Watched 5 full seasons of Shameless
- This is not entirely my fault. We got Showtime as part of a one month free trial, which is how I got roughly four and a half seasons deep. A portion of the trial ticked by while we were in Ottawa, otherwise I am certain one month of free cable would have sufficed. But once you’re over two thirds of the way through the series, might as well go all the way. So I employed the one month Roku free trial and will be six seasons strong in a couple days.
- I am in love with Lip, not currently, but at least initially. Rebellious genius with a dry sense of humor who dresses alternately like a teddy boy and a young yacht owner? Yes please. Every character has sucked since season three, but I’m no quitter.
Healed an ass wound
- One night, I was trying to find an alternate avenue to watch Shameless, when I saw Fubar 2 had been added to Amazon Prime. It was midnight, but fuck it, I had been waiting to see this movie since 2010. It was enjoyable but disappointing. The tone went kind of family comedy (if your family is fucked) and the higher production values were just sort of…incongruous? If you have seen Trailer Park Boys pre- and post-Netflix it is the same thing. Anyway, I finished the movie at about 1:30AM and after that I’m not entirely sure what happened. I was sitting at the end of my bed, that I know, and I wanted to get up to put the half-eaten bowl of French apple pie I was eating in the kitchen sink and go to the bathroom and get ready for bed. The next thing I remember is the sensation of falling, and holding my left arm out to try and brace my fall. I had a sizable DVD player leaned vertically up against my bookshelf, maybe four feet away, stable and out of the way.
- Somewhere between my ass 3.5 feet in the air, or wherever my ass is relative to space, and my ass hitting the carpet, this DVD player moved, moved so as to be fully vertical precisely as my ass struck it. The full weight of my ass onto a 1.5 inch x 10 inch rectangle of metal. It dented my ass. It reminded me of seeing people hand emboss leather, with a hammer and metal stamps. I’m not a hefty bitch, but my full weight hitting the floor did make one hell of a thump. I didn’t catch myself at all. I was like, a decayed red wood tipping over in the woods. My room is really small, the space between my bed and bookshelf is like an airplane aisle. Maybe there was just nowhere to move? Maybe I was in shock? My first thought was, oh my god, my Mom is going to run out and think that Allison did something. Because Allison
tends to be awake all night and knocks everything the fuck over“is clumsy.” Then I thought, oh my God, please check on me, because this is too fucking embarrassing, and I also can’t explain what just happened. Of course, my family, bless their neglectful/oblivious hearts, did not hear anything. My third thought was holyshitholyshit, I really don’t know if I can get up. I was so dumbstruck I mentally could not find my limbs. I also wasn’t sure where the DVD player was. I was afraid if I moved I would just find a way to jam a corner further into my ass. Somehow I had also managed to scrape the entire length of my left forearm against it, tell me how that even is possible, I took out my right asscheek and left arm with a 10″ x 5″ x 1.5″ metal box.
- Eventually I rallied all the warrior strength I had in me and convinced myself to do one mighty roll to the side like a beached Orca. I grabbed a couple Bandaids and covered the chunk of flesh missing from my wrist, scooped the pie off my carpet (naturally, it landed pie side down) and back into the bowl and shoved it on top of my shelf, threw my pajama pants on the ground, (they were new and soft and cassette print and tearing them was fear #1) and crawled into bed, pulled my blankets over my head and said fuck it.
- When I woke up I could feel a rectangular dent in my ass, literally. My ass was soft, genuine, leather, maybe calfskin, the DVD player a mighty leather stamp, and gravity it’s hammer. It compressed my ass meat.
- A month later and I still have a discolored patch on my wrist from the chunk of missing skin. The bruise took a few weeks to go away, but what was more disturbing was the couple hard lumps of God-only-knows-what (I mean I’m sure a doctor would know, but I don’t know) that took up residence in my ass cheek. Like a couple of Legos implanted in there.
Found a dolphin shaped mailbox
- So technically I didn’t find it so much as I was driving around with Jessica in her adorable car on her last night in Maryland (for the time being) and we were visiting her old primary schools and basking in nostalgia and what not when we hit a dead end. Jess managed to navigate using good old-fashioned, time-honed, Maryland illogical road planning intuition™ (Maryland: where a 3 mile radius is an invitation to build three non-intersecting roads of the same name) and found her way back to the main roads using a scenic route along dolphin country. Yeah. We found a 5ft dolphin mailbox. Someone bought a dolphin mailbox. They had a dolphin fountain and assorted statues as well. If you don’t think that is the greatest thing to ever happen, you have a cold, cold heart.
Gave my body and soul to Pokemon Go
- I thought it was stupid but now I gave in and have been trying to find a suitable fanny pack to store the external battery pack I bought to extend my cell phone’s life.
Watched PWG Bowie and fell in love with Trent Baretta
- I think this is Adriana and I’s third innaugural PWG night? She even lured (womp womp, Pokemon Go pun) her boyfriend over by informing him you can access a couple PokeStops from my living room (which you can, which is part of the problem.) PWG is awesome. Beer is awesome. Pizza is awesome. Trent Baretta is awesome. All things I already knew, but I watched a few of the Best Friends episodes, and Chuckie T is so goddamn mean to Trent?, I am now further rooting for Trent?’s success in any endeavor he chooses.
Watched my closet collapse a second time
- Yeah, that sucked. I wish it was caused by my enormous clothing collection, but that remains a fantasy. It was one of those Rubbermaid wire shelfs with the shelf clips and it was most certainly not secured to a stud. One side collapsed before and I Macgyver’d it with some drywall anchors and Gorilla Tape, which for the record, actually worked, until the cheap plastic brackets just split in half. So I pryed all those goddamn shitty demon clips out one by one and sanded and spackled and sanded and spent four (4!) straight hours trying to plot the position of the uprights on my new no-frills steel closet organizer poorly illuminated by a Coleman lantern, in the dark, in a heatwave, in an uninsulated closet, on the top floor, hovering dangerously on a step stool because I couldn’t fit a ladder into the closet. The feeling of drywall dust adhering to the buckets upon buckets of sweat I was pouring out is seared into my mind forever. Also fuck stud finders and suburban mass construction. I’ve had multiple stud finders and none of them have ever been remotely accurate. I’ve also lived in multiple houses and none of them have ever had studs at consistent intervals. It’s installed now, I shoved the closet rods up because I needed to get my clothing off every surface of my bedroom so I could stop hobbling around in a towel trying to drag skirts out from under piles of fabric. I installed them way too high and now I have to go on my tippy toes to get dressed every morning but the idea of arranging/rearranging the brackets makes me want to weep.
- I’d make a great contractor. I would last very, very long on a job site.
Ate a midnight snack that consisted of pre-sliced swiss cheese, Lay’s plain potato chips, watermelon, and scoops of peanut butter that spanned two paper plates
- Not so much of a story, as just sad.
Ramen noodles and mini golf
- Before Jess went back to Texas we attempted to get ramen and see Ghostbusters, but the ramen choice #1 was closed, and all there were no Ghostbusters showings for hours. So we went to another ramen place (God bless the DMV, we are never short on places to eat,) and played glow-in-the-dark mini-golf (!!!) Holy shit it was fun. I was terrible, like, way beyond pathetic terrible and into how is this physically possible terrible. I started trying to pick up my ball and drop it in the hole just for a sense of satisfaction, but I couldn’t even do that. The place played a surprisingly amazing mix of 80s music and karaoke jams. I never thought I’d be able to say I mini golfed to “Sweet Caroline.” Neil Diamond really takes the sting out of failure.
- They also had a teeny arcade section with skeeball and a claw machine filled entirely with rubber ducks, which we pillaged. Did you know they don’t do tickets anymore? They just load your totals onto a plastic card. I’m so depressed. I love instant gratification and meaningless competition and nothing scratches those two itches quite like shooting a coin at a dinosaur and walking away with armfuls of cardboard.