You Can Shower When You're DEAD.

I know, I know--I haven't blogged in a while, I'm a terrible person, everyone hates me, I'm gonna make sure to take a hot bath when I slit my wrists later on tonight, etc. I promise not to go so long between posts, henceforth. Fo' realz.

Something worth recounting: a week or two ago, it somehow came to my attention that I hadn't taken a shower in a few days. To be explicit: it was a Saturday when I realized my hygiene was lacking, somewhat--that is, there had been no shower since the previous Tuesday night. Unthinkingly, I voiced this epiphany aloud to my two roommates, Kayla and Allie, who happened to be sitting in the living room with me. Audrey was not home at the time, which I soon realized was a very good thing, once I saw how big of a deal Allie and Kay were making of my lack of recent shower time. Audge, I figured, probably would have manhandled me into the shower, fully dressed, within seconds, had she been present. I reassured the now thoroughly disgusted Kayla and Allie that I'd be taking a shower that night, for sure, and then continued on my merry way for the rest of the day. Really, it wasn't that much of a merry way, though, because I had to do laundry. (Side note: I don't think I can adequately describe how much I absolutely HATE doing laundry here in the city. I have a running list of Things That Once I Have Procured I Will Know That I Have Become Moderately Successful In The City of New York, and Sending Out My Laundry is near the top of the list.) (Other list items, you ask? A doorman; a dog; and enough money for regular taxi fare.) On one of my return trips to the apartment from the laundry room, I found the door locked. And though I used my key to successfully unlock the bottom outside lock of the door, I still could not open it, due to the fact that the inside top lock was in place. This, I immediately saw, was the work of the dastardly Audrey. She had arrived home, and someone had filled her in on my lack of showering. Sure enough, when I knocked on the door, Audrey announced that she was not letting me inside.

"Nope!" she singsonged annoyingly. "I'm not letting you inside until you promise to take a shower! You dirty girl."

Now, I don't think it will be any great revelation here for me to say that I am, at best, a very stubborn person. (And, at worst, very similar to a...mule. In my...determination.) If someone tells me to do or think something, I will most assuredly do the very opposite, simply because I do not like being bossed around. (It is I who gets to dish out the orders, thank you, a personality characteristic formed comparatively late in my life, owing to my being the oft-quieted and horribly ordered-about middle child.) So even though I fully intended to take a shower in the very near future, I refused to give Audrey the satisfaction of thinking that I was succumbing to her completely unnecessary bossiness.

"NO!" I yelled, from outside the door. "I DON'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU! YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!"

"Well, then, you're not getting inside," Audrey responded infuriatingly from directly inside. "Not until you promise to stop being so dirty."

More jiggling of the doorknob ensued on my part, followed by repeated fist-poundings and hand slaps administered to the door itself. I am not proud to admit that there may also have been foot-stomping, whimpering, screaming, and--eventually--the sight of me, crouched on the floor, back against the door, feet stamping incessantly, yelling my fool head off. Audrey finally let me back inside, probably because she feared that a neighbor would soon call the cops, but I made sure to let her know that I was only taking a shower because I wanted to. And NOT because she told me I had to.

Lesson learned? Stubbornness will still get you everything. Duh.

Mattress Diving and Stupidity.

Just a few quick things to recount here, the majority of them instances of unintentional stupidity that came out of my mouth. For example: Audrey and I were lounging upon the couch, discussing gosh knows what (she was surely teasing me mercilessly about something or other) when she apparently said something so offensive that I felt a need to deliver a withering retort. Unfortunately, the one that came to the forefront of my mind was incomplete, so I simply said what I could remember with confidence and menace and then made the rest up on the spot. This was the result:

"AUDREY! I am going to slit you from navel...[long, searching pause] to BELLYBUTTON!" I was triumphant at the end, momentarily sure that I had come up with something appropriately dastardly.

Nope. Audge doubled over in laughter as I soon realized my mistake. (And I'm not even sure what the real end to that statement is, now a few days later. Nose? Or would it be nose to navel? Or can one slit another person lower than the navel? And is that crude to discuss? Even as a threat? These things I do not know.) And now Audrey has proceeded to tell everyone she comes in contact with of my stupid mistake. So much for a withering retort. (But isn't "withering retort" SUCH a good phrase? Say it with me now. Withering. Retort. See?)

Second example of stupidity: Audrey and I were, once again, lounging on the couch (at the playground is where Will Smith spent most of his days; Audrey and I spend ours on the couch) and watching television. A particularly frightening commercial came on for some scary movie in which the titular female evil character proclaims in a creepy voice that she needs blood to live. As soon as the commercial was over, Audrey turned to me and barked: "Rachel, do you need blood to live?"

Startled, and sure that she meant to compare me unfavorably to the creepster character, I stammeringly replied, "N-no..."

Audrey grinned triumphantly. "Trick question. Yes. You do. You need blood to live."

Dumb. So dumb. (She is, I mean.)

And finally. My roommates and I have discovered the most wonderful of activities: air-mattress diving. Kay's friend, Tracena, came to stay with us a week ago, and so we kept one of our blow-up mattresses in the living room for her to sleep in. After she left, none of us bothered to deflate the mattress, and so there it remained. Audrey had the BRILLIANT idea to fling herself up on it dramatically one evening, apropos of nothing; amazingly, her body rebounded nicely. Naturally, the next course of action for the two of us was to take turns flinging ourselves onto the air mattress and then quickly rebound to a standing position. I soon took the game to the next level by starting from the kitchen entrance and running a good twenty-five feet before jumping from a juicy demi-plie onto the mattress. The added momentum worked nicely. Audrey had created a glorious swan-dive sort of move, with arms extended in an airplane stance and feet together, toes carefully pointed.

The next step was, of course, music. I have always been fond of musical cues in dance, so I quickly ordered Audrey to play "Carmina Burana" on her itunes so that I could have appropriate accompaniment to my mattress dives. The key was flinging oneself onto the mattress at the precise moment of musical climax; a crash of the cymbals or pound of the drums required necessary dramatics.

We were showing this fantastic activity to Kayla and Allie the following night when Audrey had an inspired move: after completely exhausting myself solely for the entertainment of Kay and Allie, I lay unmoving on the mattress after my final Carmina Burana dive, intermittently panting attractively and moaning softly. Audrey surprised me by selecting to play the 1812 Overture from her itunes, and I immediately found renewed strength. I hurled myself off the mattress and readied my stance in the kitchen doorway. Audrey was right behind me, yelling at me that we'd be taking turns this time around. Allie soon joined us, as well, once she saw how orgasmically the combination musical cannons and mattress swan dives meshed. Kayla quietly videotaped us.

I thought that this, surely, was the pinnacle of the night: what could be more perfect than the 1812 overture? Audrey had one more surprise up her sleeve, however. The William Tell Overture. COMPLETE AND UTTER PERFECTION. I added a new element of difficulty by placing a kitchen chair at the foot of the mattress, where one could easily mount it enroute to the mattress and gain extra heighth. (Good job to me.) My final swan dive--to the final crash of the music--gave me a feeling of such complete happiness that I could've died, right then and there. This was actually a possibility, considering how ridiculously out of breath and energy I was at that point. Audrey, who had given up about three-fourths into the last song, actually did die. She used only her arm to punctuate the music for the final fourth.

Oh, but it was excellent. A grand idea, indeed.