Earlier today, I watched a four year old flick a booger on to someone. Index finger up the left nostril, quick swirl and grab, examined, and then a roll and flick. Right on to the shoulder of an old man.
What if it was socially acceptable to flick boogers on to people? What if every time you were annoyed with someone, or didn’t care what someone had to say, or were just bored, you dug a clump right out of your nose and flicked it at them? What if that was a thing? How many boogers would I have on my shirt? How many boogers would you have on your shirt?
I spit gum into a girl’s hair once. I was on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland with my aunt, and the bitch in front of us would not stop taking pictures of herself and her friend. The flash was blinding us. I asked her to stop, and she didn’t. So I spit gum in her hair. But that’s neither here nor there.
I’m glad booger-flicking is taboo. Just think about how many disproportionate nostrils there would be in the world. As if there isn’t enough already, what with all of those secret nose pickers. Don’t think I don’t notice your nostrils, people. I notice. Everyone has a preference, and it shows.
Nose picking. Grimy ass nose picking.
Swathed in the scent of marijuana, and sipping some sort of unpronounceable Mexican devil juice, I slowly wandered home, away from my neighbor’s get-together, away from token white person status. I was thinking about how much I love being the only white person in my neighborhood, when I caught a small gathering out of the corner of my eye. Hanging out on the corner of the street was another white person. I became territorial. Who the fuck was squatting on MY land? My pace quickened and as I came closer to this other white person, his appearance became clearer. And I stopped walking so fast.
This trespassing white person had once lived next door to me. This trespassing white person had touched my boobs a handful of times (lol…boobs…handful), and played an active role in my first “I’m cheating on my boyfriend” experience. This trespassing white son of a bitch was Joe.
So I took the only reasonable course of action I could summon from my brain. I marched right up to that motherfucker, spilling my devil juice every which way, and I told him what a dick I thought he was.
He walked me home, and I ended the night with that bitch asking for my number.
I told him I thought I was going to puke and left that chump standing on the front porch.
My fourteen year old brother texted me to express his disgust after watching Ally Sheedy star in a low budget Lifetime movie.
Holding back tears of pride.
One of the best little things in life are those moments that really remind you of the depth of your relationship with someone. Like, you know that you completely understand each other, in and out.
Earlier today, as I nursed myself back to health from a rather raucous Friday night with a half-awake-half asleep nap on the couch, I heard my aunt say, “Oh, that one movie is on…” to which I replied, with my eyes still shut, “That one with…” and she said, “Yeah…”
We didn’t even finish our sentences. All we had were fragments of nothing floating in the air between us that somehow translated into comprehension.
Spy Game with Robert Redford and Brad Pitt.
Life is beautiful sometimes, even when you feel like you’re about to throw up everywhere.
You know those weird small talks you get into with a stranger when you two are the only people in the place you’re at? And somehow you walk away from that conversation knowing more than you care to know about that stranger? And you feel kind of violated because you’ll forever carry the knowledge of how much they hate their husband, but they especially hate their husband when they are on their period, but, god damn it, they have kids and they have to make it work.
I have a “friendly face”. I’m a “nice girl”. I also have “great hair”. I hope you “have a fantastic day”, too.
I was born to make you happy.