crap no. 59

In my last pile of crap, I told you all about the temple that is this middle-aged body. Now let’s break down some of the other stuff that has happened in my life since we last chatted in June. It’s not a huge update because I just had some organs ripped out two weeks ago. #baglessupright

When people ask what my 2020 summer was like I say, “Tropical,” because it sounds better than, “the humidity gave me a lot of armpit rash.” I decided to try natural deodorant because I figured it would make me superior to people who wear cheap, normal-person pit-stick. Well it turns out I’m super allergic to natural deodorant and my pits were on fire for two weeks after only ONE APPLICATION OF THE STUFF. I had a red pitzema that extended by about a foot from my chicken wings in every direction. So now I’m using fancy French deodorant that is scent-free and costs $20 which is more than I spent on underwear last year.

I’ve been on a high dose of iron to improve my anemia for almost a year now. My doctor told me to take my pills with a dose of vitamin C to improve absorption. A week before surgery I ran out of vitamin C and 2.0 offered to pick some up for me. When he returned he called out, “How many of these pills do you take a day?” And I said, “One. Maybe two if I’m feeling like a nutter.” And he said, “Okay, I got you enough for a couple years.”

Here’s the thing: I had to take that torso-sized bottle with me to the hospital for my pre-op appointment because they need to see all of your meds and supplements. Did that massive bottle make the pharmacist snort real loud by the computer station? You bet.

My best enemy Mrs. Rutherford cut her finger REAL bad with a knife a few months ago and when I asked how it happened she said, “Well, I was making a salad…” And I thought: of course you were. NO GOOD COMES OF SALAD.

Sometimes when people who don’t know me very well ask why I hate the Rutherfords so much I say, “Uh, you’ve met them, right?” And when they follow up with, “Yes, but wh–,” I cut them off with, “Why don’t you try thinking a little harder, okay? Just… think.”

We had a municipal election here in the fall and because The Virus can’t take a hint, most of the candidates didn’t do much in the way of door-to-door canvassing. One day I found a brochure tucked into our screen door, so I read it and then saved it for 2.0. When he got home from work I handed him the brochure.

2.0: Hey! I used to date this woman in high school.

movita: Really? Wow. What a coincidence!

2.0: I wonder how she knew I lived here?

movita: What’s that now?

2.0: Like, I wonder how she found out I live here?

movita: Well… I don’t think she did, honey. She left brochures in everyone’s doors.

2.0: Do you think she’s seen me around?

movita: Um… no. She lives in our neighbourhood, she’s running to represent our district. She stopped at all the houses on our street. See? There’s one in the door over there, and another one at that house. She’s not stalking you. 

2.0: Uh, okay, sure. Then why did she draw A HEART on my brochure?

movita: What heart?

2.0: (pointing at the brochure) There. Right there! See?

movita: That’s not a heart. That’s the ‘eb’ in her name. Your girlfriend has bad penmanship.

2.0: Not it’s not! Lemme see. It’s definitely a hear– oh wait…

I was afforded two weeks of residual pandemic entertainment as brochures continued to land on our doorstep. So in the evenings when 2.0 returned home from work I could say stuff like, “Hey, I saved this brochure for you. Did you date this guy too? It’s signed G with a heart. Wait, hold on… nope. His name is Gary. It just says Gary.”

Christmas was a low-key affair because I was deep into pre-surgery isolating and that meant I could only hang with 2.0 and my parents. My brother lives in France with his family, and… that country has really embraced the virus if you know what I mean. My sister lives in Toronto, so travelling was possible, but would also require two weeks of quarantine when she arrived in Nova Scotia. She considered it, but when our mother started saying things like, “It’ll be fun! We can slide meat under the door to you,” Haddy opted to stay put.

So we spent two weeks eating and playing games and using The Zoom to show Haddy the meat we would have shoved under her door had she been there in person.

When 2.0’s mummy was alive she used to bake a lot of treats over the holidays. She’d make everyone’s favourites including a special item I call: Pink Icing Squares. No, I don’t know what the hell they are made of. No, I don’t have the recipe. These were one of Gary’s favourites (2.0’s dad), and quickly became my favourite when I started the greatest love affair in history with 2.0. Now that 2.0’s parents are not with us, Derek’s sister Kim has taken over the baking. This year she sent him home with about a dozen trays of squares including:

I love my sister-in-law.

My sister, on the other hand, sent me this:

So… almost as sweet.

This nativity scene popped up in my neighbourhood in December, and I immediately took pictures to send to friends. I felt the pumpkin baby Jesus really elevated the display.

Later when scrolling through the photos I noticed that my phone thinks two of the wise men and Joseph are friends of mine.

It’s the closest I’ve ever been to religious.