Brendan: He’s like….picture the wettest blanket. A blanket that got rescued from the Titanic.
A few weeks ago my boss hosted one of those jewelery parties for the company Stella and Dot, and as a perk of hosting the party the designer gave her a sizable credit to use in the online store. She very generously offered to let me pick out a piece I liked and never being one to turn down free jewelry of course I accepted!
After a good amount of browsing I came across a tiny little slip of a necklace. A small gold arrow on a paper thin gold chain. Of course it was hard to tell if I liked it on the website but it arrived today and I couldn’t be happier.
It kind of makes me feel like Katniss.
But don’t tell anyone I said that ok?
Thanks I knew I could count on you.
I got out of the movie theater tonight and I felt awesome.
It had just rained and the theater is sort of surrounded by nature so it smelled like wet forest and I got in my car and nobody was on the highway and just zipped along and I listened to FnX and thought about not much of anything at all.
When I opened the door to the house though I was met with a kind of weird smell.
It doesn’t smell good and its not like anything I can put my finger on.
And here’s the part where my brain is different from your brain:
I sat down on the edge of my bed, my pulse quickening a little, and I typed, “Does Carbon Monoxide have a smell?” into google.
Because if my mind can land anywhere on a giant wheel of (mis)fortune of emotions it immediately falls upon fear.
No matter how many times Pat Sajak tells me to spin it, the outcome is almost always the same.
But, to worry is a waste of time, right?
So, according to the CDC’s website Carbon Monoxide is odorless. And of course, sane version of me knew that.
Sane version of me was also smart enough to forget the fact that Carbon Monoxide is odorless because now there’s just one more thing for me to fixate on.
But now I remember.
Because I saw some special on it on television once.
And they call it the silent killer.
So now that I’ve established the weird smell isn’t Carbon Monoxide, what is it?
I go into the dining room and I inhale. And the dog dances around at my feet and to distract myself I go and give him a milkbone. Because that makes him happy.
He trots away with his treat in his mouth, laying in his favorite spot on the dining room carpet and that’s when I see it:
This awful cheap scented candle that my step mother burns sometimes. It smells like gardenia, but I hate that smell. It smells like old ladies, and maybe funeral homes.
And it starts to click in my head that the smell is probably a combination of the scented candle and maybe whatever scent it was attempting to cover up. Maybe burnt food?
So, with my brain temporarily placated I go and brush my teeth. And I pee and I wash my face and I get into my pajamas.
But before I crawl into bed my brain nags at me:
Open the window. Open the window just in case.
So I do.
And then briefly I’ve imagined that someone is going to climb into the open window in the night, slashing the screen, because I’m on the first floor after all.
And then the dog nudges his way into my room with his little nose and he jumps up on my bed to snuggle with me.
And I think, he’s been avoiding me for weeks, why show me affection now? It must be because he knows we’re all being poisoned in our sleep by gas. Animals know these things.
And stroke his velvet ear and I say: “You would let me know if you knew something was wrong right? Right?”
But he just looks back at me with his soulful eyes and I’m crestfallen even though I know the dog doesn’t talk. But I really feel as if I was expecting him to open his mouth and tell me little Timmy fell down the well or something.
And of course the sane, logical part of me knows that I’m not really in danger. Because if I didn’t know deep down that I was just being crazy I would have woken the whole house now but instead I’m sitting semi-calmly in my bed, typing this all out.
When I was young my mother always refused to watch scary movies with me and when I would ask her why she’d say,
“I’m a very visual person, I can’t see those types of things without being able to imagine them again later.”
And that’s something she passed onto me because the second I get one of these thoughts, within minutes I’ve imagined the whole thing coming to fruition. I’ve pictured what I’d look like as I died in my sleep, or worse if I survive but go upstairs to find the rest of my family dead. This freakishly powerful imagination can sometimes serve me well, like directing a play for example. Or when I want to lose myself in a day dream of some guy I like.
But for the most part I use my gift like this, to freak myself out. In an endless cycle of shit to worry about.
To waste my time.
I want so badly to like you, love you even. But week after week you test my ever loving patience.
I have some bones to pick with you.
1. The target demographic for your show should be people who participate in, or enjoy theater. When you say things like: “He’s in that new Bruno Mars show at La Ma Ma” you are treating your audience like they have rocks for brains. Also, I’m not sure there are any directors who spend a whole week directing and choreographing an entirely unrelated pop song to pitch to the composers for some reason that is….still unclear to me.
Karen’s face portrays my feelings exactly.
2. Has anyone else picked up on the fact that Julia’s Husband is Frank and her son is Leo? Anytime she says their names together I think Leo Frank and then automatically this:
3. Why has nobody fired Ellis yet?! Why do they still keep implying he’s straight? Also, why Anjelica Huston for this role? WHYYYYY. Why is her daughter also the worst actress that has ever taken up oxygen on planet earth?
OMG I JUST READ SHE IS MERYL STREEP’S DAUGHTER TO WHICH I CAN ONLY SAY…..OH HONEY.
I would honestly be happy if the entire show were just this:
This was supposed to be a Mad Men recap.
But then I went and read 5 other Mad Men recaps and now I don’t have anything original to say.
EXCEPT that I will never ever recover from watching Meghan make a fool of herself.
The second she she started squawking in french my whole body wanted to flee.
WHY MEGHAN WHY DON WILL HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS OH NO PLEASE STOP.
But she didn’t stop, she kept squawking and wiggling in her tiny little dress and now that damn song is stuck in my head forever.
It was the frenchiest choreographed train wreck there ever was.
So I got a grand total of 2 hours of sleep last night. I fell asleep at 3:30am and my alarm rang at 5:15. Somewhere between 5:15 and 5:30 I decided the gym could go find a hole somewhere to die.
I turned on the channel 5 news and then rested my eyes until 6:40.
Frankly I’m surprised I’m even typing this, while sitting upright.
Need to be up in 4 hours.
I am obsessed with Downton Abbey.
And Maggie Smith. I can’t believe how incredible she is.
When I first heard the plot of the show, never mind that it’s a PBS program I thought:
“That sounds about as exciting as watching paint dry.”
I was wrong. So very wrong.