Ablutions

If you’ve wondered why I’ve been smelling like a LiveLaughLove candle shop and looking like the very dew of insouciant youth lately, my Ponce de León elixirs are as close to all of us at the Target/CVS aisles.

First-in-the-morning doctor appointment >

mole scraping > car appointment > three doughnuts while I waited to hear that the car guy couldn’t help me > referral to a different car specialist > estimate and new car appointment set for tomorrow > failed attempt at tying a bow tie in my car > fancy luncheon with lovely people > but first I had to stop in the bathroom and tie my bow tie like a civilized person > nagging headache > more desserts > work > teleconference presentation > untied bow tie because my fat neck was choking in it > still with the nagging headache > return stuff at Target > drop stuff off at Goodwill > drop of bag of expired medications at the police station > yes, that’s a thing > still have a fucking headache > cued lines for an off-book rehearsal > finally home > rakish untied-bow-tie selfie > GODDAMN FUCKING HEADACHE > bed.

I just opened the first bar of a four pack of "refreshingly clean" Lever 2000 Aloe & Cucumber Bar Soap this morning

It smelled vaguely as fresh as a frolicsome summer's morn when I tried to sniff it through the packaging at Target, but when it finally actually touched my skin it unleashed a disquietingly chemical effluvium of neither aloe nor cucumber nor fresh nor frolicsome nor summer.

I apologize in advance if I smell like plastic salad for the foreseeable future.

Clearance-Price Deodorant: A Review

As a longtime wearer of Cool Wave flavored Gillette Endurance 48 Hours of Protection Clear Gel, I was apprehensive about trying Undefeated flavored Gillette Scent Xtend Technology when I saw it wearing a clearance sticker at Target, but 75¢ SAVINGS, PEOPLE!

My verdict: It smells pretty much the same, except with generic-truck-stop-bathroom-cleanser topnotes. As far as efficacy: It’s too cold here to test its performance in a truly sweaty context, but using the word Undefeated in the world of sweaty, grungy odors probably should have been focus-grouped just a LITTLE bit more.

Things I’ve accomplished today:

• Had my first formal voice lesson in 30 years, and already determined some bad habits I can start working on unlearning
• Went to Target and bought only what was on my list
• Did my first leg workout since I started running last spring ... and freaking KILLED my legs without sacrificing proper form
• Accepted a very romantic marriage proposal from one of my 934 freakishly hunky gym crushes as all the rest of the guys in the gym struggled to mask their jealousy through forced smiles and wan applause*
• Attended a Full Monty line bash where I remembered more of my lines than I’d expected
• Sat down and actually played the piano for the first time in months as an overture (for lack of a less obvious metaphor) to my New Year’s resolution to practice with specific regularity
• Made it to my 11th day without having Diet Coke
• Wrote a blog post that doesn’t use the word “boobies”
• Oops
• Didn’t kill anyone intentionally
• Did some laundry without expecting a gold star on my chores chart
• Boobies
• Oops again

* This one is a total fucking lie

Second day. More advanced.

When Rob and I met Monday morning for our first-ever chest workout together at my new (but his old) gym, we quickly managed—despite our Don’t-Strain-Yourself Barbie(R) weights—to savagely rip our moobs from their moorings, force them mercilessly into a wood chipper, and spend the next 48 hours woefully unable to punch Nazis. Which is gymbro talk for “we had a good workout.”

I came back tonight fired up to show the same unholy cruelty to my back, biceps and babdominals (alliteration runs rampant!), and now that the carnage is over I’m typing this as fast as I can before the rigor sets in.

The good news: I’m pretty sure I’ll be unable to roll over in my sleep tonight.

The other good news: Nobody will be able to steal my wallet from my locker.

The reason for this jarring non sequitur: I discovered that I didn’t have it with me at Target on my way to the gym tonight. As an impatient line of people waited behind me and the cashier had to call for help canceling all the purchases she’d rung up and I sweated bullets mentally retracing my every step over the last 17 years to see if I could remember where I might have lost it.

The good news: I called my folks and they found it on my bedroom floor.

The bad news: I didn’t get to buy those super-cute track pants I’d found.

The second non sequitur in this rambling post: WHY ARE ALL THE GUYS AT THIS GYM SO HOT? And why won’t any of them volunteer to come roll me over in my sleep tonight after the rigor sets in?

Sitzprobe (noun)

1. A seated rehearsal that merges orchestra, vocals and body microphones for the first time in the production of a musical; 2. A vaguely naughty-sounding German word that though it may seem so at first reading doesn't really lend itself to clever sexual innuendo and don't even think you're going to come up with the elusive and brilliantly definitive "probe" joke because millions of very talented and clever and profoundly disturbed actors and singers before you have exhausted every last possibility a thousand times over; 3. THE COOLEST REHEARSAL OF EVERY SHOW OF YOUR LIFE PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE; 4. I'm sportin’ my emergency new merlot-at-twilight-hued hoodie I just bought at Target because it’s damn cold today and I proudly but stupidly wore just my flimsy new Disney race shirt when I left the house this morning; 5. That has nothing to do with Sitzprobe but I didn't have any other place to fit it in today; 5. WE HAVE SUPER-NEW, SUPER-TECHY, SUPER-COOL, SUPER-LIGHTWEIGHT, SUPER-SLENDER, SUPER-SUPER NEW BODY MICS; 6. It’s too bad Andrew is always so boring and plain-looking:

Sparklejolly

Everything on our ... well ... ELFIN—and I have no idea how we’re all going to fit on such a tiny piece of real estate—Elf The Musical set is snowy white except for the delicious candy cane I’m wearing. And, of course, for the giant Target logo radiating its promises of charming, affordable holiday decorations in the background.

I’m sorry ...

but they smelled the best of all the brands and all the scent options at Target and I refuse to apologize for using age- and demographic-inappropriate products to smell irresistibly delicious.

Oh, wait. I might have prefaced that with an apology. Don’t scroll up to check.

There IS no Step Two ...

My family buys nothing—NOTHING!—more important than a package of socks without first going through the Ten Steps of Painfully Indecisive Covetousness:

1. Oh, look! There’s the thing I’m actively looking to buy and it’s right here in front of me right now so my search is over and I’m going to buy it.
1a. or: Oh, look! There’s something I just stumbled on in a store that two seconds ago I didn’t know existed and now I desperately want it so I’m going to buy it.
2. But am I sure about this?
3. Maybe I can find a cheaper and/or better version of it somewhere else.
4. But first let me take 72 pictures of it on my phone so I can remind myself in perpetuity that I don’t have it every time I scroll through my photos.
5. It’s totally worth it to drive to five similar stores scattered across town and then to spend 30 minutes researching it online if I can save five dollars when I inevitably buy it.
6. It goes without saying that it’s also totally worth it to go back to visit it nine or fifteen times at the store where I first saw it, just to be sure I really want it or to see if it goes on sale.
7. But I’m not obsessing about buying it or needlessly delaying this inevitable purchase or anything.
8. OK, two weeks have gone by and my life is empty and chokingly meaningless without it so I’m just going to go buy it.
9. Well, shit. It’s gone.
9a. or: Now that I have it home, I’ve decided I really don’t like it so I’m going to return it.
10. I’m just going to run in to Target for a few quick things.

SO! Imagine my surprise when—mere hours after we realized that we’d probably need to buy an easy-to-use recliner with a tall back for my dad because he’ll have problems sleeping in a flat bed when he comes home from the hospital so we were going to split up and start multiple Step Ones at all the recliner stores in town this afternoon—Mom sent me an urgent text telling me to come to the first recliner store she’d visited because she’d found the perfect recliner and she’d put a hold on it and wanted me to come test it before she bought it.

Which I did. And then which SHE did.

Let me type this slowly for you so you can comprehend its tectonic shiftiness: My mother, the High Priestess of the Ten Steps of Painfully Indecisive Covetousness, BOUGHT AN EASY-TO-USE-RECLINER WITH A TALL BACK ON JUST THE FIRST STEP. Without even blinking.

I’ll give you a moment to lift your jaws up from the shifting tectonic plates beneath you.

What’s more, our awesome, truck-having neighbor Dan just happened to be free and willing to transport the recliner home for us ... and within 90 minutes start-to-finish we became the proud owners of a new easy-to-use recliner with a tall back. WITH NINE UNUSED STEPS JUST HANGING OUT IN SPACE IN A FOG OF ABANDONMENT AND CONFUSION. But maybe I can sell them individually on Etsy.

Anyway! I had to do some major furniture shuffling to fit our new easy-to-use recliner with a tall back into our living room, but I think it’s now in a primo spot where Dad can be comfortable and not feeling like he’s jutting out into the room as he entertains visitors. And he has a bunch of medical stuff—in addition to his boombox for his books on tape—that he’ll need to keep near him, so I repurposed some decorative chests to become decorative side tables for him. Plus I cleaned them all with Liquid Gold, which those of us who like our wooden antiques to be alarmingly shiny know takes 17 days to dry. So that’s why I’m posting this artfully composed, judiciously-cropped-so-you-can’t-see-what-a-mess-the-rest-of-the-room-is photo at 7:42 instead of 4:00.

But doesn’t my dad’s new man-corner look handsome?

(It’d look mega-more handsome without that butt-ugly quilt and that why-the-hell-do-we-have-a-genuine-oil-painting-of-a-stranger-holding-a-gun-in-our-living-room painting. But rectifying those situations opens a whole new Ten Stages Of Painfully Indecisive Purging process. So let’s all just admire my alarmingly shiny wooden side tables for now.)

When restraint and common sense completely abandon you in the regret-filled canyons of Target

I want my NPR

Shouldn't there be some kind of secret code for overriding the NPR pledge drive blather if you're already a sustaining member on auto pay? I don't think I can weather another lighthearted host-to-host on-air conversation about the shade of heathered red that distinguishes this pledge drive's donor thank-you T-shirt from the last pledge drive's shirt.

Also: Target has boring lamps.

I know, I know ... I got crabs at Target ...

I just left Target and these shorts were on clearance for under my $10 bad-decision threshold and I am weak and THEY HAVE ADORABLE LITTLE RED CRABS EMBROIDERED ALL OVER THEM.

FRIDAY QUESTIONS:

1. Why is everyone Facebook thinks I may know either 17 or 85 or living with a pair of bra-bursting boobs in Indonesia?

2. Is there a better song on the planet than "Xanadu"? (Hint: No, there is not.)

3. How is it possible that I've already eaten an entire bag of Dove Caramel & Milk Chocolate Valentine's Hearts today and it's only 4:27?

4. Why does Bitch Kitty single me out for soul-shattering abuse when she used to love me and all I've ever done is love her back?

5. Corollary: Why does she think that's it all about her whenever I happen to be standing near the treat cupboard with my opposable thumbs and my cupboard-opening skills, neither of which she'll ever have?

6. Do you promise not to tell my mom if I drive all the way to the Target across town after work tonight to see if they have the two totally cool shirts I saw at the Target by my office two nights ago but hopefully in my size over there?

7. Is there a less clumsy way I could have written that last question? (Hint: I don't care. I'm going to drive over there tonight anyway to see if they have my shirts. But please don't tell my mom. She'll just cite some stupid "common sense" rule like I already have too many shirts or something.)

8. Do you think I can make this list go all the way to 10?

9. Was that last question just a transparently desperate attempt to keep you engaged in this post as a way to fill the soul-sucking void in my life that grows deeper and more black-holey every day I continue to not have a boyfriend?

10. Should I keep taking my meds?

Scars and haircuts

One month ago right now I'd just completed my signature black-out-and-fall-Timber!-and-crack-the-tile-floor-with-my-head-and-lacerate-my-face-with-my-shattered-glasses-and-bite-mostly-through-my-lip-and-get-a-concussion-that-hurt-like-hell trick and I was finally back awake and reasonably coherent as the emergency room doctor sewed up my face with anesthesia that totally didn't work. But I was a big boy and I whimpered only 37 times. Before I lost count.

Anyway! I sure can prattle on and on and never get to the point sometimes. OK, all the time. Like right now. I mean really. How tedious.

Anyway again! I've had stitches and protective stitches glue and scabs and oozy gross stuff all over my face and in my beard since my visit to the anesthesia-resistant emergency room sewing circle and since I looked like a moldy desiccated cat anyway I kinda stopped caring that my gooey beard was scraggling down over my neck and my hair was blossoming into a luxurious, full-bodied thneed.

But! As of this week my beard goo has finally disappeared and nearby children have stopped spraying me with Zombie-B-Gone and since it's actually been one month to the day I finally went and got a haircut and a beard trim and five new shirts at Target but don't tell my mom that last part because she keeps saying I'm finally handsome again and if she found out I'd gone recreational shopping it would totally harsh her buzz as the kids say. Or the drug addicts. Whatever.

Whew! So I finally got to the point and I feel human again and my mom says I look handsome and I'm kinda hoping when everything is totally healed I still end up with a badass scar on my cheek so when I'm in the nursing home and little schoolchildren come visit me through their scary-old-people-need-love-and-poorly-drawn-crayon-art program and they ask me about my battle scar I can regale them with the epic tale of that one time I passed out from standing up too fast to change the laundry.

For Future Reference:

The expanded 75-acre Super Target enveloping the west side of Cedar Rapids at 8:00 - 8:30 pm on a chilly January Monday is the exact opposite of where you should look to find:

• White shower heads unencumbered by stupid droopy hand-holdable hoses that just leak anyway
• Blank recordable CDs
• Vintage-looking Donald Duck T-shirts on clearance in my size
• Unheathered fabrics anywhere in the whole damn men's department
• Seriously - heathered shirts are the fashion equivalent of Bitch Kitty in a marching band uniform
• Affordable knockoffs of Kellyanne Conway's inauguration marching band dress
• All the bulk bar soap in the same aisle or even within 10 aisles of each other
• Cat perms
• Packages of fun-size share-with-the-office chocolates on the front shelves by the groceries where they've been reliably located in every Target in the known universe and beyond since the second Roosevelt administration
• Age-appropriate handsome potential boyfriends who aren't suddenly draped in clingy wives or girlfriends as soon as you both reach the end of the aisle
• Sassy pants
• In-focus photos of the new all-white expanded 75-acre Super Target logo from right by your car, which is parked really not that far away because the parking lot is practically empty which is why there are no age-appropriate handsome potential boyfriends wandering the aisles looking for scabby gay guys who sit in their cars listening to Billy Joel while furtively whining on Facebook
• Any fucking left-turn access to Edgewood Road
• Cherry-vanilla yogurt