Adventures in Clusterfuckistan, Part One

You can't find it on a map. It has no capital city, no national anthem, no Olympic team. But it's there. Squeezed in between your audit notice and the puppy barf you slipped on. Surrounded by the broken washing machine when everyone has the stomach flu and the Hooters receipt you just found in your partner's pocket. With a phone number on it. 

And your kid's teacher sends home a note asking for a parent conference as soon as possible. And suggests you bring a checkbook. And an attorney.

Yup. You've arrived in Clusterfuckistan. Where the air is murky, the food has e-coli, none of your pants fit and everyone you've ever met is doing better than you are.

There's no quick way out of this town. Well, heavy drinking can help you forget where you are and watching reruns of "Sabrina, The Teenage Witch" can temporarily ease the pain (when isn't having a magic finger the perfect answer to life's vicissitudes?) but you aren't leaving this place any time soon.

You don't belong here if you've merely lost your wallet. Or if your debit card is rejected at Trader Joe's every once in a while. Or even if your kid tells you he hates you. You go to Clusterfuckistan when all the shit hits the fan at once. And then you get your period.

When my baby left for college I had a wee breakdown. Couldn't bring myself to get back on the plane in DC and Robin had to drive me, drugged, weeping, needy, all the way to Portland. And when we got there, my beloved thirteen-year-old dog died. And Robin left his job. And my dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. And my car was stolen. Everything was fucked. Clusterfucked. They don't make a General Mills International Coffee flavor to make that moment all better.

So I found a nice studio apartment in Clusterfuckistan and moved in. I sat there every day and cried, leaving only to stumble out to my back deck (and cry) or to drive through Burgerville for a caffeine free Diet Coke (and cry). I became a devoted resident of the town. I ran the city council. I was the fucking queen of Clusterfuckistan. My sash was too tight (clothes only come in size 0 and -0 there. And the salespeople are thin and judgmental) and my tiara gave me a migraine but I served my kingdom tirelessly.

It's inevitable, I suppose, that just when things are really awful, when you are exhausted and done, sometimes things will get even worse. I have found that when this happens, it's best to pack a few things, head straight to the Fuckistans and ride out the shitstorm. Bring a book (Calvin Trillin is good) and Newman's Own Honey Mustard Pretzel Rods (the official snackfood of Clusterfuckistan). Wear only cotton  muu-muu's or extra large dashikis. Eschew anything with the Kirkland label on it. Never, ever watch Sarah Palin on her new Fox TV show. Be kind to yourself.

Speak only to people who have recently lost their fortunes or gained more than 50 lbs. Avoid all friends who are in love or exercise regularly. Rear-end all minivans that have bumper stickers extolling the virtues of their children or that tell us that marriage is between a man and woman. Clusterfuckistan is full of those assholes. Do not patronize any business that misspells its name in an attempt to be cute. 

Defriend everyone on Facebook who has more than 400 friends. Nobody has 400 friends.

When your stay is over (you will know it's time because you will regain your taste for coffee, and you will not want to bitch slap Valerie Bertinelli every time she gushes about Jenny Craig. Well, you'll still want to bitch slap her but you won't need to) leave the apartment clean and tidy for the next guest. The last thing new arrivals need to deal with are your funky sheets.

Welcome back.

Oh, and no one cleaned up the puppy barf while you were gone. You don't mind, do you?

Comments

[Karen Jackson]

Good one, Ann.
Is this why I have not heard from you in over a week?

[yochi]

karen i don't think they have phone or internet yet in clusterfuckistan...

[Smartass Michelle]

"And then you get your period." Truer words have never been spoken sister!!

[alicia]

you didn't tell me the commune's address is in clusterfuckistan. rats. and pass the cheetos please.

[Jane]

You say "and cry" like maybe it's a bad thing, but I say "when in Clusterfuckistan do as the clusterfucked do." Also I am totally on board with misspelled business names not being cute.

[Lacey]

I really love comedy, and I used to search Comedy Central for good shows and religiously set my DVR to record them. There is nothing like some good comedy at the end of a tough day with a 3- and 5-year old (and a 42-year old husband who sometimes acts like a 5-year-old). These days, I need only to read the latest entry in the blog of Ann Brown. Thank you for your truly HILARIOUS contributions to my day!

[Claire]

I've been there. Oh, yes, I've been there. (Did you know my sister created "Sabrina" the TV show, btw? Nice to see it mentioned.)

[Sarah B.]

Jesus Ann. You have given a name to a town I find myself in every few months or so. My visit usually involves anything with high frutose corn syrup, usually after 10pm, watching reruns of Law and Order SVU or when I'm really there, Snapped.(It's a show about women who have been screwed over by their jerky husbands and they lose it and take them out in some way, thus the term Snapped) but I had to quit watching that show because it started to sound pretty good. Anyway, it's nice to know I'm not the only one who wants to wear muu muus and bitch slap Valerie Bertinelli.