As I drove to work this morning (I only hit three people, yay me!) and listened to "The Watermelon Crawl" on the radio, I was struck with the idea of how useless that song is. What purpose does it serve other than sparking an idea for this morning's Toaster Oven entree? Furthermore, what is this watermelon wine he sings about, and why would you want to go to all the trouble of making wine out of watermelon when you can get a nice bottle of Charles Shaw Merlot for $2.99 at Trader Joe's?
There are so many useless things cluttering up my life right now, and I think it is time to step up to the plate like Eminem and clean out my closet. I am going to be ruthless in getting rid of anything that serves no purpose. If I were Archie, Betty would be so kicked out of the band right now. All she did was play the tambourine. Useless. Oh, and little Tracy Partridge? In the words of Donald Trump, "You're fired."
Five or six years ago I purchased a pennywhistle, which I planned on learning to play so that I could go on tour with The Corrs someday. (I would be Todd Corr, the brother who was put in an orphanage and later reunites with his family and begins a somewhat scandalous affair with his brother Jim Corr). The pennywhistle comes with an instruction booklet and a tape and has never been opened. Why am I hanging on to this thing?
Pennywhistle, be gone!
On my bookshelf in my room is a copy of Orlando, by Virginia Woolf, who was actually me. I have never read beyond the first chapter of the book and have no idea why I even wrote it. I enjoyed the film, but the book is just tedious and was definitely a contributing factor to my suicide (along with the split ends).
Goodbye, Orlando. Don't let the door hit you in the ass.
Three years ago I had 42% body fat. I hit my damn plateau recently and hover comfortably at about 14%, and I'm pissed. Damn you whiskey and beer and salt. You are my enemies, but if loving you is wrong, I don't wanna be right. I do, however, want to get rid of some more body fat, and I definitely need to if I am going to do the shows I'm supposed to perform in this summer. I have no use for fat, especially abdominal fat.
Sayonara, remaining stubborn 4-6% body fat!
Just when my closet is almost cleaned out, this new development pops up. At least I think it is a new development. If you read someone's entire blog in one day (including almost a year of archives) does that mean you have a crush on him? (It is not who you think, Jaden, so there is no need for you to chime in here although I know how you love to chime.)
I have no use for a crush right now. A blogger crush serves no practical purpose. It makes me think stupid thoughts and fantasize about stuff that will probably never ever happen. Crushes make me check e-mail three times an hour. Crushes distract me from my job as a technical writer, which I love deeply, of course. Crushes are silly.
I feel so much better. It feels good to get rid of clutter. Yesterday, a tow truck took away juju's old car that has been sitting in front of our house for over a year. Our plan was to put the non-functioning car up on blocks and sit on lawn chairs in the yard drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon while we sang "The Watermelon Crawl" and picked hay out of our teeth. But now that the car is gone, there is a feeling of relief flowing through our household.
Still, sometimes you just can't let go. When Joan Crawford's children received their Christmas presents, they were allowed to choose only one gift to keep. The rest of the toys went to charity. This taught them to value what they had and also taught them how to avoid being hit over the head with cans of Ajax by Mommie Dearest.
Tentatively, I reach for one of my gifts and examine it. Hmmm. I think I would like to keep this crush and play with it for a little while. Please may I, Mommie Dearest?