“Everyone is so much funnier when they are hung-over.”
-After some reshuffling of the staff at Missbehave and some new job titles, I find myself a little confused. I decide to inquire what exactly everyone is doing these days.Â Maude gives me a rundown of the nature of her job and explains that in reality it differed very little from that of Olivia’s. It was only the title that separated the two.Â Olivia then explains to me that she had a choice between the titles of associate editor and staff writer. She adds, “I was told that staff writers are assumed to be drunks that never turn anything in on time, SO I chose to be an associate editor.”Â I stopped the entire confusing conversation, waved my hands in the air, and announced, “I want to be a staff writer!”
-We hold the second of our Missbehave Christmas parties. I have trouble getting dressed for the occasion, due to the fact I had put so much effort into our last (and what I had presumed to be our sole Christmas party). I end up arriving in a pair of jeans, t-shirt, and two different colored versions of the same Marc Jacobs’ pair of jelly sandals. I arrive late in said outfit and discover my coworkers/friends drunk and looking a bit more put together than myself. Samantha points at my feet and yells to our crowd of onlookers, “Sarah is wearing jellies in the middle of winter!” I add, “This is why you are my friend. You haven’t even noticed I am wearing two different shoes.”
-A friend of mine brings to my attention that I had a Wikipedia entry. I am not exactly clear how Wikipedia works. I have since watched said entry evolve and dissolve almost daily into different versions of what I may or may not be. Upon noticing it, it was paragraphs long. It then became much shorter and to the point. It keeps fluctuating back and forth with new birth-dates,Â new resume details, new alleged accomplishments, and my favorite new flags regarding my relevance or more importantly irrelevance to the greater good (in general.) As i showed my now three sentence long proof that i am somehow relevant to my brother, I find myself hitting the computer screen and remarking, “I feel like every time anyone talks shit about me I should be like, but I have a Wikipedia entry!”
-It is holiday time at the Morrison’s, one of the happiest times in all of the world. My brother is on the phone. My mother sits on the computer checking her email behind him. I walk in and sit down on the couch near Sam. I didn’t think he noticed me, until he literally put the phone down, looked at me like I was retarded, and asked what the hell I was eating. I look down at my strange snack, then back up at him and mutter, “Bread and cheese?” He begins to put the phone back up to his ear then stops and goes, “What is this, jail?” I find myself looking towards my mom for answers. She doesn’t event turn away from her computer screen. So I simply shrug, “I guess.”
-My mom encounters me doing work on my laptop and eating out of a bag of pita chips the day after Christmas. She stares confused at me and asks what I am doing. I begin to detail work and emails when she stops me, “Why are you eating those…. they are so salty!?” I nod and begin to agree with her. She instructs me to throw them away. I begin to try to stand up for the poor pita chips. “Can’t I wipe them off or wash them off?” My mom point to the trash can. I roll my eyes, feeling defeated and dump them out.
-My dad is very regimented. He goes to sleep at 9:30pm each night. He wakes up at 6:30am each morning. He gets the paper, he eats breakfast, he does god knows what. It doesn’t really matter. That’s how he rolls. Sam and I get up at our respective morning hours much later than our dad’s. Just like high school, I appear much earlier than Sam. My Dad has this baffling tale to tell. He went outside to get the Boston Globe like he does each morning and has done each morning for 20 some odd years. He picks the paper up off the ground and is completely at a loss as to what is in his hand. He explains, “Sarrrrr, it’s the fucking New York Post!?” I have no idea what to say. He continues, “You know what I do? ” Sort of frightened as to what is coming next, I simply shrug. He continues, “I drop the paper on the fucking ground and look around for that kooky Ashton kid to tell me I am being Punk’d!”
-I go to see that movie the Wrestler. In case you haven’t seen it, it’s Mickey Rourke depicting a Hulk Hogan-esque wrestler. His reign has ended with that ofÂ 80s wrestling. He works mid-west high school auditoriums. He lives in a trailer. He’s completely alone. I watch the whole thing frightened. I turn to the friend I was with after the films’ end (still finishing my popcorn) and announce, “I have never identified with a character in a movie more than this.” I dump the rest of the bag of popcorn in my mouth and add, “That is so fucked up.”
-I find myself stuck in traffic one afternoon, (from Boston to NYC in a car that was once mine, but I had given to my dad due to gas prices) with my newly possessed vehicle to en route to Brooklyn to pack up my belongings for my move back to Los Angeles. My friend Rose is inquiring about my where abouts due to the fact I am four hours late and still MIA. I detail the situation to her the best I can, typing through abruptly moving traffic.Â I am listening to Wendy Williams luckily, and it’s biding my time well. I explain that I left Boston 7 hours ago, but I do encourage Rose to tune in to it um, NOW! I love me some Wendy Williams. But, today Wendy is next level epic. I encourage Rose to tune in. I add, “She is so hungover and it’s SO amazing.” I then pause and think about my life and laugh, “Everyone is so much funnier when they are hung-over.”
-I have had a few sort of emotional curve-balls sent my way in the past few weeks. But we move on. We pack things up and we start driving, right? Well that’s what i do. I have been driving all night. It’s 7 am somewhere in the deep south. I stop to get a new Ipod charger at a Wal-mart I see off the freeway. I am tired. I am irritable. I am mumbling to myself as I enter said rural southern Wal-mart at 7 am. I am walking briskly through the door. I hear a sad voice attempting it’s best happy, “Hello ma’am. Welcome to Wal-mart.” I turn. I see an elderly man in a wheelchair doing his best to smile. But his almost smile made me genuinely light up. I wanted to hug him, but I felt like that would be weird at Wal-mart.