crap no. 55

Sup, homies? Happy belated New Year. Like, really belated. Where have I been? Mostly running errands, but sometimes at work or in bed watching Netflix. You know, the stuff most successful people do. So let’s get you all caught up. I think you’ll be pleased to learn that I still really like run-on sentences and 2.0 hasn’t changed a bit.

On Christmas morning I unwrapped a very posh jar of face scrub that 2.0 had tucked into my stocking. He also gave me a fancy face mask. I was impressed with his choices but having difficulty picturing him in a store selecting the items. So when I opened some age-defying night cream I finally asked, “How did you know what to get? This is way nicer than anything I’d ever buy for myself.”

2.0 shrugged and said, “I was standing in the store and a lady came up to me and asked if I needed help so I said, ‘I need a Christmas gift for a woman,’ and she told me what to buy.”

I’d like to point out that he could have called me his partner, his wife, or the love of his life, but no. He was simply shopping for a woman he might possibly run into sometime over the holidays.

The other night I came home from work and 2.0 led me directly to the microwave.

2.0: You are going to be so impressed! Look! Look how clean the microwave is!

It was indeed clean. Sparkling, even. Every nook and cranny was spotless.

movita: So… what happened?

2.0: What do you mean?

movita: Well, we’ve been together for eleven years now and you’ve never cleaned the microwave. To be honest, it has always seemed like you’ve gone to some trouble to make it extra dirty. What gives?

2.0: Well, remember that piece of quiche you left for my dinner?

movita: Uh-oh…

2.0: Yah. Did you know that if you microwave a piece of quiche on high for two minutes that it will explode? Like, it can almost catch on fire?

So I guess from now on I’ll have to leave 2.0 even more specific notes about how to stay alive when I go to work. 

On Black Friday I invested in a pile of studio lighting gear for my photography business. Do I know how to use studio lighting gear? Nope. But I’m gunna learn because – and this is huge – next year is going to be my last year of teaching. I should be wrapping up my duties as a dance teacher in May 2021 and be either a) workin’ the freelance life, or b) homeless. It feels big, but not crazy big, so I’m only a little bit skerd. That said, when I tell people I won’t be teaching they get a pathetic look on their faces and say stuff like, “But are you feeling so sad about it? Won’t you miss it sooooo much?”

I can tell from the look on their faces that they WANT me to get choked up, so I furrow my brow and say stuff like: oh yes, I’ll be very sad.

But really I’m all:

I mean, can’t a gal look forward to a new sort of work-life where she doesn’t sweat like a farm animal and worry about injuries 24/7?

Remember when I Marie Kondo-ed my closet? Well, I’m still recovering from the Great Purge of 2019 because getting rid of all the clothes that didn’t spark joy left me without any clothes at all. So this week I made efforts to continue building a joyful wardrobe and purchased a pile of pants, tops, shoes, sneakers, and a pink pleather jacket. It was pretty exhilarating.

When I was modelling my purchases for 2.0 he said, “I’m just wondering if you were supposed to get rid of everything you had before? I mean, isn’t it crazy to get rid of everything you own so you have to buy all new stuff?”

I paused to calm my insides before answering. “First off, I wasn’t wearing the stuff that was in my closet, and second off, LOOK AT ME IN THIS JACKET. ARE YOU SEEING ME? DO YOU SEE HOW ADORABLE IT IS? OR ARE YOU BLIND? LOOK. AT. ME. ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME? GOOD. SO YOU GET IT, RIGHT?”

I might have overreacted? But I don’t think so.

I want to tell you about a crazy dream I had this week. I know what you’re thinking: no one EVER wants to hear about someone else’s dreams, movita. And yet here we are. SO the dream opens with a woman curled up in a bathtub, naked, and someone is pouring hot water over her. And then ice water. And then hot water again. It’s legit traumatizing and I’m thinking: who is doing this? And why? And then I realize that I’M the one torturing the woman, and I’m shook, but it doesn’t stop dream-me from tub-torturing the woman. Then I hear myself saying, “We know about the targets! Two grocery stores and a school,” and I feel like maybe my actions are justifiable. There are a lot of innocents at schools and in shopping areas, and clearly this woman is planning an attack with a terrorist cell. And then I slam my fists against a table and yell, “JUST TELL ME WHERE THE ROLLING RECYCLING BINS ARE! THE BIG ONES WE CAN PUT A LOT OF CARDBOARD BOXES IN!”

So, yah. I guess you could say climate change has got me taking my recycling duties pretty seriously.

For about a year I’ve been thinking about moving up a size in my underwear, and I finally broke down and bought a package of new undies in the next size up. When I opened the package and held the underwear up for 2.0 we agreed that they looked really big. Like, 2.0 laughed hysterically when he saw them. But you can’t return gitch so I washed them and put them in my underwear drawer. Later that week when I was wearing a pair 2.0 loudly pointed out that they fit very well and that it was a pleasant surprise given JUST HOW HUGE THEY WERE so I spent the rest of the day trying to determine if I could dig up enough of the basement floor to bury him under it without getting caught.

Last Saturday morning 2.0 turned to me and said, “Honey, I’ve got some big plans for our morning. We both have the day off and I think we should do something special.” I was pretty excited until he continued with, “Let’s go to the new Sobeys out by Exit 3.”

Guys? 2.0 doesn’t ask for much, so dammit, I agreed to go. Is a new grocery store my idea of big fun? No, because chores do not a good date make. But sometimes you do for love. When we arrived at the store and pulled into an extra-wide parking spot 2.0 smiled and whispered, “There are hardly any cars here.” When we walked through the sliding doors he turned to me and said, “No one’s here! It’s Saturday! Look at this place!”

I let him wander the aisles at his usual pace of .0000025 miles per hour, as he gleefully ran his hands over the perfectly stocked shelves, listening to him say ridiculous stuff like, “Do we even have this at our grocery store?!” When yes, we obviously have all the same stuff at our grocery store because a lot of people need dog food and dish detergent.

We left the store with a cart full of groceries and 2.0 – a man who never engages in public displays of affection – threw his arms around me and hugged me hard in the parking lot, telling me he’d had the best time EVER. It’s the happiest I’ve seen him in years and I was glad I hadn’t murdered him after he pointed out that a massive pair of granny panties was obviously the size my ass had been requesting for a very long time.

And finally, Dorey has claimed the bathrobe my in-laws gave me for Christmas as her own. I’d ask for it back, but… ⬆️