A Day In The Life Of Semite1973

The alarm jolted me awake. As the fog of alcohol-induced sleep dissipated, I realized: “Wait a second—I never set the alarm clock in the first place.” Buzzzzzzz. Buzzzzz, buzz, buzz. Finally, I came to my senses completely. What I mistook for an alarm clock was my doorbell. And the only person who’d relentlessly ring my doorbell like that was my next door neighbor, Zoe.

I have friends of varying ages, but Zoe is definitely the youngest, coming in at four years old.

“Good morning, Zoe.”

“Good morning. My birthday party is today. Don’t forget to bring the blue drum.”

“Okay.”

Silence.

“Anything else?”

“Let’s plaaaaaaayyyyy.”

“Maybe later, I have a lot of work to do.” (Total lie).

“Mmm, okay.”

I stumbled back to the kitchen. To help get rid of my headache, I began guzzling water. Then I had a Clementine, coffee, and a bowl of cereal (Honey Bunches of Oates).

Later that day Zoe rang the bell about five more times. She was particularly persistent today. But every time I made an excuse as to why I couldn’t play. (some of the excuses were legitimate.)

I went to the gym and did cardio and sit-ups. Then I hung out with a friend in the pool and hot tub. It was my first time using the pool at the health club, but my friend had been urging me to pack my swimming trunks so that we could swim together. I hadn’t worn my swimming trunks all summer, and my friend gleefully pointed out that my trunks, which filled with water and expanded, made me look like I was wearing a too-too. Great. Maybe the Europeans are on to something with their speedo’s? Not.

By the time I got home I was tired. I had spent too much time in the hot tub, and it sapped my strength. I decided that I’d fall to sleep on the couch, despite Zoe’s “drum birthday party” that evening. I figured she’d be so involved with playing with all of her friends that she wouldn’t notice my absence. Besides, I had already given her a birthday gift.

I began to drift off into blissful sleep when—Buzzzz!. She didn’t bother to wait for me to answer the door, either; she just shouted through the screen: “Okay, it’s time for you to come to my birthday party!”

Guess there was no getting out of that one.

Anyway, it wasn’t so bad. There was an equal number of adults as children, some of whom were not parents either, so I could relate better. There were Coronas sitting on ice, sliced limes, and later my neighbor, who just returned from San Francisco, brought a bottle of absinthe. Absinthe? Isn’t that illegal? Yes, but here it was—a bottle of absinthe in my hands. I had only read about the stuff, but never tried it. Nor have I ever met anybody who tried it. Being the hedonist that I am, I was more than willing to try some of the hallucinogenic elixir of 1800’s France, or whatever. I wasn’t the only intrepid soul—it seemed most of the adult males at the party were eager to drink absinthe.

So, what was absinthe like, you may wonder? I’d like to know myself, because this stuff didn’t do anything. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Oh well.

I sauntered over to where some of the kids were swinging on a sturdy metal clothes line. I decided to try to impress them (and myself) and made a bet with Zoe’s older sister, Autumn, that I could do a pull up with her grabbing my waist, pulling us both up. I did it, and she was impressed, but the truth is this kid is skinnier than Olive Oil from Poppeye, so it was not a very impressive feat. Then she asked me to lift her up so she could grab the bar, and I did, and she began swinging like a monkey, which was impressive considering how skinny she is.

I noticed that my dog had wandered off, so I called him. He ran to me dutifully and sat next to me. I gave him an affectionate stroke along his back and he ran off to play with kids. My nose itched so I went to scratch it. Immediately I smelled the most rotten, most pungent, horrible odor I’ve ever smelled in my entire life. My first thought was that maybe my hand touched Autumn’s armpit, but then I realized that no child—no human—could ever have body odor like this. I decided to walk home (next door) and wash my hands. As I walked down my neighbor’s drive way I thought I smelled the same horrible, rancid Elephant-vagina odor.

Obie, my dog, followed me. As I crossed our lawn I saw my brother/roommate, who immediately mentioned that he thought he was smelling something horrible. I told my brother that the same smell was in our neighbor’s driveway, and that it was on my fingers and I had to wash them—pronto. Then I said, “Smell the dog.” He did and instantly wretched, nearly barfing.

Whatever this smell was, our dog reeked of it. Without a second’s hesitation we put a leash on him and dragged him into the bathtub. As I rinsed him, the smell became overwhelming. I couldn’t breath through my nose, lest I risk barfing all over the place. I squirted a generous amount of dog shampoo on him and went to work. Then I rinsed it out and smelled him. He still stank!

I shampooed him again. Rinsed. Then I used my own Paul Mitchell Shampoo (with awapuhi) on him and finally ran a bar of Lever 2000 soup all over his body until he was covered in suds. Then rinsed. We ushered him outside and let him dry off. About one hour ago my brother went outside to smell him, only to report back that he mostly smelled good, except for his neck.

We’re keeping him sequestered in the kitchen, where there is no furniture for him to lay on. Tomorrow we plan to rinse him with tomato juice. I feel bad for the little bugger; he doesn’t understand why we’re locking him in the kitchen and why we won’t let him come near us. He’ll get over it.

As for the smell, my guess and the guess of my neighbors is that some animal must have died and the smell is the smell of rotting, putrid flesh.

Well, time to go out and PARTY!