Last night, I went to our outdoor mall five days before Christmas. Hey, let’s send this Hindenberg up. And other good ideas.
I needed a calendar.
I also needed wrapping paper.
At said outdoor mall, there were literally traffic police in the road with whistles. Two of them, on one road, directing traffic. I ran them both over.
I HAVE wrapping paper, is the real rub, but it’s in this chest, and by that I don’t mean my ample bosoms. I mean it’s in this wooden sort of hope chest that belonged to my great-aunt Wa, who was underrated. She was hilarious, but not where’s-the-lampshade hilarious.
My point is, I can’t get it open, the chest. I really can’t. I’ve pushed and I’ve poked and I’ve sworn at it. In fact, my whole life lately has been one big dead end. I can’t get on any of my utility websites to pay my bills (FUCK YOU, DUKE ENERGY), and when you call they say, “For 24-hour service, visit us at Inept Utility Website dot com!”
I can’t go five minutes at work without being interrupted. And even the interrUPtion makes me lose my train of thought. Even if I say, “Hang on, I’ll talk to you when I’m done,” I go back and can’t remember what I was doing.
Everything ends in frustration lately.
So when I couldn’t open the damn cedar chest, I said forget it, I’ll just go get more wrapping paper at the not-at-all-chaotic outdoor mall. I don’t know why I keep calling it the “outdoor mall,” which must make you think of people in Calcutta selling their wares on blankets.
This is what I mean. That you have to leave one store, go outside, and get to another store, rather than Ye Olde ’70s Closed-In Mall like I grew up with.
Anyway, I went to the Hallmark store and to the Barnes & Noble, and got me some wrap-ass-fucking-paper. It has point-fucking-settias on it. Merrrrrrry Christmas!
At the Barnes & Noble, I am delighted to tell you that I got an overpriced notebook, because I use them all the time as a migraine diary, a place where I write down all my GODDAMN PASSWORDS (FUCK YOU, DUCK ENERGY), and so on.
Look how cute! And it’s the color I like. I think they think Ima use it as a bullet journal, and if there’s anything I 100% don’t get how to do, it’s a bullet journal. Have you ever watched one of those How to do a Bullet Journal videos? Oh my god.
I tried to find you one on YouTube just now, but I refuse to put any video on my blog that starts out, “Hey, guys!”
Bullet journal people are exactly “Hey, guys!” people.
But then while I was up in Barnes & Noble, I shopped for a calendar. And that, 87 paragraphs later, is where we started this journey.
First of all, Barnes & Fucking Noble, what the fuck? They used to have them on shelves, and this year they were crammed into this thing and onto an equally inconvenient shelf. To look at any calendar, you had to risk the whole thing toppling on you and what a stupid way to die THAT would be. “She died of calendars.”
Picking a calendar is big for me. This year I tried to go without and I forgot eleventy-thousand birthdays. I need it in front of me, in advance. My calendar needs are strong.
The pictures matter a lot. And I know people think because I like cats I want stuff with cats on it, but I don’t.
But beyond the kibosh on cats or puppies, I need a calendar with big squares for each day, a view of the previous and next month, and the phases of the moon.
It’s a whole undertaking. And a yearlong commitment.
This one was so…fucking soothing. I don’t wanna look at a stack of rocks all of March.
Too photographic. Maybe had these been drawings. Aren’t you glad you weren’t with me? Aren’t you delighted you kind of are?
I mean, maybe you could try for busy images next year. This is what it’s already like on the inside of my head. No, thank you.
In the end, even though that apostrophe is, in fact, incorrect, I went with the farmer’s [sic] market. The farmers don’t own the market. I’m on year 22 of being a copy editor. I’ve researched this. Trust me.
So those were my major purchases, and I’ve another one coming up…
I sold my house in July, four days after I listed it, and my closing date was September. My whole goal in that interim was to use up as much of my shit as I could, and not buy more, which was great for moving but now I find myself out of baking soda and stuff you just assume you have “in the back.” “Look way in the back, isn’t it there?”
So I was 100% out of soap when I moved here, and had to run to Target on day one and buy a damn shower curtain and some damn soap before I could shower. I was under so much duress that I
purchased liquid soap.
I HATE liquid soap. I never feel sure that I’ve covered all my parts with it, it rinses so fast, and now I have this fear that since September I’ve not actually washed some part of me and any second now I’ll come down with gangrene.
And to make matters even worse, I bought TWO of them. Two! Why? When I know I hate liquid soap.
The good news is I’m almost done with the second bottle, and I’ve been strong and persevered, and soon I can buy bar soap like a normal person and wash away the gangrene.
That about sums it up for major purchases, and I hope you’ve enjoyed this hard-hitting day of Book of June. I wrote this whole thing with Iris on my lap.