Gina and the fly

I can handle many things, but I can't handle handles that are impossible to handle.  

Especially when your husband informs you he got the only reservation he could--in twenty minutes.

I can take very quick showers, bit I need very friendly handles in order to do so. These handles were obstinate.  Incredibly so

There is a fly in the room and noisy kids in the hall, and 'though I realize both can  potentially disturb my sleep, neither are going to lick me incessantly.  Neither will be given the option:  "Do you want the squirt bottle..or "the card?"

For those of you unfamiliar with "the card" it is the only weapon that works on our demented dog.  Evan gave it to Jim for Father's Day, and when you open the card and pull on the tab, it makes some kind of jumbled noises that humans hear as "happy father's day" and horny poodles hear as "you will lose an ear if you continue with that humping."

I don't know why it works, but it works.

We made our reservation and we seated at a very wobbly table just as the rain started, splashing water that ricocheted from the parked car onto our rocking table.

We decided to stay because I did not want to return to a hotel room with a fly in it, and we couldn't get reservations anywhere else.

Our waitress was Gina, who made Twyla seem like Debbie Downer.  Her cheerfulness was contagious.  She must have heard about the fly in the room and wanted to lift my spirits.

She weighed all of ninety pounds and lugged out an umbrella on a heavy stand that could have killed about a dozen people, but that smile never left her face.

She was great with the fresh ground pepper; greater with the umbrella; greater still by regaling us with what it's like to be a traveling nurse in the age of Covid. (It seems to suck a lot more than a buzzing insect disturbing one's slumber)

She found the last straw--literally, the last straw in the building, and I was gracious, even 'though it was paper and began to dissolve the minute it hit liquid.

I so sound like I'm complaining and I so am not.

I just miss normalcy--and I am very much a virgin to this wearing a mask for more than four minutes thing.

(Hah!  My choice of words reminds me of one one my favorite lines in SC, when someone accused David Rose of being a virgin, in a non-sexual situation and he sniped:  "yeah..try telling that to a half dozen people on my Birthright trip."

That line alone should make you as obsessed as I am.

It is great being married to an engineer, who will stop at nothing until what he's working on works.

Today it was the portable bidet.  He read all the instructions on the inside and outside box and watched a few You Tube videos.

He gave me a demo both inside and outside the bathroom and I prayed that there are no hidden cameras anywhere.

We then discover it needs two triple AAA batteries, and neither had it on our person, and Jim didn't want to don a mask and look for a drug store where he might be asked why he needed them.

So I call the front desk, identify myself as Mrs. Amster, (NOT "Karen"--that would have gotten me absolutely NOWHERE) and asked for the batteries, which Jim was able to pick up free of charge moments later.

The bidet is now sitting on the bathroom sink and it looks and sounds like a vibrator.  Neither of us are comfortable with housekeeping drawing the wrong conclusions, so we're just hoping for the best.

My problem is:  if I hear a strange buzzing noise at 2:00 AM, will it be Jim?

Or..some other occupant of this damn room..that flipping FLY!???

Good night you Princes of Maine, you Kings of New England.

Greetings from Avalon

I so desperately needed a getaway after being confined for nearly six months in our  house by the Jersey Shore with my Internet-obsessed husband.

I am now in a  hotel room by the Jersey Shore with my Internet-obsessed husband.

We are in Avalon, in a very white room with a view of parked cars(not all white) and Avalon makes me think of King Arthur, which makes me think of my "Camelot" parody that I wrote when Kamala was nominated, which makes me think of politics, which I will not be doing, because Jim has been thinking about politics enough  for both of us.

If I didn't book a getaway that wasn't a dental appointment or a trip to a local eatery with a dripping awning, I was going to lose what's left of my mind. My lungs are most likely  already shot from growing up with second hand smoke, but I still had to decide:  chance further damage to the lungs via Covid exposure?  Or save my brain and give it a chance to take in a balcony view of parked cars?

I chose the latter, and so far, so good.

Good, not great.

It's New Jersey, which means it's not Hawaii or Woodloch, two places I'd rather be.

It is overcast, but I am grateful that we remembered to pack sunscreen.

And the portable bidet we were supposed to break in last March.

Because without that bidet, we'd be in trouble--we'd be inconvenienced--we'd be..oh screw it, we'd be up Schitt's Creek without a paddle and yes, I'm going to still talk about the only bright light of 2020, that amazing show!

Because this time my thoughts go in the travel journal, the gateway to the permanent blog.  I need to archive these thoughts while I'm still on that "Schitt's Creek" high, which I imagine I'm going to be on for another seventy years or so.

It is so..so..so "Gilmoreesque" with its rapid fire dialogue and pop culture references and quirky townspeople in a town that's a character itself.  And all that lovability..it's so damn lovable!

I used to think my poodle is lovable, but he is not.  He is a pervert and I am glad to be away from him for four nights.  I am tired of the growling and the obsessive licking.  Obsessive, aggressive, demanding licking of any exposed body part, like a knee or elbow.  He licks and licks and licks until he's ready to hump the comforter, and it's as gross as it sounds.

If I wanted to be licked aggressively, I'd wake up Jim at 4:00 AM and say, "um..honey..I think it's my birthday?"

I know I have to get used to masks, but I sure wish it was a mud mask and I was at a spa.  (Not that I've ever done that)

Jim could not hear the woman behind the check in counter and she could not hear him.

I think it's best that I do NOT tell anyone my name this summer or during this getaway.  If "Mrs. Amster" isn't good enough, I'll say my name is Moira or Alexis.

We were given beach tags at reception and told there'd be a hefty fine to pay if we lost them. There is no danger of that because it takes a friggin' crowbar to unsnap the thing.  I have never seen anything like this.  I spent a good chunk of pool time trying to figure out the kid-proof latch on the tag.

Speaking of chunks, the flies sampled lots from my legs at lunch.  They were relentless, and I hope they choke on all that hair I've neglected to shave.

This place is more luxurious than say..THE ROSEBUD MOTEL(okay, enough with the "Schitt's Creek"--"oy with the poodles already!") but there could be a few improvements with amenities.

Would it kill them to provide q-tips?  Body lotion? A built in bidet?

I asked the waitress for iced tea at lunch, and she asked me if unsweetened was OK.  I answered like you'd suspect a Karen like me to answer, and I said "it's OK..just bring me whatever kind of sweetener you have" and she answered, "we're weird that way.  We have no sweetener."

(I bet it's 'cause it attracts friggin' FLIES!!)

Gonna go shave and mourn the end of "Schitt's Creek"

More later..

Tears on “my pillow”

Mike Lindell is filled with the same toxic crap his "My Pillows" are.

  I got mine in 2012--about the same time my neck aches started. 

 It arrived when we were out of town because of SuperStorm Sandy, and I was so afraid we'd be victims of a porch pirate.

Now I wish it had been stolen.

It's a good hump toy for Luke, I'll give you that,  and it makes a great divider for one's marital bed if one of you is too lazy to get up and get an aspirin for your "headache"

The headache you got from sleeping on a "My Pillow"

Oh Donald..the people you attract!!

Remembering the king

The bunk was deserted and I was running late for dinner that was probably something gross like turkey slop and tater  tots or meat loaf. 

 Or a combo.

 This was my first summer working there when  the camp  became coed, so I was probably running late because I had to squirt some perfume or add some lipstick or something that I'd NEVER do today, and shouldn't have done back then.

I had my radio plugged into the three-stall bathroom we shared.  I usually never turned it on while running late, and I had to still navigate the steep hill to make it to the dining hall in time for roll call.

As a camper, I thought the designated bunk speaker was saying "All prisoners counted for", when we checked in at the flagpole. 

  As a counselor, I knew the phrase was "all present and accounted for"--which I wouldn't be if I didn't hustle.

I was just about to turn off the radio of my favorite Philadelphia easy listening station, when I heard the shocking news:  "Tragic news just coming out of Memphis..Elvis Presley has died. The King is gone"

I was shocked!  He was forty-two!  

This must have been a mistake..would I see him en route to the dining hall?

But it wasn't a mistake and I pretty much broke the news to the entire camp as I explained the reason for my lateness.

  The little girls cried, the little boys immediately started creating tasteless jokes.

After dinner, instead of the usual bunk challenges like "Pajama Breakfast!" or "Grab Bag Dinner!" the following day(where I'd always draw the knife, and attempted to eat tapioca pudding with it) the entire camp accepted the challenge when a beloved counselor, Rhonda, uttered words I'll never forget:

"In memory of Elvis..."Love Me Tender" like he would have wanted.."

We had a moment of silence and then joined her in song.

Even those of us who couldn't sing.

Of course the wise cracking male counselor donned a wig and a fat Elvis suit later that night and took over the stage with customized lyrics to a song he titled "I'm All Dead Up." 

I miss the days of the all girl camps, when the gals cared more about accomplishments than eye shadow, where the death of an icon would bring on a need to treat each other with kindness  instead of cruel parodies.

This year, I miss camps altogether.

Sleep well, Mr. Presley

Love Kamala a lot!

Broadway Break #13

We heard the news and leapt.. o-ver the moon here

This day in August..'though it's kind of hot

WE'RE COOL!..we KNOW a nightmare will end soon here..

Praise Kamala!!

While Biden was decidin' we were wishin'

that he'd select the perfect running mate

and not a cookie cutter politician

this candidate..

Kamala!

KAMALA!

Respects our country and its' laws..

Yes, Kamala..Kamala!

Will oust Brett Kavanaughs!

(and do so.."just because")

Let's hear her voice..the perfect choice

was made here

this day, Joe Biden's pick makes history

and come November third..

we'll hang on every word..

that's said..by..our..V.P!

KAMALA!

Unbelievable

I need to get a volleyball and I need to name it Wilson.

The most incompetent Internet service on the planet has made us feel like castaways.

  The strict rules from my waxing place about chin and lip hair removal has made me look like one.

I have no idea when you’ll actually read the print version of these manic post-its that I’ve captured by hand. 

(Or is it:  “that I  am currently capturing” by hand?)

We have access to the outside world for maybe fifteen minutes  a day, maybe two or three times a day. 

I have to decide what to do with those minutes wisely:

Do I blog? Screw with a telemarketer? Check Woodloch’s  activity schedule even ‘though we can’t go there now?

Do I dare to watch something on Netflix that only runs for eight minutes, guaranteeing I’ll watch in it’s entirety, or do I watch a blushing octogenarian answer “ummm….wrinkly?” when Steve Harvey makes THAT face after asking, “we polled one hundred women and asked:  “If a bar of soap could talk, what word would they use to describe your naked husband in the shower?” 

The audience was actually in the studio back in 2018, when this first aired,  but if they laugh at  (fictionalized)nonsense like this, then they don’t deserve future tickets to shows when the pandemic ends.

I spent yesterday’s allotted twelve minutes blogging, and I appreciate that some of you appreciated that. 

Most people have said things in this pandemic like “what day is it?  Is it the weekend? Everything is blending together” while I say things like:  “How many Internet seconds do you think we have? Is four enough to check out Facebook?”

Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing photos of the pancake breakfasts of people I went to high school with, and I like that they liked my “Family Feud” story, but right now, I need a living, breathing connection to the outside world, which Optimum has stolen from its subscribers.

Thus I need a volleyball.  Maybe a volleyball who has Verizon.

I need 17.34 minutes to finish “Unbelievable” and as of this writing, I’m not getting them.

What I AM getting, or was getting late last night, when I had  a smattering of access to cell service, was a chance to read hilarious posts from fellow disgruntled users of Optimum.

“My doctor was supposed to tell me if the biopsy came back positive and hasn’t been able to get through since Tuesday!”

“I waited on hold with customer service for 90 minutes.  I would have been better off talking with a volleyball.”

“MY rep told me to get in my car and DRIVE to a hot zone.  In a fucking pandemic! Maybe I’ll check out that biker rally in South Dakota.  See if they have Wifi”

Even my own husband was told:  “I could give you an estimate on when we expect the service to be fixed, but it would be a lie.”

Yesterday, when we woke up, we asked Alexa for the time and she actually told it to us. I wasted my fifteen minutes by going on line to read about Kanye and when I asked Alexa for the time again, she was dead in the water.

My nerves were so frazzled by the Optimum roller coaster that I practically bit Evan’s head off when he showed up fifteen minutes late for the dental appointment yesterday, since we were going in one car. I call the receptionist from the cell with the bad service to say we’d be late because of all the downed trees, although who knows what she actually HEARD me say with all that interference?

We were only four minutes late, but what I SHOULD have said was, “do you guys get Netflix in your lobby?  Would you mind if we watched the last seventeen minutes and forty-three seconds of Unbelievable?”

I apologized to Evan for being a Karen, the same apology I’ve been giving him for twenty-five years. It didn’t matter that we were only four minutes late—it didn’t matter that we showed up at all because our new dentist was apparently the same one who worked on Dustin Hoffman’s teeth in “Marathon Man.”

I miss my real dentist! (Who will be back for our next appointment, he was taking a rare vacation day)

I miss my next door neighbor who connected me to the real world!

I miss my hairdresser, the only one in NJ who knows how to properly kill an unruly cowlick!

I have nobody but Jim, who is great at cleaning pools but blows his stack too easily at people like me who ask stupid questions regarding technology.

Back to yesterday, after our appointment with Dr. Josef Mengele, we decided to grab a few slices at the place next door.  (Suggestion:  Do NOT order spicy pizza after a  mouth cleaning) and Jim decided to call home.  He didn’t get the answering machine immediately!  That meant we had service!

We rush home, I write my blog, and we sit down to FINALLY watch the much anticipated finale of “Unbelievable” when..you guessed it..

We ask Alexa for the time, and she replies something I’ve said to Jim a million times while trying to decipher his Midwestern Mumble:  “Sorry, I’m having trouble understanding right now.  Please try again later.”

I’m SCREAMING at Alexa:  “How much later??  Will you be able to time Tuesday’s meatloaf? Are you gonna tell me who played the wacky neighbor on “The Brady Bunch” or NOT?”

She answers:  “I’m sorry.  I’m having trouble understanding you right now.  Please try again later.”

WTF!!!!!

Evan had planned to join us for dinner anyway, and he “volunteered” to let us watch Netflix at his apartment after. 

We were having dinner at a catering hall recommended by Dr. Mengele’s receptionist, a place you usually go to for retirement parties and first holy communions, not to watch a guy almost fall off his roof.

Evan is saying how good his chicken parm is, especially since it’s chicken parm he didn’t have to cook himself. 

(I taught him well, thank you.  First cooking, next:  Solving the “Wheel of Fortune” bonus puzzle with little or no help..Bring on that “Q”!)

Evan and Jim are facing the entrance (my back is to it) when suddenly every single patron at every table spaced six feet apart burst into thunderous applause.

I’m thinking maybe they see the ghosts of Dr. Mengele or Kanye West’s judging by the smirks on the faces of my guys, but then I see it:  A friggin’ TRACTOR TRAILER plastered with  American flags and “Trump 2020” bumper stickers, followed by a black van filled with KIDS with messages on the windows with bible quotes, but all I saw was the word “Sodom”

I say to Evan, “finish your chicken parmesan..we are never coming back here” and he says, “that’s fine, but promise me you won’t make a dumb joke like you always do to the waitress like ”I’ll tip you even ‘though you clapped.”

Jim once again calls the house phone and it rings!!

We don’t have to bother our son who loves his independence in his apartment..we can go home!

We take the ten minute drive home, greet Luke, and Alexa gives us the right time!

We turn on Netflix, SO EXCITED that we were finally going to get to see that “unbelievable” ending.

For a good three to four minutes, it’s rehashing what we’ve already seen—that’s how these devices usually work—and just when Toni Collette was about to say something we’ve never heard before,  a new bit of riveting dialogue, we see that  EBI, that Evil Buffering Icon..

I scream.

Jim screams.

Isaiah/Isaias screams for ice cream!

We ask Alexa for the time and she says, “I’m sorry..I’m having trouble understanding you.  Please try again later.”

I get out of my chair with the intention of strangling her when Jim calls out:  “Don’t take it out on innocent ALEXA” to which she replies:  “Sorry..I’m not understanding you right now.  Please try again later.”

If I had KNOWN Optimum was gonna pull crap like this, I would have STAYED in the restaurant.  I would have climbed on top of the table, broken it, and would have yelled:  “He said it was a HOAX!  Wake the hell up, people!”

Because I need my jollies.

Wanna know how I got them?  

By fighting with Jim over the fact that I don’t understand tech talk.

He watched baseball in one room, I watched Bradley Cooper’s hanging in the last fifteen minutes of a “Star Is Born” that was showing on HBO in another..

Uh oh..was that a spoiler alert?

Speaking of spoiler alerts…

Alexa was still dead at 7:00 AM.  

Same as at 8:00 AM.

At 8:16, she told us the time!

She said “it’s 8:16—now go watch the ending of “Unbelievable.” while you can!

Which we did!

Spoiler alert:  No, I’m not going to tell you how it ends.  WE waited five days to find out, so you can too.

We got the power!

Dateline: Aberdeen NJ 3:00 AM via post-it notes:

I tend to screw up tenses(and prepositions) anytime I write something anyway, so bear with me as I reflect on things that already happened, are happening now, and will happen later.

Having my gums viciously scraped by an unknown dentist was the highlight of my week, even after being told my gums are disappearing or some crap like that that involves bone and attachment and a deep cleaning in the next couple of weeks.

Isaiah, the coward with the insane amount of syllables in a six letter name, is behaving himself as I type this, but I'm probably going to have to hit the "send" button without proofing for typos in case he decides to screw with us again.

Yes, Icy Asses, YOU.  YOU are getting old and I am tired of your nonsense.

I'm tired of you giving us streaming services just to snatch them away at the penultimate episode of a riveting series.

I'm tired of having Alexa tell us the correct time, only to die on us a minute later.

Speaking of streaming, the only good thing about the week was returning to that burger joint, albeit in a torrential downpour. We were sheltered, but the oblong table six feet away were celebrating a birthday, when whatever collected on the canvas roof above four of them collapsed and made a waterfall that was bigger than anything I saw in Hawaii last fall.

Those poor suckers were drenched but drunk and oblivious.

I don't drink, although you'd never know it from the way I try to type on a cell phone.  Everything in unintelligible, like when I'm attempting to type Isaias or a sentence that comes out "we hate powdrrr and Intercourse access for fifteen minutes this morning."

I know all summer long I've been ordering everyone to watch things I like on Netflix, but this I mean it:  "Unbelievable" is the most addictive thing we've watched.  If you can stomach the subject matter(serial rape) then by all means binge it, and then try to convince me you're NOT crushing on Merritt Weaver, because you WILL be.

Without streaming services, we watched garbage like a 2018 rerun of "Family Feud", where Steve Harvey would say things like:  "We polled one hundred women and asked:  "If a bar of soap could talk, what word would they use to describe your husband's nakedness in the shower?"

I don't laugh at crap like that, but truth be told, I know the difference between Colombia and the Philippines, unlike Mr. Harvey...

NJ Governor Murphy smirked during his newscast yesterday.

He said, "it is unsafe for the infirm and elderly to remain inside without electricity to cool their homes or juice their oxygen tanks, but it is equally unsafe for them to go outside and risk a Covid-19 exposure."

The question needed to be asked:  Am I, Karen,  elderly?  Infirm??

New Jersey Power and Light had trucks parked in the police station's lot for three hours, waiting for instructions from supervisors.

They didn't need supervisors, they needed a Karen to quote her late father and say:  "Do something..even if it's wrong!"

By the time they heard from their superiors, every street in the neighborhood looked like it had been hit with a tsunami.

Final update:  My gums may suck, but as of 2:19 PM, we have power!  Juice! Internet! Phone!  Whatever the hell you want to call it, we got it!

Now let's just hope we can keep it.

It's been a miserable 96 hours. I was prepared to chew off an arm if need be.

We had Internet for 2 hours!

You know when well-meaning folks say things like, "well..it's not as bad as the pandemic of 1918--at least we have telephones, cable TV, internet access.."

Well, screw those people and screw YOU, Isaiah!

You messed with the wrong Karen.

(Yes, I know that's not your name, but that's how I'm saying it, because your name is ridiculous. It's impossible to pronounce.)

  Really??  

FOUR syllables in a six-letter word? 

 If I drew those letters in a Scrabble game, I'd have a huge vowel movement and start all over with a new rack.

You see, Isis, we were ALREADY IN a crisis because of Covid and racial unrest and the Blight in the Whitehouse.

We have no choice BUT to shelter in place.  (Covid's doing, not Trump's)

It was fine.  Well, not fine but bearable, because we had a pristine pool and cable TV and telephone service.

We were managing, thank you very much.

Unlike some of our poor schnook neighbors, we weren't sweltering in place, but..

I am still so pissed!!

We were binge-watching the (WONDERFUL!) series, "Unbelievable"(we both admitted to crushing on Merrit Weaver--why haven't I seen her stuff?) when we got what would be our last telephone call for fifty-two hours, from our dentist's receptionist who asked if it was OK to have another dentist do the actually exam because ours would be out.

I've waited over two months for this appointment..it was on my calendar where VACATION PLANS should be..so yes, it's OK to have a stranger in my mouth.

Anything to ward off a premature need for dentures.

It was drizzling as we ate lunch, eagerly waiting our chance to return to Merrit Weaver, when I remarked that the storm's coverage, as usual,  was way overblown

Well, thank GOD, Isaiah or Isis or whatever the hell your name is, that Jim had the wherewithal to notice the generator was not working and had it serviced just ONE day earlier,  because if we had lost the AC on top of everything else, there would have been a casualty.

(Most likely, my hair and the Brazilian Keratin that was already on its way out after a moth)

If you're reading this, then get a life, but also, realize the Internet IS back(for now) because my rant was  originally written illegibly on Post-its.

Jim went for his usual walk, calling my seldom-used cell from dead zones, so I had no idea what was going on with him or the rest of the world.

Was there another Celebrity Death Alert?  If the storm happened just DAYS earlier, we would have missed Wilford Brimley's obit, which I thought happened years earlier?

Here's the rub:

SOME of our neighbors HAVE power!

Not the GOOD neighbor, Tami. She's my link to sanity but she's already moved, and the new folks haven't moved in yet, but I'm sure the single Mom's six year old son will pee on the fence we share or play the tuba 'til 4:00 AM.

No, the WACKY neighbor had power.

He's the one who complains about our noisy generator even 'though he runs his lawn mower twenty four seven, especially right before pool parties.  (Remember them?)

Whenever we tell a stranger what street we live on(which we shouldn't be doing) they'll always say, "Oh..I hope you don't live anywhere near those NUTS!" and we have to hang our heads and whisper, "right next door."

We used to have a running joke about him in 2012, during SuperStorm Sandy, when thieves were rumored to steal generators while home owners slept and replaced them with lawn mowers, and we'd say, "Warren steals lawn mowers and replaces them with generators."

So thanks a lot, Isaac, for the fifty two hours of no neighbors to talk to(that part's not your fault) no phone, spotty cell phone service, no regular dentist, no reliable hairdresser(again, not your fault but I'm on a roll) no new "Jimmy Kimmel Live!" or no new "The View" or no new "Jeopardy!"

And no Alexa!!

Do you know how hard it is to cook a four course dinner with no Alexa to time everything, especially when you forgot to defrost the chicken breasts?

It could have been worse.

We still got NETWORK TV(in August, with reruns) and we saw a news clip where a couple from northern NJ said:  "what are the odds of not one but TWO trees falling on a car you've only owned for a month?"

We still have only generator power, which doesn't work outside, so we can't use the pool that Isaiah littered without a filter or vacuum. 

We couldn't use the phones for 52 hours  to tell people we know that we were OK, even though I was NOT OK, 

 I needed to curse out telemarketers, damn it!

We can't even go to the beach, because the storm caused undercurrents that were so strong that we'd be swept away in the parking lot.

Yes, I know, I know..first world problems..

But for today, Isa, I am KAREN, hear me roar!

And let me speak to the manager

Thank you David Sedaris

Book of the day is David Sedaris' "Calypso".

How did I miss a new David Sedaris book? 

 And it's not even that new!

Ugh..I wish..for about a zillion reasons..that there was no virus.

 I'd be happy. 

 I'd have hair I could manage. That I'd  actually work on because someone would be SEEING it.

 I'd be spending less time on line.

I wouldn't be up eight pounds .oh okay, I would be.

 ( It's ice cream season, wanna make something of it?)

  I'd wear something besides nightgowns and bathing suits.

The only mask I'd be wearing is a figurative one, one I always  wear when I have to talk with people I don't particularly like.

And most likely, I'd be traveling, which means keeping a travel journal, which I'd try like crazy to prevent  from becoming a "blag" the braggy blogs that permeate the Internet on a daily basis.

But I'll brag a little here, because if I WERE on vacation, like I'd be without the virus, I'd be INSPIRED by David Sedaris and his latest. 

 I could NEVER write like him, but I'd still hear his VOICE as I sat next to my laptop, and something just MIGHT come out that would be readable and relatable.

He, too, hates to drive!!  (So much so that he doesn't do it at ALL)

He, too, makes fun of his late parents.

He, too, makes cringe-worthy statements in front of his spouse.

There'd be minutia and pop culture references and self-deprecation.

And bodily function descriptions.  Tons of those.

David Sedaris writes several chapters describing life in big beautiful beach rentals with a large, loving, dysfunctional extended family, and I'm so jealous that I can't see straight.

I want to be clever and witty like David.  I want an agent.

I want a vacation!

Auto-correct made that "vaccination" because I took too long to type that word while trying to form my next thought.

That would totally work too