the holidays?" i ask.
"no. on saturdays," he replies.
we make a special trip to the ghetto spur for special gas station burritos
we eat dinner at burrito union.
this will be one of three burritos i will consume over the weekend.
this will also be the best burrito consumed over the weekend -- namely because i caught amnesia for the second burrito and the third was medicinal.
we prepare to go out.
i put on my internet face. i put my face on the internet.
chuck buries the kielbasa meat deep in a snow bank, rather than carrying it around for an hour.
we stand close enough to the keg so we don't even have to bend over for a refill.
then we look at all the art, which by now is sold.
disappointing, because the pastel of a pink bunny on a bar stool by a pabst sign speaks to me.
it is saying "merry 2007 christmas, chuck!"
chuck digs the meat out of a snowbank, and we head to mr. d's for the 35th annual birthday rally in spirit valley.
the party's slogan is: buy us drinks win you meat!
i enter about two or three times.
i'm not sure what i will do with a 50 dollar slab of meat.
i have a 30 pound slab of meat running around my apartment, defecating next to his litter box, and i don't know what to do with that, either.
and as for the kielbasa, chuck had bought an extra just to get me to stop saying "i hope i win the keilbasa! i wanna win the kielbasa!" at cub foods.
i, of course, win the kielbasa.
through the course of the party, i will talk. a lot. about knitting, cancer, blogging.
facebook, fish, hair.
i, apparently, can talk about these things for upward of three consecutive hours.
a woman is dissatisfied with not winning in the meat raffle.
she finds no success in trying to coax the slab from the winner, who incidentally purchased the slab for the party.
it is locked in his trunk.
in fact, it never left the trunk.
i tell her she can have my kielbasa for two drinks: one for me, one for that special someone over there in the corner taking the equivilant of graduation portraits of each individual fish in the acquarium for the past 45 minutes.
deal, she says.
we hug after i hand her the kielbasa ring.
we take a cab home well before the bar has closed.
i haven't left a bar before last call since i was seven.
but chuck is in a certain way by now.
i crank out two gas station burritos.
he eats one bite and goes to sleep on the wrong side of the bed.
i fall in next to him about 20 minutes later.
i have such a terrific headache, that it wakes me at 7 a.m.
i stumble toward pain relief, then sleep five more hours and wake feeling like a champion.
until i notice the sunlight.
then i cower.
thankfully, the night did not end in the emergency room and i still have all of my teeth.
these are the two things i worry about most when i go out big.