At this moment, I REALLY needed a joke, so I pulled one of the 700+ I have done from my draft folder…
A friend of mine had a breakup with his girlfriend.
I looked at a picture of her. She’s a pretty woman with light hair.
I told him, “I guarantee that I can describe your frustration with the relationship and with how she is toward you – and probably make you laugh in the process.
“No, I don’t think you can, X.”
Here’s what I quipped:
“Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Blonde.”
Love, X
I use horrible toilet paper. I don’t like Charmin or anything that feels like a paper washcloth. I am still using my first roll from since I moved to this apartment. Granted, I’m at work all morning. And I do take high-quality fiber supplements for multiple reasons. And vitamins. If you’re not taking good fiber, you’re missing out on several health benefits. If I’m ever the Surgeon General, I’ll mandate that we add fiber to beer and wine. I preferred cheap toilet paper before, too, in my other life. Just like I love horribly thin and small bath towels. And I shave using bar soap. And haven’t bought shampoo for myself in YEARS. Yes, I still use deodorant.
“If you find someone who takes the time to compliment you, take the time to let them do it.” – X
The buzz yesterday was that Mercy is raising all employee’s pay to at least $15 an hour. This isn’t a political observation. I was glad to see that some media outlets repeated a statistic that shocks a lot of people with great jobs: 47% of all jobs in Arkansas pay LESS than $15 an hour. Most people aren’t aware of this. And yes, this is the highest for the country. Though many people understandably disagree with me, I am a true socialist regarding pay: I believe that everyone doing the same job as me should earn the same rate of pay. I don’t feel irritated if those making less than me get a raise while I don’t. Of course, I’d welcome more money. During my tenure at my job, I declined a raise twice so that it could be distributed to newer employees. In one of those years, my employer also reduced pay to avoid a bigger layoff; this caused me to lose 8% of my pay. That’ll teach me, won’t it? 🙂
The/Fun Expert Rule: “Never invite a technical writer along for a moment of whimsy.”
I’d like to say I cut my hand in a surprising way yesterday while doing Karate. The truth is that I was crafting, making a solar light display using an unused blue glass hummingbird feeder. I managed to get blood in places that even Dexter wouldn’t be able to find. It wasn’t deep enough for stitches, though, especially since I’d already overreacted and amputated my hand. Just kidding. It was pure luck I didn’t cut a lot deeper. Negligence: 1. X: 0.
“Every “yes” is an envelope for “no.” And vice versa. Choices inherently exclude other options.”
Just because it’s fun to experiment, I managed to wake up and be at work in 8 minutes one morning. With the notable exception of one morning this week, I quite often jump from bed and into my day. Now that I have a despicable Echo a few feet away, I ask it, “Play me quotes by Demetri Martin.” Or Steve Martin, for that matter. Because I don’t have a pet, I try to say a few words to Mr. Snuffleupagus. (Whose first name is apparently Aloysius, something I didn’t know until this week.)
“If you’re saying yes to the wrong things, no becomes difficult, even for the easy choices. And vice versa.”
I’m trying to get people to call this apartment simplex “The Long.” It stands for L.On.G. or The L Building on Gregg. Anything would be preferable to the unimaginative and pejorative names by which it is known now.
After worrying about spending too much on a new phone, I bought a Moto G Power. For the price, it’s astonishing. Y’all have to remember that I’m accustomed to using hand-me-downs. I use AT&T pre-paid with unlimited to save about $40 a month. It’s a good thing I just bought a set of really nice cables for my old phone, as none of them fit my new one.
Also, my work finally decided to stop making me pay twice as much for my health benefits now that I’m divorced. I didn’t mind giving money to a nice multi-million dollar insurance company for no reason, though. I’m going to invest that extra money in a chinchilla venture. I’m just kidding. Everyone knows the money is in banana peels now.
“You’re under no obligation to make sense to anybody.” Someone sent that to me in response to my crazy Q & A post. “I like you better when you’re out there on the limb, extemporaneously whispering whatever is in your head. Unfiltered. You keep threatening to go to the next level, the place where people might get nervous. Go there. And stay there.”
Hummingbirds are visiting again. Someone gave me a hummingbird feeder and I hung it in the inside corner of my upper floor. I didn’t know that despite the chaos at this apartment before my arrival that hummingbirds once visited. I welcome them back. I just wish they’d learn the words. (Sorry for referencing an old, tired joke there.)
In conclusion, I’m saving a fortune on toilet paper.
And if you read my post, you’re probably going to spend at least a few seconds pondering the implications of that.
Because someone quipped, “X, you don’t have any real family photos in your apartment…”
Earlier in the week, I posted a goofy picture inspired by Step Brothers.
I had a 16X20 print made of it and bought a nice frame today.
It’s now proudly hanging in the living room, above my bed. (This sentence sounds off somehow, doesn’t it?)
As noted on the watermark, the picture was provided by Playboy Photography, a company whose reputation compares only to Prestige Worldwide.
Now, I’ve fixed my “I don’t have “a” family photo in my apartment” issue.
When I was done, the only way I can describe the joy and satisfaction is by using a quote from the movie Step Brothers:
“This is going to sound weird, but for a second, I think you took on the shape of a unicorn.” — Dale
Love, X
I knew I was in serious trouble when my manager called me into his office and asked which type of punishment I’d like: “Biblical or Corporal?”
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I did break my pushup record yesterday. I did 1,111 just to have a memorable number. Today’s forecast: ain’t gonna be no rematch. I’m glad I did it but the obsessive component of it is exhausting.
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I learned several things yesterday. The problem with learning is that it forces you into cognitive dissonance when you’ve learned but don’t apply it to your life.
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Life Tip # 46: If you ensure that you’ve always kept a jar of moonshine nearby, you’ve got both anesthesia and antiseptic.
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Edit: I weigh 150 lbs again. I’m eating a lot more; I ate an entire thin crust cheeseless pizza Monday. I’d be happy with 170. Just in case someone tells me they’re worried about me. All my afflictions are mental and I’m keeping a close, albeit crazy, eye on those.
I made this for my friend Zach; he’s a Trump fan, and I’m not. And that’s okay. I made him a nice Jesus picture last week and, in previous weeks, made him a few other things to decorate his home. All of us should have places filled with beauty, crazy, and sentimentality. Necessity can clutter the rest.
While watching Erika brush her cat Meatball, I had a flash of genius. These flashes of genius CANNOT be ignored. Erika saved the brushings of fur for me twice.
I had a custom cardboard print made of Trump at Walgreens. I then carefully glued swaths of Meatball’s fur onto the print. Those dark places in each photo are shadows created by the fur as it protrudes from the board.
This is a one-of-a-kind piece of art… or something. Though I made it with creative glee in my heart, I hope Zach likes it. This was not something made quickly, cheaply, or without a lot of thought. If it is the thought that counts, it will be received with a laugh. And Meatball suffered no harm in the making of this fine piece of art.
This is not something I did to mock Trump or his fans. I did it to satisfy that urge to create and have fun with it.
As always, with love, X
I have a roommate now. It’s not what you think. Is it ever with me?
I have a two-bedroom apartment in Fayetteville. Obviously, I don’t use either bedroom; my bedroom is all in my living room. On the other hand, if a bedroom is where the bed is and a living room is where the living is, then I am MORE in compliance linguistically speaking than the rest of y’all neanderthals who conform to normalcy. I looked up “normal’ again in the dictionary and I simply don’t cotton to the concept at all.
Also: judging by the way we’ve warped the world, I think we should try unconventional and baths!t crazy for a while. Convince me I’m wrong. 
I had a pixie/fairy door at the house in Springdale. The pixie who resided there was named Crowder. I almost brought the door with me, knowing that Crowder would be obligated under the rules of magic to transport himself with the door. As you already know, pixies and fairies show themselves with less frequency the longer you live them. Humans and pixies weren’t intended to get used to one another. They do, however, get attached to animals and pets. It was with a heavy heart that I left both Crowder and the pixie door behind.
If you don’t believe in pixies or fairies, that’s fair. I just found out a lot of people don’t believe in science or bigfoot; both of these discoveries have left me in what is medically referred to as a “funk.”
This week was a blizzard of interesting things for my apartment. Among them, another pixie-fairy door. I opened it carefully. Pixies are whimsical creatures but don’t tolerate negligence well. For those who don’t know, pixies and fairies are both whimsical creatures; pixies are prone to mischief and wit. I couldn’t wait to discover which type of creature might choose my door.
It didn’t take long.When I entered the apartment this morning, I saw that the pixie door was still on the painted metal sign I left on the bed. However, next to it was scrawled a message, directly on the painted sign: “I’d rather use the door vertically. Don’t be lazy! Regards.” Below these words, the signature: “Larkma.” I’ve never had a female pixie before. And below that, “P.S. Please mark my door with my name?”
Hmmmm.
This apartment is already getting crowded. And because pixies are so damned mischievous, I now have something to blame my misplaced car keys on.
There’s something in the air this week with my apartment. And not just meth fumes and strange candles. I got a new shower curtain earlier in the week. Today, a custom pillowcase arrived. Also, a couple of photo magnets that I put on the inside of the metal front door. The pillowcase is similar to my curtain except with more pictures.
Not to be outdone by the fiercely competitive Jessica, Erika bought me a showerhead as a gift. The one installed in this apartment was installed in ’79. 1979, I hope. I can’t be sure. It may have had bloodstains or demonic etchings on it. Erika suffered the same indignity when she moved into this building thirty-two years ago. Everything was original and not in the excellent way that home-buying shows use the word. The National Historical Society almost decreed we couldn’t change out any of the fixtures due to their historical significance. George Washington may well have showered using those same showerheads.
The showerhead is an AquaDance, “…for the ultimate shower experience.” It sounds iffy, doesn’t it? First, there’s implied dancing on a slippery surface, an activity strongly discouraged by the AARP. Second, the word “ultimate” literally means “last.” I hope it is contradictory yet flowery marketing at work here.
Erika swears that this two-head detachable piece of bling is the best out there for the money. She even printed out instructions written by someone who wanted everyone to have the best installation experience possible. It’s apparent that she’s aware of my propensity toward imbecility. I don’t fault her for it.
Given my track record, I will attempt to be cautious when installing it. I’d rather not be the inspiration for the “Final Destination” reboot. Living in this apartment complex already has me a little bit worried. At any rate, once my neighbors realize that I am using my move as the basis for a lot of snark and satire, they may well acquire pitchforks and march over here.
In some ways, I’m going to miss taking spartan showers. I’ve always loved cool or cold showers, and doubly so when the equipment is impossible to use safely. The water heater and the shower installed as I found it when I moved here assist greatly in realizing these goals.
This new showerhead may well spoil me. Soon enough, I’ll be eating shaved cheese and sporting a goatee. The current showerhead I’m using shoots water randomly, almost maliciously. I’m going to miss it, as it reminds me of my mom’s parenting style.
Anyway, thank you, Erika. I suspect you may have bought this for me so that you and the other neighbors won’t hear so much screaming when I try to use the shower as intended.
I’ll be Aquadancing in luxurious comfort and style.
Also, this might be the most valuable thing in my apartment.
It’s a good thing I have renter’s insurance.
I love joking at the expense of this apartment complex. Anyone reading my stories knows that there are a lot of advantages to living here. No amenities, just advantages.
That’s an excellent metaphor for a simple life. I don’t need much, especially if I remember that almost everything essential to happiness is invisible. I live in my head, not in this place. I’m grateful for both. Nothing is certain.
Love, X
My friend and co-conspirator Jessica bought me an apartment-warming candle as a gift. Technically, if you lit and forgot about it, it would definitely warm the entire building, one way or another.
There’s a lot of subtext here:
Do I smell and need a fancy candle?
Do I have a lot of friends who’d do meth?
At someone else’s house?
If so, would they interpret the rule to mean anywhere but the bathroom?
Does this apartment send the message that meth might be considered an option here?
Is that Walter White’s doppelganger living in #15?
Notes:
The candle does NOT smell like meth.
I’ve smelled meth, both cooking and consumed.
No, I’ve never done meth. Or math.
The jar indicates “50 hour burn,” which is exactly what __________________.
(I left the joke blank because it is amusing, snarky, and suggestive.)
Cassis is not a berry, as many would suppose; it’s toejam.
Quote: “You can’t candle the truth!”
PS: This post isn’t 100% accurate.
Thanks for the surprise!
This looks like a dessert – possibly apple pie.
It’s not. It is the housing for one of two kitchen lights. Both of them were hideous. And, as it turns out, were also a hazard, more so than I am doing minor electrical work. I’m very careful. I haven’t shocked myself electrically in a while. The last time reminded me that I am mortal.
I have an older apartment. When I moved in, I discovered that the disposal didn’t work. Tracing the wiring, I discovered it was the switch. Luckily, I decided to fight the stripped wiring and replace the receptacle, as the ground wire wasn’t connected to anything. Water and electricity combined cause a whole lot of stories to be written, usually under the “Obituary” heading. (Which explains why my combination Coffee Pot/Toaster For The Bathroom idea was rejected.)
I bought modern low-profile lights, when left at a certain setting, remind me of Close Encounters Of The Third Kind -except without the mashed potatoes. When I took off the original light, the housing was burned and the connectors turned to ash when I pulled at them. Needless to say, this is NOT what one hopes to find inside wiring boxes.
Because I’m making permanent improvements to my apartment, I unfortunately had to choose “Practical & Stylish.” I wanted “Fabulous & Ridiculous.” I hate that I can’t paint the walls like I’m on an acid trip. My neighbor keeps admonishing me to dial it down, take a step back, and to NOT do anything crazy. It’s like she knows me well or something. A good example of this is that I watched a paintball episode of “Community” and thought, “Man, now that would be a great way to paint a room!”
I bought an array of switches and plugs when I moved here. I’ve replaced a few. It’s a hard fight, given that the builders didn’t leave much extra wiring sheath to work with. For anything I want to keep from being fried, I installed surgery protectors on top. These older buildings tend to experience more power surges than __________. (I left that blank because the joke I wrote there, while amusing, was NSFW.)
I’ve only used my dishwasher three times. All three times were to scald the heat and air vent covers after I scraped them. I’m not saying they are antiques, but the serial number for the first one was just “1.” I experimented with paint until I got it right. (Which means I did it REALLY wrong three times before I stopped being a dumbass.) I painted them whitish, too, even though I have 13 different colors here I would have rather used.
I don’t mind fixing things here. It’s just a place. I can sit at the front window on mornings like this, my hair full of dust and fiber from doing electrical work, and watch the expanse of sky above the trees, the crows warring over imaginary territories, and my weird neighbor with the forest on the balcony. I miss my cat Guino and still sometimes turn to look for him at the foot of the bed or next to me. I do hear traffic a lot. But right now, I hear the wind bending the trees and the birds telling each other secrets.
I suppose I need to get up and paint something else.
I think the whole world needs to be painted.
PS I listened to the voices of reason and bought renter’s insurance immediately. After seeing the wiring, I’m more confident than ever how smart that decision was. It will also come in handy next year when I use the bedrooms to start my Build-Fireworks-At-Home kits.
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P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 