Tuesday, January 18, 2011

The Part Where She Realizes The New Year High Wanes

I thought for sure I left behind some bullshit in 2010--but here I am, 18 days into the new year balled up in the corner listening to Lionel Ritchie records and scribbling self hating messages in the mirror with red lipstick. My weave costs too much, so I won't be shedding my locs like people do in movies when they're sad.  I'm not that far gone yet.  That New Years "fresh start" positivity is starting to fade, and the albatross is swirling. I need a slingshot to shoot that mothafucka, and fry it.

I tried taking a Silkwood shower to wash away the icky feelings...but here I am--festering like a raisin in the sun. Sipping cake batter through a straw from a bowl. I'm like a fucking cautionary tale set to a 4/4 beat. Gloria Swanson ain't got shit on me. If I had a stair case to go walk down in a stupid dress I would.  Fuck it. I cannot go outside. I cannot be bothered with people---for fear of---fear. No. Nein!Nera!Ne! Tidak ada! That shows you I'm serious. I've just said NO In 4 different languages.
Umph umph. Hell nawl (now 5). I'm going to spend the rest of the day doing shit I can handle. Shit I like. Like  applying false eyelashes to the bottom portion of my eye and pretending to be Liza Minnelli.  Then rub my eyes so hard that the little eye floaters have a party within the kingdom of my closed eyes--you should try it. It's fucking great! It's like a Utopian society in your eyeball. See! (pun intended)

Then I'm gonna pretend I'm a contestant on Cash Cab and walk away with 3,000 dollars.  After my segment is filmed, the producers will be so impressed by my fucking smarts that they offer me my own show. But I will tell them no, because next on the list is going on Etsy.com to purchase decorations for my apartment to commemorate Guy Fawkes Day. Then my QuinceaƱera.  A big old fluffy fucking dress, like the ones you usta see ontop of cakes when we were kids. Remember the ones with those creepy fucking dolls at the top? With the BIG eyes? And when no one was looking you'd peek under the dolls dress to see if she had privates? Or was I the only creepy child? Jesus, what was wrong with me...was I a--wait, did that make me a pedo? How can a kid be a pedo? Great another thing to add to the list. Anyway I'm gonna have a coming out ball. And when I wear the frilly frock everyone will says "oh niƱa, eres tan bonita!" And I'll give 'em the side eye and say "I know mothafucka. I know."

Then I'm gonna blaze one up, and look to the sky where Falcor the flying canine will come along and take me flying through the air. He'll take me flying over melancholy hill, and he will zip over the clouds of unknowing. He will allow me to sleep for a while---while all my fears and inhibitions go away.  And when we land, I'll be good and fucking ready to slay the wolf demon. And the bill collectors. And the student loan officers. And the parking bureau officers. And the other band of mothafuckers that's holding me hostage, got me thinking I can't do it.  I can do it. I just can't do it alone.
Fuck that New Years baby, the little naked fucker with a top hat and cane for making me feel like I have to solve my life in the first 4 weeks of the year. What kind of pressure is that to place on people? Stupid--and put on some clothes for fucks sake! 

Thanks for reading possum. Don't worry mummy will up her dosage and find her way back to sanity. And you if you don't understand my crazy, ask your inner child. He or she gets me.

Ciao fuckers,

NEXT BLOG: How to deal with creepy children who go peeping at dolls on top of cakes.


Colin said...

This is important. And I have cred. I have more Tony Fitzpatrick etchings hanging in my living room than MoMA even OWNS. They should back off.

Now that you know I know which way is up, you need to go here: http://regretsy.com

There, that makes the whole year new again, doesn't it?

Docta Slick said...

Colin my man, thank you!