The Weird Kid
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Gunts are not on Quality People
Sometimes I think I really am heading toward a gunt. That word, if you don't know, is a compilation of two words describing a fat woman's overhang, and one of those two words is "gut."
Gunts are not on quality people. That sentence got stuck in my brain at the book store yesterday. See, I had my fill of my lawn chair and staring at the Netflix envelopes on my table that perfectly matched the mood I was in when I queued them two months ago. "Modern Marvels: Candy!" So at 6:30 I drove thirty miles to town with my baby. I went to Borders.
I don't go to Borders. I don't go because I....I do not welcome myself there.
One Imez stands at the door with her arms crossed as I lug Smudge through the glass doors.
She says, "Hey, Tubby, smell that? All those books, brand new? And the music? See those pretty $6 ergonomic pens? Huh? NOT YOURS. HA!!"
Maybe if I didn't always go to the bathroom before I look around. Looking at displayed things makes me have to poop, I don't know why and I'm not proud of it. But there you are. So I always have to face the mirror.
And One Imez is there, "Jesus could you brush your hair once in awhile? Do you really think no one can see that grease spot on your shirt? The one you got while stuffing freezer taquitos in your hole?"
She continues outside, beside me while I shuffle around the discount shelves.
"Hey, Gunty. Look at all these people. Look. I want you to know, every single one of them is better than you, and they all think you have crawled out of some over-turned trailer to steal books for fuel to cook meth with. They can afford new books, cuz they have jobs. And they deserve new books, too. Because they don't shuffle around looking like a retarded hippo on welfare. NO. Put it BACK, you are not paying five dollars for a baby book. You hardly read to her anyway, Mother of the Year."
Gunts are not on quality people. So, under that sort of abuse you can imagine I rebelled last night. I went to the cheap shelves, proto-gunt be damned, like a starving squirrel with a stolen nut. I bought two $4 books for Smudge. I bought a 50% off tiny package of blueberry-pie body wash ("Yeah, like it's gonna help, little piggy.") for $5. And as a trembling middle-finger to One Imez, I bought a collection of Looney Toons for full price, $26. Looney Toons are worth their weight in gold. They completely arrest my daughter while resting me, and dammit if they aren't kinda funny, too.
I didn't bring the bags in till this morning, and Sean saw them. He was...well, mad. He and One Imez were mad.
He said, "This is why we don't get ahead." He had one hand on the two Goodwill shirts I bought the baby for $4 total. I said, "Hey! C'mon! What are you holding in your hand right there?" I mean, c'mon. Goodwill.
He held up the other hand. "A Border's bag." He recounted how much I spent yesterday, including gas and fast food. It was a lot. I had nothing to say.
It hadn't been a logical excursion, it never had been, not from the start.
Besides, buying stuff won't make One Imez go away. Or my gunt. It just gives me less reason to hold my head up, I guess.
Gunts are not on quality people. That sentence got stuck in my brain at the book store yesterday. See, I had my fill of my lawn chair and staring at the Netflix envelopes on my table that perfectly matched the mood I was in when I queued them two months ago. "Modern Marvels: Candy!" So at 6:30 I drove thirty miles to town with my baby. I went to Borders.
I don't go to Borders. I don't go because I....I do not welcome myself there.
One Imez stands at the door with her arms crossed as I lug Smudge through the glass doors.
She says, "Hey, Tubby, smell that? All those books, brand new? And the music? See those pretty $6 ergonomic pens? Huh? NOT YOURS. HA!!"
Maybe if I didn't always go to the bathroom before I look around. Looking at displayed things makes me have to poop, I don't know why and I'm not proud of it. But there you are. So I always have to face the mirror.
And One Imez is there, "Jesus could you brush your hair once in awhile? Do you really think no one can see that grease spot on your shirt? The one you got while stuffing freezer taquitos in your hole?"
She continues outside, beside me while I shuffle around the discount shelves.
"Hey, Gunty. Look at all these people. Look. I want you to know, every single one of them is better than you, and they all think you have crawled out of some over-turned trailer to steal books for fuel to cook meth with. They can afford new books, cuz they have jobs. And they deserve new books, too. Because they don't shuffle around looking like a retarded hippo on welfare. NO. Put it BACK, you are not paying five dollars for a baby book. You hardly read to her anyway, Mother of the Year."
Gunts are not on quality people. So, under that sort of abuse you can imagine I rebelled last night. I went to the cheap shelves, proto-gunt be damned, like a starving squirrel with a stolen nut. I bought two $4 books for Smudge. I bought a 50% off tiny package of blueberry-pie body wash ("Yeah, like it's gonna help, little piggy.") for $5. And as a trembling middle-finger to One Imez, I bought a collection of Looney Toons for full price, $26. Looney Toons are worth their weight in gold. They completely arrest my daughter while resting me, and dammit if they aren't kinda funny, too.
I didn't bring the bags in till this morning, and Sean saw them. He was...well, mad. He and One Imez were mad.
He said, "This is why we don't get ahead." He had one hand on the two Goodwill shirts I bought the baby for $4 total. I said, "Hey! C'mon! What are you holding in your hand right there?" I mean, c'mon. Goodwill.
He held up the other hand. "A Border's bag." He recounted how much I spent yesterday, including gas and fast food. It was a lot. I had nothing to say.
It hadn't been a logical excursion, it never had been, not from the start.
Besides, buying stuff won't make One Imez go away. Or my gunt. It just gives me less reason to hold my head up, I guess.
posted by Imez at 2:21 PM
9 Comments:
I have to drive about 30 miles to get to a bookstore too. Sometimes I go there and hang out, let my little one play while I browse and then go without buying anything. Is that wrong? I always seem to forget to return my books to the library too.
When I turned 30 for some reason I stopped thinking about what I thought other people were thinking about me. I think it is mainly because my brain function slowed down to where I can't keep up with all that noise in my head.
Thanks for stopping by and saying hello on my blog. It is true that my daughter is content, or maybe she just enjoys hiding away from the rest of the world.
I learned a new word today. One i will toss around in casual conversation as if i'd always known it.
Oh, and it's good to hear from you.
I can't tell if you're one of those people who writes about the actual state of things in a way that's supposed to evoke laughter. I assume you are. As it is, this post rings far too true with me to laugh.
I'm sorry you also suffer from other you's who bring you down.
And I'm also sorry that Sean has the same tendency as so many men in my life of pointing out things that displease him in a very non-helpful and demeaning manner.
hummmm...I can see that you're someone who's going to make me think aren't you?! ;)
The 2 imez's...that's deep doll....deep. I completely see it in myself though.
Geesh...all this thinking my grape's gonna be doing is gonna give me a headache...Do you have any Advil by chance?
I'll read more of you later ;)
Man, I've never been demeaned in the way you demean yourself. One Imez can suck it.
Why don't you go to Powells?
marsh-I just turned 30...maybe that independence of thought will set in any day now
meno- I missed you a lot. And try not to have too many conversations involving gunts.
alyssa- I am one of those people, sometimes. You should do some posts about those men in your life. Thanks for commiserating.
tt- I would never forgive myself if your grape popped on my behalf. Take it easy.
mignon- Well, presumably that is why I've spent thousands dollars more in therapy and paying for stays on mental wards than you have. Also, if I were a smokin' cute engineer I'd demean myself less. And finally, I know this is heresy but Powell's makes me feel dizzy. I just can't take it all in.
There's always going to be a "well that's easy for you to say, you've got [x,y,z]..."
Your therapy comes in the form of an actual individual with a degree on his/her wall and a box of tissues on his/her desk. Mine comes in the form of a ball and field of grass, and I've spent the last 25 years in my therapy.
Yes, I can see that about Powell's. You have to limit yourself to one section. It used to be easier when it was seedy. But the books are so much cheaper is all.
mignon-
I know, I hated myself for the "well if I were you part" yet just couldn't keep myself from writing it. Kinda snivelly and disregards all the good stuff I have other people would do well with.
Mignon- The Real Soccer Mom
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