The other evening, Scott and I had a tequila-fueled discussion about my nature.
"Don't blame me," I said. "I'm shallow."
"Yes you are."
"What do you mean by that?"
It was one of those discussions that man and wife should never, ever, have. Like, do I look fat in this dress? The dishes are piling up. Do you think I should do them?
But I admit, in the brazen light of day, that I admire his courage under fire.
He always tells me the truth. And as an enlightened human, I understand that I am the fool for asking.
My intellect is of the fast food variety. I don't read anything that will expand my universe. My favorite books are written by the sick, the twisted and the insane. Currently, I'm devouring Darrell Hammond's book, appropriately called God, If You're Up There, I'm Fucked. Previously, I read Chelsea Handler's book, Dear Vodka: It's Me, Chelsea.
And, of course, the classic, Running with Scissors.
My taste in television isn't any better.
I don't watch PBS unless there's a really good concert on. Styx!
My usual fare is Arrested Development, It's Always Sunny in Cincinatti or some other juvenile and immature show.
Often I can be found watching The View in my underwear sucking on popsicles.
And I like to yell back.
My taste in movies run the gamut from Anchorman to Bridesmaids.
I particularly liked the shitting in the street scene in a Lady Patsoi JuJu bridal gown!
I am a lazy, cynical, juvenile layabout who would rather be prone on the couch playing Zelda than work on the variety of projects and back taxes that are piling up on my desk.
Needless to say, shallow is the least of my problems.
I'm thinking I need professional help and Dr. Phil isn't doing it for me anymore.
Pretty soon I'll be a senior citizen -- well, in a few years -- and it's about time I got a life.
I'm thinking about real estate -- lots of money for little effort.
Maybe I'll write a book.
No that's too much damned work. And who would publish a book about nothing...Jerry Seinfeld?
Perhaps I should get a trade. There are lots of trade-style jobs in the want ads on Indeed.ca.
I could be a stone polisher or a service writer, whatever the hell that is.
Probably trade jobs would be too much work and eat into my nap time with the dogs.
And when would I ever find time for Facebook?
Or this blog??
My trouble is that I don't have any ambition. More like I suffer from career ideation.
I think of something lofty to do, mull it over in my head and go back to bed.
I was thinking of learning French.
But that made me tired, just thinking verb conjugation. Do they still do that?
Oh well. Might as well just sit here in the window and watch the neighbors sell their drugs.