I’ve been sitting here for the past two hours, trying to think of something interesting to write on my stupid fucking blog. I’ve even called National Grid, paid my estimated taxes for 2012, applied for a personal business identification number, and balanced my checking account to avoid the eventuality of it. That’s the most financially mature I’ve been in my entire life.
The problem is that my life is not that interesting right now. I’m no longer up to my ankles in open sewage, shopping for saris. I’m just sitting at my perfectly appointed desk in Brooklyn, looking out my window through a bouquet of lilacs, watching the breeze blow the pear blossom tree, obscuring my view of the street.
(Ha! I bet you thought I was kidding.)
Outside, extremely good looking white people are walking around, holding hands, kissing each other tenderly, marveling at their cute monsters (meaning children and dogs), basking in the sun, and feeling good about the fact that if life were really like the movie Gattaca, the government would definitely send them into space.
This week, I decided to officially move in with Caleb, and the area where we are living—Carroll Gardens—feels like the set of a science fiction movie from the 1950s. Everyone here looks perfect but is actually an alien that steals other people’s wealth and happiness with electric green radio wave beams.
I have a lot more to say about moving in, and feeling sad about leaving my apartment, and losing my independence, la la la, blah blah blah, birdy feet. But I’m going to save it for a period week.
In the meantime, barf, right? Life sounds so fucking idyllic for me right now. And it kind of is.
Except for the fact—and I’m not saying this to avoid hanging out with you—all of the medication I’m on post-India has taken away my ability to enjoy drinking. I tried a few sips of rosé last night, and it made me feel so awful that even this morning, I’m still dizzy. If I were to get up too quickly right now, I would probably pass out, and someone on the street would sense me lying here, on the floor, and they’d send electric green radio waves into my room, and steal all of my wealth and happiness.
“Fuck,” they’d say as they walked away, imbued with me. “Checking account $277? Chemically enhanced functionality? That was a waste of time.”
Then again, the dizziness kind of feels like Valium without the guilt, so I guess I’m pretty content.
I have therapy in an hour and a half, so I’m going to go check my American Express statement to raise my anxiety level before I get on the subway and push it over the edge. In the meantime, if you’re still reading this mess, then here’s a review of all the things I watched when I was bedridden last week.
Damages, Season 1 (and Part of 2)
This show is about a corporate lawyer played by Glenn Close who likes to fuck around with people because she is manipulative. She has a protegee named Rose Byrne who at first I really liked. Then, she lost a lot of weight in the second season, and turned into a bobble head, and it made her less appealing. Together with Marisa’s dad in the OC, they sue people, and wear really nice clothes. They kill people all of the time, only it’s not as exciting as it sounds, because you usually don’t get to see it. Oh, also, Ted Danson does cocaine in like every episode. Available on Netflix.
Mad Men, Season Something
This show still holds my interest, although Caleb has never stayed awake past the first five minutes. Megan is not nearly as annoying as I suspected she would be—unfortunately—although I do wish she had better boobs. Joan Halloway is the shit, and I wish that Pete Campbell was hot because then I’d find it more believable that he’d fuck a prostitute like a king. I know this is wrong, but I don’t like it that Betty Draper is fat, because now I don’t want to watch her on screen. Basically I don’t care about a single plot point, I just want to look at these people, and feel cleaner.
Game of Thrones
My biggest contention with Game of Thrones is that it’s a snoozefest. I have a lot of theories why, but I think it’s mostly because after India, Westeros seems like a pretty nice place to live. I just don’t believe it’s a land at war. Also, Asha is SO much hotter in the books, Margarey Tyrell’s boobs are really not that nice, and I’d like to see Gendry naked. Brienne, my namesake, is pretty well cast though, and the Knight of the Flowers is a little pussy bitch.
Life’s Too Short
Midgets are funny and I like this show.
I should probably write a longer review of this show, because Caleb and I both really like it. For me, it’s almost like watching a flashback of what would have happened to my family had they not all gone to Alcoholics Anonymous.
Days of Being Wild
I only watched five minutes of this, and then I fell asleep.
And hence, a convenient place to end this post.