are those oils really essential
What have I done since I last wrote over one thousand words about Murphy’s testicles? I hesitate to share another cat-related anecdote, but since I now have three of them there are lots more to share. We had another wallet-draining vet visit; this time for Rocko to get some teeth removed. Besides being fat and crazy, Rocko has a serious case of meth mouth and this is actually his second dental surgery. No more after this, I swear. He is too damn old and he will just have to go to the Sky Litterbox with the pitifully few teeth he has left.
Everything went well except that Murphy lost his dumb little mind when Rocko returned from the surgery. He was hissing and screeching and basically acting like he had never seen this cat before in his life. It got better, but VERY slowly, and it was making us all bananas so I asked the vet’s advice during the follow-up phone call. She said to get some dirty laundry and rub it on him, since Murphy was most likely reacting to the surgery-smell.
So let’s recap: you are minding your own business on the couch when someone grabs you, locks you up in a small box, and takes you to the dentist. There you are knocked out with anesthesia and wake up minus two teeth. Once home, your roommate follows you around and screams in your face for a few days. Then every time you lie down for a nap, one of your other roommates sneaks up with a fistful of dirty underpants and rubs them all over your body, saying, “Hold still, I’m trying to HELP you.” Oh Rocko. It is hard to be you.
TWO TERRIBLE THINGS
- I discovered a small hole in the sleeve of my favorite sweater. Now I have $200 worth of Everlane cashmere sitting in a cart while I dither about spending that much on my own carcass-coverings right before Christmas.
- I was forced to go to a “leadership” seminar where I became intensely irritated by the presenter using many stock photos of gears. Hi, I know I am naught but a cog in a vast and brutal machine, but you don’t have to make it explicit while you waste my time in a conference room. That’s just plain rude.
FOUR BETTER THINGS
- I get to host Thanksgiving this year. Am I super-organized right now? No. Do I have some time off work to shop, cook, make spreadsheets, and mobilize the team? Yes. Menu is done (heavy on the sides), turkey is on its way from some New York farm, and most importantly, wine has been purchased. I am (uncharacteristically) going to stay away from the wine while cooking, but once plates are full and secular toasts have been said? It is ON. I want my blood to be about 70% Shiraz by pie time.
- The kid and I have a standing date to watch and MST3K the shit out of Riverdale, which is the bestworstbestworstworst crappy teen soap opera I have ever seen. I am still looking for the chance to drop some of this unbelievable teen dialogue into conversation. I am also a fan of how characters constantly sit down to plates of food that they never, ever touch, and of how supposedly-present-day teenagers are always referencing pop culture from the 1990s. That last bit may be a shout out to the parents who are watching this piece of crap, since the show also features actors from our era (Mark Consuelos, Luke Perry, Molly Ringwald) as parents themselves. Oh man, it’s bad. Bad bad bad bad bad. Do not attempt to watch without either a loaded bong or a sarcastic teenager at your side.
- Speaking of my child, we ran another 5K together and got our best time ever, and I very much appreciated the willingness to stick by my old slow side and not shoot for an even better time. It was cold but there were people dressed as turkeys and pleasant scenery so those things helped. I used to hate running so much but now? Anything to slow down the decay of my decrepit meatsack.
- If you’re not in Chicago, you may not know about Eddie Olzcyk, who is a former Blackhawks player turned Blackhawks announcer, and is pretty involved with youth hockey—if your kid plays you have probably met him in person more than once. His foundation gives aways something called the Eddie Olzcyk award. It is a grant to deserving hockey programs but every year I amuse myself by pretending that it is an award given to the person who most resembles Eddie Olzcyk, and every year he awards it to himself. “Once again, the recipient of the Eddie Olzcyk award is me, Eddie Olzcyk!” It is the most private of private jokes: from me to me. But now I guess also to you.
THE TRASH HEAP HAS SPOKEN
I don’t really believe in hunches or premonitions, because to me those are the same as dreams: a bunch of leftover crumbs and lint for your brain-Roomba to trundle around in and hoover up. Because your brain-Roomba is essentially a Meaningful Narrative Machine, it tries to put them in some sort of order, and that’s why people are all like THE UNIVERSE IS TELLING ME A THING. The universe does not give a shit, homie. Empty out your brain-Roomba’s dust cup and let’s move on.
That said, the other day I woke up with a very strong thought and that was, “Trump is gone by February.” Let’s grasp at straws! MAYBE???? I don’t really care if it’s impeachment or stroking out on the toilet but to be brutally honest I sort of hope for the latter, because Twitter will be unbearable if there are impeachment proceedings. Or maybe that should be “more” unbearable. HA HA I’M A RIOT. I love to bitch about internet platforms that allow me to share my stupid jokes and half-assed ideas widely and for free, and where I can post side-by-side with verified Nazis oops there I go again.
—mimi smartypants in way more than 140 280 characters.