Ingredients for this My Time: a tape recorder and notebook to make notes for your memoir. And probably xanax and wine nearby JUST IN CASE.
Honey, when was the last time you lived with your family? I mean, stop judging me, because you don't know what it's like when your mother is evicted and your brother gets out of jail and there they are, at Grandpa's, LIVING when you VISIT. I mean, the more you judge, the more I have to pretend I care about what you think, and the more we have to TALK instead of CONSUME which really makes this all MUCH EASIER IN THE FIRST PLACE.
Look, when you're raised rich and well, you have the freedom to
develop...eccentricities. So, your family exists with them. And oh, to
be a MAN like in a WES ANDERSON MAN FILM where being rich equals a
sophisticated separation from a culture to come to terms without the
terrible strain of having to talk to someone but always with the insipid
knowledge that you'll be whole again when you CHOOSE IT
Oh, look at you always on the verge of choosing wholeness. Honey, I applaud you. Because this blog is really for women, yet, as we know, the readership is mostly men learning how women want them to spend their millions. So, let's learn something about ladies today, okay? Here are some memories they want you to spend your money on erasing. That means that when you marry said woman, you have a good shrink with gorgeous accessories to accommodate a lady's NEEDS
I just bought two of these lovely "purses" in a German airport. Leave it to the Germans to help us all forget!
What your little Daggy wants to forget:
Scene One: Shared bathroom with 22-year-old brother. Left of sink: "Maximum confidence" deodorant, Axe body spray, Oxy cream, Mach 5 razors, and (from sister, for guidance) Keihl's chamomile toner and exfoliating facial wipes. Toilet: the place that kills several trees this summer, as so many anti-bacterial wipes need to be used to wipe away any last drop of urine.
Scene Two: a can of nacho cheese and a large Palermo's pizza on the kitchen sink. Mother claims, "I went grocery shopping," and pulls out her leftover items from the "99 Cent Store" plastic bag.
Scene Three: Brother sinks head into hands and curses under breath. Tears manifest. Mother has forgotten novelty corn-cob-shaped corn cob end holders for brother's corn cob.
Scene Four: Dude shows up after dark asking for mother. Mother answers door in underwear after being told by daughter not to let strange man in. They argue behind a closed door. They go outside to smoke. Gatorade bottles. Firetrucks show up to help neighbor. Neighbor has fallen down stairs, isn't breathing, has broken neck. Mother smokes in front of the firetruck in her bikini underwear. She watches while making her own wind in her own personal spot light
Daughter says to mother, "mom, why don't you put on some pants?" Mother asks, "why are you so mean? God," and mutters under her breath. Mother cries. Mother puts on pants. Mother goes to comfort everyone in neighbor's lawn forever.
Scene Five: Mother asks daughter nine times across the course of one week, "isn't my pool raft really cool?"
Scene Six: Daughter gives mother informal drug test. Daughter says to mother, I can't wait to afford a personal trainer because I'M SO FAT. Mother does not take bait. Result positive.
Scene Seven: a repeated image of brother laying in bed staring at various times a day. No television. No book. Sitting and looking into clasped hands on a bed. Forever.
Scene Eight: daughter walks into kitchen and finds mother folding various things into tortillas late at night. Mother looks around for an escape route and says I'M HAVING A MIDNIGHT SNACK.
Scene Nine: Daughter cooks spaghetti sauce concoction and eats that for dinner. Mother takes said concoction the next night and pours it over one pound of pasta and eats it.
Scene Ten: Grandfather yells at brother. Grandfather is wearing white socks pulled up to calves, tight white underwear, a white surgical glove on right hand with vaseline inside, and nothing else. The gloved hand points at brother. Brother listens, and obliges.
Scene Eleven: Daughter opens bedroom door to refill wine bowl. Mother's door is open. Brother's door is open. They are adults sharing a house and sleep with their bedroom doors open. Daughter decides to make a wine spritzer to utilize the crashing sound of ice from the ice machine. One week later, the pattern continues and no door has closed.
Scene Twelve: a lone red pubic hair in the bathroom sink. Whose it is, the daughter wonders. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HER LIFE SHE HAS TO WONDER IF IT'S HERS OR NOT.
Scene Thirteen: Daughter researches laser hair removal online.
Scene Fourteen: Daughter researches teeth whitening online.
Scene Fifteen: Daughter researches the Real Housewives of Vancouver online.
Scene Sixteen: Daughter thinks of herself as such. Daughter pauses, then continues the day's work on a PhD dissertation that many result in getting the average 3-year wait for a tenure-track job at a university in a place unknown, confused that this wanting something so uncertain and without benefits of sure happiness creates such a drive for success.
Scene Seventeen: PSYCH, HONEY! I had dinner with an eccentric man named David Lynch tonight. We went to a lovely Zagat-rated (that's ZaGOT) El Pollo Loco, like another rich and eccentric man from the upper echelons
and we talked over romantic candlelight that none of us we're willing to match with frank conversation, because, well, we're polite and don't speak frankly out of interest in not knowing ourselves and being comfortable and eating salmon.
Honey, you know why I married irritating men? Alimony. You know what I got alimony? Because it's a lot better than struggling through your intellectual juices to be exhausted and draining of potency. You know why I want potency? DIVORCE. BATTLES. Look, Honey, we make our own family. If you don't want to wonder if that's your pubic hair, then you can go and find a group of different-hair people to seek solace in IN THE BATHROOM. And if you don't want to struggle turning passion into marketability, don't get a PhD, get smart. A PhD happens once, and alimony is FOREVER.
I'm returning to the midwestern country this week to revisit the gigantic, expensive spiders that can be drained for the perfect facial that will work so well your face will feel like a 12-year-old's because THAT IS WHAT WOMEN WANT TO LOOK LIKE I MEAN FEEL LIKE I MEAN LOOK LIKE. Champers on me, Honey! We all know YOU clearly need IT. So it's ON ME.
"love,"
Dagmar Ottenham
Honey, when was the last time you lived with your family? I mean, stop judging me, because you don't know what it's like when your mother is evicted and your brother gets out of jail and there they are, at Grandpa's, LIVING when you VISIT. I mean, the more you judge, the more I have to pretend I care about what you think, and the more we have to TALK instead of CONSUME which really makes this all MUCH EASIER IN THE FIRST PLACE.
What your little Daggy wants to forget:
Scene One: Shared bathroom with 22-year-old brother. Left of sink: "Maximum confidence" deodorant, Axe body spray, Oxy cream, Mach 5 razors, and (from sister, for guidance) Keihl's chamomile toner and exfoliating facial wipes. Toilet: the place that kills several trees this summer, as so many anti-bacterial wipes need to be used to wipe away any last drop of urine.
Scene Two: a can of nacho cheese and a large Palermo's pizza on the kitchen sink. Mother claims, "I went grocery shopping," and pulls out her leftover items from the "99 Cent Store" plastic bag.
Scene Three: Brother sinks head into hands and curses under breath. Tears manifest. Mother has forgotten novelty corn-cob-shaped corn cob end holders for brother's corn cob.
Scene Four: Dude shows up after dark asking for mother. Mother answers door in underwear after being told by daughter not to let strange man in. They argue behind a closed door. They go outside to smoke. Gatorade bottles. Firetrucks show up to help neighbor. Neighbor has fallen down stairs, isn't breathing, has broken neck. Mother smokes in front of the firetruck in her bikini underwear. She watches while making her own wind in her own personal spot light
Scene Five: Mother asks daughter nine times across the course of one week, "isn't my pool raft really cool?"
Scene Six: Daughter gives mother informal drug test. Daughter says to mother, I can't wait to afford a personal trainer because I'M SO FAT. Mother does not take bait. Result positive.
Scene Seven: a repeated image of brother laying in bed staring at various times a day. No television. No book. Sitting and looking into clasped hands on a bed. Forever.
Scene Eight: daughter walks into kitchen and finds mother folding various things into tortillas late at night. Mother looks around for an escape route and says I'M HAVING A MIDNIGHT SNACK.
Scene Nine: Daughter cooks spaghetti sauce concoction and eats that for dinner. Mother takes said concoction the next night and pours it over one pound of pasta and eats it.
Scene Ten: Grandfather yells at brother. Grandfather is wearing white socks pulled up to calves, tight white underwear, a white surgical glove on right hand with vaseline inside, and nothing else. The gloved hand points at brother. Brother listens, and obliges.
Scene Twelve: a lone red pubic hair in the bathroom sink. Whose it is, the daughter wonders. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HER LIFE SHE HAS TO WONDER IF IT'S HERS OR NOT.
Scene Thirteen: Daughter researches laser hair removal online.
Scene Fourteen: Daughter researches teeth whitening online.
Scene Fifteen: Daughter researches the Real Housewives of Vancouver online.
Scene Seventeen: PSYCH, HONEY! I had dinner with an eccentric man named David Lynch tonight. We went to a lovely Zagat-rated (that's ZaGOT) El Pollo Loco, like another rich and eccentric man from the upper echelons
 |
| Bud |
and we talked over romantic candlelight that none of us we're willing to match with frank conversation, because, well, we're polite and don't speak frankly out of interest in not knowing ourselves and being comfortable and eating salmon.
Honey, you know why I married irritating men? Alimony. You know what I got alimony? Because it's a lot better than struggling through your intellectual juices to be exhausted and draining of potency. You know why I want potency? DIVORCE. BATTLES. Look, Honey, we make our own family. If you don't want to wonder if that's your pubic hair, then you can go and find a group of different-hair people to seek solace in IN THE BATHROOM. And if you don't want to struggle turning passion into marketability, don't get a PhD, get smart. A PhD happens once, and alimony is FOREVER.
I'm returning to the midwestern country this week to revisit the gigantic, expensive spiders that can be drained for the perfect facial that will work so well your face will feel like a 12-year-old's because THAT IS WHAT WOMEN WANT TO LOOK LIKE I MEAN FEEL LIKE I MEAN LOOK LIKE. Champers on me, Honey! We all know YOU clearly need IT. So it's ON ME.
"love,"
Dagmar Ottenham
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