Clean-up In Apt. 5

My toilet is so clean you could actually eat out of it. I swear. Come over. I’ll hook you up with some Ramen or something.

But seriously. This weekend, I found some time between hangovers and driving out to East Hampton in craptastic weather to do some much-needed cleaning in the apartment.

Not only was it dirty, but there were the obvious psychological implications associated with cleaning after a relationship falls apart. I’d actually swept through the living room after the first week, completely rearranging that into something that didn’t resemble an unholy cross between Hoarders and a college dorm room. I came really close to hanging the flat-screen on the wall out of some misdirected spite but I didn’t like the thought of the wires running down the wall to wherever I’d put the Xbox, Wii and cable box. I liked even less the thought of the TV pulling out of the wall and crashing to the floor thanks to my slapdash handywork.
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The Turducken Flies at Midnight

Shhhh. Be vewy, vewy, quiet. We’re on the trail of the Turducken, a mysterious beast that haunts the wilds of South Louisiana. It’s a hard thing to track, partly because it’s not one, but three beings that form a symbiotic parasitic relationship. First, we have the Swamp Chicken. It feeds on nothing but live crawfish, raw rice and, when it can catch it, the even-more elusive six-legged Boudin, whose chirps and squeals can be heard on rainy Louisiana nights. Next, the Ground Duck. The Ground Duck hides in its lair for months at a time, waiting for the right moment when a Swamp Chicken walks by. Then it pounces. What follows is a revolting battle as the Ground Duck distends its beak far enough to swallow the Swamp Chicken whole. The job done, it lies there defenseless, much like a boa constrictor digesting a pig. And along comes the rarely seen Pelican Turkey, which simply makes a “Gobble-gobble” noise before scooping the new formed Duck Chicken with its impressive mandibles.
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It’s a Family Tradition

Why are my uncles and cousins drunkenly wrasslin’ over a pineapple, I found myself thinking not very long ago. And why is my other cousin dancing with a mop while standing in a laundry basket?

Most of my family lives in South Louisiana and they’re Cajun through and through. Even when the crew from Ville Platte invades Face Book en masse, as they’ve been doing in the last couple of months, they bring their style to social media.
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O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree

Today, while the wife was out doing good deeds, I shook off the slight hangover and braved the wind and cold to buy a Christmas tree. I had to walk all the way across the street to the tree folks outside of the CVS on Court Street. There I bought the smallest tree I could find. They’d sold out the smallest of the small, so I ended up with a five-foot spruce of some sort. A little pricey for my liking, but it doesn’t shed as much as the cheap ones and is less likely to catch fire and kill us and everyone else in the building. Wouldn’t want our very first Christmas tree to be the very last.

Picked up some decorations from the CVS–standard shiny balls in two different sizes and two 100-bulb strands of white lights. Guess it’ll be some time before we can fill the tree with “unique” decorations. Susan felt it would be cheating if we went out and bought a barrell full of quirky things–and probably expensive. But we do have two non-traditional decorations–a plush Snoopy and a snow-boarding dog. No one who knows my wife will be surprised by this.

Unlike me, the tree looks good and smells good. Now, let’s see if I can sleep tonight or if the fear of burning to death will keep me awake.