ThePeach’s Recent Life Happenings in a List:
I haven’t been to the gym in about a month. It’s like this, people: I get home from work at 5 and I look at the clock and I think “Gee. I could go to the gym and become sleek and muscular. Or I could use the 5 hours before I need to get into bed to make dinner, study, cry about how I’m going to fail my exams, buy a pie, eat the pie, study more, pry the nickel that was on the floor out of the kitten’s mouth, and pass out”. So my choice has obviously been the latter. Pie makes me better at learnin’. And yes, I do go to bed between 10 and 11 now. Work does this to a person. I hate myself.
But last week I finally had time to make it to the gym for the first time in a month (and the last time for another 2 weeks or so). I squeezed myself into my workout clothes (“the dryer must have shrunk them”) and put on my coat (“the dryer must have shrunk it”) and huffed and puffed my way to the gym to meet TheHippie (“the dryer must have upset my asthma”). As we were putting our coats in our lockers, I swore to TheHippie that this was the beginning of a new health-trend for me. I was sick of being out of shape and eating like a pig and generally being a giant turd. No more! And then…
The gym had free food. That’s right. Free food. Apparently it was customer appreciation day, so the employees had set out tables and tables of deliciousness. We’re talking cheese platters, meat platters, cookie platters – all in the middle of the cardio room. I managed to abstain on my way to the elliptical machine. I ran for 30 minutes with the smell of sammiches taunting me. I toweled off, cleaned my machine, congratulated myself for exercising, and made a bee-line for the cheese platter. After I stuffed myself with cheese I made myself a sandwich for the walk home. You know, in case the 4 blocks tired me out.
My mom came to visit me for Easter this year. She was in UniversityTown for 4 days and 3 nights, and I had to entertain her. This went about as catastrophically as you might imagine. Here is an abbreviated version of why I spent my weekend screaming into a pillow:
- My taps drip. My whole apartment is a piece of shit, basically, but I have learned to cope. My mother has not learned. My taps drip, bitch! You have to turn them off ALL THE WAY or they will DRIP CONSTANTLY. TURN THE TAPS OFF! JUST TURN THE TAPS OFF! OH MY GOD, JUST TURN THEM OFF!!! FUCK!
-I spent an entire day cleaning in preparation of her arrival. I even swept the cobwebs out of the bathroom ceiling, for fuck’s sake. I mopped. I disinfected. All kitten poop was transferred to the garbage can outside. My little hovel sparkled with cleanliness. The first thing my mother did upon arriving is get back into the car, drive to the dollar store, purchase new cleaning products, and re-clean every surface I had touched. She even cleaned the handles to my cupboards. I had a shower one morning, and when I got out she had cleaned my microwave, toaster, and oven. Maybe this sounds nice to you, but my mom doesn’t do it to be nice. She does it to show me that I am useless. And dirty.
-I went to the store to buy food for Easter dinner, which I and TigerCat would be making this year. The bill came to $100, but I didn’t mind because I was happy to feed my family. TigerCat also spent an arm and a leg at the grocery store. We wanted to make a nice dinner for our mom. To thank us, our mom took us out for a lovely Easter brunch at a local café. Except instead of taking us, she took her boyfriend and didn’t bother inviting us. Repeat x 3 days.
- And finally:
Mom: Well, I guess I’ll bring you a few extra dishes to use. You know honey, this is why most people get a table setting for 8. Because 4 often isn’t enough.
Mom: And they’re lovely.
FauxHawk and I got back together. In December. But I’ve been too afraid to tell you for fear of the judgment. Actually, everyone already knows that we’re back together, so I don’t really know who I’m telling this to. Strangers? Do strangers read my blog? Well, if you do, don’t judge me. I’m weak for the hawk. I don’t think anyone really cares about the particulars of our reunion, but I will tell you the following:
a) He groveled good.
b) He groveled good.
c) He groveled good.
Do I forgive him? Not exactly. Do I love him? Yes. Tricksy jew. Keep on a’grovelin’.
It was a Saturday night and I was in my pj’s, ready to start writing an essay, when TigerCat called me to say that she was at TheCrazy’s and that I should come over to drink. I immediately put on pants and departed. Drinks turned into shots, and shots turned into drawing penises on CockDoc’s passed out body, and drawing turned into deciding to go see the rippers. We immediately put on pants and departed.
At the strip club, TheCrazy and I had multiple rounds of drinks bought for us by various perverts. They were immediately consumed. TheCrazy started humping her chair, which prompted a (possibly topless) waitress to walk to our table and tell us:
Snap. We were told. Told by a crusty skeeze. Ouch.
At some point or another, TigerCat took CockDoc home (yes, we dragged his limp and lifeless form to the rippers with us), and TheCrazy and I were left to our own devices. We attentively watched a stripper splash around in a giant tub of soapy water and roll around in neon paint. We humped more chairs. We drank our free drinks. We laughed at the manly stripper with the darkest cornhole we had ever seen. That bitch needs anal bleaching. We drank more free drinks. We needed to pee. We stumbled to the bathroom. I sat on the shitter. I may have contracted hepatitis. I walked out of the shitter. I looked confusedly at a fat old man taking a piss in the urinal. Uhoh.
TheCrazy and I had accidentally peed in the men’s shitter. Instead of leaving like we should have, we continued to point and laugh at the fat old man. Two security guards entered the shitter. We were immediately escorted out of the building.
Yes. I was kicked out of the rippers. And not even for anything awesome like punching a stripper or taking my top off.
TheCrazy and I decided to run home (why not?). As we were crossing the street, TheCrazy tripped and fell flat on her face. She lay spread eagled on her face in the middle of the street until I pulled her to her feet. She was bleeding from both knees and had ripped her jeans. The contents of her purse were scattered along the road. She bawled. I laughed hysterically. I’m a good friend.
TigerCat and I have decided to be original and backpack through Europe for 2 weeks this summer. Our plane tickets are already booked and we’ve made tentative itineraries. We’re super excited, except for the fact that we’ll probably die. Seriously. I can’t read a map, have no sense of direction, and will probably sell my passport for a fake prada purse. TigerCat gets sunstroke, heatstroke, traveller’s bum, and will probably somehow contract malaria and/or cancer. If all else fails, one of us will burn down our hostel by trying to plug a hair-straightener into a European outlet.
Anyway, today TigerCat and I were discussing the possibility of traveling to India for spiritual enlightenment, not because we ever plan to go to India, but because TigerCat was reading a book about India and we sometimes talk about very random things.
TigerCat: We should go to India for spiritual enlightenment.
ThePeach: We would die.
TigerCat. You’re right. I would die of diarrhea.
ThePeach: I would wander onto a railway and get hit by a train.
TigerCat: Or attacked by a tiger.
ThePeach: So maybe we should look for spiritual enlightenment in an industrialized nation.
TigerCat: Like Rome. Pizza is my enlightenment.
ThePeach: And wine is mine.
TigerCat: And what about gelato? They are the divine 3.
ThePeach: The holy trinity, if you will.
TigerCat: When we’re in Rome we will be on the search for the holy trinity and everyone will think we’re so devout! But really we just want to eat our way to god.
ThePeach: I just want to eat.
6. Wrath, part 2
Milo had finally stopped defiling my futon with his stank urine long enough for me to consider buying a new mattress. I lugged the old mattress to the backyard, lit it on fire, threw some bleach on it, and prayed to Allah to destroy the evil spirits. Once that was done I purchased a new mattress AND a plastic mattress cover and hoped for the best. Milo peed on the new mattress immediately, but it was while my mom was visiting and I could hardly blame him for expressing his rage. I wiped the urine off the plastic cover and bought a new sheet.
A week later, TigerCat went to my apartment while I was at work. She had a shower. When she came out, there was a steaming pile of shit on the futon. Well, this was new. Huh. I was baffled. Beat the kitty in the head kind of baffled. Luckily the shit wiped right off the plastic cover. Milo had been sick, so I figured it was excusable. Once.
I was out of town this weekend for a wedding. Over dinner, I received a text message from TigerCat:
TigerCat: Milo peed and pood on the futon.
It’s legal to drown your own cat, right? Or maybe I’ll just set him free in the wild. He would love that. He’d trot around the woods, grunt at pinecones, attack everything that moved, and poo on anything of value. Actually, he’d probably be dead in 2 hours. He’d try to make friends with a wolf or try to bite a bear and it would be bye-bye kitty. Poor spaz. I can’t help but love retards. See “Lust”.
Huh. I just spent 2 hours writing this instead of studying for my exam, which is how I planned to procrastinate from my actual work-work. I procrastinated x2! I'm a superhero.
I need some more pie. For the learnin'