Monday, August 31, 2009
It happened at school. He had to drive home with it like this.
This is the third time he's had window decor mysteriously show up on his vehicle since my sister gave it to him.
The first time, someone drew a giant penis on the back window....complete with hairy balls and life like semen dripping from it and condoms hanging on the antenna. Unfortunately, I missed seeing this one as it was done in the middle of the night and apparently I walked right past it in my bleary-eyed state the next morning without even noticing.
The Kiddo found out it was a girl that used to like him who did it.
The second time, I walked out in the morning and noticed the back window had something written on it like "What chair in band are you again?". Ooooooh, snap! Beware the vicious band-nerd diss!
See, the Kiddo did not make first chair in band for his senior year, as he had expected. Instead, he made 3rd chair...and two juniors got 1st and 2nd chairs. Coincidentally, the 2nd chair junior was also a girl he dated for quite awhile last year.
She was also the one who wrote on his car.
Sensing a pattern here?
This last one is somewhat of a mystery so far..it's either the last girl that he dated or another girl that he almost dated but changed his mind about. Or something like that. The point is that my the boy deserves every bit of it.
The only one that really bothered him was the penis...and Captain Carl didn't notice it until about noon, so all the neighbors got to see some great art that morning.
I asked him today if it upset him to drive home with "Gay Driver" written on his windshield. He was all "Meh." and I was all "Did anyone honk?" and he was all "No but one dude was next to me at a light and he was laughing so I looked over and waggled my eyebrows at him."
Oh how I love that kid!
So I can't wait until he pisses off another one. Whoever it ends up being, I hope she draws another penis...I really hate that I missed getting a picture of that.
Friday, August 28, 2009
You wanna know why I love kiwi so much? Too bad I'm telling you anyway, asshole. First of all, the color. A perfect kiwi is the most beautiful green on the planet. I want to paint my bedroom that color, except I already painted it awhile ago and I hate painting so it's not happening. Sorry kiwi. I love all those tiny little black seeds because when you bite into a piece of kiwi, you get a little crunchiness but not too much to make you be all "gross, kiwi's are so obnoxious with all these seeds!". And then there's the flavor. A little sweet and a little tart. sigh. Oh kiwi, you complete me.
But there is one thing I hate about kiwi. The skin. Damn that skin! It's all fuzzy and tough and I'm sorry but how the hell are you supposed to peel a kiwi, anyway? I use a knife and shave it off one side at a time, and by the time I'm done my hands are covered in kiwi juice and those yucky little fuzzy strings from the skin. And hello? you have to peel about 50 of them to get enough kiwi to satisfy your healthy fruit hunger. Are you even supposed to peel kiwi? I used to think that was the only way to eat them, but my mother-in-law told me recently that she just cuts off one end and eats it out of the skin with a spoon. Like the skin's a freaking bowl. Oh let me tell you, my world was rocked by this information. Rocked! Have I been eating kiwi the wrong way all these years? Am I some kind of fruit moron???
Hey, I was listening to the radio this morning and I heard a song called "Birthday Sex". I'm pretty sure this was the exact moment that I officially became old, because I just sat there for a minute with my mouth hanging open and then I shook my head a few times and thought to myself "These are the kind of lyrics that sell these days? Pitiful." Then I grabbed my walker and headed to the refrigerator to get another glass of prune juice.
Prunes. Gross, y'all. When I was in the hospital in college for fighting for my right to party too excessively*, they served me prune pudding at every meal. The first time they brought it, I thought it was chocolate chunk pudding so I was all "This is the best hospital ever!". Then I took a bite and guess what? Not chocolate chunk. Fuck you, prunes! You suck.
Anyway, so I texted Betsey, who probably wishes by now she'd never ever given me her cell number, and told her about the birthday sex song and how old I am (but still awesome and good in bed) and she was all "Me too....we are totally Golden Girls" and I was all "I call Blanche!" because Blanche was the slutty one and also said whatever came into her head which is something I do all the time. Just yesterday I was eating lunch with a couple of my co-workers and we were talking about internet dating and how you need to be careful not to tell them where you live at first, and for some reason I decided to say "I slept with my husband before he even knew my last name or where I lived" and then they stared at me in horror and I was all "What? I was being safe!".
And then Betsey was all "I call Rose!" and I was all "You are soooo Rose" and then she was all "old men love me!" and there might have been some other texts in between those two but I can't really remember because I kind of accidentally hit on her...I was all "duh, you're so cute!" and then I got a little worried that she would think I was trying to set it up to ask about having a sexy hotel sleepover this weekend or something, so I added "I mean that in a non-lesbian way" and she was all "LOL" and now she probably thinks I'm weird. I mean, I AM. Weird, that is. But not lesbian weird. I'm heterosexual weird. Maybe with a little bi-curious weird thrown in.
I just ate the last piece of kiwi....this post is so over.
*I was actually in the hospital for pleurisy, but the other sounds way cooler and also I totally DID fight for my right to party excessively all the time and holy shit! I just combined two awesome songs into one. You're welcome, Beastie Boys and Eddie Murphy.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
So I head back to the pharmacy to get my drugs and pay for the 5 nail polishes I had picked out. I put my basket on the counter and waited while the lady pulled my prescription. Suddenly the cramping came back, and this time I knew what it meant. I was gonna need a bathroom pretty soon. By now the pharmacy lady had found my drugs and had started ringing up all the stupid shit I had thought 5 minutes ago was important but now seemed ridiculous. Who needs 5 nail polishes! What was I thinking! This is taking forever!!
The cramping has picked up the pace and alarm bells are starting to go off in my brain. Hurry! We don't have much time! Bowel emergency! Sweat beads are breaking out on my forehead and holy hell, this is the longest checkout ever. The lady stops while ringing up my nail polishes and says "You really like pink, huh?" and laughs and I'm all "Yep!" but in my head I'm all "I really like bathrooms too...get the lead out, bitch!!".
Finally she finishes and I pay and run/walk to the front of the store while chanting "please please please please please" under my breath. Things are starting to look pretty bad for me and my intestines. I'm 5 miles from home in rush hour traffic, which translates into a 20 minute drive. I take off and am now yelling at myself "You can make it! You can make it!".
Guess what? Red light. Looongggg red light. At this point I've got one foot on the brake and the other braced on the floor, lifting myself up off the seat so I can...ahem...clench. The only word in my head now is "FUCKKKKKK!!!"
I couldn't make it. I had to stop at the first place I saw, an Arby's. I fucking love Arby's. I couldn't believe I was about to defile the Arby's bathroom, but I had no choice. Ever have fast food bathroom diahrrea? Yeah, it's not fun. That's all I'm going to say about that.
So this weekend, the Captain and I are meeting up with this hot lady and her husband for lunch. She's in town for some lame Depeche Mode concert and actually has the balls to not only meet me in person but also GIVE ME HER CELL PHONE NUMBER. I know, right??? That bitch is crazy. I immediately began texting her furiously about clown masks and phone sex (not together...but now that I think about it, that would be pretty awesome). Amazingly, she responded and we've been having a texting battleship war for two days. What's even better is that she told me she also had a public bathroom diarrhea incident this week. We're totally diarrhea twins! But hers was gas station bathroom diarrhea, which is way worse than Arby's bathroom diarrhea. So I am totally winning the diarrhea competition. Wait, maybe there wasn't a competition.
OMG, we should TOTALLY have a diarrhea competition!
Monday, August 24, 2009
Then I got over myself and flew home to Minnesota to spend a few weeks with my parents. I had just recently told them that I met the Captain online, and my Mom was not ready to stop freaking out over the fact that her youngest daughter could very likely be dating a serial killer...this was back in the year 2000, when internet dating was still kind of a dirty little secret among desperate singles. Is it still? I don't know, I'm out of touch due to all my time being used to wash my husband's dirty underwear. Ahh, wedded bliss.
Anyway, so I'm back home and hanging with my folks when my Mom gets a call from Jerry at Flowers by Jerry (yes, he is) telling her he's got a delivery for Miss Yvonne and he'll be right ooooverrrr! Small towns are like that...the florist delivers your bouquets himself, the bank manager covers your overdrafts because your family have been customers forever and the post office calls you when a big package comes in for you. (that's what she said)
So here comes Gay Jerry with a giant bouquet of flowers from Captain Carl with a card that says something like "I love you and your smokin' hot boobies" and my Mom was all "I didn't know serial killers sent flowers" and I was all "They totally do, Mom".
A few days later, the Captain flew our way for the Minnesota portion of his trip. After he left, I kept finding little love notes that he had left in my things. I found a few in my suitcase, in my makeup bag and in my magazines and books. They all said things like "I miss you" and "You're the best" and "You totally owe me a blowjob". You know, sweet shit like that.
So I ended up marrying the guy and he totally cried at our wedding because he was so happy and also because he was relieved our year long engagement was finally over and so was the month long stop I had put on the sexual relations in order to make sure we would have totally hot honeymoon sex. And after 6 years of marriage, he still sends me flowers at work and still tells me he loves me every day and he even sometimes remembers to make the bed. But the love notes have pretty much stopped.
That's why I was so excited when I stumbled into the bathroom this morning and noticed there was a note on the vanity. A love note! From my adoring husband! Ohmyohmyohmy!
So I grabbed my glasses to read it...
I don't care what anyone says...that's love, right there.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
But then I realized that Whiskey Girl has not posted yet about the penis straw I sent her and I'm all about winning and in this case, winning means I post about my straws first. Take that, bitch! I say bitch with love, because I really do love you WG. I love you like I love my penis straws...with all my heart and soul and also I might love you so much that I stick you in a frozen margarita this weekend and suck on you all night. Awww yeah. Wait, what?
So anyway...penis straws. Here are a few of my favorite hiding spots so far.
Your mom's drawers are way dirtier. Boo-ya.
I stuck one in the meat drawer today, but he hasn't found it yet.
heh heh I said meat drawer.
He'd be so proud if he knew.
I know...I'm a genius.
I may or may not have been drunk when these last two pictures were taken.
Monday, August 17, 2009
That totally happened to me today.
Steamy over at Steam Me Up, Kid had a giveaway and I entered, even though I knew I shouldn't win because I already won one of her giveaways and I never got the plants she sent me to live so I really didn't deserve to win again. But still! I wanted that Mr. T voice thingy! Well, I didn't win and I found out through Kurt's blog, which is like finding out from your best friend that your husband is cheating on you. I went right over to Steamy's blog to congratulate the winners and also to say I really didn't want her stupid prizes anyway because I heard she wipes them across her vagina before she sends them out.
But then I didn't do that because she gave me Garbage Pail Kids....aka this award.
I don't know if I'm supposed to feel honored, but I totally do. Stainy! My blog is stainy, y'all! This is probably the grossest thing that's ever been on my blog, which also makes it one of my most favoritest things.
If you don't know what it is, don't ask.
Then I went over to Trodo's blog and realized I actually DID win her giveaway...but turns out everyone that entered won, which is like everyone in the state who bought a lottery ticket won and yes I know that was in a movie and I'm pretty sure it was Liar Liar or maybe it was Dumb and Dumber and yes I know it wasn't either of those movies but meh, whatever.
I just know that she's gonna send me that creepy mask thing. I just know it.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
I've named her Marian. She's a librarian. And I am a genius.
Marian is sweet as pie. She's so considerate and clean and I love her. So far. Because I know she'll eventually do something to fuck it up and make me hate her. But in the meantime, she's cool. I mean cool in that she's a nice person. I don't mean cool in that she's hip and trendy. She's a huge nerd, actually. She also appears to be about 13 years old socially.
This is probably why she hangs out with Emo. Marian is almost 40 years old. Emo is 17 years old. She found us through him. Emo knew we were looking for a renter and suggested that Marian call me.
I'm a bit concerned with this relationship. But I'm not surprised. At all. Emo can't seem to find any girls his age that want to hang out with him for more than 10 minutes. He runs them off with his weird, vampire-ish personality. What we've tried to explain to him many times is that teenage girls love the IDEA of a weird, vampire-ish boy....but they don't want a real life one. Because the real life ones have acne and laugh too loud and say inappropriate things and become their stalker after one date.
So for him to be hanging out with Marian makes sense. The day she moved in, she talked about Emo's music and how awesome it is. The boy screams into a microphone and then plays it over techno music. Then he posts it on myspace and has us listen to it over and over. It's not awful, but it's not good either. It makes me think of Ross on Friends, with his "sound".
Anyway, my point is that I think Marian is less of a romantic interest and more of a motherly, encouraging friend. At least in Emo's eyes. I can't say for sure how Marian feels though...I'm hoping she's not, ummmm, you know..."interested". Because that would be gross and I really don't want to be forced to call the cops.
Captain Carl doesn't share my opinion though. He says someone needs to pop Emo's cherry so the kid will just calm the fuck down, and who cares if it's a 40 year old gray haired and overweight librarian?
The thought makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Me: Hello, it's a great day at Ninja Inc, this is Miss Yvonne can I help you?
CC: What are you wearing?
Me: Just my phone headset and red stilettos.
CC: You don't have red stilettos.
Me: Way to ruin the fantasy already, dude.
CC: You should TOTALLY buy some red stilettos!
Me: Is there a reason you called, besides to bug me? I'm very busy and important.
CC: You're IM'ing with Trodo again, aren't you?
Me: Yes AND I am also working very hard. *tap tap tap*
CC: Are you pretending to type something so you sound busy?
Me: *tap tap tap* I have no idea what you are talking about, sir. Now please, stop calling this number. This is not a phone sex line.
CC: Your boss just walked over, didn't he?
Me: No sir, I will not spank you with my ruler. I might need to use it later today for spreadsheeting.
Me: It's a word.
CC: Is not.
Me: Is too.
CC: It so is not.
Me: Is too infinity.
CC: So I'm calling to tell you we are being invaded by giant mushrooms.
CC: I went out in the backyard and there are mushrooms all over the yard and there is one that is 7 inches across.
Me: I don't believe you.
CC: You need go out and see it when you get home.
Me: I don't go in the backyard, you know that.
CC: Because of the garden?
Me: Yes, because of what used to be the garden but is now an overgrown, giant weed maze that small children get lost in and when they walk out the other side they are in Narnia.
CC: Oh come on, you gotta see this mushroom!
Me: I don't care about the mushroom.
CC: Yes you do!
Me: I don't want to go back there because then I will look at the garden and I will get depressed because it's awful and I can't afford to pay someone to fix it and I'm too lazy to do it myself and I know YOU won't do it.
CC: That garden was your idea, it's not my problem you made it as big as a basketball court.
Me: If you loved me, you would weed it for me.
CC: Anyway, about this mushroom...
Me: I'M NOT GOING OUT THERE TO SEE THE MUSHROOM!
CC: Come on!
Me: Just take a picture of it for me.
CC: Not the same, you have to see it in person.
CC: What's wrong?
Me: You made me depressed, thanks a lot.
CC: Depressed about the garden?
Me: Yes, I finally stopped thinking about it and then you bring it up again and now I'm depressed.
CC: Well just put it out of your mind.
Me: I can't!
CC: Yes you can. You'll come home, you'll look at the giant mushroom, you'll be amazed and you'll not think about the garden.
Me: Oh for pete's sake, I don't care about the stupid mushroom!
Me: Now you're mad at me?
CC: You overreact, I get tired of that.
Me: Well excuse me, Mr. Perfect.
CC: Nothing, I'm gonna go.
Me: I can't wait to see that mushroom!
P.S. That mushroom was so not 7 inches wide.
P.P.S. I promise I'll post this week about my penis straws and our new librarian renter.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
I woke up this morning with a giant coochie spider bite on my inner thigh. I'm assuming it was a coochie spider that did it, because of it's proximity to the cooch. But he obviously didn't go to spider class on the day they taught how to bite the coochie, because he missed it by about 5 inches. Not that I'm complaining. I'm actually quite grateful that he missed the mark because, as embarrassing as it is to be sitting at work scratching my inner thigh all day, it would be way worse if he had actually bit the part he was probably aiming for.
I told Captain Carl about my coochie spider bite and he just stared blankly at me and I was all "Hello, I have a spider bite! It's not weird, everyone gets them." and he was all "There's no such thing as a coochie spider." and I was all "Ummm, clearly there is because look at my thigh." and he was all "Yeah, you're making that up. And it was probably an ant that did it, not a spider." and I was all "Holy shit, there are coochie ANTS too???" and he was all "Seriously, what's the matter with you?" and I was all "Your mom." and then he was all "Right." and then I was all "Come back here, I need you to scratch my coochie bite!".
Then when I was leaving for work, our West Africa Missionary neighbor came over to chit chat for a minute without his shirt on because he had been out running and I left my car door open. When I got on the highway, there was a mosquito flying around in there with me. I'm pretty sure the bastard snuck in when I was talking all churchy with the neighbor while trying not to stare at his chest because the guy's pretty old and practically a priest but damn, nice pecs Reverend!
So I'm driving and the mosquito started buzzing around my face. Every time it did, I would swing wildly and try to catch it in my fist of death. At one point I started up with the windmill arms while yelling "Get the fuck out of my face, fucker!!!!" A couple of times I went over into the next lane, but only SLIGHTLY because I am an excellent driver, especially when I'm distracted by flying insects or by texting or by opening another beer. Then I had to yell for awhile at the guy next to me that started honking during one my my wild arm swings because dude! I'm about to get West Nile over here! I can't be worrying about your stupid Honda, okay? Some people are so inconsiderate. Geesh.
I ate the biggest nectarine known to man when I got to work. I'm not even kidding. This thing was about the size of softball. No, bigger than that. It was the size of a large-ish shrunken head. Or about a B cup boob. Which is a somewhat small breast size compared to my giant bazoombas, but it's a huge size for a nectarine. And the thing was so freaking juicy. I was squirting nectarine juice all over myself and my desk. You are totally turned on right now, aren't you? Well don't be, because it wasn't sexy because I was wearing clothes and plus I wasn't moaning and making sex faces. Okay, it might have been a little sexy because every time I took a bite, the nectarine made sucking noises. But you know that line "I can eat a peach all day" or something like that? I forget what movie that was in but I know it was supposed to be all hot and sexy because ha ha! he's talking about cunnilingus! . Well, I'm here to tell you that there is no way anyone could do that all day because things start getting sticky and messy really fast and that shit gets old pretty quick, especially when you don't have enough paper towels available. Plus, have you ever seen a man doing anything all day besides sit around and not do laundry?
So I had to go into the break room to wash my face and hands because of all the juice and wouldn't you know it, The Cup Nazi was in there cleaning the front of the refrigerator. Awesome, I love that lady. I'm pretty sure she loves me way more though, because she never talks to me or makes eye contact and everyone knows that when someone does that they secretly like you a whole lot and are probably just shy or planning how they could get away with murdering you.
The Cup Nazi got new coffee makers yesterday for the office. They are the kind that you put the individual little coffee grind containers into and it brews one cup at a time. People got all excited and clappy and all day I kept hearing "Have you tried the new coffee machine yet?? OMG, you have to try the pecan praline!" Pecan fucking praline, people. It's almost like the second coming of Christ, except instead of getting forgiveness for your sins you get sweet hot beverages.
The Cup Nazi sent out a three page email with directions on how to use it and I was all "Oh please, three pages on how to make a cup of coffee?? I'm not a moron!" and then I went in there to try the hot chocolate and I put my cup under the wrong part of the machine and the hot chocolate came out and splashed all over the counter. Dudes, she didn't put ANYTHING in that email about where to put your cup! What a bitch.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
It sure as shit isn't me or the Captain or the Kiddo. Because we keep the air at fucking 80 degrees most of the time to keep expenses down. Even though the Captain and I are sweating are fat asses off. Do you know how hot 80 degrees feels inside to a fat person when it's 103 degrees outside every damn day? Hot as Malaysian sweat shop, that's how.
I also wait until I have a full load before doing the laundry, RENTY. Dude does his laundry every single weekend. But he never has a full load, so he does seven teeny tiny loads. I swear to Baby Jesus, last weekend he did a load that consisted of 3 pairs of socks, two pairs of underwear and a shirt. And he always sets the temp on hot.
You know what else he always does? Turns down the air conditioner upstairs. And then leaves the house for hours at a time. So yeah, thanks for wasting both gas and electricity you big jerk. You're awesome. And by "awesome" I mean "not at all awesome".
Remember how in my last post I said I still like the guy.? Yeah, I'm changing my mind.
Dude's about to start paying for utilities up in this mo fo.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
When he's working, Renty only makes coffee on the weekends. But while he was unemployed, he made it every single day, several times a day. Now, I love the smell of coffee. I don't drink it, but the smell is heavenly. My favorite aisle in the grocery store is the coffee aisle. However, Renty drinks Folgers. Which is probably great for the wallet, but it smells like hot tuna when it's brewing. The first weekday that he was not working, I came home from my job at 5pm and asked Captain Carl if he was making the dreaded tuna casserole. I hate tuna casserole. I hate anything that has heated tuna as an ingredient. Captain Carl just looked puzzled and said no.
It took me a few days to figure out where the fucking tuna smell was coming from. Every day I would search desperately to find what was causing it. I ran lemons through the disposal, I pulled everything out of the fridge, I dumped baking soda in the litter box and the washing machine. But I could still smell it.
Then one day I stayed home from work and noticed that whenever Renty started up the coffee pot bam!...hot tuna. Nasty. Lucky for me, the smell goes away as soon as he turns it off.
But guess what? Renty never washes the coffee pot. NEVER EVER. And the coffee pot belongs to us, not him. So once a week, I get pissed off and angrily wash the dried hot tuna smell out of it while muttering to myself that it wouldn't kill him to buy decent coffee now that he's working again.
And then there are the drinking glasses. I've never seen one person use so many glasses in a day. One day he used five, all for water. Every time he came downstairs, he would put an empty glass on the counter, take a clean one and get a drink.
Oh and let me just mention the ice thing. Renty loves ice in his drinks. Especially when it's 1am and he decides he needs a glass of water. I've been woken up several times by him dumping ice into a glass in the middle of the night.
The man cannot do anything quietly. He slams the microwave door like it weighs 50 pounds. My office is on the other side of the kitchen wall and when he's in there banging around, I'm cringing from the noise.
His kids are the same way. His youngest runs around upstairs yelling "Dad! Hey Dad!" every five minutes. Last weekend I think I heard "Dad! Come on Dad! Spongebob! Dad! SPONGEBOB!!" about a hundred times.
But I still like Renty. You know why?
- Because he calls his son "tiger" and sometimes when he's been drinking, he calls Captain Carl that too.
- When we have drunk karaoke nights, he joins in and sing songs like "My Humps" and "Gold Digger". Let me tell you, there is nothing like a drunk white guy singing a Kanye song.
- Speaking of "My Humps'...that's also his ringtone for his ex-wife.
- He agreed to share his bathroom with the Kiddo because we needed his bathroom for our new renter, who would not take the room unless she got a private bathroom.
- Whenever he meets the Kiddo in the hallway upstairs, my son is all "Hey man, what's up?" and Renty is all "Oh nothing, just keepin' it real" and I giggle every time.
P.P.S. Don't forget to keep it real, yo.