well, alright

my dream i guess is that i want a fridge that’s taller than me. i’m sick of being bigger than the thing i store all my food in. if my fridge was a bear i could scare it off and i wouldn’t even need a jacket to make myself look bigger. i could scare it off in a tshirt. i just want a fridge that towers over me, you know? one where i can’t see the very dusty top that i don’t even tell my roommates about because if i did, what if they wanted me to clean it? i want a fridge to me ratio that’s like when i was a kid and i had to get a chair to get things out of the freezer. there was less impulse eating back then. i wouldn’t eat as many ice cream sandwiches if i had to carry a chair over each time. 

once last summer i tried growing my sideburns out and eleni never let me hear the end of it. when she went home for a week and a half the other day i thought, “this’ll be funny, i’ll grow them out again and when she gets back i’ll just be sitting there like, ‘hey.’” when she got back she gave me one look and went “that looks terrible,” and it hit me, this was like a joke i pulled on myself. i grew bad, terrible sideburns over the course of a week. every morning when i’d shave and not do the sideburns i’d look in the mirror and think, “but think of how funny it’ll be when she gets home and you’re just sitting there like, ‘hey.’” i had to go to work like this. i had to meet so many new people who think this is who i am. so many first impressions where i couldn’t be like, “this is a really long, drawn out inside joke i’m cultivating right here.”

there’s this escalator ramp at the ikea i go to and it’s magnetized so you can take your cart on it without it rolling downhill. whenever i get on i always go, “thank god i didn’t wear my tap shoes!” and i think it’s the funniest thing. i think it’s so funny i wish it was my job to give guided tours of the store just so at the end i could go, “and here’s our magnetic escalator ramp. i hope nobody wore their tap shoes!” i just need an excuse to yell that at groups of strangers. their polite chuckles would keep me going.

i had a really vivid dream i worked in a call center for the grim reaper and all day i just called lists of phone numbers of people who were supposed to die. when they answered i just read a script like, “yeah, so, you’re dead. we can do this over the phone now, isn’t the future amazing?”

what came first, apartment building doors that require two hands to open, or heavy grocery bags? probably apartment building doors that require two hands to open, but you know they should have done away with those the second some guy had to almost cut his hand off with a plastic bag handle around the wrist trying to turn a key and pull a door simultaneously.

i remember at the height of my job interview period i would look up job interview tips anywhere i could find them. sometimes in a weird, delusional state i would convince myself it was possible to mind trick people, you know? like get inside their heads. body mirroring, using their names a lot, stuff like that. there was this one time i was getting dressed to go out and i was trying to find a clean undershirt. i found one, but then i found another undershirt that was, uh, pretty much as clean. i had worn it for like four hours while i was out the day before. it wasn’t dirty, it was just, worn i guess. anyways i was looking at these two undershirts and i thought, “i’ll wear this one that i wore yesterday because what if that thing about human pheromones is true and they’re on this shirt and i wear it and then the person interviewing me like, picks up on it and falls in love with me on a really deep subconscious level? that’s a thing, i’ve definitely read a thing about that.” so i wore the shirt. see how crazy extended job searches make you? like that sounded like a good idea to me. “job interview? sure, i’ll just wear this dirty fucking shirt and trick their ancient lizard brain into thinking they want to mate with me. then we’ll talk vacation days. if this doesn’t work i’ll present the collection of shiny stones i keep in my backpack.”

so i was eating these hot wings, right? and i didn’t have anything to drink so right after i finished i grabbed my mouthwash and thought, “this is brilliant, i’ll cool down my mouth and refresh it all in one go.” awful, awful idea, something in the spicy sauce mixed with like, i don’t know, the chemicals in the mouthwash and it’s like my mouth became a tear gas factory. tears just streaming endlessly down my face and my nose started running and my whole head was just on fire. i was leaning against the sink thinking, “i’m gonna die, i am going to die. i poisoned myself with hot wings and mouthwash and the police will find my body and they won’t know what happened to me. they weren’t even hot, they were medium! medium!”

does anyone else have a roommate who does this thing where they like, leave, but then come back almost immediately? and i mean like, seven minutes later. just long enough to lull you into this false sense of, “hey, gonna be alone for a bit. maybe i’ll take a shower or use the kitchen for a while.” and then you get up to go start something and they come back? and you’re like, “where were you? because you were gone too long to go somewhere nearby and not gone long enough to take the subway anywhere. were you just waiting outside the door? is this a mind game? are we playing mind games?”

you know, i don’t drink a lot or really do drugs or anything, but yesterday in the store i purposefully bought this soap that i used for like a month last may just so now when i wash my hands the smell makes my brain go, "whoaa what? what year is it? i’m getting deja vu something fierce right now, did we just time travel?”

people in sitcoms always have this wealth of friends they never interact with, but feel comfortable enough with to call out of the blue to try and set them up with other main characters. i feel like i’ve never known enough people at the same time to even attempt that. like if someone was single and went “do you know anyone?” i’d be like “uh…my…eye doctor?”

the one thing that’s bad about it getting hotter is that you really have to go home right after you buy a carton of ice cream. it’s like a time limit. winter you know, you can walk around, go to another store, ice cream is in its element, it’s fine. now i might as well be carrying around a kidney in a cooler, this thing is going bad fast, i gotta get it home. if i knew people in new york and i ever ran into them on the street in the summer that’d be my excuse for getting out of a conversation. “i’d love to chat, but you know, ice cream and all. it’s been a very warm april.”

i keep trying think of things i need or want to go and buy, but then everything is cheaper online. i desperately need an excuse to leave the apartment, i want an errand to run that will end with me retrieving a physical object, but it’s just plain cheaper to do everything from a computer. my earbuds broke and i’m looking at these headphones i want. 20 dollars cheaper online. i can save 20 dollars and have them delivered to me in five days, which is inconvenient, or i can go get them in half an hour in person and pay 20 dollars more. 20 dollars here is basically the cost for human interaction. it’s a 20 dollar lottery ticket and the prize is the chance of something interesting happening to you.

as a minority i’m pretty much used to the lack of representation on tv and stuff so when i actually see someone who looks like me on something it’s like looking at an optical illusion. i’m like, “why do i feel like different parts of my brain are lighting up right now?” there’s this phone ad that’s on the air that has this brown guy in it for a split second and every time it comes on and i hear the music i look over at it and i feel hypnotized, like a parakeet looking into a mirror. “this guy looks normal, he looks borderline cool. he doesn’t look like a stereotype or a computer expert at all! where’s the catch?”

i have this favorite cup that i didn’t take with me when i first moved. i had my mom mail it to me in a package because i missed using it. i ruined this cup’s life. this thing lived in like a nice cupboard with a bunch of other dishes and they all got to be used by a nice family and go for rides in a dishwasher and be clean and taken care of constantly. this cup gets pulled from its friends, gets thrown into a box and flown out here to what i can only imagine is like a cup prison camp where it’s treated like a workhorse day and night. i didn’t know this about myself, but it turns out i’m a real lazy weirdo when it comes to dishes i don’t have to share with anyone else. today i had orange juice, cereal, and coffee out of this cup back to back and in that order. i used the leftover cereal milk and added coffee to it. i don’t buy sugar or sweeteners. if someone ever asks how i take my coffee i’d be lying if i didn’t say, “out of a cup that just had cereal in it. any cereal i don’t even care. chocolate flavored, fruit flavored, whatever.” i think the weirdest part about this is that none of it bothers me. this cup just hangs out as a captive in my cupboard with four other weird quadruplet inmate cups that are so small they’re like novelty props. like the cups back home had personality, i imagine you wouldn’t want to stand out in the cupboard i have here. those other cups they don’t even feel like they belong to me, you know? there’s something weird and sad about being one person and using a set of matching cups, bowls, and plates that were meant for a family. because i only ever use one thing at a time and then i wash it at the end of the day and put it back. the other dishes are just for show, like in a cartoon when there’s a bookshelf and the character reaches for a book and it’s the only one with like, any detail or shadows on it because it’s the only thing being animated. the rest is just background detail. i’m looking at this cup right now and it’s still my favorite cup, like it’s the perfect size and weight, but i don’t even want to know how it feels about me. there’s no dishwasher, which i imagine is like a spa for dishes. no i’m about to go hold this thing under scalding hot water for 15 seconds and scrape a soapy sponge all over it. yeah i hate to break it to you, cup, but those were the good old days.

i ordered pizza last night and when the guy got here all i had to tip him with was a dollar and two dollar coins. i handed him the dollar and then i dropped the coins in his hand, but i didn’t want him to think i was just giving him like a dollar fifty so i said, “these are dollar coins,” but i think it came across weird, like i thought i was bestowing something great and special on him like doubloons. “these, son, these are dollar coins.” anyways he said, “i know.” and i said, “i hope that’s okay,” because i want approval from everyone. then he left and i’m sure heading out he was like, “i know what dollar coins are you cheap fuck.”