Henry: Why is she wearing those huge boots?
Me: Do you know what a hooker is?
Henry: An episode of The New Girl.
Henry: If Vivian's roomate spent the rent money on drugs, couldn't she just call the cops on her?
Henry: What did she say about your foot being the same length as your arm? Is she a nerd hooker?
Me: I'm going to fast-forward any sex stuff.
Henry: Oh My god she has a toupee? The blonde hair is a wig? Her long hair is way prettier.
Henry: This guy is a good actor (Jason Alexander)
Henry: Why did Edward say "stay in the shallow end" of the tub?
Me: It was a joke.
Henry: Not funny.
Henry: Oh man she needs new clothes now.
Henry: Why are those women in the store so idiotic? They kicked her out because of that outfit? She was going to spend money in their shop! EL STUPIDO.
Henry: She's getting in trouble at the hotel for her old clothes now? She needs new clothes SO BAD.
Henry: Vivian kind of looks like Sal, but in hooker boots.
Henry: I think she should have bought a lot of normal clothing, not just a cocktail dress.
Me: Look she has a new dress. Do you think he likes it?
Henry Who cares, he's a pervert.
Henry: She's sitting on the edge of the building. I'm not afraid of heights, but I'm not idiotic enough to do that, I wouldn't be comfortable doing that. She's dumb.
Henry: The hotel manager is like, SHE IS AWESOME.
Henry: What are they watching? HORSE GOLF OR SOMETHING?
Henry: Yup, this is horse golf.
Henry: Vivian is going to be really mad at Edward for telling him she's a hooker.
Henry: Oh she's wearing the red dress from the commercial. She's going to laugh and he's going to do the clam book joke on her hand.
Henry: Does the elevator guy just stand in the elevator all day? That's a terrible job. I bet some guys just stand in there and play Angry Birds all day.
Henry: It takes 3 minutes to get to China from Calgary on a rocket. Sal told me that, but Sal is wrong about a lot of stuff.
Henry: If the hotel manager liked her so much, he should have given her a job in that hotel.
idontreallyknowhatimdoing a dit: why you be so hawt gurrrrrrrrl?! i can give you some mo streaks in yo hair OH YEAAA
When I was little I lived in a house with deep wells for the basement windows and chipmunks used to fall into the wells and get stuck down there. My dad would climb into the wells and grab the chipmunk in a hand towel and set him loose in the yard and I would watch from the basement through the windows or over his shoulder outside.
My mom and dad redid that basement. I don’t remember what it looked like before they fixed it up but I do remember them laying the beige tiles and my mom texturing the stucco on the walls and my dad figuring out how to motorize the 100-inch screen for the tv. I remember that there were millipedes everywhere after it was finished, and once we moved away I would call it the “Bug Mansion” instead of its actual name, “Bub Mansion.” My mom and dad would watch the Red Wings play and I would run back and forth in front of the screen with my plastic hockey stick and a tennis ball pretending to be Sergei Federov: “and Federov gets the puck and he shoots AND HE SCOOOORES!!!” Who knows how many great plays they missed because my 4-year-old head was bobbing back and forth between the projector and the screen.
I used to sit in a room in that house (I remember it as the attic but it may very well have been just another room on the second floor) and listen to my Puzzle Place cassette tape and color in pictures with crayons. The only song I remember from that cassette tape has something to do with “ant… ant… anticipation.” But I’ll never forget that line, or that room.
Sometimes I would run around the backyard and have my mom or her friend (“aunt Deb”) time me. My mom had a silver watch with a sleek chain and a white face, and now that I think about it I can’t believe she timed me running around the yard for any reason other than to be rid of me for a minute or so to give her time to talk to her friend. I say “a minute or so” but she probably knows the exact amount of time it took me to run around that yard. Aunt Deb moved to North Carolina or South Carolina or maybe Virginia at some point, and we even drove over there to visit her once, but long story short I don’t think I would recognize her if I passed her on the sidewalk, even though she was my mom’s best friend.
Once it was stormy and I was in the backyard trying to get my kite on a 3-foot string to fly.
Once it was late and my mom was just getting back from her night classes at the University of Michigan, Dearborn, where she was earning her Master’s in Engineering Management. I was sick and she gave me some liquid Children’s Motrin. It was orange and I liked the taste.
Once we were late for school and we ran down the steps, my mom, my sister, and I, and set the alarm and ran into the garage, closing the door just in time for the security system not to automatically call the police. I asked my mom how Pam the cleaning lady got in if we had an alarm. She knew the code.
Once it snowed so hard the garage door wouldn’t open.
Once my dad moved to Ohio and never moved back.
Once Pam the cleaning lady wiped her wet rag over a pastel painting of a canyon from Utah. Once she broke a glass Q-tip jar. My mom fired her eventually. Too many broken things, she said.
When I was in kindergarden I had matching sweatpants and sweatshirt that were black and white and had “ACTION” screen-printed in bright neon block letters across the chest and down the leg. I once wore them for a week straight and after that week I only took them off when my mom pried them off my body and forced me into the shower.
My kindergarden class took a trip to a recycling facility. Surely we wandered through a very complex recycling system but all I remember is Ms. Tammy and Ms. Diane (I went to a Montessori school so we called our teachers by their first names) explaining to us how we could reuse things like bear-shaped plastic that had once held honey or foam cutouts that were sticky on one side. I know I made tons of crafts with the honey bears and the foam, and there was some sort of plastic fabric that I would eventually make into a cape or something, but the main thing I recall about that trip was that my mom was there. My mom never came on field trips or picked me up right after school. My mom was a working mom, and working moms didn’t come on field trips. Only the stay-at-home moms, the full-time moms, came on field trips. I hated those moms.
When we lived in the house with the chipmunk-trapping window wells, my opère Samantha would drive me to school most days. One morning she brushed my hair and it hurt because it was knotty. I cried and she told me to shut up.
Samantha lived in the house with us. She had her own wing but she still shared a lot of her living space. Samantha was from Australia and ate her ice cream with waffles. She had a tv in her room. I remember that I was jealous of the tv. Once I had pink eye and got to stay home and watch Jeopardy on a tv that had been moved into my room for the day. Jeopardy and Big Bad Beetleborgs. Probably some Power Rangers too. Before I was sent home from school they put me in the upper floor of the play castle. The upper floor was where they put sick kids to quarantine them. It felt more like jail than like a play castle. I had been painting a pot for father’s day when I told my teacher my eye was itchy.
One weekend my dad took me to the Dearborn Public Library to check out Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel. That’s the last time I had a library card.
It’s weird, the things you remember. And honestly what difference do those memories make now, scattered amongst amino acids and which brain regions correlate with which language deficits? But I can’t help that every time I see a sailboat I think of the picture of my mom’s first husband that she kept in the green glass container in her room along with her Chapstick and a couple of safety pins. I don’t know his name, maybe it was Mark or something, but I know that picture and I know she still has it somewhere safe.
We’ve been gone from that house for years, decades even. All the school plays and the holiday singalongs and the America’s Funniest Home Videos reenactments with my neighbor Evan fade darker with every passing minute. And I know the new owners killed all the ivy on the front of the Bub Mansion. But still I can’t help but wonder who frees the chipmunks these days.
the higher you climb, the further you fall
Hello tumblr. It’s been a while.
Let me list for you all the reasons to hate cupcakes:
1. If you’re going to divulge in the sweet, succulent goodness that is cake, why stop halfway? Go big or go home, that’s what I always say (always have and always will).
2. Cupcakes are impossible to eat without looking like an enormous fool. Maybe I just have a small mouth but I mean seriously, right?!
3. THE WORD CUPCAKE JUST PISSES ME OFF. It is a disgusting word. It has too many /k/ sounds (linguistics majors/anyone who has taken a phonology class, you’re welcome). It’s like “let me just give this mediocre food you’re about to eat a name that is clearly coming from the back of my throat, oh and by the way THREE of the sounds that make up this word clearly require the aggregation of excess saliva in the aforementioned rear-throat place of articulation.”
Anyway, I’m done with exams. I hope y’all are doing well. I’m gonna go to sleep now. Good night.
wow, I can’t believe it’s already February.
is it Spring Fair yet?
is there a profession that requires limited education and involves me eating food all day and receiving a paycheck substantial enough to support an addiction to shopping (and potentially various other addictions) while living in Paris and driving an Audi R8?
ok I’ll go back to studying now.
mattpanico a dit: Why is your blog theme in french?
because french is the best language and it makes the most sense to me. and I’m probably the only one who reads my blog.. hahah :)
I love Workaholics. Please go watch Season 1 right now. Thank you.