I learned a few things this past week. I will share them with you now so that I can spread knowledge like the “More you know” shooting star.
1. Gym class humiliation is easily reignited by drinking games. There are two kinds of people in this world. Those that liked gym class and those that despised it. Shockingly, giant alabaster Marissa is part of the latter group of people. I know I may have some people fooled that I am the picture of athleticism, however I will admit my coordination is touch and go and I always have had my nagging heat disorder. These two factors combined with social awkwardness and lack of flexibility made for many uncomfortable years sporting filthy mesh jerseys and dangling on ropes like a disoriented sloth. Lets just say a few Sundays ago I was hanging from that rope once again, but replace the rope with a beer. I was last, people were staring, I was neon. Fortunately, we just moved onto the next game and I didn’t get a C- for my poor performance.
2. Although it may be mildly more amusing/baffling when I think the vegetable man is repeatedly saying the word penis, the relief provided by the discovery that the word in question is actually spinach, far outweighs any potential humor. I didn’t want to have to cross another food source off of the list of places I can shop. And I also learned that they do not have spinach in Bangladesh!
3. A working cat is the best cat. A few renegade flies entered the premises yesterday evening and have been swarming around like they own the place ever since. They might have enjoyed the time in Chez Marissa, however tonight my badass cat laid down the law with a swat of his giant paw and I watched it happen. I know there has been more critter action that he has tended to, but I don’t need too many details. All I know is that it is impossible that kitty has gotten this fat from the measly dry food I feed him. This is one don’t ask don’t tell policy that I support!
It’s fairly well known that I need to live a bit more dangerously. I am not talking about foraying into anything really serious, but I am thinking less pastel and more eyeliner. So although I don’t want to completely toss my life into disarray, it would be nice to recognize a celebrity or be able to stay up past midnight without turning into a pumpkin on occasion.
I say this fairly regularly, yet I find that I have a hard time truly changing my behavior. And though certain things have contributed to my less than edgy image, cat, library card acquisition, sleepy tendencies, etc. I think there is one overarching cause for my condition.
My love for Frasier was spawned out of necessity. I was living alone in Florida at the time and had a propensity for late night crime television programming. I was continuously left with the need to be coddled back into a feeling of safety strong enough to allow myself to sleep. I quickly tired of The Cosby Show, didn’t care much for Friends, and I can’t really stand Raymond. Never a Frasier fan pre-syndication, I never thought I would appreciate it now. However quickly I was swept away with its sharp vocabulary and witty banter. The episodes followed one another so fluidly and the subject matter was always PG.
Quickly I fell in love and soon grew dependent on it for slumber. And that is where I am a few years later. Kelsey Grammer opens his arms to me nightly, cloaked in his gigantic knit sweaters he cradles me into a sweet cocoon of sleep and as much as I revel in this, I think it has become mildly unhealthy. So friends, I think Frasier and I shall take a slight hiatus until I can step up media consumption. Wish me luck.
Labor Day might technically commemorate some strike or labor uniony type situation, however for most it actually honors the end of summer and launch of autumn. To me it is the end of summer Fridays and the launch of a horrible series of months during which I am forced to don pants and leave my summer dresses behind. During this time I feel lost and confused and enter a disheveled state fueled purely by mulled cider and seasonal drugstore displays.
Actually, in all honesty although I do mourn the end of summer bliss, I cherish the days of fall most of all seasons. The cooler air allows for a clear head and the anticipation of the holidays and slew of parties that ensue create enough joy and excitement to keep me distracted through Valentine’s Day. I will then historically enter into a three to four month debilitating seasonal affective depression, upon which I will elaborate in a few months when I am well within its clutches.
I love Fall for many reasons. Fall is for crafting cornucopias and eating snack sized candy. It is for turtlenecks and leggings and gathering wood for fires. So when my sister began ordering pumpkin spice lattes this weekend on our road trip to Cape Cod I verbally scorned her premature dismissal of summer, but simultaneously relished in this occurrence. Even though I sporadically attempt to avoid carbohydrates, fall is full of them and once I spot even the slightest twinge death descending upon a stray leaf, I yearn for whoopie pies and pumpkin bread, apple dumplings, and maple candies. If it has cinnamon and nutmeg on it, I will most likely try to consume it. I am filled with a desire to be continually mulling cider and wine, while crafting wreaths of dried flowers and berries. Fall is basically the culmination of all things I love in the world.
So this past weekend I said goodbye to summer with a final trip to the Cape and a final clamming excursion. And although we were celebrating a lot more than the shifting season, Welcome Fall!