Dear Adam Powers,
For you, a list of random things from my day:
1. It is 2:28 a.m. and I have eaten seven Dora The Explorer Fun Shape Popsicles in the last twelve minutes. The box says that the “Estrella” shaped popsicle is supposed to taste like watermelon. I keep eating them, trying to find this mythical watermelon popsicle. It is nowhere. I even looked up “Estrella” on Babelfish to make sure I was looking for the star shape, because I just ate a star-shaped one that was purple and tasted like grape, and I HATE grape flavoring. I think they are fucking with me.
2. Some sloppy gross fatfatfat lady in line at the bank told me my body was a temple and Jesus wouldn’t approve of me marring it with tattoos. I didn’t even turn around, I just said, “Gluttony is a sin too, bitch.” I got reprimanded by the old hag in front of me. Only the bank teller was on my side. He looks like Egon and he gave me a secret high-five when I got up to the counter.
3. My mom found out today, over the course of normal conversation, that I have not had sex in almost eight months and I don’t care if that changes or not. She thought I was mentally ill. “Are you all right?” she asked. I just shrugged. “Do boys not like you?” she wondered. I told her I wasn’t sure, that I don’t really try. “Are you just lazy?” she inquired. She reminded me that every one of my single male friends is heartbreakingly gorgeous, which is indeed a true fact. Apparently, my inability/unwillingness to seduce these boys or be receptive to some sort of sexual relationship with one of them (“Any one of them! Even the young one! He’s not too young! Half your age plus six that’s the rule!”) was so appalling to her, she found it necessary to call all of her coworkers and tell them of my “condition.” Right in front of me. Even when she dialed the fourth number in as many minutes, I didn’t try to stop her. Maybe I’m just lazy.
4. Lackey and I were at the grocery store because I was desperate for a watermelon. We found the watermelons, which was nice, but even better was the little brand-name sticker on each one that proudly stated “Little Deuce Coupe,” with a picture of a very happy watermelon go-cart puttin’ along to wherever it is that those go. This thrilled me. I have decided I would like for my nickname to be “Deuce,” short, of course, for “Little Deuce Coupe.” So far only Lackey has agreed to call me this. Everyone else refuses. I suppose I will call him this in return, because “Half-My-Age-Plus-Six” is not really that great of a nickname.
5. Today at work I was drinking coffee out of my Diana mug and you know how when you, like, dip a cookie in your coffee sometimes small crumbs will get in your cup and make mush? Well, I got one of those cookie-mushes in one of my swigs. I rolled it around in my mouth a few times, smashed it against my teeth for a few seconds, trying to break it up, when I realized with a horror that I hadn’t eaten anything at that point in the day. I extracted the “crumb” and when I looked at it I found myself staring at one dead fly. Horrifying.
6. Speaking of Lackey, remember a few blogs ago I said I would help him study for his Sound Recording School exam? Well I did end up helping him but I had NO CLUE what I was quizzing him on so I have no idea if I was truly helping or if he was just being polite. Fucking tube amps and inputs and equalizers. But guess what? HE ACED THAT BITCH, YO. That’s right! He totally did. And I didn’t understand a word from that damn textbook. I think he is very smart. He knows what buttons to press.
I think that’s it. I have eaten two more popsicles since I started writing this, and I feel siiiick. No watermelon. Fuck.
Talk to you soon,