I often compare having to endure things I hate to sticking a shard of glass through my eyeball or peeling back layers of skin until I see muscle. Which would take a while. The thing I hate the most in this world is listening to other people’s problems. I once contemplated chewing on my wine glass so my mouth would bleed and need to leave to the hospital. All just to escape a conversation. But in my defense, I wasn’t the only one on board with the glass eating. So when a neighbor approaches me, I run. Even if I’m not in running clothes, I just decide to jog. I wave, and lightly jog around the block until they go back into their house.
So the topic of today is, do we really trust Willie Nelson?
Some hippie down the street caught me at a vulnerable moment and started a conversation. To my amazement, he said something really profound. Let me set the scene- The hippie was stoned out of his goddamn mind and I was outside opening a package from UPS before the driver left. (I like to make sure it was what I ordered. I know the UPS guy has nothing to do with the order, but if it’s wrong, I will get mad at everyone involved. Messenger included. Ya buddy, domino effect, deal with it.) When hippie saw that the package was paintings, he walked over and didn’t stop until he was way too far into my personal space. Then he said, “The art you display…”
He paused as he got distracted by two squirrels fighting over some sort of nut. I was also interested to see who would win the fight, brown or black? You never know. It was a close competition and I wasn’t sure how it was going to end until… After about two minutes, using his telecommunications training, brown’s cousin arrived to the battle. Oh shit son, it’s about to get real real. Then out of nowhere, Black went red-zone, punched them both in the face and ran away. As he launched himself over the fence, he scratched his leg where his tattoo of his mother’s name was. But don’t worry, black, no one will notice. In the humiliation of defeat, brown and brown started humping each other- reproducing every fuckin chance they get.
The hippie continues where he left off, “…reflects who you are”. I ignored him and in fear that he would start talking about his dead wife, without saying goodbye I walked into my house and locked the door.
I try not to actually listen when people speak to me, but this got into my head. I know that the sunglasses you wear tell people what kind of person you are, but art? Really. If I see someone wearing aviators, I think- cool it’s Arnold Schwarzenegger and just assume I will immediately be friends with them. If I see someone wearing reflective Oakley’s, I think- wow that guy masturbates to a lot of Japanese Anime. So I look around my house and all I see is myself. It’s either a picture of me, or a picture of a female who resembles me. I mean, why would I want a picture of some random person in my house? If I ever get robbed, I don’t want the burglars thinking I’m a ginger who wears polka dots.
Okay, hippie neighbor, I get it, I’m obsessed with myself. But if you’ve met my family, it’s like -hey apple, I am your tree. Hey tree, you’re clearly the best apple tree in this world and every other apple tree can go fuck themselves because you’re mine. So my life seeps with conceit, after all, I repeated “you will never find a better chick than me” to my man over a period of a year, then boom. Ring on it. But let me throw you this curve ball Willie Nelson, what do the two vintage telephones displayed on my shelf tell you about me? Probably that I’m classy. After all, land lines are for grown-ups.
On Pinterest, squirrel is also a code word for pins of naked dudes with their junk hanging out all over the place. Get into it.
Always a blast. You’re good people. Don’t forget to line it up! Solid.