12 October 2006


I must say, I envy people who own their very own washing machines.

These people are superb.

God likes them.

I dream of no more trips to the laundromat with a bulging pocket full of quarters jangling in your pants making you look like a circus clown with a tumor on his thigh. No more reading 3 year old McCall’s magazines with the coupon for a free bottle of slim fast cut out. No more deep conversations with 50 year old greasy, slobbery men, wearing shorts and too small tee- shirts, who scratch their bellys and play video games and still live with mom. No more quality time spent wanting to smack little unruly children wandering around the parking lot playing tag, and sometimes running up to the chair you’re sitting on and holding on to it for dear life because they’ve made it ‘home.’ No more mumbling under you breath saying “Please don’t look at me like that ever again woman.”

I want to be REALLY happy in Life, not simply mediocre happy.

My sister is a year and a half younger and single. It would be very strange to see her wedding, to see her married. To know that she’s doing all those things married people do that single people don’t, or rather shouldn’t, because if they wait, it will be better than if they hadn’t. So, they wait, and get antsy, and pester God with silly questions, and go outside and run 12 miles, then take a shower, a cold one, because they’re hot and salty, which makes them thirsty, so they drink water, tap water, which isn’t cold enough. So they put it in the freezer to chill, meanwhile they chill, by taking a nap, and oversleep because of a heat headache. So they make coffee, boil it to extract extra caffeine. Drink it to make the headache go away, which it does, in time. Of course now they have to go to the bathroom since the caffeine is a highly diuretic substance, which makes them thirsty again, so they get the water from the freezer, but it’s harder than a deBeers diamond, so they make iced coffee, which breaks the blender, and splashes coffee on their white tee-shirt, which means another laundromat trip to Hades across the River Styx, trying to avoid Medusa, but can’t, Pandora’s Box has been opened, the goddess has perceived your singlehood, asks if you want to be REALLY happy, so you put on solemn airs and say as seriously as you can, “Por lo siento senorita, para yo no hablo ingles bien,” she is not amused, nor are her 7 out of wedlock children, she’s leaves in disgust, but not after forgetting and leaving a dirty sock on the floor, which falls by your foot, which you try to avoid by contorting your body like a Hindu mystic, and in doing so convince the guy across the room, the ‘big-boned’ fella with Big Mac and fries breath, you need more trans-5-omega-7-gluclosidase mindotoxine pills to cure you, he’s an expert in such things, read it in Cosmopolitan, right beside the astrology column.......ahhhhhhhhhh........Life.

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