Category Archives: friends
It’s high time for an anniversary edition of You Life, but since this just occurred to me and I missed the date by four months I guess this is just a retrospect.
You Life started with an instructional guide on how to devastate some PBRs and then paint a kitchen table. Memories
And to celebrate that momentous occasion in the old apartment I’ve unearthed some gems
Happy anniversary, You Life!
Rut roh. Do you remember when I set my nachos on fire and threw them out of a window? (I do!). Well, a shocking revelation has unfolded.
The truth is revealed. There is a chance that maybe, several years ago, I put Triscuts and cheese (“nachos”) in the broiler and left them in there for about fifteen minutes. Opened the broiler only to discover the entire mass in flames. And promptly closed the broiler. I then deferred to an adult about the fire I just started.
I am going to star in a Lifetime original movie called, “The Littlest Arsonist.”
And, for the safety of all, I should probably retire from my job as a nacho/Triscut/cheese cook.
Oh hey! There was hurricane throughout the East Coast from Sunday to Tuesday of last week. Did you hear about this? Gotta tell you, I ignored every single news report of it because my evil Canadian overlord (see: my job) almost assuredly wouldn’t close. I prepared for the hurricane as the best little You Life I could be. I went to the dollar store and got the essentials:
And diet coke.
Sunday night I was lounging when I got a call that indicated that the East Coast was going to fall into the ocean: my office was closed. Perhaps I should have purchased a candle? Nope – let the rains come.
The beginning of the hurricane stay-vaction
On Monday I woke up to a gray sky, but nothing that indicated to me that the gods’ were wrathful. After waking up, going back to sleep, waking up again, and then trying to make a cup of coffee from an espresso machine that I forgot I stole from a cunty ex-roommate I was up. Starving. Bored.
So I assessed the following two things: the secret reserves in the apartment
Let’s be frank. There is only so much reading, movie watching, hobby-doing, and masturbating that a person can do in one day. At around two I had enough. I left the apartment to walk to get food. Nothing was open. So then, I did what any adult would do.
Shortly after going on the swings a police officer drove by and gave me a very stern tongue lashing pertaining to the idiocy of wandering around during a storm.
Sent this text message to my best friend after the lights started flickering:
“I better not have to wank off by candle light” (it would be like jerking off during Little House of the Prairie times. I want to crank it with all of the modern amenities).
Hunger took over. So I did what I needed to do…
Sadness. Utter sadness.
Finally a friend without power came over with the barest of cooking supplies (defrosted chicken thighs, a mini pan, rice, and rum). Seeing as how I don’t own any of the following: cooking oil, a pot, utensils, or a pan it was going to be a trial to cook both the chicken and rice. But, since I am a bit of a fucking wizard I made an entire meal using the smallest frying pan known to man and an iron skillet that was so large that it could have cooked me. I steamed the rice in the skillet with a pizza box. INDUSTRIOUSNESS.
Tried to sleep in. With great success
Played SNES for hours
And then it all de-evolved after the second entire day without leaving the apartment. It de-evolved into me creating this “mojito” mix that I think was a code for rat poison. It called to fill a plastic bucket with warm water, this neon green powder, and rum. Later on that day I could be found amongst the piles of VHS tapes in my apartment, eating the slushy poison out of a bucket, dancing to the last song from the credits in Legend.
No seriously, Tangerine Dream is fucking out of this world amazing.
And that is how I survived.
Because I was fine. And my love was strong enough.
Hearts, and flowers, and posi vibes to those not as ridiculously fortunate as me.
It should come as no surprise, give my penchant for Napoleon complex like antics, that I am short. Super short. Really fucking small.
And when you are this damn small, with a habit to get into so much trouble, it’s essential that you learn how to defend yourself when the going gets hostile. My method, since childhood, has been emulation of the moves of professional wrestlers.
So, if you are feeling, say, threatened on your birthday, what should you do? Um…the Million Dollar Dream. Obviously. And you should do this after drinking several pints of home brew outside of bar- unwashed, following a Kool & the Gang sing-a-long.
Get your back up off the wall, do wrestling moves, come on!
Now you can defend yourself!
Sometimes you have friends that are mad talented and they immortalize you on the internet because of your cat lady-ness. Go check out this fine girl’s work. Also, cats in a me suit.