I'm sitting on the floor of my living room, with Death cab for Cutie pulsing out of the stereo behind me. My latest project: painting my toenails. I'm painting over this particularly nasty orange color which I've been sporting since God knows when. You see, we are out of polish remover. The last of it I spilled on the carpet of my room two weeks ago.
Good Lord.
I'm smiling a bit now. That's what Coach Tony always says, "Good Lord."
My smile is bittersweet. Soccer season has officially ended, and I miss everyone so much. We went out with a bang, though. My team won all three of our Showcase games and I got another card, yellow, this time. My favorite moment of last weekend, although, was when Gwen took out the ref as she was going for the ball near the sidelines. Needless to say, we did not get any of our sportsmanship points.
I'm reaching over my Neosporin-lathered knees to redo my pinkie toe.
My knees . . . Good . . . Lord . . .
I am carrying five months worth of war wounds inflicted by soccer. Last weekend was particularly rough.
I've counted four bruises, two of them rather large, three impressive scrapes and countless other nicks and cuts.
Please don't ask me how.
And as I'm sitting there, my knees stinging and Ben Gibbard crooning in my ear, the fumes of polish infecting my nose . . . I realize I feel happy.
Really, really happy.
And as soon as I realize it, I scowl.
You know, I got a mail the other day that informed me my column was about "nothing".
Oh, really?
It reminds me of "Seinfeld", kind of. I was watching it with my dear friend teddy a couple of weeks ago (She's in Wisconsin for the summer. It's terribly sad.) and I said, "I've heard a lot of people say that 'Seinfeld' is a show about nothing."
Teddy was silent for a long time, then, with her eyes still trained on Cosmo Kramer's unruly hair, she said, "It's not a show about nothing . . . It's a show about everything."
Huh.
That's how I like to think of my column now -- a column about everything. The column might be about everything, but I realized I've never made an article inside the column itself about everything.
So here it is. This week's column is about . . . everything. Anything that pops into my mind at the time. It's nice to have you along for the ride.
By the time this comes out, school will be out and summer will have begun.
I'm excited, of course. Summer means days doing absolutely nothing without feeling guilty. It means watching Matthew and Keanu doing stunts in the alleyway with their stolen shopping cart. It means sunglasses and shorts. It means days thinking about things I shouldn't be thinking about.
Mainly, boys.
Those reading of the male species, you are utterly confusing.
I'm writing this at two o'clock in the morning. You see, earlier in the afternoon I took a nap and woke up around seven. It was still light out, a bit foggy and gray so for some reason, I thought it was seven in the morning. I, being the stubborn and half-asleep, argued with my mother for a long while and almost convinced her, too, until she pointed out that "The Bachelorette" was on, and did they really air that show in the morning?
Oh. Silly me.
Needless to say, I am not tired.
I'm writing the original article in a notebook I found under my bed. I hardly ever write anything out by hand. For me, the computer is the way to go. But for this article, pen and paper seems fitting.
Earlier today, I was reading this horrid chick novel I picked off of Lauren's shelves. It's really shallow. There's a lot of kissing, but the story is set in England, so they call it snogging.
Snogging is a very unattractive word. And our heroine in the story, speaking of unattractive, likes a very gross boy. She is snogging a very gross boy.
If anyone has any better literature suggestions, they are most welcome.
I think it's time to go to bed. Death Cab for Cutie will soon wake someone up, and I already feel inspired and fulfilled enough for one night. I am very happy to write this, and I'm very happy you read it.
If you were wondering, this week's column title is not supposed to relate to the article, so if you're sitting there trying to figure it out, your chai-tea out of luck.
Chai tea. Good Lord. There's a good story with that one.
Good night, Whyville, and much love,
Glitsygrl
Author's Note: The column you voted on for me to finish last week will be in next week, don't worry.
