The Act of Inaction

It’s never surprising to my friends when they come over to hear “don’t mind my bedroom, I forgot to pick it up.” The running gag, is that I never pick it up – or any other room for that matter. I HATE cleaning. I don’t know if it’s that I don’t like the smell of cleaning supplies, or the space the equipment takes up in my small apartment, or the energy you have to exert while actually picking up. It’s pure laziness, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. When you live by yourself, it becomes even worse because you don’t have to share a space with anyone; however, I’m sure many to all of my old roommates would agree that I probably had very little regard for public space as well.

Today, folks, I’m coming clean. The truth is, the act of inaction is much more exhausting, costly, time-consuming and unhygienic than the actual task itself.

Inaction #1: Cleaning your sheets, but never actually putting them on your bed.
Result: Sleeping for many weeks either on a bare mattress, or on your couch. This really disturbing result needs no explanation. Sleeping on the couch can result in a bad back, a poor night’s sleep, and a permanent indention between the far right and middle cushions where your ass laid to rest.

Inaction #2: Keeping a dry cleaning bag full of clothes, but never taking them to the dry cleaners.
Result: Either a really pricey dry-cleaning bill when you eventually decide to go, or, a limited days of the week wardrobe consisting of faded items that can only be put through the wash.

Inaction #3: Pretending to be healthy and fit by signing up for a gym membership, but never actually picking up your membership packet or stepping foot inside the door.
Result: Throwing $75 a month down the drain, and achieving the opposite physical results.

Inaction #4: Feeling hungry, looking into the empty fridge, and not going to the grocery store to buy normal food.
Result: Scrounging around for change because you don’t have any money after you wasted it on a pointless gym membership or new clothes because you don’t want to wash the ones you have, and hitting up the dollar menu at McDonald’s, or the convenience store for 8 packs of Ramen Noodles for a dollar (genius). Suspected physical results.

Inaction #5: Coming in from a weekend away and never once unpacking your bag except for the essentials like your toothbrush, and occasionally your hair brush.
Result: Wasted time looking for your favorite t-shirt in your dresser when it’s crammed at the bottom of one of the 10 unpacked weekend bags in your living room. Eventually turning your living room into the walk-in closet you always wanted.


I’m making myself stop here.

Charlie the Unicorn

I don't do drugs, but honestly I can see why it would be fun to do them, and then watch this video. Actually, I felt like I was on drugs just watching it, so if you don't have access to any illegal substance, don't worry, this will do the trick. Please don't let the length or the way the other unicorns say "Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarlieeeeeeeeeee" deter you from sticking with it to the bitter end.

Check it: Charlie the Unicorn and the Trip to Candy Mountain

How The Fuck Do You Think I Am?

I’m apologizing in advance to all of the male readers, but honestly, if you haven’t yet dealt with a woman and her “time of the month” then I must ask – where have you been hiding? By the way, I would also like to say that I loathe the phrase “time of the month.” I can hear some Southern woman somewhere using that as an excuse to her friends because she has just been ashamed of her child’s unruly behavior.

“I do apologize for LuAnne’s un-lady like behavior at the dinner table.
She seems to be a little bit testy. You know, it’s her (voice turns to
whisper) time of the month” – then you hear all of the “poor dear” and “bless
her heart” responses.

Well, a few weeks back, it was MY time of the month. And, per my normal routine, I marched my aching back and writhing ovaries down to the CVS to make my “monthly purchase.” Now, normally when I go to the CVS, I usually get stuck with the same check-out clerks each time: the sweet, young African-American woman; or, the tall, gangly, middle-aged white guy with balding blond hair, a pony tail, and thick horn-rimmed glasses (let’s just call him Ron b/c in all honesty, that’s what he looks like). In these kinds of situations, you’re always hoping that you a) don’t run into somebody you know, and (b) that you fall into a line with a check-out clerk of the same sex. To me, buying tampons is equally as embarrassing as buying condoms. I guess I’m stuck in my junior high mentality of not wanting anyone to bust me with a box of tammies b/c then everyone would know that I was a woman – blasphemy! And with regards to the condoms, I wish I could actually get busted buying some these days, because that would mean that I was in deed having sex – boooooooooooo.

Okay, so a few days before this particular day I was in Ron’s check-out line buying some cleaning supplies. Noticing the abundance of chemicals I was purchasing, Ron says “you going home to do the dirty?” Which I have to say was pretty freaking hilarious, and replied “it’s only dirty if you get down on your hands and knees.” Okay, so I didn’t say that to Ron, but if Ron were better looking I probably would have. Well, it also happens that I ALWAYS fall into Ron’s line when I am buying my feminine products. I typically don’t like to stereotype menstrual moods, but sometimes you just flat out feel uncomfortable, sweaty and irritated - thus morphing your otherwise charming personality into the devil. So I get up to the front of the line with my purchase, and as Ron rings me up he says “Is everything right with the world today – how is it treating you?” Gee Ron, I’m not sure, I just threw down 20 bucks for 72 fucking tampons – how the fuck do you think I feel today? It took every ounce of my being not to hurl my Playtex Sports in his face. But then I thought, maybe Ron is in that 1% of the male population who just doesn't know what it's like during that "time of the month." So kudos to Ron for his ignorance and his positive attitude in curing PMS with one bitch at a time.

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