1. I really ought to stop listening to Seven Nation Army and Killing in the Name of.
2. Never watch Perfect Blue if you're a girl sitting home alone. What a mind-fuck.
3. I've already failed in my resolve to avoid my spastacular aunt and 'uncle' - my mother made me phone up this morning, and lo and behold, who answered the phone and started chatting like the whole fiery argument thing had been some kind of wavering dream sequence with bluebirds and happy little elves and male characters from Yu-Gi-Oh! making out in the background? My aunt, that's who. What the hell.
The weather held for at least one more day. In fact, it held so well that despite my SPF40 sunscreen and my dapper hat, my face is still tinged pink. Great. Thank you.
What can I say? It was a strenuous day by the pool. I went swimming. I made pancakes. I lay outside reading. I went swimming. I read some more. I went swimming.
I lost my keys. Yes. It was a moment of extreme paranoia. When it comes to me at home, alone, I am mildly paranoid at best. I would blame Armand, but as we all know, vampires can�t steal your keys in broad daylight. Unless maybe he used his vampire wiles to make a bird fly in through the window and snatch them up. CAW CAW it would say, YOUR KEYS ARE MINE, AS IS THE SECURITY OF YOUR HOME.
But, I told myself as I began to imagine the beating of the wings, Armand doesn't need keys anyway. He's already in the walls. And the birds probably weren't smart enough to act on their own.
That still left the Hitler possibility, but where would he get a time machine at this time of year? Everything is booked out everywhere in the holiday season.
Aaaaanyways, I started frantically searching the house. I hadn�t been anywhere, afterall, other than out to walk the dogs. And obviously I had my keys when I got home from there, because I let myself in.
I searched all the rooms. I folded the laundry. I rattled the garbage bags I�d taken out. I looked in the fridge, and all the cupboards I�d gotten pancake ingredients out of. I looked in my shoes, under the couch, under the bed under the Christmas tree and in the bathroom drawer with the toothbrushes.
This misplacement of my keys was only concerning (we do have spares) because quite simply: if you do not know where your keys are, there is a possibility that someone else does. I could have left a note on my front door saying DEAR MISTEHR PERSON PLZ LET URSELF IN AND LEAVE MAI KEYS ON TEH TABLE, but it probably wouldn�t have been highly effective. Unless I was offering some sort of reward money.
After a good fifteen minutes of searching I sat myself down, closed my eyes, and started to retrace every. single. thing. I had done up to that point in time. After a few tedious moments, I arrived at the last time I�d had my keys... I came in. I... washed my hands in the bathroom. I... went back into the kitchen. I... looked out the window and saw the dogs watching me, and realised I hadn�t given them their breakfast. I... went to the cupboard by the back door, put my keys down on the stand with the potatoes and thought to myself, �Do not forget these�, while I got out some dog biscuits.
Elementary, my dear Watson. Now, make sweet, homoerotic love to me.
Anyway, I didn�t leave the house all day, so what more do you people want from me? I did find the headline �Fat Americans overwhelm machines� in the newspaper and I laughed mighty hard, because I needed a good laugh after the front page made me cry. Also, it brought to mind some kind of Matrix-esque future in which all the hackers are fat. I mean, if the Matrix was real, all those rebel residual self images would consist of Keanu... And all the bodies plugged in would need extra large recliners because they�d be those of the comic store guy from The Simpsons.
I bet they�d beat the machines. They could sit on them.
I have nothing against overweight people. It's the newspaper's fault. (I am afraid of
America, but who the hell isn't?)
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