Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Awkward Moments

My sister confessed that besides the horror of The Thing, the other reason she wouldn’t take a picture was that she felt I shouldn’t have a picture that showed my face on my blog.

“Why?” I demanded, wondering what exactly what it was she thought was wrong with my face.
“Hello! People wanted to kill you!”
“Yeah, but they mostly got over it!”
“Well, eventually someone will probably want to kill you again.”

I don’t think she’s ever been more right.

In other news, the thought of moving to a far away state to become a teacher in a high-needs school has not become even the slightest bit more agreeable.

Of course the alternative, staying here, with no money, no house, and no plan for changing the broke homeless situation is not a super cool alternative.

The sudden unyielding realization of the horribleness of my pathetic life has become so crushingly omnipresent that I feel like my very soul is being squeezed out of me like toothpaste.

I explained these sentiments to my cousin who is visiting, “I feel like I’m going to die. Every time I think about what I should do I feel so nauseous that I can’t even move. I’m mentally and physically paralyzed.”

“I feel exactly the same way.” He said nodding knowingly.

I felt I should explain to him that having nothing to do all day but lay on the couch with a blankie, watching Will and Grace was not exactly the same thing as having nothing to do all day but steal internet from the library and hang out at the gym while having a mental/nervous/physical breakdown, but I had to go make dinner.

At this point My Teen made an appearance.

“All we ever have is beans. It’s getting disgusting.” She said, stabbing at what must
have been her one millionth bowl of beans and rice.

“I know. It's totally disgusting.” I said, realizing for the first time that I’ve been cooking for myself for eight months and I can still only cook the same three things I started with: Beans, spaghetti, and lentil soup. Fucking tragic.

My astute teen joined me in this startling realization, “You always make the same three things. Why don’t you make something else?”

“I don't know how to make anything else.“ Duh!

She rolled her eyes, “Why don’t you just learn to cook?”

“Why don't you learn to cook!” I retaliated, brilliantly.

“No!” She said.

“Well, then, eat your fucking beans.”

Just then my uncle came in to take his muffins out of the infamous stove that I very nearly completely destroyed.

“I wish you made vegan food so I didn’t have to cook.” I said, glaring fiercely at him for his omnivorous ways that have yet to benefit me in any way. Being an omnivore when it would be more convenient for me if he was vegan? It's just the height of rudeness.

“I do.” He said, pointing to his ground elk meat sizzling in the stove, “That’s free range elk, right there, and these," He said taking the muffins out of the pan, “are made with free range eggs and free range blueberries.”

It was then that I made a yet another startling discovery. After living with a vegan for eight months, my uncle still has absolutely no idea what a vegan is. I was also kind of questioning his understanding of free range.

However, I did not have time to explain. I had to pack my gym bag for tomorrow.

The gym has become the only place I actually feel normal.

When you’re worried that your heart might explode in spin class and that you might die of heat exhaustion in the sauna, your mind has little else to bother you with.

Unless you do something that kind of almost pretty much ruins it.

The other day I was going on 45 minutes in the sauna when I needed a water break. I went out to the drinking fountain. On my way, I decided to wipe my sweaty face off.

I pulled my towel from the hook and wiped my face. It was very refreshing. As I tried to put the towel back, I missed the hook and it fell. As I stooped to pick it up, I made yet another startling realization: The towel I had just smeared my sweat all over and thrown on the floor was not my towel at all.

My first instinct was to quickly put it back and sneak back in the sauna pretending I hadn’t drenched some hapless victim’s towel in sweat right before dropping it on the ground. That sort of thing could easily be misconstrued as the height of rudeness.

Before I made my escape, I thought I should look around to see if anyone even saw. I mean, what they don’t know won’t hurt them right? It’s not like sweat won’t dry, and I’m pretty sure the floor of the pool area is not too horribly covered in athlete’s foot.

I turned around as casually as a heat exhausted, completely dehydrated, towel dropping, string bikini clad person can.

Naturally there was a pretty young sorority-type in the hot tub staring at me with her hands on her hips.

Crap.

I tried to muster an apologetic smile, “Is this your towel?”

“Yes.” She answered testily.

I winced, “I’m really, really sorry. I thought it was mine.”

She gave me a weird look, indicating that she wasn’t quite sure how I could mistake my small pale purple towel for her giant fuzzy red one, but that there was no point in arguing with a crazy person who looked like they might pass out at any moment.

She turned back to her friend and I quickly gathered up my things and left before she had a chance to change her mind.

Luckily, I haven’t seen her since. I'm beginning to think towel sullying lunatics were not something she had in mind when she was shopping around for a gym.

4 comments:

James said...

How similar we are, generally concerns me.

Also, the word I have to type in for comment verification is trani.

SuperFantabulous said...

I know. It's super freaky! The only real difference I see is that you've put great effort into achieving a lot and I've put equal effort into achieving nothing.
PS. I love trannies!

James said...

Best. reply. ever.

Also, who doesn't love trannies? Besides people in Texas?

SuperFantabulous said...

I know, right? We're both so superfuckingfabulous it hurts.