Friday, February 17, 2006

Shit Sandwich Picnic

I wake up this morning, hungover and grumpy, on a girlfriend’s couch. It's raining outside, and I have no umbrella, which means I have to go through the to-buy-or-not-to-buy debate, which ends, predictably, with me $6 poorer and my new umbrella turned inside-out and busted five minutes later. The functionally retarded people who work at Dunkin’ Donuts on East 42nd street can’t figure out how to put my coffee and hangover sandwich in the same bag, nor do they have a plastic bag. Again, predictably, the (sodden) bag with coffee rips. So there I am, sleepy and wet, clutching my iced coffee in one hand, and my sandwich and broken, bat-winged umbrella in the other, two bags heavy with manuscripts flung like Marley’s chains around my shoulders. If Marley’s chains had been made of romance novels.

I finally arrive at work, and who should I run into in the lobby, in my state of great dishevelment, with last night’s whiskey on my breath, but the cute boy who works on the floor below me, the one who reminds me of Kumar. We say nice, polite things to each other and he courteously asks me if I’m doing anything special for the weekend. I refrain from saying “Getting very drunk. Again.” and stick with the safe-if-lame “Oh, just relaxing. Probably sleeping a lot.” To which Kumar replies, “Yeah, me too. They been working me like a two dollar ho.” This makes me laugh, and for that I am grateful. It may even qualify as the high point of my month.

You see, dear friends, I have just come through the shittiest four weeks of personal Screwsan history. Let me not get into details except to say that being dumped on Valentines Day by my boyfriend of three years was not nearly the worst of it. Let your hearts well with pity, and forgive me for being such a lazy-ass blogger.

Also note: January 15 – February 15, 2006 is now stricken from the calendar. And February 14, specifically, will never be spoken of again. From now on, we will know it as The Day That Shall Not Be Named.

Yes, I think this it’s time to leave this shit sandwich picnic to the ants, pack up my blanket and roll the fuck out of here. March, I can’t wait to see you. Boston Birthday Boys: I’ll be up soon.


p.s.—Before the world took a short trip to hell, I promised to tell you the story of how I saved the life of one of my favorite punkers. Here it is: On the way to a Keys to the Streets of Fear show in Greater Bumblefuck, Brooklyn, a girl approaches me and asks me to walk with her because she's being followed by a big white van. Sure enough, there, a block away, idles a big white van lit only by parking lights. She takes my arm and we swoop around the corner, walking quickly in the direction of the bar to which (as it turns out) we're both headed. On the way we talk, trying to distract ourselves from our impending rape and dismemberment. Turns out she’s Molly from Bratmobile, my first and favorite punk rock band when I was a wee teen. Bratmobile was a lesbo power trio from Olympia that I think pre-dates Sleater-Kinney. Their cover of Cherry Bomb is totally fucking boss. Molly and I made it to the bar alive. Thanks Molly.


Blogger steve said...

I don't know which is worse, your heartbreak on valentine's day or the fact that a comment from a kumar lookalike could be the high point of your month.

Know this, things could be worse, but they will get better.

I don't know exactly what my schedule will be like next week, but I'll be in Philly, so I may drive up to The City for a bit. What are your plans?

11:26 AM  
Blogger Screwsan said...

Steve, this is true, especially if you come to NYC. Yay! My plans for next week are to work and cry myself to sleep every night. Yours?

Also, I do believe my old friend Keefer will be in town. Right, K? When are you coming again? Um. Feel free to email me back with that.

12:45 PM  
Blogger The Count Del Monte said...

Dear Susan,
My sincere condolences on your shitty life sandwich. You do, however, read books for a living. Plus you are a tight piece of ass. So cheer up, do a cartwheel, and stay the fuck out of Dunkin' Donuts.

Oh, and true to your artist roots, you have channeled your pain into a bittersweet yet hilarious post. So congrats on that. See, you are a success! Yeah for you!

1:51 PM  
Anonymous hilary said...

oh, schmusan/charlie star . . . why are we both gifted/cursed w/ being so insanely witty in our moments of deepest depression/heartbreak?? i miss you and i wish i could fill your glass of cheap vodka to the brim while listening to vh1 80s crap right now.


p.s. write me at and i promise to make you laugh bitterly

4:17 PM  
Blogger Screwsan said...

aw, you guys are the best.

10:08 AM  
Blogger Tim said...

sorry to hear about your heartbreak on valentine's day. not cool. i am curious as to what prompted you to say that this episode was "not nearly the worst" of the last month.

anyway, i'll send you your neutral milk hotel cd that you left in my car, but i'm afraid my heart will not well with pity. i only pity the helpless, which doesn't include you.

hi hansel, steve, and hilary.

laughing (bitterly),

10:09 AM  

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