wednesday night i made my husband a roast chicken with green beans, mashed potatoes, gravy and homemade mac and cheese, because i cannot be stopped. then the night got started. first i saw Butt Fissure and Topical Meds. that was immediately followed by Frenzied Weiner. it really wore us out, so had some beer and took it easy for the rest of the night.
thursday morning i got up. darling husband had to work so i thought i would take it easy, but he called me into the bathroom at 7 in the freaking morning. turns out Butt Fissure was giving a command performance in my bathroom sink that could not be ignored. Topical Meds made another appearance, but they were completely consumed by Frenzied Weiner. darling husband went to work. i snuck into bed with Frenzied Weiner. sshh. that night we went to a free party at the Barrage, but it was too smoky for us born-again-non-smokers, or, in more common parlance, losers. we left. we were stunned to find Butt Fissure, Topical Meds and Frenzied Weiner waiting for us at home. we told them we were tired, that we had to get some rest because we’re old and our sciatica could start acting up if we didn’t sleep well, but they said it was a matter of life and death and we are suckers for hyperbole.
friday. st. pat’s. i come from the land of ice and snow, from the midnight sun where the hot springs blow. so, the big irish celebration at dog and duck was not so much my scene. the dude doing the leprechaun dance in red tap shoes barely distracted me from the painful memories of the wake-up call i got from my new least favorite triple threat. i did every thing i could to forget them: drank beer, smoked a plastic toy cigarette, went to dinner with miss belgium, but i was constantly disturbed by feeling that i needed to see Butt Fissure to feel like everything’s okay.
saturday. the day you half-heartedly drag yourself to shows you were really excited about. it is no different for darling husband and i. we try to put off the little private performances that have become so regular. ‘after dinner’ we say. ‘it won’t hurt if we start an hour late’ we say. but it does hurt. Frenzied Weiner is not relaxing. there is a disgusting joke i could make here about staring into two angry brown eyes just before bed, but i this week has aged me about a decade. i am too mature for jokes like that now.
sunday. a grey day to take the out of towners away. soon my days of partying will just be a memory, but the stains on my couch will last forever.
wanna help me steam clean? every thing in my house? and do you have a spare autoclave? that would be cool.