Sunday, March 12, 2006

Domestic Bliss

Ugh, what a wretched and numbing weekend. A.S. is four weeks from his thesis and exhausted and stretched too thin and people in his studio are having breakdowns, so I went up to the horrid Orange Place to help him out in any small way. Sometimes this means gluing models, sometimes proofing papers, but after taking a look at his fetid apartment, I realized that this time, it meant playing housemaid...but definitely minus any shorty skirt and cute feather duster. Seriously, ew. Smelly sink. Ew! And since he was at the studio from 10 a.m. until 2:30 a.m., I spent most of the weekend alone, just the washing machine and me.

Oh, and the dog. Beulah Dog and I went for a two hour hike in the mountains and swam in mountain streams with honking geese, and gyred and gimbled in the slithy toves. Or at least she did. I mostly got swamp ass from hiking in jeans in 85-degree heat. Jesus, when did it become shorts weather? At least I achieved thigh soreness, which is the ultimate goal in all physical activity. And after wearing shorts today, I think astronomers in far off solar systems are having panic attacks from the super nova that is my honkieness.

Anyway, I realize exactly how little I would enjoy being a housewife:
A.S. comes home. I’m passed out on the couch having watched depressing movies and found my way to the bottom of a bottle of wine. The house is spotless. He dirties up dishes and I feel compelled to hover around until he’s finished, so his crap doesn’t mar the perfection of my clean kitchen—a single dirty spot will ruin his sense of appreciation for my domestic anal retentive drudgery. He’s too tired to be appreciative ENOUGH. I am bitter and resentful. And bored. So bored. So incredibly bored. Boring boreness of bored boringdom.

Begone, oh weekend of tedium! It was so lovely to come home and sit on the back steps with my homies and drink wine and coke and grill burgers and talk about pot smoking days and music and masquerade balls and Wonder Woman and not have to fish for compliments by saying, “I cleaned your tub. Look! Sparkly!”

At least I got to hit the goat farm on the way home and buy lots and lots of cheese. MMMMmmm, cheeeeeese.

$40 worth of goaty goodness. Tomorrow, I may have a goat cheese orgy, just because I can.

6 comments:

Casey said...

why would you be depressed if you found your way to the bottom of a bottle of wine? isn't that an accomplishment? usually, I get sidetracked and wander my way into town, only to get ridiculed by fashion police and homeless people to watch the way I conduct myself in public. now that is depressing, when all you wanted to do was finish a bottle or merlot and wash it down with some mountain goat cheese.

Marcheline said...

Okay.... you drank wine... and Coke?

Ew.

And about that dirty apartment thing... yeah, it's gonna be YOUR dirty apartment next. Get them rubber gloves on, or get a whip and make HIM clean the gadam tub for a change!

Heh. I clean the tub, too. Who am I kidding?

- M

Nothing But Bonfires said...

Oooh, wine and coke? Like they have at Raval? It's surprisingly good, isn't it? And it has a great name, which escapes me now......there are a lot of "x"s in it.

Jemima said...

*Tsk* It wasn't wine and coke MIXED for pete's sake! But I was eating salty tots and it's hard to actually quench your thirst with an icy pint glass of pinot, now isn't it?

Nothing But Bonfires said...

No, actually -- wine and coke together is good! RED wine and coke, and it has to be pretty cheap red wine. It's called a Txmoto or something. Goes down very easily. A favorite in the Basque region, apparently.

Marcheline said...

Oh, now really... that's just too disgusting for words! To profane the holy name of red wine by speaking the large conglomerate of carbonated caramel sugar water's name in the same breath... you're all going to be relegated to death by lesbian cheese!