It's not about the house.

Monday, July 26, 2010

I Have To Go To The Euphemism!

Oh, man, do I have nothing to talk about!

I mean, I do have Stuff to talk about – oh, man, do I have Stuff to talk about! – but it’s all Stuff I can only talk about to the Imaginary People in my head.

For instance: this past week, since I came down to Massachusetts, I have been very busy Doing Something – something rather All-Consuming and Important. It’s the whole reason I came south in the first place, as a matter of fact, but it isn’t about Me – and it’s not about any of those imaginary head-folks, either. So let’s just say I have been Standing Up as best I’m able, and that today I am officially Standing Down.

Today's Me day, then. Today, I will be walking on the beach, getting my toes done, and going out for birthday-sushi with my brother. But none of those will make for much of a story unless I end up with a shark bite, gangrene, or salmonella. I wouldn’t count out the likelihood of any of those yet, though. This is me we’re talking about, after all. In fact, now that I think about it, the smart money’s probably on the trifecta.

Then tomorrow I have Some Other Stuff I have to do. That stuff’s about dissolution of assets and blah blah blah. Bo-ring, as Oscar the Grouch would say. Or none of your beeswax, as my mom would.

But don’t you fret, my little chickadees. For on Tuesday night, come hell or high, I’m back to Maine. And if the telephone conversations I’ve had recently are any indication, then my hitherto-quiet life up there is about to change. Because – I haven’t told you folks about this yet; in fact, I’ve been trying to decide whether I would* – but it seems I’ve gone and made myself a brand-new friend. And the other day, when we called to say we missed each other in that brand-new-blush-of-friendship kind of way, she asked me if I wanted to play golf.

And yes, folks, she is married. To a man.

I hesitated. I mean, I’ve never played before, not really, and while it looks on television like a thrill-a-minute sort of game, I’m sure it can’t be all porn stars and car crashes for real. But I’m always up for new experiences. And from what she says, there’s beer involved. So I said yes and set to practicing. It’s only been two days, and I don’t want to brag or anything…

But I can already say “play through” like a pro.



*Because of the whole Private Person thing. But then my new friend wrote this about me, so I figured it would be okay. 

  
UPDATE!!!!! 

My Me Day Sucked!!!!

Actually, the walk on the beach was uneventful. I went at 7:30 in the morning and was almost the only person there. Very low tide. Lovely. Save the carful of high-school boys who wondered -- rather vehemently, I might add -- whether I might feel inclined to let them have a gander at my tits. At 7:30 in the morning? I don't think so. But even that, though.... There could be worse ways to start a day, I guess.

Then I picked up the cat. I forgot to mention he was on the agenda. He had an appointment for another glucose curve on Friday so I went ahead and let them hang onto him for the weekend so I could Stand Up without distraction. Well, he's never been boarded before, and it turns out when he boards he doesn't eat. If he doesn't eat, he can't have his insulin. If he doesn't have his insulin, of course, the diabetes cycle starts again. But they went ahead and gave it to him this morning anyway, so when he got home I had to pull him out of insulin shock again. Plus I think he has a UTI. I'm going to give it a few days at least, till we're in Maine, but I'm steelinig myself to invoke The Gift.

And then my workout was kind of blah. Which may seem minor to you people, but it's one of the big joys in my day. My muscles actually ache for it, and if I have to skip it for some reason they start to twitch. But you know how sometimes it's just like you're going through the motions? You do all the stuff you're supposed to do, and when you're done you don't feel like you did anything at all? And yet you're still mysteriously sweaty? Blah.

Then I ran out of shaving cream 3/4 of the way through the job. Nobody touch my left thigh until further notice, 'kay?

Then -- oh, I'm not even getting into that. Suffice to say I got a wild hair and tried to get tomorrow's Euphemism out of the way today. Had to talk myself out of skipping the pedicure in favor of a half a dozen beers.

But I couldn't have a half-dozen beers at 2:30, because I'm supposed to have dinner with my brother at 6:00. And while I love my brother very much, he is also very much a worrier. If I showed up for dinner three beers in, he'd have me checked into McLean faster than you can punch James Taylor in the face. Faster than I could, even. Which is pretty fast, I bet. I've never done it, but I hate that motherfucker.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, so I decided to go ahead and get the pedicure. It's relaxing, right? Massage chairs and little Asian ladies kneeling at your feet? (That was bad, right? I shouldn't have said that? Sorry. I blame James Taylor. And if that makes you want to punch him in the face, I wouldn't mind.) Well...

She told me to sit right down, so I did. And it's not her fault I didn't remember about the iced coffee I'd left in the car until after I took off my shoes, rolled up my pants, and put my feet in the the little foot-jacuzzi. What is her fault, though, is that I was still sitting there forty minutes later, waiting for someone to take them out.

Argh.

And then she did the slowest pedicure ever, and hurt me a little bit, and left the white stripes a bit too wide even after I asked her to fix them, so by the time she was finally done -- TWO HOURS after I walked in -- I was twitching too badly to wait for them to dry. And I was wearing my Frye boots. So we'll just see how that turned out when I take them off.

It'll be a while, though. See, after that ordeal was over, I only had an hour till my brother was supposed to pick me up, and I thought I might as well go to this bar I know of right near the restaurant, that happens to have a pool table. But there were five cops cars out front when I drove by it, and so I just kept right on driving by. Stopped at the packie for a six-pack instead. And at the first right-hand turn, all six bottles spilled out of the pack and rolled all over the floor of the car.

Oh, you don't think I didn't drink them, did you? They're slightly fizzy, but they're still mostly beer. I'd just finished my second when I got a text from my brother, saying he's stuck in traffic on 93 and he'll be late.

I'm opening a third.

If you're looking for me later, I suspect you'll find me at McLean.

 He better run.

7 comments:

12ontheinside said...

I expect nothing less than a bluebottle sting. I don't expect you'll need to go too far out of your way to find trouble.
Glad you've met a new friend - one of those things it's harder to do with every year.

ffgirly said...

You hate James Taylor? Really?

Wow.

atlanticmo said...

Ya know McLean might not be a bad idea. J.T.'s career skyrocketed after he got out.

ege said...

12 - I don;t know if you've been back here since I updated, but you were right... Well, not about the bluebottle. Do we even have those here?

FFG - Somebody has to. The sound of his voice makes me angry.

Mo - Aha! And I am a little bit nuts, after all...

Cake said...

A little nuts?! *ducks*

Anonymous said...

What is this from? "I Have To Go To The Euphemism!" I googled it and found your blog. SOme '70s TV special, I vaguely recall. Nice blog posts, BTW.

EGE said...

Hey, Anonymous! Welcome!

It's from a Dr. Seuss Halloween special, I think, that only aired once. I remembered the phrase but couldn't place it myself and spent some time googling it back when I first posted this. If you google the phrase +"Dr. Suess" you might be able to find whatever I found.