Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Boy, It Sure Is Fun Painting This Here Fence

By the way, you people are fucking useless. Everyone exctept for Mae, who totally gave me a sweet picture to use that inspired me to create similar ones and I've gotten incredibly lazy about the whole thing, because I am very good at starting things and not very good at finishing them. Grinding ideas into irrelevant jokes is one of my superpowers (along with being the boss and blockin' cock (lame)), but a deprecating, esoteric superpower that really only exists in my mind.

Katsisch, the middle sister, is moving into an apartment from the depths of my parents' basement, and I helped paint her new place on Sunday because I love painting walls and changing things that I find boring. I've never been a visibly flashy person, and I never will be (it would make me insufferable) but boring is boring is boring is boring, you know?

Of course, Katsisch is a horrible painter but a master project evader, and after a few hours she'd unevenly smeared lavender paint all over the walls and I told her to go back to my parents' so I could stay and clean up her bullshit job.

So as I was wiping up the purple paint water I sprayed all over her new kitchen during "clean up," the oven started beeping. Stupid oven. I beat it and kicked it a few times, pressed every button with force and malice, and ripped the oven door right off the damn thing.

It wasn't even hard. I lifted the door and sighed at it as the oven blared away. There weren't even any fucking lights on, the clock wasn't set, I don't even think it was fucking plugged in.

Oven doors really aren't as heavy as you'd expect. Out of shock, I carried it around the apartment with me while I looked for more paper towels and cleaning products, getting chips of oven soot and grease all over Katsisch's three-day-old apartment carpet, waving my arms in frustration. I went out on her balcony and considered throwing it into traffic just to be a bitch, because fuck you, oven door.

Back inside the oven was still going off like a fucking smoke alarm (maybe it's the smoke alarm?) so I called my sister and told her I fucked up. She was all, "Talk to mom" and then I panicked, rambling on about beeping oven alarms and flapping around the oven door like a fucking lunatic Icarus, and my mom was all, "why don't you just turn the oven off?" and bam, beeping stopped. I did nothing.

"Okay, so it just stopped."


"I didn't do anything."

"Don't worry about it, everything's fine."

"What do I do about the door?"

"Put it back on or leave it there. Get some sleep." Just like that. Like it's no big deal. She did the same thing when I set the basement on fire, like, "I thought I smelled something. Get some sleep." But when I wore a t-shirt to school or pierced my nose it was all, "WHAT ARE YOU WEARING? TAKE IT OFF. NOW. Go put something else on. Something appropriate. When you're supporting yourself you can wear whatever you want, but right now blah blah bliggity blonk you'll thank me." To her it was all about accident versus intent. I get that.

I do not thank her for those clothes, by the way. I'm still angry that I had to wear button up shirts and sweaters throughout high school. No sweatshirts unless I wore a collar underneath them, nothing with a hood, no ripped jeans, and all this because I got a scholarship to Bennett Academy and I didn't want to go because private schoolers were jerks, so what did she do? Turned me into a fucking jerk.


Not that you care, but I can't find an appropriate fall jacket anywhere. I wore the same jacket for eight years, and some asshole stole it off the back of my chair at a bar. Probably because the whole faux military/motorcycle jacket thing is all trendy right now. Whatever. I bought it at Old Navy, it's not like it's anything special to anyone but me. Now they're walking around wearing my well-worn coat, with my grandmother's buttons and the lining I added, and I never realized how attached I was to it, and everything's upside down because I miss my bike and my jacket and it's cold outside, and I feel incomplete.

If this were a movie, I would get everything back. Fuckers stealing my shit.



nursemyra said...

You added your own lining and buttons? Put that on your super powers resume too Rassles.

I love your mom.

Logical Libby said...

My Mom is the reason I never learned about fashion. I am now filing a lawsuit. Maybe you can join me and we can make it a class action.

renalfailure said...

Did you run back and forth within a really small area, 'cause that what I used to do whenever I broke something and didn't know what to do.

Ellie said...

But your jacket with your bike. It's gone. (I'm sorry!).

I know about looking for the perfect jacket. I found mine at the strangest of places ... Gant ... that centre of fucktard preppies. It had what I was looking for.

In case you doubt ... the perfect jacket for walking with your perfect dog.

Ellie said...

Put. Not but. ;-(

Ellie said...

Oh, and also. We once had a kid (19 yrs old) living with us. The oven broke. The oven door was removed. The 19 year old continued to use the oven without the door until we instructed him not to. ;-) Youth.

Kono said...

I've worn the same ratty, beat-up Carhatt for the last 15 years and this winter i might have to retire it because it is falling apart, i do not know why i'm telling you this really, maybe because i am sad at the demise of an inanimate object. On the other hand i'm going to buy a surplus Army jacket like the one i wore in high school when i was like punk rock and shit cuz i'm an old ass hipster and instead of buying like a corvette or something i'm buying that jacket.

Kono said...

i believe that's Carhartt. See how distraught i am.

Mia Watts said...

Fascinating how you went from painting to fuckers stealing your shit, which wasn't even paint. Stream of consciousness at its best.


daisyfae said...

if i love clothing, i wear it until it falls apart, and then i keep the shreds and molecules in a wicker trunk in my bedroom - like a shrine. i have an old pair of pajama bottoms, a "spam" t-shirt that is faded, shredded AND torn up by bleach, and the "Wheaties" sweatshirt i wore daily in high school in the winter - 35 fucking years ago.

my condolences on the loss of your jacket. i feel like sending you a fruit basket or something.

grumpy said...

was wondering about your bike just the other day. Prob cos I want one like it.

JMH said...

Your sister has food ghosts. Ah, those sad suffering roaster chickens or tiny quiches or Tombstone pizzas (although those pizzas knew what they were in for when they were born a Tombstone). The oven is like Hell for foods that go in the oven.

Rassles said...

Nurse: I have a tendency to lay heavy, obsessive claim on things I think are mine, to the point of physical alterations. God forbid I get a husband, poor guy. If I get downright melancholy over a lost jacket...damn.

Libby: I could never take my mom to court, because she would fucking win.

RF: I totally did, and I carried the door with me.

Ellie: that you? Or how you see me? Because I would believe either, and I love that jacket. And the dog. And I think I own that bag.

Kono: No, I totally get it. I misspell things when I'm down as well.

Mia: You are like my favorite cheerleader.

Daisy: Excactly. Until it's shreds. And then I take those shreds and make something else. Everything gets reused twelve bajillion times.

Grumpy: You stole it, didn't you? From across the globe you planned and plotted to smash my dreams.

JMH: My favorite Tombstone is the garlic supreme. Oh. My. Tombstone.