and i live with an enabler.

Let me just start this by saying I was wearing a Juicy tracksuit so that you get a clear idea of just how much I’d detoured from my pin-up and pop art reality to a place I’m not entirely sure should exist, but if it has to, I certainly shouldn’t be required to take up residence there.

This is the part where I should tell you that once upon a time I fancied myself a Martha. A student of cropping tools, baking tins, handmade fuckery, and invitation suites.  I not only knew what the fuck decoupage was but may have in fact been known to scour thrift stores to secure furniture not even your grandma wants so I could turn it into a smiling puppy bedecked monstrosity worthy only of Regretsy fame, but certainly not a place in your living room.

I tend to gloss over this portion of my past the way some people skirt around their issues of drug addiction or puppy killing. I’ve worked through my issues. Bludgeoned the Martha portion of my brain, and now only get crafty when converting my never used refrigerator into a shoe closet.

But last Sunday, I somehow found myself crossed-legged on the living room floor, clad in a $200 track suit, hand-addressing a half-billon envelopes in make-believe calligraphy, and contemplating the finer points of adhesives and the exact radius of a ribbon’s curl within an A7 envelope.

Either 1. Something had gone TERRIBLY wrong in my own little self-centric universe or 2. I was throwing a baby shower, which would in fact corroborate my first point. So the answer, I suppose,  is C. All of the above:  obviously something has gone terrifyingly awry because I have somehow found myself showering babies. Or something.

It’s not that I don’t love my sister in law. Or babies. I do in fact adore the shit out of said lawful relation and am as yet undecided as to whether babies are in fact little Lucifers disguised only by their pigtailed heads and cherubic cheeks, or whether they are just lesser demons intent on nothing more than covering the world in shit and snot and other bodily fluids while simultaneously ruining your body, stealing you free time, and lighting your money on fire.

See? This is why the Katie throwing a baby shower thing is a sure sign of the apocalypse. I plan on inviting Voldemort and just being done with it.

But that was before the relapse. Before I returned to the bar, hit the bottle, and was a full blown addict in a matter of hours. And by bar I mean Paper Source, and by bottle I mean sticker aisle, and by hours I mean seconds.

So, while I THANKGOD foresee no baby shaped objects in my future, near or otherwise- I am all sorts of Juicy sweatpant wearing, Stepford wife baking, let’s Martha the shit out of this bitch on board to throw the most spectacular baby shower in all the land.

See, kids? Addiction is fun.


~ by rubylocks on September 28, 2010.

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