well, alright

i’m in the real sweet spot for having a secret family right now. ten years from now if i have a secret family it’ll be sad, it’ll be like secret wives and secret kids and stuff. if i had a secret family now it’d be like hey, i got two moms offering to send me my winter clothes through the mail. i don’t even keep winter clothes at my secret mom’s house, she’ll have to get me some new stuff. 

i was thinking about how when i moved here i only had two full suitcases and one backpack and i was like, “i wonder if when i move to another place if i’d be able to fit everything i have back into those bags like when i first got here. that’d be easy. unless i’ve bought like, one shirt since then.” and then i was like, “oh, but maybe not, because i also bought…that bed…and couch…and dresser.” so yeah, the easy move dream is dead because i bought a three pack of undershirts that one time.

whenever i take a shower or use the kitchen in this apartment i like to think i leave the room exactly as i found it. like i turn around on the spot looking at everything to make sure i get it all. i’m very thorough. after i take a shower it’s like i just killed a guy in there the way i make it look like nothing happened. it makes me feel bad because, like, i never did that when i lived at home, and when i lived at home i lived with my family. i love my family. here i’m living with roommates. who are they to me? what do i really owe roommates? did any of my roommates teach me how to read? uh, i don’t think so. have any of my roommates ever made me hot chocolate even after the kitchen was “closed” for the night? nope don’t think they did that either. 

i opened a bag of these chips i really like that i haven’t had in a while and when i smelled them my chest hurt like i had just caught a whiff of my crush’s hair in first period latin.

you know how people are like, “i have resting bitch face” or whatever? i really think i have resting retail face. like i can’t go into a store without having people come up to me asking for help. i think it’s because i have the slightest, the slightest amount of respect for my surroundings. like if i pick up a shirt and look at it i’ll fold it back up when i put it down. you know, instead of ripping the sleeves off, throwing them on the ground, and then shitting on them. like people see me and think, “he must be getting paid to not act like a complete fucking animal.” i was standing in front of this wall of boxers in this store today and this lady walks up to me like, “excuse me?” and i’m like, “yeah?” and she goes, “are these all the boxers you have?” and i think, well first i think, “of course these are all the boxers they have, you think they have two walls dedicated to boxers?” but then i think, “i could just go along with it and walk away, what are they going to do, fire me?” anyways long story short i’m a supervisor at that store now and i have to figure out scheduling around fifteen 21 year olds and their final exam dates. 

i’ve been agonizing over whether or not i should buy this one jacket for like twenty years. i don’t know why it’s such a hard decision, i think i’m just really cheap. that’s it. i think i would sooner jump off a cliff than spend money on myself. i just got off the phone with my mom where i was like, “is this okay? am i still a good person if i buy this jacket?” that’s who i talk to about money. i’ll be 37 on the phone with my mom like, “is my children not being homeless really a good enough reason to justify me buying this house? mom?” anyways i got confirmation that it’s okay to spend money on yourself once in a while, so now the problem is that i’ve never owned a piece of expensive clothing and it’s probably way stressful. like what if i buy this jacket and tomorrow a guy wearing a similar one commits a horrible crime and now all of a sudden it’s like an iconic murder jacket. what if i buy it and then get stabbed or shot or hit by a car? the jacket would be ruined. am i just going to stop wearing the jacket i wear now cold turkey? do i have to alternate? how do the stat bonuses compare?

my ninth grade experience can be summed up by memories of sitting behind people wearing concert tshirts in class and thinking, “wow look at all the cities this band went to three years ago.”

when you chuckle at something on the internet with someone else in the room and then you tense up like, “so are they going to ask what i’m laughing at, or am i just going to tell them? an invisible window is closing.”

being the only two people having a conversation in an otherwise silent and packed subway car should be illegal. the car should stop and the doors should open and they should just have to get out and walk along the tracks. 

nothing makes me feel more mortal than when movie studios announce their upcoming project releases for the next 10 years. like whoa whoa whoa i like superhero movies, but let’s not forget i’m also going to die someday.

i was in the store today and i wanted to get a bottle of water, but when i got to the spot where the water normally is there was just a bunch of pumpkins instead. and i know they probably just moved the water to another spot, but imagine if they didn’t. imagine if they were just like, “buddy, water isn’t in season. you want to talk water come back in november. now, you want to talk pumpkins, lay it on me.” 

so i go to this one coffee shop whenever i’m on break and while we don’t really know each other i’m on a pretty solid “i recognize you and i recognize that you recognize me” basis with the guys that work there. today while i was paying i remembered i had a 10 dollar bill on me and thought, “cool, i won’t use a card and i’ll break this so i can tip them. what a great guy i am, i’m tearing up. i’m in line at this coffee shop practically tearing up at how great i am.” so i pay with the 10 and get my change back, a one, a five, and some coins, and i shove the one into the tip jar. as i’m waiting for my food i open my wallet and put away the one. i mean the five. i mean, oh fuck, did i just put the fucking five dollar bill in the tip jar? did i just give like a god damn 115% tip? i did. that’s what i did. it was like cartoonish how i thought, “can i just, can i go back in and get the five…no of course i can’t, what am i, a monster? going into a tip jar to tip correct?” my problem is that i always tip by like, kind of folding the bill in half in my hand. like i’m giving it this air of mystery. like hey, it could be a one, or it could be a fifty, i don’t know. i’ll be real, i almost just dropped the coins in there. i almost went, “i don’t want to carry this metal money garbage,” but then in a last minute swell of humanitarianism i upgraded to what i thought was my limit on generosity. one dollar.  

anyways now they either think i’m weirdly into them, like i think we have a way deeper bond than we do, or they think i’m a rich dick throwing money around, or they’ll think i tipped a one and some cheap rich dude is going to take credit for it in their heads. in any case i figure the only way i can correct my budget now is to never buy lunch again for the rest of my life. 

me: it’s so hot in here. when you were a kid and it was really hot did you ever take a mouthful of a cold glass of water and just kind of like, *leans back in chair,* let it trickle out of your mouth all down your face and front?

eleni: i don’t know, but i’m sure i have.

being able to ask people questions like this is the only reason relationships should exist.

well, it happened, my roommate or someone threw out the pint of ice cream i’ve had in the freezer for the past month. and i’m sure when they threw it out they discovered it’s actually empty and has been empty every day since the day after i bought it. that’s right, i didn’t want to fit it in the trash, so i kept garbage very cold for a very long time. i have been outed as a terrible person. i guess i could always claim i was keeping something in there. viable dinosaur dna, an ice cube someone used as a murder weapon, some kind of frozen ghost.

the only other mirror in my apartment apart from the one in the bathroom is this really cheap bit of glorified tin foil that i stuck onto the wall like a god damn sticker. it’s the one i use in the morning before i leave, but it’s so cheap, so not actually a mirror, my face is like, distorted unless i get literally an inch away from it. so i have this weird moment now whenever i’m in the bathroom where i’ll stare into the real mirror like a caveman discovering his own face. i’ll just make faces and take my glasses off and put them back on like, “whaat the fuck do i even look like anymore.”