plant life death
if you’re ugly, and offended by this post, don’t read it, ugly-pants.
so last night i was curled up on the couch under, oh, three blankets. and i’m watching tv. more specifically, i’m watching extreme makeover. and if you laugh at me i will totally cut you. so there’s this woman being made-over extremely, right. poor thing is really quite ugly, i mean, time has ravaged her once-young and pleasant face. plus, she’s mostly deaf and mostly blind. which also sucks. so then we’re at the point where she’s revealed to be suddenly much less ugly, where three or four plastic surgery miracles have smoothed her wrinked face and perked up her drooping nose, eyes, and breasts. and of course, they’ve fixed her hearing and sight.
and you know, i’m a sensitive girl, so when i see her hugging her still-ugly husband and listening to her kids laughter and seeing her old dad’s face, of course my eyes get a little moist around the edges like. because, you know, it’s touching. she’s de-uglied, and plus can see and hear. swell.
only, then my plant falls over. this is a very near-dead plant perched on my coffee table. the only reason i keep it around is to warn other life-forms that come into my home… this is what’ll happen to you if you choose to stay. plants have terrorism-conventions and colored warning systems about me. i’m the osama bin laden of plant life, mercilessly killing all i see by merely looking at them. so this plant has been hanging on for its dear pathetic life with one little stalk. but when De-Uglied is hugging her family and i’m getting a little weepy, plant falls over onto the floor.
and i’m thinking, what possibly induced this plant to plunge 2 feet to its death? then it hits me – the plant was watching the show too. and the plant thought, “damn, i’ve always held out hope that life could get better for me. look, it got better for De-Uglied.” but then the plant must have realized the crucial ingredient it was missing. “you know, i would love an extreme makeover. except, as a plant, i lack the requisite range of expressive emotion to show how pleased i am with my new look. the producers would never pick a plant. o, woe is me. i need to commit suicide.” so the plant threw itself to its hardwood death.
an exercise in fortune-telling
krissa:i want, as follows – a cool keychain, the perfect little black dress, a trip to paris, a pair of bagley mischka shoes, a cooler black wool coat than the one i have, better hair, a nice boyfriend, a car on the weekends, a well-trained dog, a powerbook G4, a dark red leather trenchcoat, and the ability to keep beautiful plants alive.
jason: First, you’ll get a cool keychain. This will make you feel good about yourself, and your happy energy will get you invited to a fancy party, so you’ll get a black dress. At the party, the host will think you’re so lovely, with the help of your black dress, that he’ll fly you to weekend with him in PAris, where he will buy you shoes. When you get back to New York, he’ll buy you a coat, since you’ll be cold. Then, you’ll realize that he’s nothing but an old leecher, and leave him. To pick yourself up, you’ll get a new haircut, and the stylist, the only nice and straight one in NYC, will ask you out, and become a good boyfriend. He works on the weekends, and lets you use his car. While driving, you’ll fall in love with a stay dog, and adopt it…
…the dog will run off at strange times, being of a wild nature. one day, he comes back with a brand new powerbook in his jaws, a big load for such a little dog. You’ll use the computer to get involved in Geocaching, and find a red trenchcoat that someone has left in a teacup in central park. In the pocket are magic seeds.
[go to jason's to see the rest.]
top ten for a top girl
let me put it this way – i stay over at shivvy’s a lot. as i famously put it, “i’m here a lot in between boyfriends.” there are numerous reasons why i would want to stay all the way in brooklyn on a week night and trudge to work in the same jeans the next day. among the multitude are:
1. shivvy
well, that was easy. also:
2. she has every piece of makeup ever created, and more DVDs than you can shake a stick at.
3. she puts cinnamon in her morning coffee grinds.
4. her couch loves me.
5. she’s friendlier in the morning than most men i’ve slept with and i don’t even have to put out.
6. my cell phone has almost no range in her house, making me happily near-unreachable.
7. princess pizza.
8. there may not be food in the house, but there’s always whiskey and wool.
9. i can get an impromptu unplugged performance with little or no arm-twisting. and she doesn’t mind that i sing along.
10. those scantily-clad pillow fights*.
*we can guarantee no actual scantily-clad pillow fights. so get away from the windows, you’re leaving drool-marks.
and by hive mind, i mean…
krissa: the landlord seems reasonable – cats and dogs are fine.
kate: good thing, too, since we have all those pets.
krissa: pets, boys wearing leashes, SAME CONCEPT.
kate: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. HAHAHAHA. like, there would just be boys wearing leashes, like, AROUND all the time.
krissa: RIGHT. but they’re HOUSETRAINED, obviously.
kate: oh of course.
kate: and by housetrained,
kate: you mean, able to shake up a decent martini.
krissa: and by housetrained i mean, certified bartenders and michelin-approved chefs.
kate: OH MY GOD HIVE MIND.
krissa: OH MY GOD HIVE MIND.
where’d the party go?
january is usually my favorite season – after the frantic holidays, january is like the end of the party where it’s only your two best friends, flopped on the couch and slightly drunk, gossiping about all the guests. but this january hasn’t felt that cozy so far. maybe it’s because my best friend left town this morning, after five glorious days. maybe it’s because the temperature dropped ten degrees overnight. maybe it’s because i’m back at work after nearly convincing myself that i live a life of leisure.
but maybe it’s something else. if the three major fields of life are health, work, and love, i suppose two outta three ain’t bad. but that third is starting to feel tricky. i have so many friends in relationships, of every stripe imaginable. dependant, independent, casual, serious, healthy, less than, freeing, stifling – at least half of my friends are coupled. and it seems that even the single half are out having adventures d’amour. since i’ve proved incapable of coupling, and i’m terrible at adventure … what road am i on, and how do i get to their sides of the map?
in 2003, i tried celibacy. six months of it. waiting. but then that one broke my heart with the squealing tires of a hasty departure. pick up, dust off, try again: this time, he wasn’t anything i wanted. nor i, for him. pick up, dust off, try again: this time, he was everything i thought i wanted and it turned out not enough for either of us. so much for 2003.
i wonder, as i watch all my friends run into relationships, fall out of them, soar through them … am i the Girl that Love Forgot? sure, i’m happy being single. in fact, i cherish and jealously guard my freedom and independence. but when the other two sides of your life triangle – health and work – are going well, you can’t help wonder why there’s never the right person, at the right time, in the right place. Love’s a bitch of a master, yes, but if you’re her servant, should she throw you a bone every now and then? and when you know how much you’ve got to offer to Love, what do you when Love seems to take one look at your platter of delicacies and run the other way? when does a dry spell become, well, the climate?
i’d say i’m hopeful for 2004, except that just seems like tempting murphy’s law. so let me just say this – if i am really the Girl that Love Forgot, i’d better be getting a handicapped parking space.
