I’d Rather Not Have My Apartment Tea Bagged [Friday Thoughts W/ TeeCoZee]
Good Moleman. The eating of an orange is a lot like a good marriage. It’s Friday, March 15, Two Thousand and Nineteen. The weather in Brooklyn is 52˚ & Pantone 11-0601 and somewhere, somebody is turning off a fan. It’s so quiet. Almost too quiet. The room is filled with negative audical space. They’re aware that “audical” is not a word, but there’s no time to think of another. Sonic. Aural. Auditory. Okay, maybe there is time, but this person can’t move. Any sudden change to the environment will make the audical purgatory collapse. What did the room even sound like before? What tones does it identify with? What would please it most? Little does this person know, the room is becoming frustrated with the presence of a human. They are sending high-frequency brain waves that the room cannot understand because it is a room and not a homosapien. But what the room does understand is how to get rid of them. Meanwhile, as the person continues to ponder on what to do next, the fan turns back on, sending them running for their dear lives. The room is pleased. And me? I just always leave the fan on and try not to think too much in bed. I know what my room wants. I also have some things on my mind…
– I have that really annoying kind of tiredness today. The one where you know you need to be awake, your brain is trying to be awake, but your eyelids will not cooperate. They won’t close all the way, but they stay half closed as if there’s a decade-old contact lens stuck in them. The previous paragraph had 14 typos because my eyes keep blurring up mid-sentence. And much to my chagrin, the only caffeine in the house comes via bottles of Soylent. So now I have to drink a bunch of meal replacements in order to wake up and then I’ll spend the rest of the day clutching my stomach, cursing the God that had forsaken me. Frankly, I’m probably better off with blurry vision. That’s what Rachel has and she’s way cooler than me. I’m gonna run with it. Actually, no, I shouldn’t run with it. I might trip.
– I don’t normally prefer to talk about my job, but since this website isn’t Google optimized and this will only get 3 hits [2 from my mom, because she will read it twice], I might as well. We were running a promotion at the store a couple of weeks ago and on one particular day, I was amazed by the results. So, I went to the cashiers to brag about it.
ME: Hey, guys. How many coupons do you think were redeemed in total, today?
CASHIER 1: Well, I got 12 of them myself, so maybe…40?
ME: That’s close. [Turns to other cashier] How many coupons do you think we had in total today?
CASHIER 2: 8?
Ladies and gentlemen, these are my peers.
– I awoke this morning to find a surprise had been left overnight. No, it wasn’t a pile of Will’s puke, he only does that on Tuesdays. It also wasn’t an eviction notice, a birthday present or a horse head at the foot of the bed. It was a tea bag. A loose, dry, unused tea bag in the middle of the kitchen floor. I wouldn’t have batted an eye at this, but nobody in this house drinks tea. I have no idea where this could have come from. We’ve lived here for almost a year and I’ve cleaned the kitchen a million times over. There’s no space or margin of error for a teabag to just appear out of nowhere. Did the roaches plant it? Or the kitchen itself? Is Will actually British? I have so many questions that are never going to be answered. I’d like to think that we were actually robbed. Robbed of what I have no clue, because all of our stuff is still here. But maybe, just maybe, a burglar came in the middle of the night and stole one single object. It may take days, weeks or months to realize it’s even gone. But when I do, the object will be replaced by the tea packaging and a note on the back will read, “You have just been tea bagged. Have a nice day”. I’ll drop to my knees, look up to the heavens and shout, “Damn you tea bagger! I want my copy of Tommy Lasorda’s Baseball for Sega Genesis back! Damn you to hell!!!”
– I never fully understood the naming of bed sizes. None of the 4 make any sense to me. For starters, “Twin” should not be the smallest as it refers to two people. As someone that has slept in a twin-sized bed for half of his life, I can attest that it would be hard to sleep in it with my twin. Then we have “Full” which refers to one complete person, not a set of full people. So you would think that Full would be the smallest size, but the name also suggests that it would be the largest. Because it’s full. Duh. And then to top it off, “Queen” and “King” should be flipped. Although it’s good to be The King, the title of Queen is a much more lavish position. She deserves the world and demands it, so why wouldn’t she have the largest bed? I can’t even imagine a King sleeping. He’s too busy getting drunk and planning wars. He has no time to sleep! I can’t tell if I’m being sexist, classist or both.
Try this trick over the weekend: Find your long lost twin and try to sleep in a full-sized bed with them. I guarantee it won’t be weird.
Have a sleepy weekend, everyone!