I assure you, I speak no English.

Today I was in the sorting room and some Elton John came on the radio. And I totally out-diva-ed everyone. In my head. If I were in my car back home though, it could have been SERIOUS. If you want to see someone go diva, watch me sing Elton John. I think I’m a gay man trapped in a straight girl’s body. Is that an accepted sexuality nowadays?

My senior year of high school I had to drive a freshman with me to school every morning. She was shy, I’m shy, so it was a pretty silent drive (anywhere from 20 to 40 minutes). Towards the end of the year I had started forgetting that she was even in the car with me, so sometimes I’d quietly hum along with the radio (which I always put on the 50’s-70’s station). And one day an Elton John song came on, and totally forgetting that the girl was in the car with me, I started BELTING it as if Elton John himself had personally asked me to accompany him during a concert. “Look Sammy,” he had said to me, “the acoustics in this place are terrible so I’m really going to need you to project. Can you do that for me?”

Yes, Elton John. I can. And I will.

So I’m basically screaming this song for a few minutes. (“DON’T LET THE SU-U-U-N GO DOWN ON MEEEEEEEE!!!!”) And I’m driving along. I get to a stop sign, and so I look left to see if I can safely proceed. Then I look right and—OH SHIT! In my passenger seat was my frightened passenger who I had forgotten about, staring at me as if I were 100 percent macadamia nuts.


Today Astrology Bitch says to me, “You know who is Oprah? Oprah Winfrey?” I’m sorry, is that even a question? Is there someone on this planet who doesn’t know who The Goddess is? Is there someone on this planet who is unaware of the existence of this Leader of the Free World? If someone out there reading this blog does NOT know, please tell me so that I can murder you.

I’m getting really sick of how the Women of the Wash constantly talk in Hebrew as if I’m not there. Today, for example, I pulled a cart of towels across the room (since I didn’t want to sit at Crazy Bitch’s table), and Charades Bitch says to Old Bitch, “Look what she’s doing. Why is she doing that! Tell her to do something on THIS side of the room. I don’t understand why she’s doing that. Tell her!” As if I can’t understand Hebrew. But then a couple minutes later, Charades Bitch wanted me to move some stuff a bit to make room for her, and she started BLABBERING away at me in rapid Hebrew. Luckily I understood, but it’s kind of ridiculous that she’ll yell across the room in simple Hebrew telling others to tell me what to do as if I can’t understand, but then when she wants something for herself I (apparently) suddenly understand Hebrew perfectly.

I’ve decided that if she does that to me again, when she tells me to move for her I’ll say to her in really complicated Hebrew that I don’t understand. I’ll work on my accent until it’s perfect, and I’ll use the hardest words possible, but I’ll basically tell her, “I do not understand Hebrew.” She’ll repeat what she says, and in even more complex Hebrew I’ll repeat: “I do not understand Hebrew.” She’ll get frustrated, and I’ll whip out some flowery phrases, perhaps some Old Testament shit, that basically boil down to “I don’t speak Hebrew.”

It’s like that Kids in the Hall sketch. “I assure you, I speak no English.”


So today I was listening to “I Got You” with Sonny and Cher, and I realized that I can’t tell when Sonny is singing and when Cher is singing. Is that sad?

Also, you know the song “Ketchy Shuby” by Peter Tosh? This is a totally random memory now, but indulge me: I just realized today that while most people associate that song with smoking and mellowness, I associate it with flaming cars. I just remembered today that that was the song that was playing on a special night. My brother was going through a phase where he was into reggae, so he was playing it while driving him and a friend of ours home from school after a late-night theater rehearsal. So we’re driving along, it’s really mellow in the car….and then on the side of the road we saw that there was a car up ahead on the side of the freeway and there’s a small fire. As we begin to approach the car (we’re on the freeway so we’re going like 60 or 70 mph), suddenly FWOOOOOOM! A huge fireball erupted out of the car (thank G-d the passengers were out of the car by then), like 50 ft into the air. Like, it was a legit explosion. The boys, both 17 at the time, started shrieking like little girls being murdered, and I the 16 year old girl just kept yelling, “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! HOLY FUCK!” Again, we’re still on the freeway and still going like 70 mph, and my brother is now swerving everywhere because he’s still shrieking like a diva, and he keeps turning around to look at the explosion. Meanwhile I’m struggling from the backseat to keep our friend (sitting shotgun) from opening the door and leaping out due to fear.
Friend: “I’m getting the fuck out of here! (Trying to open door)”
Me: “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? WE’RE ON THE FREEWAY!!!!”
Brother: “AAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Friend: “LET ME OUT!”
Me: “We’re going 70!!!!!!”
Brother: “AAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!”
Friend: “I don’t care, I want out!”
Me: “YOU’RE GONNA DIE, YOU RETARD! STAY IN THE FUCKING CAR!!!!”
Brother: AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!”
So we’re all screaming, barely make it off the freeway. My brother pulls over once we’re off the freeway, and we all just sit there catching our breath. And I remember now, as we sat there silently, still trying to recover from our panic, “Ketchy Shuby” was playing. Almost like Peter Tosh was laughing at us.