Wednesday, July 6
I am way more overjoyed than David Lee Roth sitting in front of a table full of apple pies with happy faces drawn on them with whipped cream right now. Today I finally, finally, at last, found The Complete Denis Leary DVD. I had nine minutes left before my mom arrived at the mall to pick Lauren and me up to go home and I was speed-scrolling my eyes up and down the aisles at FYE desperately looking for at least one single fucking sign of Denis' name.
And there it was. In all its brand spick-and-span spanking new lustrous plastic wrapping, was the box with his name in large capital orange letters, his face in black and white gloriousness, sitting singularly in its little "Denis Leary" section on the shelf. And then in an instant, like a gator that spotted a 300-pound gazelle at the edge of a lake, snapped it with my hand faster than a quarter of a blink of an eye. As fast as it were to take me to sprint out of a Gwar concert. I didn't fucking care that it was twenty fucking dollars, I wanted that fucking thing, and I wanted it bad. Kind of like sex. More like, exactly like sex - I was that goddamn quick.
Today everybody was ready to drive my grandma to the airport at about 8:30 in the morn, so my mom decided that we all go eat breakfast at McDonald's before we went to airport, being that it was still very early until her flight. I would have rather eaten at Dunkin' Donuts, but my mother is a predictable and habitual type of person who doesn't like to change traditions very often. We passed by a Dunkin' Donuts in the car and in my head I was laughing my imaginary balls off at thinking of Denis when he was talking about how you can't get coffee-flavored coffee and anymore and Dunkin' Donuts; the funky way he said the words "Dunkin' Donuts." And from then on all throughout the day, whenever I passed a Dunkin' Donuts or anything that had a donut in it or any fucking thing that had to do with pastries or donuts, I would think of his funny donut-and-coffee talk.
When my grandma was about to enter the gates and await her departure further from there, and when everybody was going to say their goodbyes, I had to take the worst shit in all of the world's fecal history. I have no fucking idea why my digestive system just failed on me today. Usually I have sort of an iron stomach and could stomach in any fucking thing without puking or shitting like what happened in Hiroshima sixty years ago. I couldn't walk around a huge ass airport without holding my inevitable bowel explosion in, which was extremely painful. It was really fucking painful. I bet I walked like an old seventy-year-old woman with a cane/my grandma. Like I was dying from a mini little Richard Simmons doing jumping jacks around in my intestines, making his way from my stomach to that giant shit-making tube - kicking and flailing his stupid little hairy arms and legs and coiffure, my god that is fucking painful to feel
and to see.
Then I asked my mom if I could go find the restroom and everyone would wait for me, as in her, my grandma, and sister. So I dashed off as fast as my tired and sleep-lack legs would let me go. And holy fucking god, I felt like I was walking in a white shiny desert full of black people in blue slacks pushing metal carts around who acted as snarling reptiles around their cacti which were baggage spinning machines. Holy fucking god, there were about ten signs in total all pointing the direction to the restroom, and I had to walk all the fucking way across the terminal to find that fucking restroom, meanwhile the whole time I had to keep from shitting my pants and creating a brown swamp in those knickers so I could stay clean and fresh for hanging out with Lauren later on in the day. It was so fucking far from where I started that my back started to slouch and slouch, I was so tired and in so much fucking pain.
And then I finally found the goddamn restroom and took the most amazing dump in the world. But first having to slow down my walking into the restroom because this tiny asian woman was walking out of the restroom real fucking slowly and smiling for some reason. She must have been in the same situation as I was in before taking her shit.
When we got home from the airport I just plopped onto my bed in the wrong direction, with legs and head hanging off both sides. I didn't fucking care to turn my body, I went to bed at 3:30 AM the night before. I took the most amazing one-hour nap in the history of hibernating Budweiser bears. No dreams, no snoring, no moving, no nothing. No fucking nothing. Just sleep.
Now fast forward to 3:00 in the afternoon. My mother drops me off at Lauren's house and we watch 21 Jump Street to drool all over two young Johnny Depps and Brad Pitts. Of course including their tight little bums in those tight little jeans.
Later I had to take another shit, because of my digestive system failing on quite a busy day such as this. Turns out her bathroom was worse than at the airport; the airport was practically spotless. I guess her fat brother took a nasty shit in there before me. God it smelled horrible but I really had to go and so I just covered my nose while sitting on the can.
I feel sorry for elderly people who have worse problems than I did today. They have to live with it for the rest of their sorry lives, of never taking care of their digestive systems and eating the right foods, or whatever the fuck causes the excessive need to shit during old age.
Lauren's mom arrives home at around 5:15 and after waiting fifteen more minutes for Lauren to do her makeup, we leave for the mall. She buys a lot of stuff with her a lot of money and I only buy a flowery American Rag button-up shirt and my prized disc of sex that was already mentioned and needed two of its own fucking paragraphs to be mentioned with my not a lot of money.
