I’ve finally found my way to Curb Your Enthusiasm, and people, it’s true love. I heart Larry David so much I want to doodle his name all over my Trapper Keeper. I think I could be entertained listening to him read the Gideon Bible.
No offense, Gideons. But you do just give your gospel away for free in hotel room drawers. Maybe if you made me work for it a bit, you know? I don’t even have to buy you a drink first. You’re kind of like the hooker of religions, if you think about it. You’re totally a forty six year old wearing leather and too much eyeliner waiting in the lobby.
So, yeah. The beauty of Larry David’s character is that he’s well-intentioned but always ends up in awkward situations and then exacerbates the awkward. Not unlike SOMEONE ELSE YOU KNOW. Ahem. Roll tape.
I’m redoing my kitchen. And by “I’m” I mean random collections of sweaty men. Usually I’m not home when the magic happens, but this week I’m on school vacation. Actually, there was an electrician here yesterday swearing up a blue streak when I happened to walk downstairs. I walked out of my bedroom and froze when I heard him ranting; it’s a discombobulating thing to hear a stranger pitching a fit in your front hall. Five seconds after “fuck balls” was coming out of his mouth he was apologizing profusely “for using profanity like that in front of an angel.” Okay then.
So anyway, granite, new cabinets, new appliances. I basically waited until everything in my kitchen was broken or 1,000 years old before taking the plunge. And hey, we all have to do our part to support the economy. The carpenter is the one in charge of everything, and he does awesome work. This week I’ve been bringing him Dunkacinnos and promising not to touch his power tools.
The other day I was eating lunch with him. He held up his energy drink so I could see it and said, “Hey, have you tried these?”
“Mmm, no…I think there’s some Red Bulls in the fridge, though.”
“These are MUCH better than Red Bull. They’re not too sugary. They give you a really natural energy boost. There’s no crash afterwards. They have all these vitamins. They’re really healthy. And they taste really good.”
“Ha, what, do you work for them?” Um, yeah, turns out HE DOES. He sells these random energy drinks on the side. And so began him working references to free radicals and antioxidants into totally unrelated conversations in painfully obvious ways.
I was escaping yesterday when he stopped to show me what he’d put in my fridge. It looks like a bottle of red wine and retails for the totally reasonable $37. If I have that amount of money to spend on an energy supplement, it’s going to be crystal meth, am I right? Can I get a what what?
“Drink about two ounces,” he tells me. I nod as if I understand how much two ounces is. And when I get back home after he’s left, I put a little in a cup. It looks like purple sludge. It tastes like purple sludge. I look through my fridge at what I can add to it (Grey Goose? I’m on vacation, people!) and settle on Sprite Zero.
No dice. The magical acai berry It still tastes like grape-flavored ass. And it’d be easier to avoid the sales pitch if the juice salesman wasn’t camped out in my kitchen as I type this.