Here is look at what’s been going on since I left for San Francisco:
There was the incident with the beautiful Turkish bus boy: After je me suis tordu la cheville (ignore spelling), I insisted still on going to Cafe Zuni, a restaurant in SF I have wanted to go to for years. On my way out, the bus boy asked me if I’d like to go out with him. I told him I couldn’t move. He insisted that perhaps when he got off work we could walk around. Of all things? No no, I don’t think you understand, I said. I can’t walk. Hence the reason I have been sitting in your restaurant like a complete lamo with my leg propped up and my jeans unbuttoned for extra comfort. Guess he didn’t catch that? And I had Tchae in a bag and ordered a burger (the best of my life, by the by). And I hadn’t fed her at all that day. Keeping her quiet, now that was fun, let me tell you. A real treat. A chocolate sunday with hot fudge sauce, Oreo crumbs, and multi-colored sprinkles (the kind that give you cancer). And maybe a touch of M & M’s… No, I go overboard.
As soon as I got back to Marfa, I went grocery shopping at the Get Go and ran into a certain Marfa spaz. I was leaning on my shopping cart like some demented bag lady so destitute a real walker was just not in the cards… I really wanted a mumu (green or purple), a collection of beaded long necklaces, and a pair of small round reading glasses perched too far down my nose at that minute… and along he comes. He tells me that I look great.
I was just like “sir, that is absurd. I am a cripple, a gimp, a paraplegic, and an invalid. You are not going to make me feel better by pretending that the sad, sad state of my physical appearance and the wafting odors of fermentation that seem to emanate from me in a permanent fashion are super-sexy (did I mention to you that for inexplicable reasons an insidious odor of mildew had mysteriously permeated by wardrobe and general self?)” Also, that was never the issue in question. I did not announce, “I am ugly” in the hope of being complimented, I said “I sprained my ankle.” Clearly his grasp on what the point is is iffy. Double also, he is the guy who lived in my house and didn’t pay rent for eight months, followed by a heist of all my furniture, including the bed. Evidently, this is because when he drinks he becomes incontinent and pees himself. And he drinks A LOT, so I suppose the mattress was tie-died by the end of his stay. All that it is to say that perhaps he was overcompensating for his bed-wetting and theft, but still.
Yesterday, my foot swelled and got black and blue. Talk about bruised sausage toes!!! Like very plump bratwurst braised in wine, or like my foot was wearing a fat suit from the Nutty Professor. As a result I called my radiologist friend and asked if he wouldn’t mind taking a look at it. He told me to go to the ER, ended up driving me himself, and they put my on crutches and forbade me to walk for many days. And I can’t exercise for weeks, which is tragique because my lardishness grows by the day! Quelle misere! I am a cripple. And a large one, at that. But fear not, as soon as I have reclaimed the use of my ankle I shall get back on my trampoline to bounce away the pounds with the help of my TV friends JB Burns and Tracy Finnan (have I ever mentioned to you my theory that they are having an affair? One has to enliven the sad world of indoor video-based cardio workouts somehow! That and the fact that I mistakenly allowed my imagination to run free for a moment. See, this is what happens… ) Ah but anyways, I was saying fret not my darlings, for I will bound and wince until I can once again fit into my librarian cum hipster wardrobe… although now that I just said that I wonder if I really should? It’s in its formative stages, OK?
I can’t handle it; I can’t do anything. I just sit around watching America’s Next Top Model, you know, to enrich my mind and cultivate staggering sophistication. And writing you this novel.
As I was mourning my turn as a paraplegic, all alone-y on my own-y, I discovered that Tchae is infested with fleas!!! Yes, you heard me. From whence the universe finds this ceaseless torrent of gracious favors to rain down upon me, I can only imagine. And they get more creative by the minute. Literally. I am cursed anew every 60 seconds, or at even shorter intervals on particularly splendid days.
I stayed up until 5 in the morning bathing her and dousing everything in reach with Rosemary and Cypress essential oils. Does organic fumigation work? But let me tell you, my friends, oh pally-pals, there is a very valid reason that you do not see any one-legged pest control agents in this world. To be fair, does one ever see exterminators out there? On the bright side, my entire house and I now smell like a pine forest. I diffuse this woodsy aroma with such fortitude, I wouldn’t be surprised if I got mowed down by some surly lumberjack. Or if Apple contacted me within the hour to request my services as the most anticipated addition to their new scenic screensaver slide: Alpine Serenity. Thanks a million, oh trusty canine companion. And Anthony;s cats. I guess it beats smelling like aforementioned mold. Also, if Larry the Lumberjack ever does come around, I suppose I could boost his flannel checked shirt and call it a victory. I’ve been wanting one of those for-EVER! My aspirations are so lofty, so stunningly out of reach, I astound even myself. Who says I need friends?
In order to up my cool factor, I am contemplating writing the following masterpiece: “Alexand Anthony: An Epic Bromance,” by Ylana L. Frydman. Jacket Quote: “Told with mordant wit and stunning insight.” Winner of the Pulitzer prize in, erm, NON-fiction. Qu’est-ce-que vous pensez? In case you are wondering why I’m telling you this, it is because I don’t feel that my resplendent idiocy and misfortune should go unnoticed. So I am putting the word out. To you. Supremely connected as you all are in the world of award giving, I’m sure you can nab me a burnished and glowing statuette of some kind. I thought so.
How are you? Let me know! That’s all for tonight, folks. Be sure to tune in regularly, and thanks for joining me here on News at 6:15 Eastern Time. (Central time, in actuality, but since I have not had a television since leaving the realm of the East, it only sounds proper to me as Eastern Time).
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