Damn you, supercheap Groupon for eyelash extensions. You promised me a flirty new set for $35. Instead, you made me look ridiculous, and for what? The unforgivable crime of coveting ladylids? And when I told the girl that I did NOT want to look like Tammy Faye Bakker, and she said “Who?”, I bet you laughed, didn’t you, Groupon? And when the girl held up a mirror and I opened my eyes after an hour of being tortured by her Tweezers of Fire, instantly perforating the skin under my eyebrows in a hundred tiny pinpricks of blood, it was no more than I deserved, right, Groupon? And when I said, “Oh, I look like Mr. Snuffleupagus,” and the girl said “Who?”, that was your moment of victory, wasn’t it, Groupon? WASN’T IT?
But the last laugh is on you, Groupon, because I have a half-price coupon for refills.
I do remember saying at the end of last year, in all seriousness, that I was sure 2012 was going to be a “break-out year” for me. Break out of what? Left brain prison? Who was I even talking to? Probably myself. I must never put ideas like that out into the Universe, which likes to have a laff as much as the next guy.
And here we are again, winding up another year. I have the same cold-slash-flu that everyone else in Idaho has, which means that I am the same as everyone else. Oh my gosh, the same! I put on my flu-pants one leg at a time, just like you do. Except that when my flu-pants are on, I realize that I’m more of a skirt person.
Anyway, absolutely hideous year. However, 2013 is going to be a break-out year for me. I really believe that.
O twin sacs of withered flesh
Blasted by autumnal frost
Wrinkled wineskins, nothing fresh
Reminders of a youth that’s lost.
Smooth-skinned bags of ripe desire
That once you were, when love was cheap,
Have sagged; and now you must retire
To some putrescent compost heap.
I’ve seen this guy’s face everywhere today. I should say, I’ve seen pictures of his face, because his actual face is behind bars somewhere in Texarkana. He’s the guy who took 41% of the vote at yesterday’s Democratic primary in West Virginia. For this bit of political chicanery, he’s apparently entitled to molest a state delegate of his very own. Let me recharacterize this in case it’s unclear: a certain Keith Judd, who is in a federal penitentiary possibly for the crime of wearing a dead ferret in lieu of a ponytail, challenged President Obama in West Virginia and did quite well.
I am just astounded by this, and not because the good people in West Virginia are stupid. No, not at all. It’s because I’m so stupid, not to mention unambitious. I can imagine that after a decade or so of incarceration, I’d probably have wrested control of the library cart away from someone smaller and weaker than myself. But that would be the extent of it. I would not be pitting myself against the leader of the free world. For me, the library cart. For Keith, the Oval Office. What is wrong with this picture?!?
It reminds me of this time back in Brooklyn, when they busted a ring of Russian criminals who had masterminded an incredibly complex scheme that involved stealing a quarter of a billion dollars. And as they were shoving these guys into squad cars, it was evident that they barely spoke English. The thing that ran through my mind over and over again was “Holy crap, I can’t even balance my checkbook. I don’t even know where my checkbook is.” No, not for me the emigration to a foreign land with strange customs and an unknown tongue, where I would soon control the black market and use a toilet made out of a diamond. For me, the library cart!
I rarely underestimate my stupidity, and neither should you.