Tuesday, July 29, 2008

ThePeach Moves into FauxHawk's Apartment; Immediately Destroys Everything

Well, I moved all my crap out of my apartment and to CapitalCity last weekend and bade one last farewell to my hovel, my barn, my well-loved hole (that was totally on purpose. I can’t help myself. Seriously…it’s a problem). The move itself went relatively smoothly, especially considering that FauxHawk and I stayed out drinking until 3am the night before. This was not part of my “let’s not fail life” plan, but as usual I needed little coercion:

ThePeach: Ok. Our friends want us to come out. We have to be up at 9am tomorrow, so there is no way I am staying out past 12.
FauxHawk: Ok.

*at the bar. time = 11:45.*

ThePeach: Ok. I have to be up at 9 to move tomorrow. No more gin.
FauxHawk: Ok.
TheCrazy: I ordered you another gin while you were in the shitter.
ThePeach: Ok.

*time = 12:30am.*

ThePeach: Hokay. No more drinking. Gots to move tomorrow morning.
FauxHawk: Ok.
TheCastrato: Wait, I have to tell you a joke first.
ThePeach: Is it long?
TheCastrato: Yes.
ThePeach: Ok.

*time = 1:00am*

TheCastrato: And then he says “MY WIFE! SHE EEZ FROM OUTER SPACE!”
ThePeach: YES!
Waitress: Another gin?
ThePeach: YES!
FauxHawk: Don’t you have to move tomorrow?
ThePeach: What?

*time = 1:45am*

ThePeach: *humps TheCrazy from behind* SNEAK ATTACK!!!
TheCrazy: YES!!!

*time = 2:00am*

Waitress: LAST CALL.
ThePeach: Ohhhs nooos. I haves to moves in seben hours! FauxHawks, we gos home!
FauxHawk: Ok.
TheCastrato: See, here’s my thought. Moving sucks. It’s gonna suck whether you’re sober, hung over, whatever. Might as well move hung over.
ThePeach:…you are sos brilliant.
TheCastrato: It is a gift. *drops beer on floor* Ohhh noooo.
ThePeach: *wipes tear from eyes* Teach me alls you know.
Waitress: Here’s your gin.

*time = 2:30am*


*time = 3:00am*

FauxHawk: Peach, the bar is closing.
ThePeach: NO!
FauxHawk: We have to go home now.
ThePeach: NO!
FauxHawk: Here, drink this water.
ThePeach: *throws glass at wall* NO!

*time = 9:00am*

ThePeach: huh shmeh wha…ground control?
ThePeach: *dry heaves* oh my god.
FauxHawk: Happy moving day.
ThePeach: Call an ambulance.

So, ya. I was shocked that the move went well. Because I can’t let go, I am spending the month of August in UniversityTown even though I have no job, apartment, or gin money. FauxHawk was kind enough to take me and the cat in. FauxHawk has a very clean and orderly apartment. It took me about 10 minutes to begin the path of destruction.

The first thing we did was unload the food I had brought with me. This included a giant tub of peanut butter. FauxHawk placed the tub in the shelves above the stove. The shelves then chose that exact moment to detach from the wall and crash onto the stove. I am not even kidding. I’m currently working on a poem called “the peanut butter is a metaphor”…I’ll let you know how it turns out. FauxHawk silently placed my peanut butter on the counter.

Since this disaster prevented us from being able to use the stove, we opted to order a pizza for dinner. I enjoy drinking milk when I eat pizza. I am five years old. I poured myself a gigantic glass of milk and placed it beside my plate on the coffee table. The cat smelled cheese and sprinted towards the pizza on my plate, trying to suck up the melty deliciousness with his greedy little mouth. I shooed the fucker away and the cat awkwardly bolted off the table, sashaying the giant glass of milk with his ass as he left. The milk then soaked everything on the table and ran all over the carpet. FauxHawk silently handed me the paper towels. I got to dabbin’. The cat licked my pizza while I dabbed.

The next day I tried to show what a wonderful housemate I could be by buying FauxHawk and I some delicious kettleman’s bagels. We were both excited about the doughy goodness. I decided to toast us some bagels for a snack. I got out FauxHawk’s gigantic serrated knife and started sawing the bagels in half.

ThePeach: Yum, these bagels look really good, FauxHawk! I can’t wait to…uhoh .
FauxHawk: Uhoh?
ThePeach: Um. I might be bleeding.
FauxHawk: What?
ThePeach: Ya. From the thumb. Oh, wow. That’s a lot of blood. Maybe if I dab at it with this paper towel…nope, still bleeding profusely.

Yep, that’s right. I almost cut my MOTHERFUCKING THUMB OFF trying to make FauxHawk a “please still let me live here” snack! MOTHERFUCK! I bled into the sink and cried. FauxHawk silently poured peroxide into my wound and wrapped a bandaid on me. He finished cutting the bagels and put them in the toaster. I ate mine with one hand. It was delicious.

So, to conclude, in less than 24 hours after I moved in: the kitchen cabinets fell down, my cat knocked milk all over the carpet, and I tried to saw my thumb off. I decided to abandon my plan to make FauxHawk a romantic dinner lest I burn down the building and require skin grafts to the face.

He’s a brave man.


Monday, July 21, 2008

ThePeach Has a Warm Fuzzy Feeling; Not from Gin This Time

I am such a terrible procrastinator. I have never written an essay more than 2 days before it was due. I have never studied more than 2 days before an exam. I have never paid a bill before the actual due date. I am just bad and sucky at life in general, I guess. Well, organizing my big move to CapitalCity has been no exception.

It is now 5 days before the u-haul pulls up to my shack (which is only booked because my Dad did it for me. If it were up to me I would probably end up walking the 150km to Capital City with my bed and cat strapped to my back). Today I woke up and went “motherfuck…I have a lot of crap. Perhaps it is time to think about packing.”

I do not yet have boxes, packing tape, the dwarves I assume I can hire to do my dirty work, newspapers…

I’m fucked.

So of course I utilized my time by coming to work to read celeb gossip and talk on msn. Speaking of work, I am not as excited to leave as you might imagine. Probably because nobody in my department knows or cares that my 3-year reign of indifference and eating my lunch at my desk is about to end. The girls in my office wanted to do something for me, but TheBoss shat all over that right before he went on vacation:

TheBoss: Hey, Peachy-Peach! Isn’t your last day coming up?
ThePeach: Yep. At the end of the month.
TheBoss: Wow, we should really do something for you.
ThePeach: Aw, you don’t have to!
TheBoss: Well, the girls in the lab wanted to throw you a surprise party, but I decided it would be too much work. I mean, I’d have to figure out a date, and a place, and then get FauxHawk to bring you there…no way, man! Too much work!
ThePeach: That’s sweet.
TheBoss: So maybe you can just organize something.
ThePeach: You want me to organize my own goodbye party?
TheBoss: Not a party. Just, like, a lunch or something. Somewhere cheap. See what you can get organized.
TheBoss: Man, what am I going to do without you?!
ThePeach: You might feel slightly less important.
TheBoss: I doubt it.

And now TheBoss is on vacation until the end of the summer, so he won’t even be here when I finally take off. If I leave a flaming bag of shit on his desk, as previously intended, the whole fucking building will burn down before he finds it! And I don’t necessarily want to kill innocents. This time.

So, I guess my point here is that I came to work feeling both incredibly underwhelmed about leaving and incredibly overwhelmed about packing. And then, the janitors made my life beautiful again.

THE JANITORS! OF COURSE! The one group of people who will actually notice my absence!!! How could I have forgotten them??!

In my 3 years of complete solitude in this basement chamber I call an office, I have had a silent army of compatriots on my side and I never even knew it. Every time they came in to change my garbage, replace a fluorescent bulb, or grease the sticky handle of my door, we made a brief and silent connection. If the connection could speak, I think it would say “I hate my life. And you hate yours. But we’re in this shit-hole together, so let’s just try not to burn it down for one more day. I respect you, silent soldier. I respect you.”

I often go weeks without human contact at work. Except for the janitors. When I laugh out loud at a YouTube video of a midget falling down the stairs, the janitors hear me. When I swear and throw the stapler at the wall, the janitors see me. When I close the office door so that I can eat donuts and cry in peace, the janitors keep a respectful distance. And when I hoard all of my empty water bottles in a giant tower behind my desk, the janitors recycle them for me without judgment.

And today they saved my ass.

As I was panicking about packing, TigerCat told me to go ask a Janitor if I could borrow some packing tape. This seemed reasonable, so I went and knocked on the janitor cell-door and explained my predicament. This is what happened:

ThePeach: *wailing* and I’ve been putting it off for so long that now I’m totally screwed, and please god say you have some packing tape I can borrow!?
Janitors: YOU’RE MOVING???
ThePeach: *sniff* Ya, to CapitalCity.
ThePeach: Oh. Ya. I guess nobody really knows. TheBoss hasn’t exactly sent a memo out.
Janitors: But…but…you’ve been here for so long!! You can’t just leave!
ThePeach: Well…I guess I am.
Janitors: Oh my god!! It’s going to be so different without you!
ThePeach: You…you…know who I am??

And what happened then?
Well, in Whoville they say that ThePeach’s small heart grew three sizes that day.
And then the true meaning of moving came through.
And ThePeach found the strength of 10 peaches. Plus two.

10 minutes later the janitors had loaded my office with packing tape, newspapers, and enough boxes to create some kind of hobo street-settlement. I might have to close the door so I can cry in peace.

Fahoo fores. Dahoo dores. Welcome Christmas, CHRISTMAS DAY!

Now I just need to find out about those dwarves...


Saturday, July 19, 2008

I regret nothing.

It is approx 1 month until I move to CapitalCity. I’m starting to get really nostalgic for UniversityTown, and since I’m not taking any classes this summer nor do I give a fuck about work, I have decided to leave the city the same way I arrived almost 8 years ago: as an obnoxious, drunken whore. That would be why I ended up swimming in the fountain in the market square last night with TheCrazy at 3am. We had just finished bingeing on post-bar poutine, and I know you’re supposed to wait 20 minutes before you swim, but the water was only ankle-deep so it seemed reasonable. Just like how everything I do seems totally reasonable.

And now FauxHawk and I are going to drive to CapitalCity to purchase and assemble some Ikea furniture for my new apartment. Anyone who has watched us play cards, wii, connect-4, or cranium turbo will understand that I fear this event will cause our breakup. We don’t do things well together. In fact, I think I can foresee the exact moment when our relationship will end: when I whip an ikea allen-key at FauxHawk’s head. Not playing well together + the challenge of assembling Swedish furniture = relationship poison.

Oh god, I can still taste the gin and melted cheese curds. I need about 4 more hours of sleep and a stomach pump. And maybe a hepatitis shot after swimming in the fountain.

My feet are sticky.


Saturday, July 12, 2008


It is the silent killer.


Friday, July 11, 2008

ThePeach Has Unfortunate Flashbacks; Hangover

I rolled into work at 11:30 today with the hangover of Hades and the smell of gin emanating out of my every pore. Last night wasn’t supposed to be wild, but it just kind of morphed into one of those wonderful nights where everyone gets gunned and pretends they don’t have jobs to go to the next day. My memory of the night is a little blurry, but I know that it was fun. Despite feeling like roadkill today, I regretted nothing up until 10 minutes ago. And then…the flashbacks started. So far only a few have surfaced, but they’re good ones:

1) I know that I ate some fries last night, but I couldn’t quite remember how that came about. Now I remember that when FauxHawk went to the bathroom I sat down at a table of strangers and ate all of the fries off of their snack platter. I think I made some friends.

2) I know I woke up with cheese under my fingernails today, but I couldn’t quite remember how that came about. Now I remember that TheCastrato ordered nachos, and I scraped all of the crispy cheese off of the plate with my fingers and sucked it down like it was my last meal. I think I made myself look attractive.

(editor’s note: I have been working out A LOT lately, and I have been dieting. I guess Ginny does not approve of my recent life choices)

3) I know I had sex last night, but I couldn’t quite remember how that came about. Now I remember that, as soon as I walked into FauxHawk’s apartment, I stripped naked and galloped around the room trying to whip him with a leather belt. I think I made him fall in love with me all over again.

4) I know I got an email alert telling me I received a new facebook message from my personal trainer/baby prostitute, but I’m not sure how that came about. Then I checked my facebook messaging history and found out that I sent him the following message last night:

“Hey Greg. You know what sucks? Drunk + Can’t move arms. I hate you. See you Tuesday. ThePeach.”

I think I wrote this while FauxHawk was tending to his belt wounds.

So, that was my Thursday night. I should have no problem making friends in CapitalCity. I’m so loveable and charming.

A big thanks to OfficeMate for bringing me some McNuggets today. You deserve the nobel peace prize. I love you.


Monday, July 07, 2008

This Doesn't Help Things.

There’s a heat-wave in UniversityTown this week and it’s muggy as the bowels of Hades outside. I am covered in a perma-sheen of sweat and sebaceous fluids (thanks, Dad, for the sexy Italian genetics), my hair is a curly, frizzed, matted hive of mayhem, and my cat has been lying on its back in the corner, wheezing like Rosie O’Donnell for the past two days.

It’s fucking hot.

I also have been too lazy to install my air conditioner yet this year, so my priorities when getting dressed in my tropical apartment this morning were not so much appearance-based as comfort-based. Combine this with the fact that I haven’t done laundry in, oh, 5 weeks, and you might begin to understand why I left the house looking like a hobo-whore this morning. Literally a hobo-whore. I had limited options to begin with, thanks to the moulding pile of laundry in my room, but still…I could have picked better. My bottom-half was good – in theory. I chose my lululemon shpants (short pants) based on their flowiness, lightness, and the fact that they are as close to shorts as I can get away with wearing at work without TheBoss being able to eye-ball my bare thigh. Coverage is key, friends. So ya, in theory the bottom-half of my body was fashionable. Oh, except that I have been wearing my shpants to the gym for the past 2 weeks, plus I wore them at the cottage last weekend, and haven’t had a chance to wash them yet. Is that white stain marshmallow, semen, or sweat residue? Life is a mystery.

The top-half is where I really lost things. You see, UniversityTown has this wonderful discount department store called the S&R and, being the cheap whore that I am, I purchase items there on a regular basis. I really don’t see how I can describe the S&R to the unenlightened except to ask you to imagine a Giant Tiger on welfare that spends its welfare money on meth and cheetos instead of food and health-care. So, the S&R is like a sick, dirty, poor, overweight, meth-addicted Giant Tiger with snaggle tooth and armpit stains. AND I LOVE IT. Where else can you buy a pair of hooker heels for $9.99 that make your toes bleed as soon as you walk in them? Nowhere.

So, last weekend I bought a shirt for $7.99. It has great cleave, which is what drew my eyes to it on the headless mannequin with one arm. The body of the shirt made an attempt at stylish flowiness, but kind of overshot it and was more tent-ish than anything. It was borderline maternity wear. But hey – good cleave plus $7.99? ThePeach will take you home and love you, shirt. Don’t you worry about a thing. So, today I wore that shirt with my dirty, stained shpants. I threw in a chunky necklace for good measure.

As the day wore on, the more I decided that I had gone too far at the S&R this time. I mean, my boobs were nice and out there – and I mean OUT THERE – but the tenting of the shirt was just getting ridiculous. I looked kind of homeless, but with massive, glorious knockers. I started referring to myself as hobo-chic, and finally settled on hobo-whore. I actually used the term hobo-whore in 3 separate convos on msn. I started getting really self-conscious, and that’s when I decided to call it a day. But first I would quickly run downtown on my way home to pick up some bagels. The knockers need to eat.

As I ran into the natural-foods bakery, I passed one of the many perma-hobos who camp out on the main street. This one particular hobo is a grizzled, weathered, toothless woman who squats in front of the natural-food bakery and begs for change. She has been there every day for 3 years and I stopped giving her change when she started drinking Starbucks coffee. Anyway, here is what happened:

Hobo: Spare some change?
ThePeach: Sorry.
Hobo: That’s ok. Hey, is that shirt from the S&R?
Hobo: I have the same one!!! In yellow! Don’t you just love it??
ThePeach: *sobs* Yes, it’s very flowy.
Hobo: That’s why I bought it!

OH, COME ON! COME ON! Give me a break, universe!! Whoever is up there and is scripting my life into a sketch comedy has a sick sense of humour. Seriously, what the fuck. My life is getting beyond ridiculous. Hey, humour-god – haven’t you ever heard of a thing called “subtlety”???

But, all anger aside, I really am a hobo-whore. Or, at least, I dress like one.

You would think this would be enough for me to throw the shirt out, wouldn’t you? How little you know me, readers. How little you know me.