my life here in the city
i suppose i shouldn't be surprised, but it may surprise you to hear that i've been getting an awful lot of harassment lately. people keep writing to me and calling me and leaving little notes on my doorstep and under my pillow, pleading and demanding and begging for another blog post. and i'm like "damn people! do you not have a life?" but, alas, i cannot be blamed for my ever-expanding and blossoming popularity. it is a popularity that expands and blooms, like a flower or a vagina or some shit like that. regardless, it turns out that everybody is, not only in their underwear, but also consumed by curiosity for what my new life is like. not only are they like "oh god, i can't live without you." but they're also like "oh god, what do you do all day?" so, in order to quell the curiosity of all of my raving, fanatical "friends", i decided to go ahead and lay out for you what a day in the life of zulema is like. i hope this will satisfy your wonderings and get you to shut your damn cake holes.
A Day In The Life of Zulema
(aka Caboose)
firstly, i wake up. this can take up to two or three hours, and often i can hear my roomates outside my door, whispering in hushed tones "is she awake yet? when do you think she'll wake up? this is so boring, this stupid boring day with her still being asleep!" i don't let it bother me though. i can usually just roll right over and fall back asleep. finally, when i do decide to grace the world with my presence, with my wit and stunning sense of humor, i find that the roomies are waiting for me, with a hot meal freshly and lavishly prepared. they're sweet, really. they sit and watch me eat, their mouths making little expectant o's as i gently place the food between my lips. i insist that they try some of my organic, free-range eggs florentine and lox, that they indulge themselves on some mimosa and fresh berries... but, alas, they stick to their oats and old oil-stained rags. (apparently, they save the good food for me. something about not being 'deserving' and 'worthy' enough. i'm not really sure. it's hard hear past those rags.)
after my breakfast, we retreat to the wash room, where they bathe me in fresh lavender and rose water; they loofah my back and my feet, scrub under my arms and behind my ears. lloyd plays the violin, something fresh and alive by vivaldi. little birds sit on the sill, admiring my soft skin and chirping along with lloyd. finally, the roomies (unfortunately, their names escape me at this point...) towel dry me with baby bunnies, and dress me in whatever new dress has been sent over from jacques. he takes care of my wardrobe-- "nothing but the best for my zulema!!" he's also quite sweet.
then, i have a spot of tea or an espresso, depending on my mood. lloyd will read to me out of a book of sonnets-- or, if he is really feeling the need for "something brilliant", he'll just read to me from my own journal. very endearing, this lloyd fellow. then, it's off to school for me. lloyd brings the rolls around to the front-- sometimes, on a very rare occasion when i am feeling most whimsical, we'll take the horse and carriage, although i often find the trek tedious and presumptuous. the rolls is fine by me, and so we are off to school. lloyd acts as my escort, carrying both my books and my small, precious, lovely body to class. i take my seat in the front, but often i haven't been there for more then three minutes before the professor arrives and begs me to take the podium!! it's riotous, but the students tend to like me. their mouths hang agape and their eyes twinkle as when moses' eyes twinkled at the sight of god. they're sweet, and ready to learn. i offer whatever nuggets of wisdom i have to share that particular day, and am whisked out of the room on the hour exactly by lloyd-- sometimes, i can't even hear myself think over the din of the applause that follows me down the hallways.
after school, i either return home to yet another lavishly prepared meal, or i attend a ball where i am the guest of honor. i'd say it was about 50/50. half the time, i'm at home. half the time, i'm the guest of honor.
at a ball.
a ball hosted just for me, in my honor.
because i'm super really popular. really.
A Day In The Life of Zulema
(aka Caboose)
firstly, i wake up. this can take up to two or three hours, and often i can hear my roomates outside my door, whispering in hushed tones "is she awake yet? when do you think she'll wake up? this is so boring, this stupid boring day with her still being asleep!" i don't let it bother me though. i can usually just roll right over and fall back asleep. finally, when i do decide to grace the world with my presence, with my wit and stunning sense of humor, i find that the roomies are waiting for me, with a hot meal freshly and lavishly prepared. they're sweet, really. they sit and watch me eat, their mouths making little expectant o's as i gently place the food between my lips. i insist that they try some of my organic, free-range eggs florentine and lox, that they indulge themselves on some mimosa and fresh berries... but, alas, they stick to their oats and old oil-stained rags. (apparently, they save the good food for me. something about not being 'deserving' and 'worthy' enough. i'm not really sure. it's hard hear past those rags.)
after my breakfast, we retreat to the wash room, where they bathe me in fresh lavender and rose water; they loofah my back and my feet, scrub under my arms and behind my ears. lloyd plays the violin, something fresh and alive by vivaldi. little birds sit on the sill, admiring my soft skin and chirping along with lloyd. finally, the roomies (unfortunately, their names escape me at this point...) towel dry me with baby bunnies, and dress me in whatever new dress has been sent over from jacques. he takes care of my wardrobe-- "nothing but the best for my zulema!!" he's also quite sweet.
then, i have a spot of tea or an espresso, depending on my mood. lloyd will read to me out of a book of sonnets-- or, if he is really feeling the need for "something brilliant", he'll just read to me from my own journal. very endearing, this lloyd fellow. then, it's off to school for me. lloyd brings the rolls around to the front-- sometimes, on a very rare occasion when i am feeling most whimsical, we'll take the horse and carriage, although i often find the trek tedious and presumptuous. the rolls is fine by me, and so we are off to school. lloyd acts as my escort, carrying both my books and my small, precious, lovely body to class. i take my seat in the front, but often i haven't been there for more then three minutes before the professor arrives and begs me to take the podium!! it's riotous, but the students tend to like me. their mouths hang agape and their eyes twinkle as when moses' eyes twinkled at the sight of god. they're sweet, and ready to learn. i offer whatever nuggets of wisdom i have to share that particular day, and am whisked out of the room on the hour exactly by lloyd-- sometimes, i can't even hear myself think over the din of the applause that follows me down the hallways.
after school, i either return home to yet another lavishly prepared meal, or i attend a ball where i am the guest of honor. i'd say it was about 50/50. half the time, i'm at home. half the time, i'm the guest of honor.
at a ball.
a ball hosted just for me, in my honor.
because i'm super really popular. really.
posted by zipper @ 8:31 PM
3 Comments:
At February 8, 2005 at 2:03 PM,
angela said…
Wow...everything really is better in San Francisco. Lloyd sounds creepy...
At March 21, 2005 at 7:29 PM,
Katie Rose Alexander said…
Well. Although your new roomates may worship and adore you, it does nothing to dispel earlier said rumour. Your presenation and reference to pop culture did garner some respect, however, your repuation receives no salvation. I know the truth. It was no "rumour". Face it, you're veneer of innocent has washed away. You're finished.
At March 21, 2005 at 7:30 PM,
Katie Rose Alexander said…
Well. Although your new roomates may worship and adore you, it does nothing to dispel earlier said rumour. Your presenation and reference to pop culture did garner some respect, however, your repuation receives no salvation. I know the truth. It was no "rumour". Face it, your veneer of innocence has washed away. You're finished.
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