A Lesson in Technology

Posted on June 6, 2009


I’ve been house and dog sitting my buddy’s place while he is away, watching after his sweet little Pitbull Daisy, and of course, the infamous Saucerton Dogsworth. The house is huge, a fucking mansion, with one of those winding spiral staircases that I would have killed for in high school. You know. The perfect prom night staircase. Doorbell rings. I’m screaming to Mom (it is stereotypically Dad who gets the door, but you all know my Dad situation or I guess kind of) from my bedroom “I can’t get it myself, YOU get it!! MMOOOOMMMM PLLLLEEAAASSSEEEEE!!!!” and then the boy comes in, Mom yells upstairs to me, and here I come, in this fabulous fucking dress, and there is a shining light behind me and little birds that fly out from my door, and of course music, possibly the hallelujah choir, or maybe what I was listening to at the time, the Luniz “I got 5 on It”. The staircase would have guided me down to our entryway, where the boy of my dreams could have pinned the corsage (I actually had my guy get me a wrist corsage because my dress was pretty low cut any weight would have been hello tits) to my top and I’d pin mine to his jacket and we’d be off. The perfect night by virtue of the perfect staircase. Anyway, this houses staircase is perfect and no prom queen will ever grace it, unless of course they are shooting a prom queen scene and that is the set up. 

The house also has a beautiful backyard with a saltwater pool that Saucy thought was the ultimate drinking bowl, only to realize later in the day why it isn’t a good idea to drink saltwater. I stopped her from drinking it as quick as I could, stopped her right when I saw her, but that little shit still shit her brains out. Shit her fucking brains out. It was like a volcano of shit came spewing from her ass, poor little dog butt, and you can rest assured she did not take another sip from the beautiful pool. I would have loved to take a dip myself, but the clouds and the constant sprinklets of water made the day seem dreary, and perfect for vegging out on the couch. Yes. And by the couch I actually mean bed. I can’t figure out how to work all the stupid remote controls downstairs so I spent the day up in the bedroom, at the top of the perfect spiral staircase. Last time I watched the house and tried to watch TV downstairs, I couldn’t get the volume to turn up loud enough, it was driving me crazy listening to The Simpsons so low, so finally, pissed off, I decided to step outside to smoke a cigarette. Little did I know that the speakers had been switched over to the outdoor system instead of the indoor system, and as soon as I opened the back door, Homer’s laughter could be heard ringing throughout the valley. The entire neighborhood had heard my show better than I. I refused to let that happen again. So I stayed upstairs. 

And upstairs is really where I stayed. All day. In fact, I only went out once, to go to a meeting. And then sometimes downstairs to smoke cigarettes, or get pizza from the pizza guys. I sat in bed all day watching television, watching the Real Wives of Jersey like a ten car pile up on the 101, dead bodies strewn about the road and by the time I’ve passed I’ve seen every single drop of blood, skin scraped into the ground, and a few motorcycles that had been dumped in a last attempt to check out the wreck. Goddamn reality television. Goddamn Tevo. Goddamn television!!! There is absolutely no way, after this weekend, that I can have a set in my own home. I’m better off visiting friends houses and watching their televisions. I am not a responsible human being and cannot turn the fucking thing off. If I were to have a tv in my house, I would have a giant one, like the one before me, (well over 50inches), and it would never be turned off, it’d be like my vibrator, always buzzing and taking me away from doing things I should be doing, like writing or reading or studying, or leaving the house all together. 

I must leave here first thing tomorrow. I cannot get stuck in this house another day. I can’t watch anymore Real Housewives, and I can’t keep arguing with myself about the fact that there is just. nothing. on.

Posted in: Good Days