Happy Earth Hamper

Any time I freak out about being planless, jobless, and worried that I'm not worried enough about being both of these things, I think I need to pull out My Super Special Notebook of Secret Things that I carry with me at all times and re-read this month's horoscope that I've taped to its cover:

An important journey may bring you closer to the answers you’re in search of. If you take an actual trip, be aware of how your surroundings reflect your inner environment. In a more philosophical sense, this month is an adventure that will bring you face-to-face with some of your goals. It’s likely you’ll feel even more inspired and capable of reaching those seemingly unobtainable dreams. You can do it! This is a successful time for you. Pay attention to those inner promptings, as random as they may seem; there’s value in their message and freedom in the pursuit of them. 

Okay, so I’m here. I worked my last double-shift as a cafe manager the day before yesterday and hopped (limped heavily) into my mom’s Yaris at six yesterday morning with the last of my scraggly physical possessions to start this next chapter of my life in her neck of the woods in San Luis Obispo. 

Naturally, the first order of business after unloading my dirty laundry, cookbooks, and dead hamster Edward (story will follow later) out of my mother's car was to play a prank on my sister Hannah and her husband, who I would now be sharing my mom's house with. 

A few weeks ago my sister Shawnie told me that one of her Organic Mother friends had posted on Facebook that she wanted to quit toilet paper and had appealed to the Facebook masses for any alternatives. She received a number of suggestions. Apparently many world-savers cut up old T-shirts into squares which they use as "toilet cloths" to be washed and reused. My brother-in-law is from Illinois, and I know that because I don't eat meat and rub crystals under my arms instead of deodorant (I don't really, that's called a HYPERBOLE), he views me as a severely nutty Californian hippie. I take fifteen-minute showers daily, drink booze 'til I forget my whereabouts, and smoke to satisfy my oral fixation, but HE doesn't have to know that. In fact, I have no doubt he wouldn't be surprised if I announced that I take part in Naked Mondays and wash my hair with compost. So it was only obvious to me that now that I will be sharing a one-bathroom apartment with my sister and him, I needed to pretend that I wipe my ass with cloth squares and leave the used fabric to stew in a trash can next to the bathtub until Laundry Day. 

The problem was that I was really fucking tired when I arrived here, having only slept two hours the previous night because I have wonderful friends in Encinitas who cooked me a gourmet vegan feast and I couldn't leave their shining beautiful faces 'til three in the morning. Anyway, I was crabby and within my first two hours of being here had made both my little sister AND my mother cry, and was just generally being a raging psychotic cunt. It happens. After I fed my irritable hungry belly-beast, I decided to let my sister in on my plan to trick her husband with my good ol' classic poopy hamper gag. She was all for it, so we got a metal trash can and filled it with soiled kitchen towels and a rag that she rubbed in the mud to achieve some eerily realistic skid marks. I hand-wrote a sign that read HAPPY EARTH HAMPER (SORRY IT DOESN'T HAVE A LID!) and decorated it with lots of hearts and smiley faces. We arranged the faux poo cloths in the most unattractive manner, and then Hannah earned three gold stars by crumbling and smearing parts of a chocolate-and-peanut-butter energy bar in all the most believable places. I howled with laughter 'til my stomach reminded me it has no muscle and then silently beamed with pride at our creation. 

When her husband Josh came home from work, I was giddily holding my breath and breaking out in spontaneous nervous laughter at all the inappropriate times. Unfortunately, he apparently has the bladder of a determined camel and did not use the restroom-- I mean not even ONCE!-- the entire evening. So I fell asleep sitting on my mom's bed with my legs propped five feet above my head on a stool while reading The Ayurvedic Cookbook and temporarily forgot about my shenanigans. 

This morning Hannah told me Josh had been thoroughly put-out by the bucket of shit rags in the middle of the bathroom floor. **fist pumps** In his defense, he didn't vomit or yell or come into the room where I slept and slap me on the mouth. I mean, I would have set fire to a kerosene lamp and chucked it into the bathroom behind me as I ran screaming from the vicinity if I ever stumbled upon a Happy Earth Hamper.  So props, buddy. He was just irritated that he kept almost knocking it over and Hannah kept hearing him say "What THE FUCK!" over and over as he tried to shave and brush his teeth while little brown turd rollies were waving at him over the rim of the trash can. Heh. Heh. Heh. I was quite excited about this, and instead of applying for any jobs today I spent my time placing his bottle of body-wash perfectly propped against the darkest brown spot on the turquoise rag on top of the "hamper" to make it look like I'd accidentally knocked it in there while taking one of my wastefully long showers. I hugged myself with glee when I noticed he'd removed it the next time he used the bathroom, and I elatedly imagined the stream of obscenities that must have slipped through his pursed lips and the amount of scrubbing he must've given his hands afterward. With one last proud sigh and lingering glance at my first Installation Piece, I sauntered into the sitting room and announced that Hey, guess what, that was a joke, I don't really smear my numero dos-es on towels and leave them lying around for your viewing pleasure. Surprise!!

I was very disappointed when he just said, "Oh. Okay."

I guess what I've learned from this is that 1.) my humor is under-appreciated and 2.) I need a creative outlet and/or job. 

I'm nervous to enter the service industry again because it is an energy-sucking whore who needs constant attention and doesn't give a damn about your personal life... but I like to buy delicious organic produce and grains and legumes, and for some reason that simple food is the most expensive. Today I went on an almost six-mile round-trip walking adventure to the New Frontiers Natural Market for the first time. That place is my boyfriend. My fellow shoppers were sending me raised eyebrows and shaking their heads at me as I stole kisses from the loose-lipped leaves of the organic romaine lettuce and ran my finger passionately down the spine of the bulk-foods bins, firmly wrapping my hand around the shafts of the red plastic scoops for the quinoa, millet, and couscous. **shudder of ecstasy**


I am deciding to view my lack of concern for having no monetary income as a sign of impending success. It's true, guys. It's all happening. 


Tomorrow I have big plans to make the six-mile trek to see my new boyfriend and maybe buy a refreshing strawberry kombucha from him, finally see the new Harry Potter movie before it leaves theaters and I have to kill myself, clear a space in my mom's backyard to put up the tent that will be the designated "other room" for anyone who needs a time-out from family, and finish reading Hunger Games because now that it's about to be made into a movie and every 14-year-old girl has read it I think I wanna read it too. I guess... maybe the next day I should figure out this whole Life thing and at least draw something or fill out an application or something. Maybe. 


It's all happening.