Candy

Our phone number must be similar to that of a woman named Edna, and let me tell you: Edna gets around. I’ve received multiple phone messages confirming dates with Edna, despite the fact that our answering machine CLEARLY STATES, “Hi, you’ve reached ADAM AND JONNA” and at least twice a week — sometimes daily — I answer the phone for people seeking Edna and at least half of them are men who are clearly in the twilight of their lives in search of what sounds like a … a … well, it sounds like a mid-afternoon booty call, which is I guess what happens when you’re too old to stay up past 8 p.m. Today, a gentleman caller offered with a laugh, “Well YOU sound pretty! Do you want to have coffee? I’ll tell Edna to take a boot in the ear!”

This is all somewhat related to the fact that a quick glance at Google made me realize that I fall into the demographic of the … cougars. I’m … I could be a cougar? I think being a cougar requires a firmer waistline and a lot more swingy hair, and while no, I didn’t harbor any notions that I was young and nubile, being mocked as a potential dating prospect by the younger generation is a bit of a slap in the face. Thank God I’m married, is all I’m saying. This knowledge comes on the heels of the fact that I realized that I can no longer watch MTV without getting an enormous headache from the agony and woe that has befallen the youth of our nation. I weep for you, youth of our nation. WEEP.

Thank you for all of the tips re: the washing machine situation, and for the record, and I can’t believe I’m admitting this, I was talking to my mom on the phone and idly started doing an empty hot vinegar load and realized too late that I just filled the washing machine with two cups of red wine vinegar instead of the white vinegar I intended to grab. This is information you all probably have already, but red wine vinegar smells like a salad and it lingers. Ergo, while my towels no longer smell like the inside of someone’s ass, they DO have the vague sensibility of a salad bar.

Which reminds me of the OTHER big thrill this week, which is that we discovered a restaurant that has — my fingers are trembling at the memory — a Salad BALLROOM. That is, it has an entire ROOM devoted to all things Salad Bar and say what you will about salad bars and their cleanliness, a) I’ve never had a problem (oh ha ha, let’s JINX OURSELVES, why don’t we?); and b) I’m not particularly squeamish and I don’t eat things like say, CHUNKS OF HAM resting in a mysteriously viscous liquid. (I honestly just gagged. GAGGED). No, no, I stick to the uh, salads and fresh-type things, but mostly, I’m after the accoutrements like soups, pickles and croutons. Also, there is c) like anything, you should only eat salad bars from reputable places and this place is KNOWN for its SALAD BALLROOM.

Anyway, where I was I? I was distracted by the grand ballroom of salads. Ahem. What I meant to say before I got caught up in all of this Salad Talk was that not only does my washing machine smell like a freshly tossed salad (and wow, that works in every possible meaning of that phrase, doesn’t it?), but when it reaches maximum spin, it shakes the entire house — most specifically, our bed — like a 1970s-style PORN BED. It would be pornier if it were more subtle, and also if, say, the windows weren’t rattling off like a train was whizzing past the station. And all this is a rather daunting challenge for a person who loves to do laundry as much as I.

And with that, I’m off to watch more Dexter and pass out into the drooly abyss where I may or may not drown myself, but not before I make a surprise trip to the grocery store, because someone, I swear to God it’s not even ME, thought I said “Skittles” when in fact I’d said I’d bought “Sunkist” and is now lying supine like Cleopatra demanding a married-people joint trip to the store for Skittles. And who I am I to refuse a CANDY-RELATED ROAD TRIP?

Happy Wednesday!

*Poi Dog Pondering, which was given to me on a mix by my friend Andy, whose father is a dentist and hits the bong EVERY NIGHT before he goes to bed. HA HA. That kills me.

24 comments July 1st, 2008