On The Positive Side, I Now Have A Gay 19 Year Old Boyfriend

In the past 48 hours I have done all of the following:

1. Visited my in-laws for Easter weekend.
2. Ate approximately 53 mini chocolate eggs.
3. Drank two very large top shelf margaritas on my father-in-law’s dime.
4. Ate a lot of chips and salsa while drinking said margaritas.
5. Got drunk and flirted with my son’s 19 year old gay friend while Captain Carl laughed his ass off.
6. Was reminded by my son of the time I got drunk and flirted with his other, non-gay friend by singing Prince's "Sexy Motherfucker" to him.
7. Got called a cougar by Captain Carl. Made clawing motion and sounds vaguely resembling cat noises.
8. Puked my guts out at three in the morning.
9. Refused to speak to Captain Carl after he got a speeding ticket.
10.Drove through torrential rain and hail. Promised God I would never flirt with my son's friends or be hung over on Easter again if we got home safely.
11. Got home safely. So long, younger men and margaritas. Damn it.

And that was how I celebrated the resurrection of Christ this year.

My mother would be so disappointed. So would, you know...Jesus.

p.s. The gay kid loved it.
p.p.s. So did the non-gay one. Because I'm just that awesome. Rawr.

Seems Like My Serial Killer Could Have Picked A Better Weapon

Yesterday was our 8th anniversary, but Captain Carl has been in Oklahoma all week for stupid business stuff so I totally spent the day alone. Well, I did have dinner with my sister…but after that I was by myself. You can go ahead and start feeling sorry for me now.

So I get home after dinner and I’m all feeling sorry for myself and I call the Captain and he’s all “I’m watching Dancing with the Stars.” and I’m all “What? We are apart on our anniversary and you’re watching a show you won’t ever watch with me?” and he’s all “There’s nothing else on.” and I’m all “Then you should have drove home to be with me on our anniversary.” and he’s all “But we're four hours apart and I have to work tomorrow.” and I’m all “Still. Whatever. I don’t even care.”

Not the most romantic anniversary ever. But it’s okay because he’s coming home tonight and it’s totally going to be romantic and he is totally going to rub my back for me. What? That’s romantic. He loves to do that. Especially right after a four hour drive. *shifty eyes*

So I go to bed and I’m lying there on my back and I can’t get comfortable. I decide to try sleeping on my stomach. And that’s when it happened...

My biggest fear is home invasion. I’m terrified that someone is going to get into my house and murder me. This fear is magnified by a zillion when I’m alone. I’m completely rational throughout the evening. I eat dinner, watch tv, read a book. Whatever. I’m not scared at all. And then I go to bed and blam! Petrified. I’m convinced a psycho killer has snuck into my house while I was at work and has been hiding in my closet or under my bed or in my shower the whole time I’ve been there. And now he’s waiting for me to fall asleep so he can murder me with a knife from my very own kitchen. Or with the fireplace poker from my very own fireplace. Or with the hitachi magic wand vibrator from my very own sex toy drawer. The murder weapon is always something we own. Because serial killers love irony. Apparently.

But for some reason, none of the usual fears were running through my head last night. Everything was quiet and I was in a comfortable sleeping position. Lying on stomach, one arm under the pillow…so comfy. I was almost asleep when I felt a pinch on my arm.

Ouch.

I ignore it. Until I feel it again, only more painful this time.

Damn, what is that? OMG, maybe it’s a spider!

I jump up and turn on the light. I turn my pillow over several times and find nothing. Then I just stare at my bed for awhile, waiting for the spider to come out. Nothing. I reach over and grab my glasses and when I turn back to the bed, I see it.

A june bug. Crawling across my bed towards me. Much screaming and flailing of arms. I am completely grossed out. A june bug was under my pillow.

How the fuck did it get under there??? OMG, I bet the serial killer totally put it there to distract me and he is totally creeping up behind me right now to strangle me with a wire hanger from my very own closet!

It's a testament to my crazy brain that I was able to turn one june bug into a murder weapon. Of course there wasn’t a serial killer behind me. But the june bug was still there. So I had to kill it with my sex toy catalog and then I switched pillows just in case the other one was infested with june bugs because duh, of course it was and then I laid in bed wide awake for an hour because I was all itchy and convinced that the june bug had laid eggs in my arm and now I was a host for millions of baby june bugs and OMG it’s totally going to be like that one guy that had a headache and he went to the doctor and the doctor found hundreds of maggots in his ear!

Yeah.

The serial killer thing isn’t nearly as scary as june bug larvae growing in my body.

p.s. I texted Captain Carl this morning to tell him about what happened and I was all “a june bug was under my pillow last night and it bit me.” and he was all “june bugs don’t bite.” and I was all “Then it pinched me. Or laid eggs in my arm. Whatever it did, it was gross.” and he was all “heh heh” and I was all “It was traumatic, shut up!” and he was all “Was it right side only june bugs?’ and then I died from loving him so much. That man is sooo my soul mate.

Ode To Renty

Our long time renter, Renty (I’m a genius at making up names for people), has moved out. He lived with us for almost two years. Long enough for him to feel like a permanent fixture in our home. I was beginning to think he would never move out. He’d be like our kid who drops out of college and works part-time at GameStop and spends the rest of his time in his room playing World of Warcraft and smoking weed while we ask him on a daily basis when he’s going to “make something of himself”.

I had a love/hate relationship with Renty. He didn’t know that, though. I think. I hope. Because Renty is a nice guy and the hate part of our relationship came only from me on account of how I resented the necessity of having a renter live with us. Like my very astute 19 year old son said to me a few months ago, “It wouldn’t matter if he was perfect, you would still hate him just because he’s here.” Smart boy, that one. I really hope he doesn’t drop out of college.

I stopped blogging about Renty because I got paranoid that he had discovered my blog. I wasn’t always nice when I blogged about him, so I quit when I suspected he might have caught on. Which is really too bad because there are just so many stories. But we had a good thing going with Renty, so I kept him off the blog after awhile.

And then? Renty had a blind date on New Year’s Eve. And the next day, he asked me if I wanted to see a photo of his girlfriend on his phone and I was all “You have a girlfriend?” and he was all “Yeah, the girl I went out with last night.” and I was all *blink* and he was all “Yeah, she’s a psychic.” and I was all “Excuse me?” and he was all “She has a website and everything.” and I was all Oh please please please tell me the website in my head and he was all “Here, I’ll show you.” and I was so happy that I died.

No, I won’t link the website here. I wish I could because awesome. You'll just have to trust me.

Two months later, they are engaged and moving into a new place together. And tomorrow they are getting married. I swear I’m not making this up.

So now that he’s moved out and moved on to what I am sure is going to be a wildly successful marriage, I decided that today would be a tribute of sorts to Renty. If you’ve read these posts before, enjoy a trip with me down memory lane. And if this is your first time reading them, get ready for a good laugh.

The one where Renty makes out with my cat.

The one where Renty robs the cradle.

The one with Renty and the hairball.

The one where Renty keeps it real.

The one where Renty restores my Christmas spirit.

The one with Renty and his cheeseburger.

The one where Renty buys a drum set. Kind of.

The one where Renty wins at trivia.

Oh Renty, we will miss you and your superman boxers and your joker smile. Don't forget about us now that you're a big shot married guy. Tell your psychic wife to watch her back. She messes with you, she gets me and The Claw.

I Have My Very Own Shoe Song. Whatever That Means.

I got my haircut. It’s cute and short and blah blah blah no one really cares about my hair except me. Which is fine because this post is not about my super awesome fabulous that you are totally jealous of hair. It is about shoes. And boobies.

Okay, it’s not about boobies at all. I only said that to keep hope alive for the men who read my blog and got all glassy eyed when they read the word “shoes”.

This is about one specific pair of shoes, actually. They are green and lovely and what I’ve always wanted ever since I saw them two days ago.

See, I arrived early to get my haircut and so I decided to waste some time in the cheap shoe store next door. You know the place. Rhymes with “Gayless Moo Spore”. No one likes to admit they shop there. And I totally do not shop there ever because I like classy, expensive shoes that don’t fall apart after wearing them three times.

Okay fine, half of my shoes are from this place. Whatever. Shut up. You don’t know me! You don’t know my life!

Anyway, so I go in and anyone who’s ever shopped at this place knows that no one is going to bother you while you are browsing on account of it being the Wal-Mart of shoes. Self-serve only, don’t even try to get some help because the lady who works there is only there to restock and man the cash register and so does not care about you and your bunion issues.

Except when I went in, an employee was waiting for me. She pounced like a used car salesman. She was all “Hello! Welcome! What can I help you find today? “ only she was from one of the Caribbean islands or something and had a really thick accent and I was totally confused and thought maybe I had walked into a real shoe store so I just kind of stared at her and mumbled “Oh ummm, I’m ummmm, just browsing.” and started walking away.

Well she was having none of that. No ma’am. She followed me and was all “What ees your size, ma dear?”, so I told her and she was all “Let meh show you our latest styles, eh?” and I was all “okay” and she was all pointing out stuff and I was getting kind of annoyed because seriously? all this for cheap ass shoes, lady?

And then I saw them. The green shoes. “oooooh!!” I squealed. I couldn’t help it. As soon as it was out of my mouth, I knew I was in trouble.

She was all “Oh you like dis one?” and I was all “It’s okay, I guess.” and she was all “Try dem on!” and I was all “I’m just going to look over here for awhile”. And finally she left me alone. For about 2 minutes. Long enough for me to have made me way to the back of the store.

And then I saw wild movement out of the corner of my eye.

“Look! I am dancing for you!”

Sure as shit, she was dancing. Down the aisle towards me.

“Dis ees your shoe dance! I am dancing eet for you!” *hip sway* *finger snaps*

I was so happy, y’all. Because who has this happen to them? No one, that’s who. This woman had me cornered in the back of a discount shoe store doing some kind of weird thing with her body that vaguely resembled dance moves. This just turned into my best shoe shopping experience ever.

Once she reached me, she grabbed my hand and was all “So you like de green ones, eh?” and I was all “Actually, they are a little small for me.” and she was all “I find you bigger pair.” and I was all “Ahhh, no it’s okay. Really.” and she was all “No no no, I find dem!” and I was all “I actually have to leave for a haircut soooo…” and she was all “Follow me! We dance to de front and I check de computah!”

So.

We danced to the front of the store. Naturally.

Or I should say she danced and I swung my arms back and forth in a vaguely rhythmic motion. And when she looked back at me, she was all “Dat’s right! You do de shoe dance too!” and I was all "Hells yeah I do!" and she was all "Oh, I like dis girl. She make crazy robot dance arms!"

Turns out she didn’t have a bigger size, so I left and she was all “Okay den, you come back when you ready for your next shoe dance!”. I was kind of sad that she didn’t have them, because just imagine what kind of dance she would have done if I had bought something. Such a missed opportunity.

And then I found the shoes in my size on their website and they were totally on sale and I totally had a coupon and I totally ordered them and had them shipped to the shoe dance lady’s store.

I can’t wait to pick them up. I’ve been practicing my finger snaps all week. Cutest.Cheap. Ass. Shoes. Ever.

p.s. Go read my post on Sprocket Ink this afternoon! It’s about a 4 year old who whines and cries and becomes a governor. I’m not even making this up.