| Help! I am filthy! |
Happy Thanksgiving, my little Turkey Lurkies! What are you doing to commemorate this shameful, shameful holiday? Go. Tell me. I am listening.
Enough about you. On to me! I am having some friends over for dinner and libations and parade-watching. Kelsi and I are cooking. It will be really fun. I am mostly excited about the ginger martinis and the cranberry bellinis. Ginger fights colds and cranberries are good at preventing UTIs. Holiday bases are now covered!
Kelsi is all here and settled in, as she's posted about somewhat, and it's so funny how well we get along. I really feel like she's lived here always- we're very aptly suited housemates. And friends! She even enjoys Sassy, and she gets him, and that is so important to me. That being said, she has not woken up yet and it is 9 AM and how are we supposed to be drinking champagne and watching the parade on tv if she is not awake? I can't drink by myself at 9 in the morning! That's for when I'm old and slinging cats on Gin Drinker's Lane!
I'd like to let this blog serve as a record to show that, inevitably, I am totally going to accidentally set my bed on fire which is just going to be the saddest thing in town as my bed is awesome. It is a big tall antique white iron bed with a sweet, sweet mattress and linens that make me smile just thinking about them. I love it very much.
But know what friends? It is winter here in New York. And I am not that tough when it comes to manning up and braving the cold. In fact, my first winter here I cried. I actually cried. I had never been that cold in my whole life. All I could think about was this book I'd read once about soldiers in the Russian army who were camped outside in that ridiculous tundra and instead of disrobing when they had to go to the bathroom, they chose just to poop in their pants because it would freeze instantly and then they could give a shake of their leg and that poopsicle would fall right out and OH MY GOD IF I HAVE TO DO THAT I WILL JUST ABSOLUTELY CRY and then I actually DID cry. It's true. Embarrassing. And out of character. I guess cold is my kryptonite.
But whatever, I digress. So it's cold here, and we don't have the authority to control the heat in our apartment. That is left up to my landlords. They live in the building but they're also hardier than me or batshit crazy or both, because my apartment was so cold this past week my nipples could have cut glass. It was out of control.
So when it was time for bed the other night, I put on some really warm pajamas, a hooded sweatshirt, these weird slipper socks that my mom knitted for me (for real), and mittens. Then I added another down comforter on my bed and two more blankets. Then I found my heating pad, cranked that fucker up to "roast in hell" and shoved it in the bed.
Guess who slept like a big drunk baby? If you guessed me, you are right! "I win," I thought. "I beat winter!" And this system has served me well for several nights.
So sometimes I wake up for work super early. As such, I am a bit of a minimalist in the details department in the morning. I shower the night before and lay out my clothes so that the morning is as streamlined as possible. My AM to do list is usually like this:
- pee
-brush teeth
-find purse
-frown
-pants!
-leave
I am like a well-oiled, lazy, undercaffeinated machine.
The problem arose initially when I started with my heating pad regimen. I kept forgetting to turn it off, which is really really bad as my apartment building is a big old tinderbox to begin with, and it certainly doesn't need my help in the fire hazard department. I always mean to unplug it, I've even left myself Reminder Post-Its, but seriously? My brain is broken. Borken, if you will.
I cannot, for the life of me, remember to turn the goddamned thing off, and was starting to make me really, really nervous. Also I fretted about how easily I adapted to sleeping like a rotisserie chicken. So toasty!
I even asked my mom to call me in the morning to remind me to turn off the heating pad. She promised she would. When she called as I was rushing out the door the next day, I totally screened her, all in a huff that she'd call that early. Rude! I called her back from work and she sang "Turn off your heating pad!" and I sang back "Oh, shitballs! I forgot, Mom!"
But don't worry, little friends. Fate intervened.
I left my landlords a note the other night which passive-aggressively inquired about the heat and hot water in our house. I guess the message took, because during the night they turned on the heat. AND HOW. Between the heat getting cranked full blast and the fact that I was sleeping in a costume more apropos for a Miss Inuit pageant, my body temperature rose to somewhere around one bazillion degrees Fahrenheit during the night.
Jesus god, I almost died. I think I had heat stroke when I woke up. I have truly never been sweatier in my life. At first, I thought my heating pad had exploded, so I wrenched it from the covers and threw it across the room, furious. Then I thought my bed was on fire a little maybe. Finally I realized that it was a steamy steam room in there and that unless I was naked immediately I would combust. It was the crankiest start to a day I've had in a while.
I've heard before that sleeping in a room that's too hot will give you bad dreams, and I'm thinking there might be some truth to that, because that night I had a doozy. Doozie? How do you spell that?
I am afraid to tell you the whole dream, lest you see how twisted my subconscious is, but TK convinced me otherwise, so here we go.
Ahem.
In my dream, and I really am having a hard time typing this, this person and this person were doing this.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!
I have no idea why I dreamed about that. But I did. To clarify, they weren't actually banging. Instead, DVD was reading the paper while Bea tried to seduce him by wagging her butt in his face. She was wearing his pajamas. Erotic, no?
I mean they did date on the Golden Girls, right? I'm really sad for myself and my twisted little subconscious. Send help!
Gobble gobble!
Love,
MegLabels: food, friends, help my brain is weird, holidays, on the homefront, potty humor |
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| 12 Comments: |
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Choosing your drinks by their homeopathic benfits to your body is an amazing idea! That will be my new determining factor. Happy Thanksgiving.
By the way, I was picturing early years DVD and Golden Girls era Beatric Arthur so it was extra disturbing and I think makes me dirtier than you which should get you off the hook.
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I can't drink by myself at 9 in the morning! That's for when I'm old and slinging cats on Gin Drinker's Lane!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSpsz_JbUZs
Happy Thanksgiving Meg (and Kelsi and Sassy)!
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On one hand, we have nipples and steamy nudity.
On the other, poopsicles and Bea Arthur shaking her ass.
I'm not sure how I feel about this whole thing.
Happy thanksgiving, meg.
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I think your landlord is passively aggressively trying to tell you to shut your mouth about the heat by baking you alive in your own apartment. Pretty soon you'll be begging him to turn it back down and then he's won.
Happy Thanksgiving, Meggers!
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Finally I realized that ... unless I was naked immediately I would combust.
I had exactly that thought the other day about a girl on the subway. Except about her, not me. Except the combusting was -- oh bother. You know what I mean.
ObHotinBed joke omitted. Happy Thanksgiving to you and roomies, and to your heartless overcompensating landlord!
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Dear Meg,
I am glad I already knew about this dream, otherwise I'm not sure I'd be able to eat today. But since I have had a day to adjust, and I knew it was going to appear somewhere in this post, I'm sure I'll be just fine. Except for when I think about my morning-after theory. Because really... she's wearing his pajamas and he's reading the paper? What else could it be, other Bea Arthur wanting another go-round the morning after with Dick Van Dyke? I'm sorry. Should I stop talking about it now? Yes.
I'll change the subject.
Hope all the baking turned out absolutely fantastically awesome and that you have the best Thanksgiving ever.
Love,
Jamelah
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I wish I was there... At thanksgiving, not in your twisted Bea & D scene.
I really like that part where you got mad at your heating pad for exploding, becuase that would totally explain a heat wave.
lurve
suzer
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It was so cold in my apartment last winter that I stayed sick for about two months with some kind of bronchitis / cold from hell. I'm totally using your heating pad, etc. idea this year. I control the heat, luckily, but the old Victorian house my apartment is in won winter last year, big time. It laughed at the insulation and comforters I put up at the windows. Laughed. And then I cried. And then I had a sex dream about Rose Nylund. Okay, not really. :D
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let the record show that i was totally not asleep but rather, stuck at columbus circle because of this thing that people call a "parade" which happens on "thanksgiving." i'd much rather have your readers think i'm stupid than think i'm lazy.
also: totally. disturbed. by. that. dream.
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Ms Understood- thank goodness for you. But we should never let our subconsciouses go on playdates. God knows what would happen.
Star- Thank god I am not that overachieving. Otherwise the signs are all there. Especially in terms of using the word Buster. And happy thanksgiving to you too!
Peter- much like the first thanksgiving, there exists conflict and strife. Happy Our Thanksgiving to you!
Mindy- you are so right. SO RIGHT.
Jamelah- now that you mention it, it was pretty bright in there. Maybe beyond lamplight bright. Like sunlight bright. Oh, goddammit.
Linus- we're a combustible sort, you and I.
Suz, I missed you. I'm not going to lie.
Maxie- Oh, the heating pad? So nice. I highly recommend it as a Heat alternative.
Kelsi (and world)- it's true. The reason she wasn't waking up is because she wasn't there. I thought she was, but I was wrong. I figured it out when she called me from Not Her Room. But I wrote this before she called me, so. There you go.
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your next young doctor/window cleaning stud is going to love your bedroom outfit.
"I put on some really warm pajamas, a hooded sweatshirt, these weird slipper socks that my mom knitted for me (for real), and mittens."
i'm trying to imagine someone wearing that outfit and trying to seduce a shirtless six-packed hottie in a bedroom with a nice white bed - i'm finding it as hilarious and disturbing as your dickvd/bea dream.
although i just typed dickvd. so who's the disturbed one?
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Hmmph, you should come to AZ where it was 73 today and I sweated after sitting in the sun for 10 minutes. I miss the cold/snow... I'll trade you! It'd be like being a German exchange student, minus the dreads and bone eating.
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Name: A Lover and a Fighter
Home: New York, NY
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Choosing your drinks by their homeopathic benfits to your body is an amazing idea! That will be my new determining factor. Happy Thanksgiving.
By the way, I was picturing early years DVD and Golden Girls era Beatric Arthur so it was extra disturbing and I think makes me dirtier than you which should get you off the hook.