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I got my Walter White t-shirt in the mail yesterday & it made its public debut today. I knew it was a strong choice, but I really wasn’t expecting to get QUITE as many stares as I ended up receiving.
There were two kinds of stares - from lame people who’ve never seen Breaking Bad & were thinking “Why does that weird girl have such a creepy guy on her shirt?” and then people who were like “YEAH BITCH! WALTER WHITE!” (they thought that in a Jesse Pinkman voice, naturally).
The shirt got more happy stares from guys than a shirt that displayed a super amount of cleavage would.
I put the picture I took of myself in the shirt on instagram and I regret not captioning it “white on white on white”. After I thought of that, I instantly started thinking…. If I was getting married this summer, I’d wear the shirt to bed the night before the wedding and then when I woke up I’d take a picture of myself and post it online with a caption saying -“the bride wore White”.
Apparently I don’t fantasize about getting married / weddings… nope, I just fantasize about making Breaking Bad related wedding jokes on instagram.
Also: in a bookstore I caught a 12-ish year old boy trying to sneakily page through 50 Shades of Grey and I stared at him until he saw me looking and he sheepishly ran off. I like to think that he thought both Walter and I were judging him. Find some better sex-related reading material, kid.
People who give up the privilege of cleaning their own houses—they’re insane people.
If you do not clean: how do you know if you’ve made any progress in life? I love dust. The dust always makes progress. Then I remove the dust. That is progress.
If it were not for dust I think I would die. If there were no dust to clean then there would be so much leisure time and so much thinking time and I would have to do something besides thinking and that thing might be to slit my wrists.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha just kidding. I’m not a morbid person. That just popped out!
My sister is a wonderful person. She’s a doctor. At an important hospital. I’ve always wondered how one hospital can be more important than another hospital. They are places for human waste. Places to put dead bodies.
I’m sorry. I’m being morbid again.
My sister has given up the privilege of cleaning her own house. Something deeply personal—she has given up. She does not know how long it takes the dust to accumulate under her bed. She does not know if her husband is sleeping with a prostitute because she does not smell his dirty underwear. All of these things, she fails to know.
I know when there is dust on the mirror. Don’t misunderstand me—I’m an educated woman. But if I were to die at any moment during the day, no one would have to clean my kitchen.
- Virginia in Sarah Ruhl’s play The Clean House
This was my favorite monologue I ever used to audition for a play in college. I still have the whole thing almost memorized. I so distinctly remember standing in the dingy/scary backstage bathroom watching myself perform it in the mirror. It seems like it could have happened yesterday. NOT YEARS AGO. I can’t believe it’s years ago…. anyway.
I thought it was a perfect monologue choice because the character is a little awkward and uptight and unhinged and I would always be all three of those things during an audition, so it was…. using the circumstances to improve my acting. Or something.
I’m walking through the grocery store picking up ingredients to make salsa.
I see a girl that I went to high school with and duck down an aisle to hide.
As I look at the peppers I start feeling sorry that I hid.
In the frozen foods aisle I see the girl again. She’s walking with another girl.
When she gets about 4 feet away I say enthusiastically - “Hi Ashley!”. Smile. Smile. Smile.
She looks at me and says, “Hi!” in a cheery but stilted fashion and keeps walking and I realize that OH WAIT! I don’t think it’s a girl I went to high school with AT ALL! NOPE! It’s a stranger who thinks I’m some sort of psychopath!
I proceed to feel like an awkward idiot for at least 4 hours (& it will probably bother me for at least a year). This is why I usually hide from people I semi-know. Incidents like this.
This is one of my favorite pictures of my mom.
& her face in this shot is the image that comes up when she calls me on my cell phone: pure joy!
I meant to post this on Mother’s Day, but I didn’t get around to it & so it’s happening now.
I shall tell you a story that incapsulates one of the many reasons I love my mom / why she’s awesome and hilarious.
(but also a story that someone else could TOTALLY use as a horror story about their mother, but in my world - it’s amazing.)
Sometime during my middle school years, my mom suggested that I get some Alfred Hitchcock movies from the video rental place to watch because I’d never seen any. I know that we got The Birds and Psycho, but I don’t remember what else. Possibly Rope, because I know they had it there. I know it wasn’t Vertigo because I only recently saw that for the first time (and didn’t like it - one of the “classic movies” I just don’t enjoy). North by Northwest! Probably North by Northwest.
Anyway, we watched them. Delightful. I’d never look at birds the same way again. Etc.
The next morning good ol’ mom was in the midst of making breakfast when I woke up. I remember that I was downstairs talking to her and my sister and my dad for a bit, then I went upstairs to take a shower.
I stood there shampooing away without a care in the world (a terror of birds in large groups took hold but not a fear of bathing) and I didn’t even hear my mom come up the stairs or creep into the bathroom. I was only aware of her presence in the room when she flung back the curtain - BRANDISHING A KNIFE!
I screamed!
She laughed!
My sister stood out in the hallway giggling!
I heard my dad cackling in the living room downstairs!
In 2 minutes I was laughing too!
It was glorious!
It’s definitely a “family story” now, and I always pull it out as an example of her child abuse (along with the time she made me go to swimming lessons even though a bee stung me on top of my head) when joking with my mom, but I love it.
I love that my mom pretended she was going to stab me with a (hilarious / flimsy / always kept in the utensil drawer but always useless) skinny knife with a wooden handle!
She’s the greatest! I think she even made the “REEEE REEEE REE!” sound of the Bernard Herrmann’s score!
I will never be able to have a totally opaque shower curtain again for as long as I live. But that’s okay - translucence is better anyway. & it’s a small price to pay for motherly hilarity.
I love my mom.
Seeing this image over at signs and whispers brought back a childhood memory I haven’t thought of in ages & ages & ages. My dad builds houses, and he always had tons of these thick-magazine-style book-ish things featuring houses and their floor plans. My sister and I would sit on the couch together and play a game: we’d turn the page and both (as quickly as we could) point at the room that would be ours if we actually lived in the house. We’d do this a lot. And loved it.
We’d both always had our own rooms, so we weren’t doing this as kids who had been forced to share their living space and longed to have a room of their own… we just liked it.
Years later, I’d get The Sims and spend 90% of my time using the game creating families and designing their homes instead of actually playing the real “game” part of the game. This tendency may have stemmed from the floorplan-book game. Maybe.
