Usually sunny Los Angeles was overcast, and I felt lethargic and zonky and gross. After meeting a few friends for lunch, I came home and crawled back into bed. I watched horrible TV shows and kept wandering into the kitchen for handfuls of salty snacks like Salt & Pepper Pop Chips. God, Pop Chips are really good. I had just gotten over a cold (or mild flu) recently and was afraid that maybe I had pushed myself too hard too soon and it was back. But the more I thought about it, the more I had to admit I was simply depressed. But why? I mean, it made no sense! Everything’s going great, I’m happy with a capital F! But that’s the thing about The Blues—they are rarely based on reality or logic, and they seldom make sense. Sometimes you just feel like cold dog poop and you’ve simply got to ride it out.
By the same token, you cannot allow yourself to wallow in the funk. Yes, I crawled back into bed and felt a little sorry for myself. Yes, I watched RuPaul’s Drag Race and got quite a vigorous upper-face workout as I repeatedly rolled my eyes and knitted my brow. Yes, I ate half a bag of Pop Chips (they’re not fried, so it’s okay, right?), but it never takes long for me to get bored with The Blues and pull myself up by my Payless bootstraps.
Around 7 p.m. last night, it hit me. “Screw this!” I said aloud as I bounded out of bed. You know, the big, beautiful bed in my big, beautiful home that I share with my not-so-big, beautiful dogs? I kissed my precious pooches, Baby and Lil’ Sister, on their sweet little black lips and went into the kitchen. No, not for more Pop Chips, but to tackle the sink full of dirty dishes. OK, “sink full” isn’t exactly accurate. There was a glass or two, my favorite coffee mug with the owl on it, maybe a plate or bowl and a few spoons and forks. If I leave a few old magazines and a piece of junk mail on a table, I feel the urge to call the producers of Hoarders and pitch myself as the season finale. My friends don’t call me Joan Crawford for nothing. But even a mere two or three things in the sink are enough to bring me down, so I ran the hot water, squeezed out some lemony liquid soap and scrub-a-dubbed those dirty dishes—sending a small portion of my depression right down the drain along with that filthy, lukewarm water! Then I took out the trash and the recycling, plopping them into their respective containers outside—yes, along with another little bundle of The Blues that belonged in the garbage!
Then I pulled out the best friend to anyone who has two dogs and/or a love of raw vegetables—and, honey, I have both—Fabreze! I opened all the doors and windows, spritzed until my trigger finger got tired and turned all the ceiling fans to ‘high.’ And, you guessed it, along with those stale, musty odors, some of my lingering bad mood also floated out into the cool night air. Good riddance, you stinky disposition! Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, bad mood!
People, never underestimate the healing powers of a clean and organized house—or a nice, hot shower, for that matter. After mine, I got back into bed and pulled out my MacBook Pro to go over my schedule: Working on that hilarious book with my pal, Ross Mathews. Starting my new weekly Monday night show at The Abbey. Writing for the legendary Joan Rivers on Fashion Police. Doing a show at Casita del Campo on March 2 and 3 as well as a few out-of-town appearances here and there. Then there were the many luxurious and leisurely lunches with my fabulous friends, and lots of fun shows featuring many of them, such as Selene Luna’s Dog & Pony Show, Coco Peru: There Comes a Time, Love, Connie, The Lindsey Alley Show and Unitard that I plan on attending. (Sadly, most of these will have come and gone by the time you read this, but a few are happening after, so Google them!) Yes, life was good.
So as I closed my laptop to get a good night’s sleep, I also powered down my depression. I’m sure it will return again, rearing its ugly head just like those pesky Kardashians, but I shan’t worry or fret. For I know all too well how to sweep, spritz, scrub, shower and schedule it away.
Sorry, but taking a closer look at my calendar, I simply don’t have time for The Blues!