Notes on Old-Lady-Alicia and The New Age of Burglary: excerpt from a letter apologizing for a belated birthday card

My Dear Darling,

 Are you suggesting that my handwriting is illegible? I know...I mean my my pen pal, Melissa, has learned to read my chicken scratch. And so can YOU. Even WITH all the cross-outs and refer-back-to's/arrows/ yada. Sometimes the ole' pen can't keep up with me brain. I'm like that super fast kid on the soccer field who clearly has what it takes but can never remember which way to run the ball. 

Oh. Also meant to tell you (yes I am obsessing about the bday card but that goes for all my letters in general. They're bad as goddamn drunk dials except whatever-I-said's on paper, sitting in Dear Whoever's mail pile. Ink proof instead 100 proof--ha!-)...

I wanted to say also, in conclusion, that my darling husband with whom I have co-habitated for 15 (!!!) years and who I've known for 20...HE received a belated card (and I mean by like close to 2 weeks). Thing is is that I'd purchased this cool Astrologically-related card quite some time before Nov. 4 but in my amnesia I forgot (redundancy fetish,yes) about it entirely until the day came...and then I couldn't find the goddamn thing to save me life! When I DID finally find it I was in a really bad way physically and incapable of writing to him with necessary honesty and in with love letter feeling. So. Plus rides are scarce these days (which has begun to suck big donkey dick). I haven't seriously left the house except to bring T walking--or riding his bike--to school. Then Hoarders or Intervention and letters and laundry and cream of wheat. I think I might smell. Later-day I hang out on the playground and watch my boy---favorite time of day-- then home again. 5 days now since I blew this joint and hit up Walmart. Right---WALMART (see, also with the loss of access-to-wheels comes a surprisingly pleasant give-a-shit sluffing: I'll go anywhere). And if I don't hitch a ride earlyish in the day I fade. Man, I should just thrown in the towel and start knitting (yes I know plenty of cool people my age knit but YOU know I am not plenty-of-cool-people-my-age). I'll subscribe to large-print Readers Digest and AARP mags and grumble about the atrocious price of canned peas. I'll dust a lot and leave out stale-candy bowls. Also I'll despise the young couple next door because they have gaudy plastic lawn furniture. Better not get me started on that Ciley Myrus twit. Shameful, absolutely shameful! People Magazine used to be such a respectable publication. And have you seen these little girls who leave their houses? They might be dressed but their bums sure as hell don't know it! (WHERE ARE THEIR MOTHERS!?) Gracious me. The world is going to hell in a hand basket! It's enough to drive one to drink! And then I'll unhook a perfectly good stitch because I'm so flustered. But my mood will shift quickly. I'll put down my knitting and pop a stale peppermint. I'll look up at you, smiling shiny as a thief who makes bank breaking into pre-fab houses. Houses mortgaged by total morons. You know, the "two mutual friends" people who announce on Facebook that they're "OFFFF 2 HAWAII 4 A MONTH SUCKAS! lol!" Their profile pictures unfailingly include obese cats named CandyPie or Kitty-Lou. Maybe a couple of pale, scowling 'tweens tagged as Tyler and Mackailah (the latter spelled 'uniquely' as to suggest, however depressingly unlikely, the possibility of 'Mackailah' herself turning out to be anything but that dull, mumbley-girl slouched in the back row. You know, the girl who's had to correct the pronunciation and/or spelling of her name since she was 6. And the second she turns 18, poor Mackailah will change her very-unique-name to Miley). Anyway. These same "two mutual friends" arrive home a month later (as promised), all John-Bohener-tan, and are stunned to find their houses emptied of any and all electronics---along with the Maytag set, his faux leather 'good jacket,' her knock-off Channel bag, and both kids' new LL Bean winter coats. And, just to punish these fools for being so fucking DUMB? Gone--- every last bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. 

But enough about our kick-ass neo-criminal. I, old lady Alicia, will look up with those big shiny-watery eyes and ask you, in my best tremble-sweet voice (after a final mention of having been driven to drink)...I'll implore you to be-a-dear and fetch me the 'good' scotch from the towel closet (no, not the bottle behind the rubbish basket!). It's kept there, of course, so the grandkids won't get into any mischief. Once I'm settled in (coffee mug filled to the brim) I'll press the television 'clicker' to catch up on my program, General Hospital. Yesterday was Wednesday: I was at bingo chain-smoking with Louise...I might be old as fuck but I know how to use that DVR thingy…”

 -Your Darling Dear