Notes From A Walkman Junkie: Somewhere Between A Cornball And A He-Man
“Have you cut your hair? Is your head still outside of your ass?” This was the conclusion to a recent email sent to me from my mother. To answer those questions, yes, I did take time away from my relentless schedule of not drinking to cut my own hair (which at first was kind of choppy and nice, but has now morphed into something resembling the hair of He-Man and his alter ego, Prince Adam. And according to my companion, my bangs are a little problematic and I should have foreseen this because ”We have had lengthy discussions about your bangs in the past.” I was also a bit concerned when a friend of mine–after I shared with him that I had decided to quit drinking indefinitely–flatly remarked, “Oh, is that because you got really drunk and gave yourself an awful haircut?” as he gazed disapprovingly at my head.) and my head is (mostly) still outside of my ass, which made the hair cutting process significantly easier, though vastly less successful.
Admittedly, I have been kind of a shut-in lately; thus, greatly hindering the possibility of any amusing stories from just falling into my lap. Oh sure, I could tell you about some minor annoyances at work–like the woman who brought in some baby clothes for us to sell, but had some kind of cryptic code way of pricing that involves writing out a long string of numbers with the instructions to, ” Ignore that row of forty numbers except for the second to the last two–then double those and that is my price.” I had a better idea and suggested, “How about you just tell me the price.”
And I could talk about my pet bunny Edgar’s refusal to play with his new fun cornball in front of me because he would not dare give me the satisfaction of knowing that he likes it (just like the goddamn blueberries and the monkey and the Nut Knob Nibbler and his little sofa) so he immediately shoves it into his hutch when I am around and secretly plays with it when I am not looking. I can tell by the little nibbles all around the edges and he is not fooling anyone with his “Oh, I am just sticking my little face in my hutch and wiggling around, but I am not playing with anything in here and I am especially not playing with this fucking festive cornball, hmph.”
I could also mention some of my latest weirdo dreams. For instance, the one that I had the other night where I was seated at a long table with some of my family and friends–then I mindlessly drank a miniature beer and everyone hated me and later my dad walked over and stood next to my mom, pulled out a large hand gun, and randomly fired it into the air–after which, my mom casually stated, “See what I have to put up with.”
So anyway, I would like to apologize for my lack of material and my lack of posts and my poor hair choices (even after lengthy discussions) and my fancy cornball purchase, but I will continue to try to keep my head outside of my ass.
I have been enjoying some Rita Pavone these days and so can you…