A kinda just "eh" post-holiday movie about a spinster and her cats staring at an empty, dark fireplace cluttered with Halloween decorations she hasn't put away yet because she apparently developed a new issue this past Fall called: I Can't Put the Halloween Decorations Away Yet.
RUN TIME: 676 minutes
We were standing in the kitchen on Christmas morning, when my dad told me, "You're going to end up one of those statistics on the news."
"You have to be more specific," I said. "What statistic?" (This is a big bag to pull from, Dad.)
And he simply said . . . "Recluse." It was almost a whisper, as if he were casting a spell out into the universe. "They'll investigate why you had no heat in the house when they find you, and they'll discover that you DID have a functioning furnace, and they'll go, 'Oooh, recluse.'"
I countered with, "Eccentric." (Please let the records show that I would prefer to be called "eccentric" in my end-of-life documentation.) "There are completely valid reasons I don't use the heat in winter. And eventually, I'll get the fireplace cleaned out and get some fires going, and the house will be a nice, toasty 67-68."
"What's wrong with the fireplace?"
"Nothing. It's just that the spiders have made a really nice home in there. I've gotta relocate them first."
And my dad just looked at me and repeated . . . "Recluse" -- the sounds coming from his mouth like a Schweizer singing "Reeecola!" but with colder, harsher, indoor scenery and far more shame.
I finished my juice and toast. As I went to the sink with my dishes, I told my dad, "I'm not a recluse, you know. I go to a lot of comedy shows."
"That was like a 5-minute delayed response. You know that, right?"
(Whatever, Dad. I'm not a recluse. Now excuse me while I sit alone in your spare bedroom and do whatever it is that I do in there by myself for hours at a time.)
What was Ronnie D doing ten years ago today -- the day after Christmas -- in the year of our lord, 2007?
Well, it's a December 26th Miracle! Because I just came across a notebook entry regarding this exact thing:
So at this time, I’ve been off my pills for 13 days and on a balanced diet of NyQuil and vodka, and I’m driving to Blythe in the middle of the night to meet some guy I met on the internet.
This picture was not from the actual notebook entry. This is obviously a reenactment in the garish light of day.
Um, not to like "your-elder" you, but don't even talk to me about swiping left or right, kids.
In my day, we had to drive to middle-of-nowhere-destinations to rendezvous with people we thought we might have a soul connection with. We put in work. It wasn't like your current, lazy internet dating days where you just uber dick or pussy to your door. Like, oooh, we're perfect together; we both like graffiti.
In my day, it was like oooh, yeah, we're both pretty fucked up, but we vibe, man. And your mutual friends were like, "Hey, you two are gonna stab each other. You know that, right?" And you were like, "That's fucking stupid. You don't even know us at all. We would never stab each other . . . . Sure, his ex-now-and-again-kinda-current-girlfriend might stab me. But that's a whole different story."
Long gone are the days of the romantics.
We took heartfelt chances!
We lived with abandon!
We were lucky . . .
We didn't pick a sociopath that time.
Or, did we?
*Law and Order sound*
(Click below for the sound if you do not feel confident enough in yourself to recreate it in your head for the correct effect. I believe in you, but unless YOU believe in YOU, my belief means nothing. This is basic Karate-Kid / Mr. Miyagi shit. The New Year is coming; it's time to envision your bonsai.)
Step 1) Choose the image you IMMEDIATELY gravitate toward.
Cute holiday kitty, found in the Hidden House alley one night when I was wasted, complete with my grandmother's Hip Swinging Santa that I inherited. (Yes, the one I stole the batteries from so I could use my vibrator.)
Me shopping for knives off the 40 when I had bigger tits.
Step 2) Write your own holiday message. Only you know what you want me to say to you. Just have me say it. I'd get it all wrong anyways.
Step 3) Start over if you want. Winter is cold. And long. I can send more pics if you need 'em. I've got a super festive one of a headless doll on trash day too.
__________________________ to you!!!
In Case You Were Wondering . . .
Sometimes Ronnie D writes funny stuff. Sometimes she writes desperate teenage prose. Most times she just slams her feeble, little woman-hand onto the keyboard in an attempt to feel something, anything.