The Laziest Piece

No one warned me about this, the worst part of dog-sitting: 

I recently started a new job that I’m trying really hard (ya know, sort of) to care about. It’s been a huge lifestyle upgrade in that I hardly have to commute at all, but I do have to show up on time and look like I made the tiniest bit of effort to get ready beforehand. 

In general, I’m a lazy piece of shit (hence the name of this blog) who hates getting out of bed in the morning. It’s hard enough in the summer months when all I have to do is pull a dress over my head and slip into sandals, so try to imagine me before 8am during the winter. I have to think about things? Things such as layers, socks vs. tights, does this sweater match, are these the tights with the toe hole, does this dress still qualify as too short for work if I wear tall boots, oh my god is it snowing outside?!

With all that in mind, I’ve been searching for ways to shorten my morning routine. So now, finally, to the point of this post: are you aware of SHOWER CAPS?! I’m not talking about the gross, transparent, used condom looking ones that are currently growing mold in your grandma’s bathroom cabinet. There are cute-ish ones! Ones with bright colors and floral prints. 

I bought a Goody brand shower cap for $5. It’s hot pink and lined with terry cloth. Terry cloth! It’s like a poofy waterproof bathrobe helmet. 

Do I feel a little bit like Strawberry Shortcake every time I wear it? Yes, but I only consider that to be a bonus. I mean, check out how happy she is:

She’s happy for two reasons, probably:

She owns a pink cat.

Her hair is always dry thanks to her strawberry shower cap.

Before my shower cap days, I’d take a shower and no matter how much care I took to avoid the water, I’d end up with damp hair, frizzy hair, ugly hair that added 15 minutes to my morning routine. Now I can go DAYS between hair washes thanks to the magic of dry shampoo and my shower cap.

Please let 2016 be the year that I walk away, change the channel, turn the page, plug my ears, yell FUCK OFF whenever I hear or see anything about spiralizers and bullshit food like zucchini “pasta.” 

 That’s not pasta. This is pasta:

My only 2016 goal is to find joy in my favorite food, real motherfucking pasta, a la Michelle Tanner:

I am Team Jennifer Garner, but I can’t watch her Capital One commercials without cringing. Why does she walk like that? No one walks with their hands on their hips. No one should walk down an airplane aisle, real or fake, with their hands on their hips like that. She’s the human version of Bambi’s first attempts at walking. I can’t pay attention to her credit card scam because I’m constantly afraid she’s about to topple over backwards.

Imagine how skinny and powerful I’d be if I took all the energy I spend wondering about off-screen Today Show relationships and put it into doing pilates.  

Commercial after commercial for Dolly Parton’s Coat of Many Colors movie and my main takeaway is that is way too much work for a child’s coat that will be outgrown in a matter of months. 

It’s official: I can never be a private eye superhero. As soon as Kilgrave suggested to Jessica Jones that they team up so he can use his evil powers for good, I was sold. Great idea, Kilgrave, I have no backbone! But also I would never have made it to Kilgrave’s house for that conversation, in fact I would’ve stopped chasing him entirely because no threat to humankind could get me out of Luke Cage’s bed. Luke Cage can get it. 

Why can’t real-life Christmas come close to the cozy perfection of Stevie Wonder’s Apple commercial? Adopt me, Stevie, I’m ready to sing. 

In Best Buy commercials, they refer to their employees as blue shirts. As in “A Blue Shirt will help you find what you’re looking for.” This seems...not okay.

I was so, so wrong when I was little. The local news is everything. It’s the most dramatic piece of entertainment every single day and I never should have switched to the Disney channel. 

An app that alerts me when I’m on the verge of being too sarcastic with my mom

A cute, comfortable pajama shirt with a built-in bra so I can hang out in front of various in-laws and cousins early in the morning or late at night without having to be in my street clothes

An app that alerts everyone else to my need for at least two hours of alone time every day

An alert when a relative is about to say something sexist

An alert when a relative is about to say something racist

An alert when a relative is about to talk politics

A food swap device that would allow me to substitute one of my parents’ thrice daily heart attack meals for something from my normal diet, like oatmeal...but also invisible so my parents wouldn’t find out and get offended

Waffle House is so good. And yet I only ate there once, years ago. Is it as good as I remember? I bet it is. Scattered, smothered & covered! I don’t know what that means exactly but I’m certain it is delicious. Why isn’t there a Waffle House near me?

What a goddamn world that the girl from Dirty Dancing felt the need to get a nose job.

How is Britney Spears doing, really?

My life would be a lot more fun if my husband quit his PhD program.

I’d probably go on a ton more vacations, too!

Tresemme Tres Two Extra Hold Hair Spray is the best because it holds your curls all day without transforming your hair into a knotted nightmare. 

I can’t believe I’m not famous.

Who do I think I am?  Why haven’t I gone back to school for something practical such as speech language pathology or occupational therapy? 

An in-demand, well-paying job is The Dream.

Or is it???

Why do I think about jobs so much? 

My parents were in town a few weeks ago, and you know what that means: an entire weekend of my mom dropping subtle baby hints. Yep, real subtle questions like, “When are you going to give me a grandchild?” and comments like, “You’ll have to move down to the first floor when you have a baby” and encouragement like, “You two would have the cutest kids!” 

1) My brother has already “given” my mom two perfect grandchildren.

2) Oh sure, I’ll just move on down to the first floor, because that’s totally an option. Excuse me first floor neighbors, would you mind abandoning your decades-long home so I can enjoy the convenience of your backyard and lack of steps? No? Hmmm, here, talk to my mom, she’ll explain it. 

3) Our kids might be beautiful, our kids might be uggos. Who knows, who cares. Is the potential for a beautiful baby a reason to have a baby? 

For the time being, none of this matters anyway because:

I wake up at 8am. It doesn’t matter what time I go to bed, it doesn’t matter what time I set my alarm, and it doesn’t matter what time my dog wants to go outside. No matter what, I start to wake up at 7:30ish and then scroll through Instagram until I absolutely have to be out of bed at 8. This is a huge problem because GUESS WHAT.

I’m late to work every single day. So I don’t get out of bed until 8, yet I’m supposed to be at work at 9...and my commute takes about an hour. How do I get there on time? I don’t! Instead of forcing myself to be a responsible, employed adult, I just make sure to plug in my laptop and sign into the work chat system before I walk out the door. When I finally get to work, I creep down the hallway and peek my head around the corner like a common criminal. If no one is around, I straight up run to my office, sign into the chat system again, and it’s like I was there all along. 

I have to bribe myself to accomplish anything. My days are full of sugary treats and walks to the park. It’s a lot like dealing with a toddler, except the toddler is me. If you reply to that email, you can order a vanilla latte. If you write the last paragraph, you can read outside at lunch. The worst part is I constantly let myself off easy and it turns into: Great, you thought of a subject line, go ahead and order that latte! Even though you didn’t write a whole paragraph, that’s a great first sentence. You definitely deserve a break. Actual children would destroy me. 

I don’t give a shit about holidays. If I do have kids someday, I want to be the kind of ABC Family/mommy blog/Instagram parent who knits baby-sized elf hats and surprises them with handmade valentines in their bento box lunches. The reality is that I don’t know how to knit and I hate crafts. My version of seasonal decor is a 99 cent mini-pumpkin placed in what is close enough to the center of the dinner table. For Thanksgiving, I’d much rather try out a new restaurant with my husband than cook or see my family. I’ve hung the same dusty red velvet bow on the front door for the last four Christmases. Don’t I sound like the ideal person to be in charge of creating a magical childhood?

I only have shallow city friends. You know that old adage, “it takes a village to raise a child”? I believe that’s true. I had two working parents and my siblings and I were pretty much always being babysat by our grandparents, extended family, or our parents’ friends. In New York, I don’t know a single person I’d trust with my child -- currently, and this is true, I don’t know a single person I’d trust with my dog. We’re going on vacation in January and I’m already worrying about what we’ll do with the dog. Our city friends are people we see once every three months, and quality time consists of two happy hour drinks at a dive bar. People here are “busy” and people here delay adulthood. I think I got married at a normal age, but my husband is older than I am and city people frequently remark that they can’t believe he married so young. Uhhhh. My husband is 32. Dear Polly, where are all the grown-ups who don’t suck?

Sleeping With The Enemy - When Julia Roberts is in the bathroom, sees the towels folded perfectly, and realizes the abusive husband she escaped from found her. I think about this scene literally every time I’m in a bathroom with hand towels. Sidenote: If you’re in hiding from your wife-beating husband, why would you choose to live in a large, secluded house? I used to consider the paper-thin walls of my Brooklyn apartment a bad thing, but in this movie, my nosy neighbors could have helped Julia Roberts.

Fear - Any time I hear the song “Wild Horses,” I obviously think of Marky Mark finger banging Reese Witherspoon. HOWEVER, I then immediately think of the part towards the end, after they’ve had sex and she realizes he’s a murderer, when he whispers in her ear, “I was inside you.” :( 

Gilmore Girls - When Lorelai screams at Christopher and explains what having a family is -- “Coming home at the same time to the same place every day.” Yep. 

The Lion King - Grown-up Simba and Nala gettin’ down to “Can You Feel The Love Tonight.” Why did they have to include this scene? Why was it so long?? I always pretended I had to refill my drink when my parents were in the room at this part.

Little Women (1994) - When Jo reveals her haircut and it’s supposed to be a very solemn moment but you can totally see Christian Bale in the background cracking up at something. The video clip cuts off right before it happens, but this is just a nice excuse for you to watch Little Women again and see for yourself. Another moment I can’t find online: when Laurie is packing up his books for college and says, “Nothing’s going to change, Jo.” Laurie is such an idiot. Hey Laurie, why don’t you go date her little sister?

Pollyanna - Allllll the time, I think about the amazing looking cakes the maids bake for the carnival before Pollyanna falls out of the tree. I know I’m not alone in my obsession because there are entire Pinterest pages devoted to Pollyanna cake recipes. 

Meet Joe Black - When Brad Pitt stands in the middle of a NYC crosswalk for an unrealistically long time and gets hit by a car. I’m not saying he had it coming, but he sort of had it coming. Check out these two gorgeous human specimens though, damn.

Boy Meets World - When Topanga’s parents move her far away from Cory so she runs away and shows up at his house in the pouring rain. That magic moment starts at 6:55 but I highly recommend watching the entire 15 minutes for a lot of laughs and tears. 

90210 - It should go without saying that I'm talking about the original Beverly Hills, 90210. Oftentimes I find myself remembering when Donna’s stalker has her trapped in her bedroom and is about to assault her, but David Silver stops by and she calls him “Davey” instead of David over and over again until he realizes something’s wrong and he saves her. I couldn’t find that specific clip, but here’s a montage of Donna’s stalkers. This show was on for way too long and so many terrible things happen to the female characters. Remember when Kelly almost dies in a fire and the woman she was trapped with gets completely burned? Jesus God. Remember when Kelly gets raped? Remember when Kelly shoots her rapist? Remember when Kelly tells Brandon she can't have kids and that piece of garbage breaks up with her? Remember when Brandon cheats on Kelly? I thought Donna had it bad, but I forgot about Kelly! But remember when Kelly and Dylan can't resist hooking up even though Brenda's only gone for a month or two? Kelly, have you heard of a little thing called karma? (I am kidding, omg I'm kidding.)

Scrubs - So many scenes, I love Scrubs, but specifically when Kelso says he’s been drilling farts into a cafeteria chair. I couldn’t find that online, so enjoy this other great Kelso fart. 

On my way to a coffee shop last weekend, I took a detour down a tree-lined side street and paused to check out a stoop sale. To be honest, it’s a personal policy of mine to steer clear of used goods, especially in New York, and what I was really checking out was the glorious brownstone behind the stoop.   

“Would you like to look inside? A one-bedroom just opened up on the second floor.” 

Of course I said yes. No matter that I have no intention of moving at the moment, that J and I recently signed a two-year lease on our rent-stabilized apartment, no matter that there’s no way we could afford to live in that part of town -- there was no way I was going to deny myself a glimpse at the inside of that brownstone. 

Thanks to being raised by my perpetually dissatisfied mother, I have a thing for beautiful homes. Here’s a short list of my mom’s dissatisfactions, as expressed by her repeatedly throughout my childhood: my parents’ bank account, my father’s salary, her job, the fact that she wasn’t a housewife, the size of our house, the siding on our house, the location of our house, that our house wasn’t a lakefront mansion. 

The main reason I appreciate adulthood is that I’m no longer in my mother’s custody. Every weekend she dragged my sister and me along on her errands, which inevitably included stops at antique stores to ogle pieces of furniture she couldn’t afford and wouldn’t fit in our tiny house (though she sometimes bought them on credit anyway), or visits to open houses in towns much wealthier than our own. These outings not only led to fights between my parents, they also instilled in me a love for crown molding, bay windows, and vaulted ceilings. 

This apartment had all of that, plus original wooden shutters and a newly renovated bathroom and kitchen. Imagine this: the world’s fanciest oven range hood, a granite breakfast bar, marble bathroom tiles, a standing shower with a rainforest shower head. 

It wasn’t perfect, of course. This is NYC, so a “one-bedroom” is actually a large studio with only a single closet. In other words, barely enough room for one human and definitely not room for two, but for the briefest moment I wished I could live there by myself. I’d hang up the cheerful yellow and orange flower curtains I got rid of when I shacked up with my dude; instead of artwork, stacks and stacks of books; the amount of blankets, pillows, and candles would overdose the place with cozy. 

When I first moved to the city, I didn’t know anyone and my teaching job was hard and all-consuming. Every Friday I was exhausted and couldn’t wait to leave school so I could buy wine and sushi and catch up on all the TV shows I missed during the workweek. Color me crazy, but occasionally--and let me emphasize occasionally because my husband is the best--I just want to re-live one of those Friday nights, be by myself and shut out the rest of the world. I don’t even have a hard job anymore, I’m just a selfish asshole. 

Do you ever think about the paths you didn’t take? Every time you say yes to a relationship or a new job, you’re telling an alternate version of yourself no. I could still be teaching, I could still be dating a different guy every six months, but I chose this version, unfulfilled by my job but very fulfilled by my relationship. Sometimes life just happens, but I can very clearly remember making this decision. J and I were at that crossroads of early dating where we could have slowly faded from two dates a week to one every other week to not texting back for a few days to not communicating at all. We were at a bar talking it out and he asked, “Do you want to try to be in a relationship?” I was notorious for not believing in relationships, I was almost proud of it, like that’s a thing to be proud of, but I thought about it for a long moment, and I said yes, I wanted to try. 

This sandwich demands to be eaten.

This bed demands to be slept in.

This puddle demands to be splashed.

This laundry demands to be washed.

This bell demands to be rung.

This ball demands to be thrown.

This wood demands to be knocked on. 

This Oreo demands to be split. 

This pillow demands to be fluffed. 

I learned a new word today.

fribble

PRONUNCIATION: (FRIB-uhl) 

MEANING: verb intr.: To act in a wasteful or frivolous manner. verb tr.: To fritter away. noun: A wasteful or frivolous person or thing.

You're with your husband in the neighborhood bar where you are both regulars. Other regulars arrive and greet your husband, shake his hand, ask about his work, his day. They don’t shake your hand or ask about your day. You might get brief eye contact or the what’s up nod, you might get the quick up and down glance when your husband says hi to someone else. At most/worst, you get a cheek kiss. 

OR

You’re at a wedding, seated with strangers, and you spend the evening talking to three couples in particular. You take whiskey shots with the guys while their girlfriends and wives dance. You’re standing by the dessert table when one of the men approaches and says you should tell your husband to come outside. Can you do that for me? he asks. You let your husband know he’s wanted and you find yourself standing in a circle of cigar-smoking men. No one gives you the opportunity to turn down a cigar because no one offers you a cigar. The men ask about each other’s careers and never speak to their silently standing, non-smoking, almost certainly employed female companions, who they will likely have sex with in an hour. 

OR

You’re home for the holidays and are in the middle of telling a story to your siblings. You’re interrupted by your mother, who asks you and your sister to help cook, set the table, pour drinks. Your brothers continue sitting and talking. Later, you watch your sister-in-law attempt to feed two kids under the age of four by herself. Your mother asks you to take over so your sister-in-law has a chance to eat. Your brother, the children’s father, does not get asked for help and does not offer to help. 

OR

This is not a how-to post. I am not in the business of knowing how to do anything, unless you’re looking for instructions on how to be lazy, how to regularly disappoint yourself, or how to be disgusted by your own worthlessness. 

What I try most often to figure out is how to stop being a nothing in order to become a something. How does one go from being a lazy piece of shit (the laziest piece) to being efficient, accomplished, impressive? 

I just want to be self-actualized, dammit. I want the starring role in one of those movie scenes where the messed up character finally gets his/her shit together. This scene generally plays out as a montage set to inspirational music. 

Examples:

(500) Days of Summer, when Tom literally creates a clean slate for himself by erasing the giant chalkboard wall in his bedroom. For the length of a Wolfmother song, he fills up the chalkboard with architecture ideas (?) and goes on job interviews. 

The 1994 Little Women, when Jo stops crying in the attic and writes Little Women (the book) in the attic instead. 

The Devil Wears Prada, when Andy quits hating on nice clothes and starts trying hard at her job. I feel sort of icky about this example because Andy turns into a jerk, but she’s a beautiful, successful jerk. 

Trainwreck, when Amy throws away the many, many bottles of alcohol in her apartment and goes to Vanity Fair to pitch her writing.

I should be able to learn from these examples. I should be able to recognize the pattern, “Aha, they decided to take action and then they just went ahead and took action!” 

Wash the dishes, but only the food-crusty pans that gross me out. Leave the remaining pile of easy-to-wash dishes for me so I can stand still and think about dumb shit for 20 minutes straight.

Set the sink faucet to instantly achieve the perfect water pressure and temperature for dish washing. Jiggling the handle and waiting three seconds is too much work.

Map out my schedule in meticulous detail so that every day leaves me feeling both accomplished and relaxed. 

Make my favorite items (pomegranate seltzer, fresh mozzarella) reappear in the fridge when I run out, but only occasionally. Order me to go to the grocery store on those other occasions because I’m afraid that Amazon and Fresh Direct and robots are destroying small businesses. 

Follow my dog around the apartment and pick up every strand of shed hair so I never catch a glimpse of it. 

Read my mind and adjust the lights according to my ever-shifting emotions: It’s too dark in here, I’m depressed; It’s too bright in here, I’m depressed; It’s too perfect in here, I’m depressed; etc. 

Bring me dark chocolate when I’m on my period. Bring me a heating pad. Bring me comfort food that won’t have any adverse effects on my body. 

Complete all the tedious meal prep tasks (rinsing, peeling, mincing) and invite me to the kitchen for the fun parts (rough chopping, stirring, taste-testing). 

Study the hourly weather reports and select the most ideal footwear and layering options to get me comfortably through every moment of my day.