Ever since I read that Juliana Hatfield had written a memoir that’s coming out next month, I’ve been jonesing for her and The Lemonheads. In my mind they go hand in hand.
Sadly, Eurydice was without any Juliana Hatfield. I knew I had a CD or two of hers in the closet but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. But then today I it came to my attention that if I didn’t listen to Arlo Guthrie’s “City of New Orleans” I would probably die. That wasn’t on Eurydice either.
8,967 songs on the stupid iPod and nothing that I wanted.
So I ventured into the closet. When I packed up the CDs three or so years ago, I put them all in one box. One big, heavy box of weak construction. The storage closet in Supergenius HQ is long and narrow. I am long and wide. Plus, I put some shelves in there making it even narrower. Also, that’s the closet where the kitty litterbox lives.
There I was holding a flimsy box full of CDs and maneuvering over the litterbox and out of the closet. At first my main goal was not to step in the litterbox. Because the closet is so narrow, I couldn’t really see where I was going. My second goal was to make it out of the narrow closet and the narrow entryway so then I could reposition the box before it fell apart.
Not so lucky. I took one step into the kitchen and KABOOM, 500 CDs on my feet. I yelled motherfuck so loud that it scared the cats. Now the tops of my feet are sort of puffy and tender. I can’t see any bruises but that doesn’t mean they won’t appear sometime tonight.
I am, of course, using it as an excuse to curl up in the La-Z-Grrl and do absolutely nothing.