I carved a pumpkin for the first time in my adult life. Felt pretty good about it. That said pumpkin is already decayed and molded due to sweating-just-standing-here degree weather in October because THIS IS WHERE THE DEVIL LIVES. Thank you, LA. Alas, it’s finally less than 100 degrees in LA and my sweet little autumn-loving soul is straight crush-mode giddy. I am glowing with pure joy and probably giving out major that-bitch-crazy pheromones. There really isn’t anyone in SoCal who loves (fingerless) gloves and beanies more than this girl. Throw in some spiked cider and I could probably forget we’re still in the middle of a pandemic for at least 25 minutes. 30 if it’s spiked real nice.
As a bachelor in Los Angeles living in a studio in the middle of quarantine, I spend a great deal of time alone and am VERY ok with said time. I don’t have people over often…because I can’t. There’s literally nowhere to go. You can see my entire apartment from the front door. I imagine this is what the boxcar children felt like and I just aged myself hard with that reference. So to all of my other solo-living humans, you ever realize what a psycho you are when people are over? I’m constantly asking myself questions like “How exactly does a person wash their hands in order to get this much water everywhere?” “Why is that bowl there?” “Is this how you would throw something away in your home?” “How many more crumbs will you spill on my prized rug?” I’m shocked I even allow red wine in my apartment. That carpet is the closest thing I have to a kid. I’d say my plants, but I think we all know they hate me and feel like they got the shitty foster home stick. Guests stress me out. It’s to the point where it’s almost not enjoyable and I’m starting to feel like I’m the main character in a psychological thriller where the protagonist puts on this picture-perfect image while straight raging on the inside and ends up murdering everyone. Think American Psycho minus all the hookers. I think now would be a good time to mention I have asthma and clearly haven’t been getting enough oxygen. Clearly.
Speaking of psychos, let’s discuss The Bachelorette. Good.God. Listen – I’m all about supporting other women and not using trigger words like CRAZY when describing them but…(clears throat)…Dear Clare, YOU my friend are a 100% whackjob with an extra side of CRAY. I thought I was complicated, jaded, perhaps a bit hopeless if I’m being totally honest – not in a sad ‘no one will ever love me’ type of way but in a ‘I’m pretty sure my person fell off a yacht – not to be confused with a boat – and got lost at sea and now lives on some uncharted island while building a raft to find his way back to me’. She is BANANAS. And I mean BANANAS. She’s obsessed with this guy named Dale. OBSESSED. Dale, Dale, Dale, Dale. At one point she just stares at Dale all googly-eyed and goes ‘you scare me.’ Fast forward 30 minutes later and it’s ‘you can tell me anything. Nothing scares me.’ Which is it Clare, dearest? She went to kiss a guy (NOT Dale), stopped right before their lips met and then got all weird saying he pulled away (he didn’t) and then went on about how he made her uncomfortable. What?! As a group of people still reeling from the ME TOO movement, that is not a word to be thrown around lightly just because you realized mid-motion he wasn’t Dale. So she did what any 39 year old would do and SENT CHRIS HARRISON to tell him to go home while he sat waiting for her at the dinner table. (standing 0). Classy and mature…which would explain the strip-dodgeball date. These guys need a refund – I actually feel sorry for them. I hope a guy shows up in a shirt that says ‘I quarantined for THIS?!’ next week fully hammered on ABC’s dime. Where’s Chad and a meat plate when you need him?
Anyways, the other night there was a bit of a situation involving emergency vehicles, blocked off roads, sirens, etc. Being the nosy person I am, I was unable to carry on with my life until I knew exactly what was going on because I need to know everything all the time because that’s the PSYCHO I AM. So my friend and I downloaded the Citizen app which alerts you on nearby incidents. Good to be in the know right? Uhhhhh, this thing has all but ruined my life. In a matter of days my paranoia has quadrupled eleventy times over. For someone who still has a tiptoe in her break-in trauma, this was a terrible if not THE WORST idea. If you would also like to know how many stabbings, robberies, gunshots and assaults are going on around you, I highly recommend this app so that while you’re drinking your tea and enjoying a novel to the scents of earl gray & apple cider from your diffuser you can be notified that a few blocks away someone has been stabbed repeatedly. If you thought 2020 couldn’t get worse, download this app. Ignorance is true bliss. And it doesn’t make me naive if it’s a cognizant choice.
In an otherwise dump truck of a year – 2020 has finally come up with a win. Keith Raniere was sentenced to 120 years in prison on Tuesday for sex trafficking which sounds polite if you know the whole story. WHAT A PIECE OF SHIT. Honestly, jail is too good for this guy. Throw him to the hippos, give him to NASA and abandon him in space, hell, let Carole Baskin take care of him. He belongs in a stone block with two bowls of broth a day. That guy is disgusting. What’s crazier is one girl’s father wrote a letter SUPPORTING Keith! Throw him in the cell too while you’re at it. Unreal. If you haven’t watched The Vow, it’s a docuseries on a sex cult, supported by the Dalai Lama himself, that will blow your mind. The last two episodes are straight horrifying. I’m just so intrigued by cult culture. My brush with cults would be considered glamping at best but I was told with a straight face in front of my parents that Jesus spits out lukewarm water. YIKES. Another story for another day.
Big shout out to all the men and women who look forward to Halloween each year and can’t be slutty trees this year. This must be really hard for you. Condolences. Do we even need to dress up this year? We’re wearing masks everyday as it is. I wonder how much lower candy sales will be this year. Also candycorn is for psychos. So it’s probably Clare’s favorite. And here’s the thing, I know I’ve been giving Clare a hard time (cause she sucks) but we’re all a little crazy. The good ones always are. They’re the only people for me. Life is too short to be bored or to try to fit in. Let it all out. Say the silly things, those tiny thoughts that sit in the cobwebs of your mind. Show what’s inside of that beautiful head of yours. Stop holding on to everything so tightly. It’s exhausting. That’s why I share my psycho with you each week. At the very least, I hope it makes you feel better about your mental health. Someone take me apple picking. I want a caramel apple. Or just caramel. God, I love caramel. total.lunatic. Send oxygen… Xx