Getting It On

So as I mentioned a post or two ago things have been pretty shitty round this goofy chick’s life as of late. Not just that, “I’m bored” or “Someone at work doesn’t like me” kind of shitty. No we are talking the kind of steaming pile that makes even the tiniest task seem gargantuan, completely overwhelming and absolutely undoable. Work keeps me plugging along, the being there for the store and anyone else that might need me, well that I can manage but by the time I reach my doorstep I have dumped the store grin and clever quips, my steps seem to echo the way I feel, hollow and clunky, and I feel like I have gained about 400 pounds….all on my shoulders and around my heart.

Even my beloved eating has become too much of a burden. Nothing looks good, nothing sounds good… nothing even tastes good and the very idea of like putting a menu together…yeah, so not happening. Fuck, if I could just figure out what is I want maybe that would be a step in the right direction but after a rather stoner-like shopping for food moment, at the goddamn CVS, (I needed moisturizer and mascara and was not up to another trip) looking at my basket of crap; Velveeta Shells & Cheese, (and this is where I should confess, I don’t much care for Mac & Cheese, especially of the boxed variety, why it was in my basket I cannot tell you) Ruffles Cheddar & Sour Cream chips and a package of off brand boiled ham resting upon my overpriced “new” moisturizer…that will likely inflame my sensitive skin, and I could see that my two days without food had clearly made me stupid, that or was turning me into a teenage boy. Rad.

Got home and immediately stashed the boxed cheesy-goo noodles behind my husband’s cereal boxes, he’s out of town and will never notice, and tried to assemble something resembling a charcuterie plate with my “fromage encrusted potato slivers”, “rustic cured..um, boar” and leftover bits of cheese I had languishing away in my meat drawer. Flat, slimy, weirdly textured slabs of slippery meat, recently shaved of their hair growth bits of cheese on a plate with oddly orange, very coated with fake ass flavoring, chips. Needed something. Pretzels! Of course, pretzels were going to be the dazzle this dish needed to inspire me to eat. I stood in my kitchen, bag of bendy bread bits in my hand tossing them atop the saddest plate of food I have ever seen. Inspiring for sure. Inspired me to scrunch up my face, drop my last handful of dazzle atop the rag-tag bits of drug store food, place one hand on top of the other like a big X before administering the compression that would end that poor dinner’s life. Gross and not a chance in hell that whatever I needed to be “fed” was going to be helped by that meal.

Dinner plans dashed I opted for beautification, (shut up) washed my day caked mug and stood in the kitchen….cuzz that was where I left my CVS dinner bags, shaving-the-hair-off-the-cheese knife in my hand as I slashed and stabbed away at the fucking Fort Knox like packaging of, “this will make me feel better about myself” Youth Code moisturizer kit. Tiny tubes of fragrant cream and a packet, no, a book of instructions on how to look younger and feel better….fuck you. I blew off the instructions and slathered two of the tubes on my face, avoiding the “sensitive eye area”….which is where the fucking wrinkles kinda are…in a combination that I’m quite sure will either cause me to sprout a penis from my forehead, (kinda thankful I avoided the sensitive eye area now) or grow an extra set of meaty, earlobe like packets of flesh on my jaw line that will flap in the wind on my drive to work. Hot. I feel really fucking hot and better about myself now…

The night before Easter, everyone off doing their planning, traveling, prepping…hiding eggs, damn I miss that, and here I sit, in my sweats, smuggled boxes of food…”food” tucked behind the husband’s bran, four invitations to hit the town or come over for dinner somewhat…I hope, graciously declined, awaiting the tingle that is sure to be my forehead penis. Pretty sure I have been doing some shit wrong…so how’s about a drink?!

I confess that in my slump I have been avoiding all pleasure inducing liquids. Not sure why other than the gnawing in my belly assuring me that it’s not the best plan and…well, being raised in a family full of, “You shouldn’t. It might look bad” in my ear, often loudly at times like these, but tonight, much like the Youth Code instruction book I have to say, fuck you. Gonna get my sad girl drink on and I give two shits who doesn’t like it. Stupid and indulgent? Hells yeah and I’m here to tell you, after the month I have had this stoopidly improper and irresponsible night of drunkard is exactly what I need. 

Not fancy or sophisticated

Not for the texture or history

This bottle of 2010 Le Cengle Cotes de Provence Rose and all its curvy, sumptuous, tropical…unlike Provencal like lusciousness, well it is seducing the hell out of me right now. Making feel the tips of my fingers, the cushy fabric of the socks that hug my toes, the reminder that no matter how hellish and heart stomping things might be there is always wine.  I am rolling around naked in the plushy fruit and wickedness that comes from knowing that once this bottle is drained….I have another to splash around in. Can’t prepare a meal to feed my needs but I can sure as shit stock my fridge with that which satiates my soul. My 400 pound heart, and my desire to get lost beneath the moon with a glass of it in my hand…

In wine there is truth and the truth is, I just want to make the ugly, sad, mistake heavy mourning stop long enough to feel human again. The giggle I am finding as I reach the last little puddle of wine in my glass assuring me that those historic voices of caution could not know just how therapeutic this particular feeling is...

Will alert you of penile or meat flap growths and…hangovers.

Happy Easter to you all