The Wonders of the Human Mind

For absolutely no reason at all this morning I suddenly found myself singing, "Yikes! Stripes! Beechnut fruit stripe gum!" --over and over and over...

Fucked Up Valentine

In a way, I guess, it's appropriate. If you're going to break up with someone, WHY NOT on Valentine's day? After all, it's a ridiculous, stupid holiday based on guilt and with really no reason to exist than boost sales at certain worthless retail businesses, the same as Christmas. And seeing how I used to be an FTD pimp myself, maybe I had this coming.

But I didn’t SEE it coming, that's the sad thing. We've been together for seven years now, and things have been going well. SO I thought. As Lou Reed says...

Oh, fuck Lou Reed.

Okay, what happened, I got off my third shift job at the Suicide Hotline to come home and find that she had completely moved out. I mean everything, including the cat and things that were mine. I'm exaggerating, she didn’t take that much that was mine, except for the Revere-ware.

She left a brilliant note, short, but to the vicious, horrible point. I'll reproduce it here...

No, fuck that.

Not that I'm trying to protect her anonymity or anything, but becaue it's a really GREAT letter, and I don't want to share it. It's for me. The clear-mindedness of it, and the viciousness, and the serial killer coldness just makes me love her more than ever.

And the best thing is that she left this HUGE box of chocolates, probably something she bought at Walgreen's that would go on sale tomorrow for a dollar because the expiration date is LAST Valentine's day and they are full of worms. Even better, I looked at the ingredients and it's chocolate with crunchy shit it, which is made of, yes... WHEAT! Which, as you know, is poison to me. Not to mention that she knows I quit eating chocolate because it gives me migraines. The only thing better could be if I had a deadly peanut allergy or something, because there are peanuts in it too!

Maybe I'll send her flowers. But, really, I don't hate her that much. At least not yet. Maybe I need to give this time to sink in.

I have nothing against flowers, in fact I LOVE flowers, it's just what flowers have become. You send someone flowers because someone has died, or because you are guilty about something, or because if you DON'T you'll be in the doghouse. You send someone flowers to say you're sorry, because you fucked up massively, and you are asking for one more chance. And you send someone flowers to say "It's your funeral." And you send someone flowers because you are saying, "I'm above all that. Maybe I don't forgive you, and I can never forgive you, but here's some goddamned flowers!"

I'm not going to send flowers. I'm just going to get over it. In about three years, is my best guess.

Laundry Mishap

Another laundry day, another breakfast at Brady Street Pharmacy, another mishap, another problem, another another another. I put in my wash, went over to BSP for two eggs, over, burnt beyond all recognition (translates as over easy here), bacon, sausage, Canadian bacon, country ham, sausage gravy, no biscuits, no toast, bananas and milk, butterscotch sundae. I can't button the top button of my jeans, I wonder why. I don't mean now, after eating all that. I mean lately.

After breakfast, which included coffee, and a couple of cigarettes, courtesy the IAB, I went back to the laundromat. While leaning over the washer, scooping my clean (kind of, you know...) clothes into the rolling basket, I suddenly HURLED my breakfast right on the clean clothes. Rather than getting upset, I put the now quite soiled clothes right back in the washer, added more soap and seven quarters, and changed the settings from "white" to "bright colors."