You're too busy, eating sesame sticks discounted from TJ Maxx

"...you're too busy, eating sesame sticks discounted from TJ Maxx." said my boyfriend in the voice of Veronica Cartwright from Witches of Eastwick.

And that's true. I just can't seem to get enough of those discounted sesame sticks from TJ Maxx. And that artichoke spread. And Tajin gummy peach rings.

You're probably asking yourself, "What kind of a person eats food from TJ Maxx?" And fuck you for judging me. I am clearly the kind of person that eats food from TJ Maxx; a desperate man on the edge of apex absurdity.

How did we get here? That is a somewhat longer conversation.

We went to visit my mother somewhere deep in the Pine Barrens. Her den was awash in tiny sparkle lights in mason jars and decorative vases as we watched a show called Neighborhood Wars featuring videos and interviews centering around neighbors behaving badly. There was a lot of yelling and cursing, some hammers, and very few bras. I love shows like this because they are gross and I'm gross for enjoying them. So, gross to them and gross to me too. Also, these shows are even more fun to watch with my mother because she has already watched all of the episodes, so I get the benefit of her commentary.

A couple of weeks later, we came back for Thanksgiving and there were two more iterations of this show: Customer Wars and Road Wars. Now, the themes of these shows are obvious but what became more obvious was that these videos are largely new and all from the Covid years. Neighborhood Wars came out in late 2021 and claims in the intro that because of an influx of people moving into the suburbs, "relationships between neighbors are being put to the test". People are behaving badly. Things are getter worse. The news is disturbing, and the bombs could drop at any moment, but keep going to work and act like everything is fine. Precariat!

Everybody has gone crazy. You know that, right? All you have to do is look around.

Christmas Wars is coming out soon, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to it immensely.

We decorated the tree and watched some Christmas movies, the horrific Polar Express leading the pack for the title of Creepiest Holiday Movie Ever. Starring Tom Hanks, Tom Hanks, Tom Hanks, and Tom Hanks. Heart stopping train action, bad character acting, little teeth, hobo ghosts, and the uncanny valley. It's my boyfriend's favorite Christmas movie, so I must endure it year after year just like he must endure the 24-hour Christmas Story cycle at my mother's house. We all make sacrifices in the name of love and Christmas.

I'm never really sure where these things are going to go. Perhaps that's the point.

Nelson is doing an online yoga class right now as I write this, and they are talking about yoga blocks. It makes me think about how overpriced Whole Foods is. You can get that yoga mat for $39.99 at Whole Foods or $14.99 at TJ Maxx. $7.99 for that seasonal hot cocoa in the glass bottle at Whole Foods or $4.99 for the exact same thing at TJ Maxx. I think that if you aren't eating food from TJ Maxx, you are the asshole.

Tom's of Maine toothpaste is $9.99 a tube now. Isn't that insane? I'm about to make my own toothpaste out of rocks and salt at this point.

Well, that's all for now. Back to designing t-shirts and drinking ginger beer.

This message brought to you by Cologuard. Cologuard: we'll tell you if you have colon cancer. Maybe.

Midnight Musings

Somewhere, there is a Universe where beards have magical powers and all the different beards have different powers. They wouldn't be like normal beards you could grow, but rather wear like you would wear a hat. One day you might wear the Beard of Storms and another the Wind Whiskers. Something to think about.

There is another Universe where Moms run the world and all of the superheroes and supervillians in this world are also Moms. We'll call it the Mommiverse.

In this week's issue, the Mother (pronounced like the insect, the moth, +er) goes up against Behemom and Mombie! No one ever pronounces the Mother's name correctly and it's a running joke for her entire professional life.

In the Mommiverse, there are lima beans with every meal; bed time is 7:30PM, even in the Summer when the Sun is still out; and all the moms communicate using a made-up language, possibly based on Italian, but maybe not. Meatballs always have yellow raisins in them and will be served with a sauce made from grape jelly and chili sauce; don't ask any questions!

It is 11:39PM and I want to call this entry "Midnight Musings" so I will write until midnight for authenticity's sake.

On an ocean world, deep below the surface, a massive system of gears and clockwork tick away unbeknownst to the island dwellers above. One night, an alien craft arrives and contaminates the seas, causing sudden and horrible mutations in the sealife. The island inhabitants are terrorized by aquatic abominations while the kind and telepathic whales of the emerald waters try to fight the aberration and protect the ancient machine that created their world. Will they purify the Great Sea and save the surface dwellers while protecting their secret?

I need a snack. Bad.

My baby made me tuna salad with jalapeno hummus and avocado instead of mayo and some other secret ingredients (celery). Put that on some toast. Mm mm, bitch. The New York Times called it "[a] tuna tour de force."

Fin-sational. Two flippers up. We were stuffed to the gills. Somebody stop me.

Goodnight now. Sleeps are upon me, you sweet bacons.

Circus Peanuts

Now with Nutritionally Oriented Clowns!

Circus Peanuts originated in the 19th century in Nebraska. Some dude made them, modeled after a peanut-shaped insulation material used in barns. He distributed them once a year when the circus came to town. Hence, Circus Peanuts. Thanks, Nebraska.

They were originally orange flavored, but now they are predominantly banana flavored (but orange colored). Neither flavor makes sense to me, really. Why make it in the shape of a peanut and taste like a banana or an orange? Make it in the shape of a fucking banana and make it yellow. It's an affront to the delicacy of my nature.

Screenshot from the Circus Peanut wikipedia page. "Academics enjoying circus peanuts"? I'm not buying it.

You might be asking yourself, "Who cares, Dave? What are you going on about?"

I'm obsessed with them. We should discuss this further.

Candy falls into a few categories for me:

1. Granny Candy: Werther's Originals, those strawberry ones with the goo inside, Andes Mints, spice drops, ribbon candy, violets, Mary Janes, Tootsie Rolls, Good and Plenty, Black Jack gum.

2. that Good Good: Butterfinger, Almond Joy, Jolly Ranchers, KitKats, Peanut M&Ms, Reeses anything, Big League Chew, Twix, Nerds

3. Vom-O-Rama: candy corn, the pumpkins that are made of the same filth as candy corn, circus peanuts, those weird dots on the paper strip - what IS that?

It's no secret that I'm neurotic. I zero in on one thing and it's very distracting. Every time I see a cellophane bag full of circus peanuts, something inside me tingles. If I'm out with someone and I see a bag, I will try to get the person to buy them and eat them. No one likes Circus Peanuts, so my gentle suggestion degrades into a dare. To date, no one has ever taken that dare despite relentless goading. For sooth, I seriously doubt anyone actually buys them (Unless you hate yourself or it's a gag gift. Ooo! Christmas idea!) Are candy companies still making them just for the hell of it? Is there a big following for Circus Peanuts? Are these the kinds of things that keep me up on a Wednesday night? Truly. Who likes them? Am I friends with people that eat Circus Peanuts? Closeted Circus Peanut sympathizers? Make yourselves known. I'll be merciful.

Candy Corn is another one. I know that I hate them, yet any time they are made available I will still try one. Like, "I know I don't like these, but maybe I'm not remembering it right. Let me try one just to make sure."

Wash it down with a Kombucha. What is wrong with everyone? Kombucha does not taste good. It tastes like seltzer and apple cider vinegar and yeast queefs. Don't kid yourself.

I thought this entry was going to be about Circus Peanuts, but clearly it has shifted gears and is now just about stuff I don't like. Let's continue.

Water Chestnuts? Why are you doing this to me, Chinese Food Industrial Complex? WHO LIKES WATER CHESTNUTS?! They taste like crunchy nothing! There is no point! Don't try to sell me on the texture. Crunchy. Nothing. Bye.

Lima beans? As a child, my mother left me in a dark kitchen with a plate full of lima beans and I wasn't allowed to get up from the table until the lima beans were done. F*ck lima beans.

Escargot? Never in a million years.

Creamsicles taste like poverty.

Purple flavored anything is for assholes.

I make no apologies.

More Wire Hangers

It was my mother's birthday this week, so I thought it would be nice to commemorate that occasion with a little mommy blog...

The first time I saw "Mommie Dearest", I was hooked. It was inevitable. I immediately changed my mother's contact information in my phone from "the Dark One" to "Mommie Dearest", which it remains to this day.

Being an angsty teen, I naturally tried to draw parallels between my life and Christina Crawford, but failed for a number of reasons:

1. I didn't live in the most beautiful house in Brentwood, I lived in one the crappiest houses in Midland Park.
2. My Mommie wasn't a movie star, she was a waitress (which is still an acting gig as far as I'm concerned).
3. I did not have an endless parade of "uncles" and subsequently didn't have to fix drinks for them.
4. I wasn't forced to clean anything, except for the occasional dish and even then I would always leave one or two in the sink as a form of passive aggression.
5. We were encouraged to use wire hangers because they were free. The only hangers forbidden were the hangers that my Nanny had crocheted fancy sleeves around. They were reserved for Mommie Dearest alone and it was considered a capital offense to misappropriate one of them.

Christina and I did have a few things in common:

1. Both of our mothers made the scariest faces they could muster.
2. Both of our mothers liked to drink.
3. We both knew where to find the boys and the booze.

My favorite scene, and probably the most iconic one, is the wire hanger scene. Joan comes into the children's room looking a fright and discovers a wire hanger in Christina's closet. This naturally sends her into a savage rage, kicking off my favorite monologue of all time. For your enjoyment, this is what that scene would have looked like at my house:

[Mary enters the boys' room, Newport Light 100 in one hand, remnants of a bologna sandwich in the other. She finishes the sandwich and climbs over one of David's piles to the closet. She lovingly looks through their clothes. Heineken t-shirt. Budweiser t-shirt. She stops and glares, briskly sliding the clothes off to one side to reveal a Guinness St. Patrick's Day shirt on a crocheted hanger. She snatches it from the closet rod.]

"More...wire...HANGERS! What's fancy Nanny hangers doing in this closet when I told you no fancy nanny hangers EVER?! I work and work until I'm half dead and I hear people saying 'she's getting old'. And what do I get? A SON! Who cares as much about the Coors Light t-shirts I give him...as he cares about me! What's fancy Nanny Hangers doing in this closer? Answer me! I bring you beautiful beer t-shirts from the bar and you treat them like they were some dishrag. You threw a three dollar t-shirt on a fanny Nanny hanger! We'll see how many you got hidden in here, we'll see! All of this is coming out! Out! Out! Out! Out! We're gonna see how many fancy nanny hangers you've got in your closet!"

Now that I'm older, my mother and I are less like Joan and Christina Crawford and more like Big and Little Edie Beale. I imagine one day we'll be living in a dilapidated mansion infested with raccoons and cats. I'm already bald, so all I need now is a head scarf and revolutionary outfit of the day. Picture me standing next to a eight-foot pile of tin cans talking about the craftsmanship of the banister while my mother lays in bed in a sunhat, warbling to warped records as a cat urinates behind her portrait and the corn boils on the hotplate. A girl can dream.

Happy birthday, Mommie Dearest.