The Lost Art Of Passing Notes

My son spends the majority of his free time texting his girlfriend, Bunny. I know this because I pay the bill and am astounded every month at how much time he seems to have for this endeavor. Last night we were eating dinner when apparently a super important text came in from Bunny that he had to answer immediately.

Me: When I was in high school, passing notes was our texting.
Kiddo: *type type type*
Captain Carl: Yep, no cell phones.
Kiddo: I know. Because you were teenagers way back in the 80's.
Me: I was also a teenager in the 90's. Unlike your father.
Captain Carl: Yeah, the early 90's.
Me: Still. You're old, dude.
Captain Carl: You graduated in 1992.
Me: Exactly. Rock on. *righteous head bob*
Kiddo: What?
Captain Carl: Don't ask.
Me: My boyfriend and I passed notes every day.
Kiddo: In class?
Me: Sometimes, although mostly we'd just pass them to each other in the hallway between classes.
Captain Carl: Me too. Except I never wrote notes, just got them from all the babes.
Me: Yeah, all those hot 80's babes that are now almost 40.
Captain Carl: In my mind, they're still 17. *closes eyes* Ohhhh yeah. *bites lip*
Kiddo: Gross.
Me: You want to see what your dad's teenage years were like? Watch a Whitesnake video.
Captain Carl: You want to see what your stepmom's teenage years were like? Watch a Debbie Gibson video.
Me: Except with more sex and drinking on country roads.
Captain Carl: So yeah...passing notes.
Kiddo: It must have taken forever for you to tell each other anything that way.
Captain Carl: Oh yeah, it was practically the dark ages.
Me: But it was romantic. Not all mechanical and short like texting is now.
Kiddo: I'm romantic in texts. Here, I'll do it right now...

"Ur hot, I like ur butt w/ all my heart"

Me: That's your idea of romantic?
Kiddo: Meh, it works.
Captain Carl: He's got a point.
Kiddo: See? *shows his return text from Bunny*

"Awww!"

Me: Whatever. Can you believe I kept all the notes my boyfriend passed me? They are so cute and sweet.
Kiddo: Let's read them!
Me: Maybe some day.
Captain Carl: Let's do it now!
Me: Really?
Kiddo: Hells yeah!
Me: Well, okay...

And, of course, this was the first note I opened...




My very own early 90's version of sexting. So romantic.

Someone Almost Got Murdered With A Squeegee This Weekend

Isn’t squeegee like the best word ever? Almost as good as the word cake. Squeegee. Awesome.

*ahem*

Anyway.

So our house is turning 7 years old this summer. I didn’t think that was very old for a house. The house I grew up in was almost 100 years old when my parents sold it and the only problem I remember about it was the ghost that hung out there. I’ll tell you that story later. Maybe.

But now I’m thinking that maybe my selfish child/teenage brain didn’t pay much attention back when I was living there, because my 7 year old house is falling apart. Okay, maybe only parts of it are falling apart. Okay fine, none if it is falling apart. It’s just breaking down a little bit. Maybe houses are like dogs and 7 years is more like 49 years? Because we’ve had to replace parts in both of our air conditioners (yes, we have two because we’re fancy rednecks, thankyouverymuch). And our kitchen tiles are cracking and buckling spontaneously and 5 of our windows have broken seals so they have that foggy, wet look about them. Our landscaping that looked so cute and neat when we moved in is now overgrown and jungle-like. Our sprinkler system only works on manual mode and sometimes it comes on even when it’s turned completely off. You get the picture. Lots of little projects to be tackled.

Because we have no money to pay professionals for all these projects, Captain Carl and I have been learning a lot about home improvement. And hiding the kitchen knives from each other. Yeah. We do not work well together. Things could get real stabby around our place real quick if either of us had easy access to pointy things.

See, the problem is that both of us are experts at everything. Curtain rod installation? Experts. Air filter replacement? Experts. Hedge clipping? Total experts. So with all this expertise floating around, it’s hard to do any projects without the words “fuck” and “you” being thrown about. You’d think after 7 years of wedded bliss and home ownership we would have learned by now to stagger the home improvement jobs far apart to give our marriage a chance to recover. After all, we almost got divorced over a vicious furniture moving incident two years ago. It was ugly, y’all. Pillows were flung, temper tantrums occurred.

Nope, haven’t learned a thing. For some reason this weekend, we decided to tackle not one but two projects. Landscaping on Friday and solar window film application on Sunday. It was like the MMA of matrimony. I have no idea what we were thinking. Well, I know what I was thinking...

Okay, this time just keep your mouth shut when he wants to do it the wrong way. Let him be all manly and shit and then when he does it wrong, you can fix it and smile serenely. It’ll kill him. It’ll be awesome.

I should totally win an award for being such a great wife.

So the landscaping went pretty well actually. We had already pulled out the old shrubs a few days before. He dug and I pulled and we only called each other jerks and assholes a couple of times. So all we had to do Friday was put in the new plants, which we did with no problems. I asked the Captain afterwards how we managed to get through it still speaking to each other and he was all “Probably because I don’t care about stupid plants.” and I was all “They aren’t stupid, they’re important!” and he was all “meh.” and I was all “Screw you then!” and he was all “Don’t take it personally, it’s no big deal.” and I was all “Your mom’s no big deal. Ha! I win!” *dancing pelvic thrusts*.

Like I said before: Me. Great Wife. Award. Right here. This lady.

So we got through the landscaping relatively unscathed and were feeling confident about our Sunday project of applying solar film to our bedroom windows. The Captain watched the instructional video on the laptop while I clipped coupons in the kitchen and yelled “Turned it up, I can’t hear it!” and “Wait, which side do we peel off?” and “We get to use razor blades? Sweet!”. That was pretty much the high point of the project. Then the Captain brought the ladder in and banged it into the wall and I asked him sweetly to please be careful and he irrationally screamed at me to shut my pie hole or something like that. I don’t know, the details are a little fuzzy and not important and no I did not start it. Shut up.

Then things got and stayed ugly. I won’t go into the sordid details, but let’s just say there was a lot of cursing and window film sticking to itself. It was a good thing the razor blades we used were dull. Also? There may or may not have been an incident involving a flying squeegee and Captain Carl’s head. Oh calm down, people. How was I supposed to know a rubber window cleaning device could rupture an eardrum? Geesh. It was totally accidental-ish.

The Roof! The Roof! The Roof Is Literally On Fire!

The closer the Kiddo gets to graduating from high school, the more he makes amazingly stupid choices. Remember the whole humping-in-my-house-while-I’m-downstairs thing? Turns out that incident was just a prelude to a higher level of idiocy. He almost burnt my house down, y’all. I found out about it at dinner last night.

The Kiddo: You know, I’m a really quick thinker.
Me: Oh really?
The Kiddo: Yeah. You’re so lucky that I am.
Me: How’s that?
The Kiddo: Well, yesterday I was in the bathroom burning out my lighter and…
Me: Wait. You were what?
The Kiddo: Burning out my lighter. You know, I was flicking it over and over to burn out the fluid so I could throw it away.
Me: Why do you have a lighter?
The Kiddo: I bought it when I got my cigars on my birthday.
Me: And you were playing with it in the bathroom?
The Kiddo: Not playing with it. Burning it out. For safety.
Me: *blink*
The Kiddo: So I threw it in the trash and got in the shower and then I smelled smoke so I looked out and the garbage can was on fire.
Me: Ohmygod.
The Kiddo: I just grabbed it and put it in the shower with me. So like I said…*taps head* ...quick thinker.
Me: Let me get this straight. You started a fire in my house because you were being safe?
The Kiddo: Yep.
Me: You could have burned the house down!
The Kiddo: Nah. I was on top of it, it’s all good.
Me: No. No, it is not all good.
The Kiddo: Are you okay? You’re face is all splotchy.
Me: No fire in my house. Ever. Do you understand?
The Kiddo: Yeah okay.
Me: Look at me, son. No fire. No lighters. No matches. No incense. No flame throwers. Nothing with a spark or flame or heat of any kind.
The Kiddo: Okay!
Me: What is it with you and fire?
The Kiddo: I don’t know. *shrug* It’s all cool and hot and stuff.

*sigh*

Only four more months until college. I'm starting a countdown.

Carpal Tunnel Here I Come

So I haven't been blogging. Because I'm super important and very busy at my new job. And also because I have to limit my typing on account of all the carpal tunnel I'm developing at the office.

See, the problem is my chair. Best I can tell, it's been around since bell bottoms were in style the first time. The arms are all scratched up and the seat is basically a piece of wood covered in something that probably once resembled some kind of fabric. My left butt cheek is completely numb by the time 5pm rolls around each day. One of the wheels falls off. A lot. I will be rolling one way or the other and suddenly I've got a gangsta lean and my wheel has shot across the room and into the next cubicle and the guy that sits there picks it up and is all "Lose something??" and I'm all "Hahahaa that was just as funny as the last six times you said it, Greg!" and he's all "Ahhhahhaaa, I'm hilarious right?" and I'm all "Hey Greg, adouchebagsayswhat?" and he's all "What?" and I'm all "Exactly. Now give me my goddamn wheel."

But the worst part about this chair? The height adjustment lever is broken, leaving me sitting dangerously close to the floor and typing with my elbows up by my ears. I'm pretty sure this is a direct OSHA violation. I shouldn't have to look up at a 90 degree angle to see my computer screen. And I'm pretty sure my mouth is not supposed to be at the same level as my desktop.

Dudes, seriously. This company is small, but they build expensive things. I have a Windows 7 Professional computer with a screen as large as my Taurus windshield. It's weird that I can't get a new $40 office chair. Our office is located in an upscale neighborhood where Dallas Cowboys football players live, but there are no tape dispensers or black pens anywhere in the place. We have security cameras and a glass and marble reception area with black metal folding chairs for our vendors to sit on while they wait (on camera) for their meetings.

Oh, and we can't wear jeans on Fridays and I'm not allowed to leave at the end of the day if anyone else is walking out already. I have to wait a few minutes so that I don't seem "too eager to go home". For reals, yo.

These bitches better keep up with the free Diet cokes or I am so out of there.

I Didn't See Anything About This Shit In My Parenting Handbook

The Scene: It's 8pm on Saturday night. We just got back from dinner out with our lovely son and his lovely girlfriend. Let's call her Bunny. Captain Carl is watching tv with Renty, the Kiddo and Bunny are upstairs in the media room and I'm in my bathroom tinkling delicately in my (of course) super clean water closet. That's what we fancy folks call a toilet, y'all.

*thump* *thump* *thump*

Hmmmm, what is that?

*thump* *thump* *thump*

Is that the wind?

*thump* *thump* *thump* *thump*

It can't be the wind. It's completely still outside.

*thump* *thump* *thump* *thump* *squeak*

Huh. The Kiddo's room is right above me, but they're on the other side of the house right now.

*thump* *thump* *squeak* *squeak* *thump*

Wait. No way...

*thump* *squeak* *squeak* *squeak* *thump* *thump* *thump*

Ohmygod. It can't be. He wouldn't dare in my house while we're downstairs....

*thump thump thump thump thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump*

OH HELLLLLLL TO THE NO!

*me stomping out into the living room*

Me: Have you checked on your son lately?
Captain Carl: Nope.
Me: I suggest that you do. Right now.
Captain Carl: It's your turn. I always check on him when Bunny is over here.
Me: You don't understand. You need to go upstairs and check. on. him. right. now.
Captain Carl: I always do it, you go.
Me: Fine!

*me running up the stairs*

Media room? Empty.
The Kiddo's room? Door closed.

*me knocking on the door with my fist* BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!

Kiddo: Ummm, what?
Me: You know what! Open the hell up!!

*10 second pause before door opens*

Kiddo: *rumpled and guilty looking* What's up?
Me: *breathing heavily* I heard you.
Kiddo: *stare*
Me: I heard you. In my bathroom.
Kiddo: Sorry.
Me: *shaky finger point* No you're not! You're just sorry you got caught!
Bunny: *staring mortified at the ceiling from her prone position on my son's bed*
Me: *manic crazy face* You know the rules!! You are to never...NEVER!!! do that in my house! You are to keep your bedroom door open AT ALL TIMES when Bunny is here and you WILL NOT do anything involving the words BOOB, BUTT, VAGINA, PENIS, BALLS, SEX, MOUTHS OR HOLES while you are under our roof!
Kiddo: *terrified stare* I know.
Me: *eyes bulging* You know??? YOU KNOW??? *more shaky finger pointing* If you know, then explain to me why I could hear YOUR BED BANGING AGAINST THE WALL while I was peeing!! Huh?? Can you explain please??? CAN YOU????
Kiddo: No.
Me: You forgot that I can hear everything, didn't you???
Kiddo: Yes.
Me: When I told you I can hear everything, I meant that I can hear EVERYTHING. I can hear when you are up here playing video games at 2am on a school night. I can hear when you are watching porn on your computer. Oh yes, I certainly can. I can even hear when you are texting people. I'm like a goddamn bat with my freaky supersonic hearing. So I can definitely hear when you are SCREWING YOUR GIRLFRIEND AT 8PM ON A SATURDAY!
Kiddo: Yes ma'am.
Me: *shaky breath* Okay. *slams door wide open against the wall* Open. Forever. *points at Bunny* You. Go home. Now.
Kiddo: Yes ma'am.
Bunny: *crying in a ball on the bed*

*me walking downstairs*

Captain Carl: What happened?
Me: Oh not much. Just heard your son having wild monkey sex with his girlfriend while I was peeing. You know, the usual.
Captain Carl: Really??
Me: Oh yeah.
Captain Carl: The little shit.
Me: Oh yeah.
Captain Carl: You okay? You look a little upset and ummmm, Parkinson's-ish??
Me: *looks at shaking hands* I need a drink.

The End.

P.S. Now y'all know why I haven't been blogging or commenting much. You know, on account of all the time I have to spend keeping my son from humping every moment of the day.

It's Because I Love You, Asshole

This week, the one and only member of Captain Carl's family who knows about my blog, his aunt, is staying with us. I asked her what she wanted me to call her here since I don't use real names and she suggested "Sweetbritches" and then was all "hahaaa, I'm just kidding!" but I know she's totally not. I decided to call her "Crystal Gripper" instead on account of her being all liberal and pro-health care bill and blah blah blah Obama blah blah blah new age blah blah blah yoga. And because that's what Captain Carl calls her already. I'll refer to her as CG for streamlining aka lazy purposes.

Anyway, so while she's been here the Captain has gone crazy with the cooking. First it was shrimp nachos. Then it was burgers and fries. Tonight it was chicken fried steak. I mean, seriously people. I'm in fat people food heaven up in here.

Unfortunately, tomorrow night is curry night. Blech. I hate curry. So does the Kiddo. But the Captain loves his Indian food and will make it anytime someone is here who will eat it without holding their nose and making gagging noises.

Me: (to CG) I love when you come to visit. We never eat like this normally.
The Captain: And you enjoy her company...
Me: Yeah, that too.
CG: You are so sweet.
Me: *shrug* It's a gift.
The Captain: *rubbing hands together* Who's ready for curry tomorrow night???
Me: Gross.
CG: You don't like Indian?
The Captain: She hates the smell.
Me: It stays in the house for days!
The Captain: Quit yer bitchin', woman.
Me: Screw you.
The Captain: It smells good.
Me: Yeah, if you like the smell of dog diarrhea.
The Captain: You are so close minded.
Me: Am not!
The Captain: Are too.
Me: Your mom!
The Captain: If you hate it so much, why did you buy me that curry cookbook for my birthday this year?
Me: It's because I love you, asshole!
CG: You guys are adorable.
The Captain: Yeah, our love is the stuff hallmark cards are made of.
CG: It's more like a Lifetime movie.
Me: You mean the one where a dingo stole your mom's baby?
The Captain: Nice.
Me: Thank you.
The Captain: Up top, baby.
Me: Holla!

Lifetime ain't got nothin' on us.