My sister is moving to Chicago (sob!) and gave Captain Carl and me a couple of her nice mattresses to replace the crappy ones we had left over from some of our previous renters. We decided to give the old mattresses away for free on Craigslist. Below is our text conversation regarding the issue of old mattresses…
Me: I couldn’t help but notice you forgot to put the mattresses on Craigslist this morning.
Him: I’m working on it right now. Lay off.
Me: You forgot, didn’t you.
Him: *sigh* Yes.
15 minutes later
Him: The ad is up. Go look at it. It’s the one that comes with a free cat.
Me: Nice try. I would kill you dead if you gave away my cat.
Me: Looks good…I can’t believe you put your cell number on Craigslist. You’re gonna get creepy sex offenders calling you all day.
Him: Why?
Me: Because they call numbers they find on Craigslist and talk nasty to the people while they whack off.
Him: And you know this how?
Me: I saw it on Dateline once. Or in a dream. One of the those.
10 minutes later
Him: Mattresses are gone. Picking up @ 8:30 tonight.
Me: For real? That was fast.
Him: 15 phone calls and 9 emails in 10 minutes. People are really hurting. It makes my heart sad.
Me: I know. It is so sad. We should count our blessings.
3 minutes later
Me: I bet if you had put “Free Mattress. Formerly belonged to morbidly obese crazy cat hoarder lady.” you wouldn’t have gotten as many calls.
Him: Why would I do that? Who would want a crazy cat lady’s mattress?
Me: Not many people, maybe no one. Which is exactly my point. This is a situation where truth in advertising would be a bad thing.
2 minutes later
Me: Maybe the people that are taking them aren’t actually poor and are just going to use them to film a porno.
Him: ???
Me: And then someday we’ll be watching Snatch Attack 13 and we’ll be all “OMG, that’s our mattress!”
Him: How would we know it was our mattress?
Me: By the stain on the bottom corner from that time Marian left that sub sandwich on the bed for 4 days straight.
Him: I gotta go. I need to get caught up on the first 12 Snatch Attacks.
Me: Let me know how they turn out. I’m guessing Snatch Attacks 1-5 are pretty interesting.
Him: Just 1-5?
Me: Probably after 5 there isn’t much creativity left. There are only so many holes in the human body.
10 minutes later
Him: Just googled it. There is an actual Snatch Attack porno. Have you seen it?
Me: No. I just made it up in my head. Go ahead and act surprised.
Showing posts with label The Renters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Renters. Show all posts
Monday, October 24, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
My Name Is Miss Yvonne. You Deleted My Talk Show. Prepare To Die.
Sometimes it really sucks having renters in your house. Sometimes they do really annoying and fucking stupid things. Things that 99.9% of the human population would not do. Like if you heard about someone doing those things you would be all “No way is anyone that stupid/rude/inconsiderate". And then? Your fucking renter does them and you feel the sudden urge to gouge their eyeball out with one of those tiny relish forks because it is the exact perfect size for eyeballs and that bastard totally deserves it.
Like maybe your renters buy scooters and ride them through the mud and then track the mud through the house and then leave their muddy shoes by the door and then fucking lie when you ask if they walked through your house with muddy shoes on.
Or maybe your renters decide to use your pasta strainer to clean their fish tank rocks but don’t plan on telling you they did it and thank you baby Jesus that you noticed it was missing before they returned it and you used it to strain your pasta and now you’re totally eating spaghetti ala fish poop for dinner. And then they giggle like three year olds when you ask them why they did it.
Perhaps your renter decides while you are out of town for the weekend to go out and get completely wasted and bring an equally wasted couple home from the bar with him that he has never met before in his life, then passes out in his bed while this drunk couple hang out in your house all night totally unsupervised and then your other renter gets up at 3am to pee and sees this strange couple fucking on your couch. Then you have to call your renter and yell at him and when you get home, all of your booze is missing and he “has no idea who took it”.
Oh! Here’s a good one. Your renter goes out and gets wasted AGAIN, only this time it’s during a weird Texas snowstorm, and he gets arrested for drunk driving and doesn’t come home for 3 days, so you think he must be dead in a ditch somewhere, and then he shows up and is all “Hey, I got arrested and have to go to court and can you please drive me there because they took my license away? Also, my kids are gonna come live here with me for like, 2 or 3 weeks and maybe they will stay forever. That’s cool, right?”.
Could be that your renter turns out to be a reclusive hoarder who packs the bedroom she is living in to the ceiling with junk, but you don’t really notice how much she has in there until it’s too late. Also she has a cat. Also she’s morbidly obese and orders a pizza and three sub sandwiches and keeps them in her room to eat on for two days. Also she decides to move to another country and doesn’t start packing until the night before her flight. Also after she’s gone, you realize she’s left 50 (I am not exaggerating, y’all) bags of trash, a bed, a table, an office chair and a dirty litter box in her room for you to dispose of. Also she emails you a week later to ask when you will be sending her deposit back. Also you totally flip out and write back that it will be a cold day in hell when she gets her deposit back and then spend two weeks obsessively cleaning the room while whispering “unclean…unclean…”.
And then maybe after all of those morons, you somehow get lucky and your next renter is great. He’s your son’s friend, so you worry at first that maybe this was a bad idea. But he is respectful and sweet and is sad when we are not home because “I miss you guys when you aren’t here”. He pays his rent on time. He is a little scared of making you mad, thanks to some well placed looks and comments about not pissing you off because you’re a fucking genius when it comes to intimidation. But he still says “bye family” when he leaves for work and sits down to tell us all about his day when he gets home. You know, like your own child would do if they weren’t going through a completely selfish and asshole-y phase right now. You have no complaints, things are going wonderfully.
And then?
The fucker has to go and ruin it by DELETING YOUR DVR RECORDING OF THE DR. PHIL CASEY ANTHONY PARENTS’ INTERVIEW.
Yeah.
He’s fucking terrified. He knows what he did and now he’s hiding from me. I haven’t seen him since Monday. I hope he’s prepared for when we meet again, because shit is about to go down, yo. You don’t fuck with a woman’s talk show recordings. Never. Never ever. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. But retribution will be swift and terrible.
Like maybe your renters buy scooters and ride them through the mud and then track the mud through the house and then leave their muddy shoes by the door and then fucking lie when you ask if they walked through your house with muddy shoes on.
Or maybe your renters decide to use your pasta strainer to clean their fish tank rocks but don’t plan on telling you they did it and thank you baby Jesus that you noticed it was missing before they returned it and you used it to strain your pasta and now you’re totally eating spaghetti ala fish poop for dinner. And then they giggle like three year olds when you ask them why they did it.
Perhaps your renter decides while you are out of town for the weekend to go out and get completely wasted and bring an equally wasted couple home from the bar with him that he has never met before in his life, then passes out in his bed while this drunk couple hang out in your house all night totally unsupervised and then your other renter gets up at 3am to pee and sees this strange couple fucking on your couch. Then you have to call your renter and yell at him and when you get home, all of your booze is missing and he “has no idea who took it”.
Oh! Here’s a good one. Your renter goes out and gets wasted AGAIN, only this time it’s during a weird Texas snowstorm, and he gets arrested for drunk driving and doesn’t come home for 3 days, so you think he must be dead in a ditch somewhere, and then he shows up and is all “Hey, I got arrested and have to go to court and can you please drive me there because they took my license away? Also, my kids are gonna come live here with me for like, 2 or 3 weeks and maybe they will stay forever. That’s cool, right?”.
Could be that your renter turns out to be a reclusive hoarder who packs the bedroom she is living in to the ceiling with junk, but you don’t really notice how much she has in there until it’s too late. Also she has a cat. Also she’s morbidly obese and orders a pizza and three sub sandwiches and keeps them in her room to eat on for two days. Also she decides to move to another country and doesn’t start packing until the night before her flight. Also after she’s gone, you realize she’s left 50 (I am not exaggerating, y’all) bags of trash, a bed, a table, an office chair and a dirty litter box in her room for you to dispose of. Also she emails you a week later to ask when you will be sending her deposit back. Also you totally flip out and write back that it will be a cold day in hell when she gets her deposit back and then spend two weeks obsessively cleaning the room while whispering “unclean…unclean…”.
And then maybe after all of those morons, you somehow get lucky and your next renter is great. He’s your son’s friend, so you worry at first that maybe this was a bad idea. But he is respectful and sweet and is sad when we are not home because “I miss you guys when you aren’t here”. He pays his rent on time. He is a little scared of making you mad, thanks to some well placed looks and comments about not pissing you off because you’re a fucking genius when it comes to intimidation. But he still says “bye family” when he leaves for work and sits down to tell us all about his day when he gets home. You know, like your own child would do if they weren’t going through a completely selfish and asshole-y phase right now. You have no complaints, things are going wonderfully.
And then?
The fucker has to go and ruin it by DELETING YOUR DVR RECORDING OF THE DR. PHIL CASEY ANTHONY PARENTS’ INTERVIEW.
Yeah.
He’s fucking terrified. He knows what he did and now he’s hiding from me. I haven’t seen him since Monday. I hope he’s prepared for when we meet again, because shit is about to go down, yo. You don’t fuck with a woman’s talk show recordings. Never. Never ever. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. But retribution will be swift and terrible.
Monday, August 8, 2011
My Feet Have Been Sticky For Two Straight Months
So yeah. It's hot outside. I know just about everyone is having a rough summer. But it's particularly bad in the Dallas area because a) we've had more than a month straight of over 100 degree days and b) I live here so therefore it's worse than anywhere else.
I spend all my time running from my house, to my car, to my office, back to my car and back to my house. I only go outside in the early morning or late evening, and only for like 10 minutes at a time. And then I spend an hour bitching about how fucking sweaty I am. My grass is brown and my skin is white.
The good news is that I am going home to Minnesota in less than three weeks, where I will promptly begin working on my tan. Nobody believes that I live in Texas when I go up there because I'm so pale. It's just too hot to be outside here. I mean, the fucking train tracks are warping, people.
Okay, so the Kiddo came home for the summer after his first year in college. I haven't been blogging about him lately on account of some issues he's been having that I don't really want to discuss here. Let's just say it involves a bong in the shape of a skull and mandatory drug testing.
Turns out it's hard when your kid comes home from college. Because he's been gone for 9 months doing stupid shit and feeling all adult and totally the boss of himself and then he comes home in June and doesn't get why his parents make him follow rules. Rules like, "hey, how about you don't treat your bedroom like a trash dump?" and "just because you're 19 doesn't mean you don't have to empty the dishwasher anymore." and my favorite, "maybe don't forget to take your house key with you when you go out on a Tuesday night and then when you come home drunk at 1:30am, don't climb on my roof trying to break into your bedroom and then yell at me when I hear you and call your cell to ask why in the hell you're up there. ASSHOLE."
Please God, don't let him get suspended from college. Or quit. Or whatever. Because I don't think I can handle him living here all year.
And to make things even more special, the Kiddo asked us in June if his buddy could rent one of our bedrooms for the summer. His friend...let's call him Huey...had decided he didn't want to live at home anymore because...guess why? His mom had too many rules. Hot damn, I hope I wasn't this ridiculous when I was 19. I probably was, right? I need to call my mom and apologize.
Me: I don't know about this.
Captain Carl: Oh, it won't be so bad.
Me: Yes it will.
Captain Carl: Nah, it'll be fine.
Me: It'll be a never ending cycle of bad decisions, dirty socks and weird smells.
Captain Carl: He's a nice boy, I feel bad for him.
Me: I feel bad too. For his mother.
Captain Carl: It's only for a couple of months. And we could use the extra cash.
And so I let the Captain talk me into it. I agreed to let Huey rent a room with us on a weekly basis. I was pretty sure it was a bad idea that I would live to regret.
But surprisingly, I've really enjoyed having Huey around. He's a big, dumb, sweet kid. And he's not my kid, so it's easier to deal with his stupidity somehow. And he just might be staying after the summer is over. Which makes me a little nervous, since this means he will be alone in our house while we're in another state for a week. I'm envisioning wild parties...Huey filling my house with slutty girls and booze and my cat cowering in the laundry room behind her litter box.
This is the part where the Captain rolls his eyes and tells me I'm being overly dramatic.
And this is the part where I tell him to shut his face.
At the very least, my floors are gonna be soooo dirty when we get home. Because not one single day goes by where I don't walk through the house and step into something sticky. Seriously, what is it about boys and spilling shit? Yesterday there was a trail from the kitchen table to the other side of the house. And they both stood there staring blankly at me and saying "It wasn't me." No shit. It wasn't me. If I had squinted my eyes, I would have sworn I was talking to 3 year olds.
*sigh*
I should never have let them bring that giant can of Country Time Lemonade mix into the house.
I spend all my time running from my house, to my car, to my office, back to my car and back to my house. I only go outside in the early morning or late evening, and only for like 10 minutes at a time. And then I spend an hour bitching about how fucking sweaty I am. My grass is brown and my skin is white.
The good news is that I am going home to Minnesota in less than three weeks, where I will promptly begin working on my tan. Nobody believes that I live in Texas when I go up there because I'm so pale. It's just too hot to be outside here. I mean, the fucking train tracks are warping, people.
Okay, so the Kiddo came home for the summer after his first year in college. I haven't been blogging about him lately on account of some issues he's been having that I don't really want to discuss here. Let's just say it involves a bong in the shape of a skull and mandatory drug testing.
Turns out it's hard when your kid comes home from college. Because he's been gone for 9 months doing stupid shit and feeling all adult and totally the boss of himself and then he comes home in June and doesn't get why his parents make him follow rules. Rules like, "hey, how about you don't treat your bedroom like a trash dump?" and "just because you're 19 doesn't mean you don't have to empty the dishwasher anymore." and my favorite, "maybe don't forget to take your house key with you when you go out on a Tuesday night and then when you come home drunk at 1:30am, don't climb on my roof trying to break into your bedroom and then yell at me when I hear you and call your cell to ask why in the hell you're up there. ASSHOLE."
Please God, don't let him get suspended from college. Or quit. Or whatever. Because I don't think I can handle him living here all year.
And to make things even more special, the Kiddo asked us in June if his buddy could rent one of our bedrooms for the summer. His friend...let's call him Huey...had decided he didn't want to live at home anymore because...guess why? His mom had too many rules. Hot damn, I hope I wasn't this ridiculous when I was 19. I probably was, right? I need to call my mom and apologize.
Me: I don't know about this.
Captain Carl: Oh, it won't be so bad.
Me: Yes it will.
Captain Carl: Nah, it'll be fine.
Me: It'll be a never ending cycle of bad decisions, dirty socks and weird smells.
Captain Carl: He's a nice boy, I feel bad for him.
Me: I feel bad too. For his mother.
Captain Carl: It's only for a couple of months. And we could use the extra cash.
And so I let the Captain talk me into it. I agreed to let Huey rent a room with us on a weekly basis. I was pretty sure it was a bad idea that I would live to regret.
But surprisingly, I've really enjoyed having Huey around. He's a big, dumb, sweet kid. And he's not my kid, so it's easier to deal with his stupidity somehow. And he just might be staying after the summer is over. Which makes me a little nervous, since this means he will be alone in our house while we're in another state for a week. I'm envisioning wild parties...Huey filling my house with slutty girls and booze and my cat cowering in the laundry room behind her litter box.
This is the part where the Captain rolls his eyes and tells me I'm being overly dramatic.
And this is the part where I tell him to shut his face.
At the very least, my floors are gonna be soooo dirty when we get home. Because not one single day goes by where I don't walk through the house and step into something sticky. Seriously, what is it about boys and spilling shit? Yesterday there was a trail from the kitchen table to the other side of the house. And they both stood there staring blankly at me and saying "It wasn't me." No shit. It wasn't me. If I had squinted my eyes, I would have sworn I was talking to 3 year olds.
*sigh*
I should never have let them bring that giant can of Country Time Lemonade mix into the house.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
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 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.
Friday, August 20, 2010
National Cat Puke Day
Captain Carl loves my cats. But he spends a lot of time pretending that he hates them.
Anyone Who Has Ever Visited Our House: Thanks for having us over!
Captain Carl: It was great! Don’t forget to take your free cat on the way out.
Visitor: What?
Captain Carl: It's your parting gift.
Me: No.
Captain Carl: Yep, pick whichever one you want. We have several to choose from.
Me: We only have two and no.
Captain Carl: We have white and black. The white one is cute but dumb. The black one will probably try to kill you in your sleep.
Captain Carl’s Mom on the phone: When are y’all coming to see us again?
Captain Carl: We’ll be there tomorrow. But just to drop off the cats.
Mom: What?
Captain Carl: You know. So they can live with you and not me.
Mom: I don’t think your wife will let you do that.
Captain Carl: Don’t worry about that…I’ll tell her we’re taking them to a kitty spa. She won’t know until it’s too late.
Me: I’m sitting right here, asshole.
Captain Carl: Abort mission! Enemy has infiltrated base camp! Whoop whoop!
Renty: Well, I’m heading to the pool.
Captain Carl: Don’t forget to let the cats out.
Me: No. The cats don’t ever go out.
Captain Carl: Sure they do. You just forgot.
Me: No.
Captain Carl: Look at them! All sad and shit because they want to go outside.
Me: They are indoor cats. They don’t have any claws or survival skills.
Captain Carl: Even better!
Me: No!
Captain Carl: *looking at Renty* I will lower your rent by $100 if you let the cats out.
Renty: Uhhh, ha ha haaa...
Me: *points at Captain Carl* Don't make me hurt you.
Captain Carl: Who let the cats out? Who who who who!
Me: I’m leaving for work…have a good day.
Captain Carl: You too! Don’t forget to put the trash out and also to put the cats in the trash.
Me: Ha ha...not happening.
Captain Carl: I’m pretty sure today is National Take Your Cat To Work Day.
Me: Nope.
Captain Carl: National Take Your Cats To The Animal Shelter To Be Euthanized Day?
Me: Shut up.
Captain Carl: National Drive Your Cats To The Middle Of Nowhere, Dump Them On The Side Of The Road And Leave Them For Dead Day?
And just when I begin to worry that being stuck in the house all day with two stinky fur balls is getting to be too much for him, something like this happens:
Email From: Captain Carl
Subject: Good Boy
Have I told you lately how much I love your cats? Because today? I really really do.
Attachment:
My cats live to see another day.
Anyone Who Has Ever Visited Our House: Thanks for having us over!
Captain Carl: It was great! Don’t forget to take your free cat on the way out.
Visitor: What?
Captain Carl: It's your parting gift.
Me: No.
Captain Carl: Yep, pick whichever one you want. We have several to choose from.
Me: We only have two and no.
Captain Carl: We have white and black. The white one is cute but dumb. The black one will probably try to kill you in your sleep.
Captain Carl’s Mom on the phone: When are y’all coming to see us again?
Captain Carl: We’ll be there tomorrow. But just to drop off the cats.
Mom: What?
Captain Carl: You know. So they can live with you and not me.
Mom: I don’t think your wife will let you do that.
Captain Carl: Don’t worry about that…I’ll tell her we’re taking them to a kitty spa. She won’t know until it’s too late.
Me: I’m sitting right here, asshole.
Captain Carl: Abort mission! Enemy has infiltrated base camp! Whoop whoop!
Renty: Well, I’m heading to the pool.
Captain Carl: Don’t forget to let the cats out.
Me: No. The cats don’t ever go out.
Captain Carl: Sure they do. You just forgot.
Me: No.
Captain Carl: Look at them! All sad and shit because they want to go outside.
Me: They are indoor cats. They don’t have any claws or survival skills.
Captain Carl: Even better!
Me: No!
Captain Carl: *looking at Renty* I will lower your rent by $100 if you let the cats out.
Renty: Uhhh, ha ha haaa...
Me: *points at Captain Carl* Don't make me hurt you.
Captain Carl: Who let the cats out? Who who who who!
Me: I’m leaving for work…have a good day.
Captain Carl: You too! Don’t forget to put the trash out and also to put the cats in the trash.
Me: Ha ha...not happening.
Captain Carl: I’m pretty sure today is National Take Your Cat To Work Day.
Me: Nope.
Captain Carl: National Take Your Cats To The Animal Shelter To Be Euthanized Day?
Me: Shut up.
Captain Carl: National Drive Your Cats To The Middle Of Nowhere, Dump Them On The Side Of The Road And Leave Them For Dead Day?
And just when I begin to worry that being stuck in the house all day with two stinky fur balls is getting to be too much for him, something like this happens:
Email From: Captain Carl
Subject: Good Boy
Have I told you lately how much I love your cats? Because today? I really really do.
Attachment:
My cats live to see another day.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
SuperCrotch
You know how when you were a kid and you’d eat an apple and you’d recite the alphabet for each twist of the stem and then whatever letter you were saying when the stem twisted off would be the first letter of the last name of the boy you were going to marry? Remember that? Yeah, that was an awesome game. You know what other game was awesome? MASH. Remember MASH? You know…Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House? Because of those games, I was convinced I was going to marry Mark (hottt!) or Jason (to the max!) or Corey (totally bitchin!) or the other Corey (gag me!). I didn’t marry any of those suckers, but the jokes on them because guess who didn’t end up being a pig farmer’s wife like everyone thought she would???
Shit.
Y’all. I can’t come up with a decent blog post to save my life. Every day I sit here and I’m all “Okay, today’s the day! Today’s the day that you finally write that amazing blog post that will go viral and everyone will know who you are and you’ll finally have to come clean and admit to your family and friends that you are Miss Yvonne because everyone keeps talking to you about her and you can’t stand them not knowing that YOU are the genius behind the blog!”. And then I write crap like that first paragraph up there. About apple stems and MASH. Seriously. Help.
I think I’m stuck on account of all the graduation junk that has been occupying my brain for the last few weeks. The Kiddo graduates on Saturday and I’ve spent all my free time obsessing over party details. The menu, the cake, the drinks, sleeping arrangements, transportation and parking, where to hide my vibrators from my snooping mother, etc. I spent the whole weekend cleaning the house. The whole HOLIDAY weekend, y’all. I should have been at the lake…I should have been at the movies….I should have been drinking! But it’s okay because my 18 year old son did all those things for me. He’s a giver, that one.
*sigh*
I’m trying to keep the crazy at a low hum so that Captain Carl doesn’t divorce me, but it’s hard to keep a good anxiety attack down. And when I’m not freaking out, I’m blubbering like a baby over old photos of the Kiddo. I’m a mess.
The Captain has really stepped up to the plate and has been helping me a lot. I’m pretty sure it’s on account of my wacko scary eyes and random weeping. But I don’t care because my sprinklers are fixed, my floors are getting cleaned, my lawn has been edged, all my pictures have been hung and the party menu has been taken care of. I seriously love that guy. I should give him a blow job to show him my appreciation, but you know…...meh.
P.S. Renty lost his job and is now wandering around my house wearing nothing but silk Superman boxers with a big “S” over the crotch and black socks all day long. It’s about as sexy as it sounds. Help me, Baby Jesus.
Shit.
Y’all. I can’t come up with a decent blog post to save my life. Every day I sit here and I’m all “Okay, today’s the day! Today’s the day that you finally write that amazing blog post that will go viral and everyone will know who you are and you’ll finally have to come clean and admit to your family and friends that you are Miss Yvonne because everyone keeps talking to you about her and you can’t stand them not knowing that YOU are the genius behind the blog!”. And then I write crap like that first paragraph up there. About apple stems and MASH. Seriously. Help.
I think I’m stuck on account of all the graduation junk that has been occupying my brain for the last few weeks. The Kiddo graduates on Saturday and I’ve spent all my free time obsessing over party details. The menu, the cake, the drinks, sleeping arrangements, transportation and parking, where to hide my vibrators from my snooping mother, etc. I spent the whole weekend cleaning the house. The whole HOLIDAY weekend, y’all. I should have been at the lake…I should have been at the movies….I should have been drinking! But it’s okay because my 18 year old son did all those things for me. He’s a giver, that one.
*sigh*
I’m trying to keep the crazy at a low hum so that Captain Carl doesn’t divorce me, but it’s hard to keep a good anxiety attack down. And when I’m not freaking out, I’m blubbering like a baby over old photos of the Kiddo. I’m a mess.
The Captain has really stepped up to the plate and has been helping me a lot. I’m pretty sure it’s on account of my wacko scary eyes and random weeping. But I don’t care because my sprinklers are fixed, my floors are getting cleaned, my lawn has been edged, all my pictures have been hung and the party menu has been taken care of. I seriously love that guy. I should give him a blow job to show him my appreciation, but you know…...meh.
P.S. Renty lost his job and is now wandering around my house wearing nothing but silk Superman boxers with a big “S” over the crotch and black socks all day long. It’s about as sexy as it sounds. Help me, Baby Jesus.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
The Amazing Adventures Of The Super-Nerds
Captain Carl’s brother, Mailman Mike, hangs out with his girlfriend at an Irish pub at least 2-3 nights a week. They know the owner, the manager, the servers. They have a regular waitress who calls them at home to let them know what section she’s working so they will sit in it. Mike’s a big tipper. (twss) On Tuesday nights they have pub trivia. The Captain goes pretty much every Tuesday, but I attend only sporadically on account of working. And because I can’t stand to be out past 10pm on a weeknight. Because I’m 80 years old, apparently.
So I went last night and drank myself into oblivion! Yeah! Party! I’m an animal!
Not really. I drank three Diet Cokes. Because I needed to keep my wits about me to keep up with all the trivia geeks on our team. Seriously y’all. I suck at trivia and sitting at that table made me feel I had somehow teleported to a super-nerd conclave.
Name the three saints depicted on the Union Jack.
Which country has the highest elevation active volcano?
What was the name of Gollum’s sword in Lord of the Rings?
Which President stayed a bachelor his whole life?
What female swimmer successfully swam the something something big body of water something something something in 1950?
They knew the answers to all of them. I knew none of them. I mean, Gollum’s sword? Come on! I spent most of the night staring vaguely towards the ceiling with a contemplative look on my face, like each answer was totally on the tip of my tongue. And then when someone would whisper an answer I was all “Oh right! Yes! Of course!” and then nodded sagely. Fortunately for me, Renty came along so I was spared from being the dumbest person at the table. He spent most of the night smiling his joker smile and saying things like “Boo ya!” and “Straight up!” and “That’s what I’m talkin’ bout!” along with weird airport tarmac arm movements every time our team got a question right. He was either guiding a in a plane or signaling how awesome we were. He drank five beers, so it’s anybody’s guess.
But then? The worm turned, people.
Question: Which famous couple has children named Brooklyn and Cruise?
Me: Ohmygod!!!
Everyone else: *blank stare*
Me: Soooo easy.
Everyone else: *scrunchy eyebrow face*
Me: Becks and Posh.
Everyone else: Wha??
Me: Oh come on. Posh? The Spice Girls? David Beckham?
Mailman Mike: Oh, the soccer player?
Me: Pssh. Smart people. Don’t you ever read OK magazine?
Question: Which 80’s Saturday morning show featured a cartoon character named Penny?
Me: *gasp!*
Captain Carl: I’ll just go ahead and let you answer this one.
Me: Oh it’s too much! I can’t believe we got this question.
Mike: I’m pretty sure it’s….
Me: *finger point* Don’t say it!!
Everyone else: *scared face*
Me: This one is mine! Mine!
Everyone else: *scooting chairs away from me*
And then it was Renty’s turn.
Question: Who sang the song “Bye Bye Baby” in 1975?
Renty: I’m pretty sure I know this one.
Captain Carl: The Bee Gees maybe?
Me: What about The Jackson 5?
Renty: Nope, it’s Bay City Rollers.
Super smart Asian girl who’s name I forgot: That doesn’t sound right.
Mike: The Jackson 5 would be my guess too.
Renty: No, no….I know this one.
Captain Carl: Okay, if you say so.
Answer: Bay City Rollers.
Renty: Holla!! *raising the roof*
Question: How many hearts does an octopus have?
Renty: *whispered yell* Three!!
Everyone else: *stare*
Mike: Are you sure?
Renty: Umm, yes absolutely.
White girl who really really loves Dr. Who: This could be a trick question.
Super smart Asian girl who’s name I forgot: Yeah, the answer is probably one.
Renty: Ummm, nope. No. It’s three.
Captain Carl: Well….
Mike: Sure why not. Let's go with it.
Dr. Who girl/Asian girl: *smart nerdy eye roll*
Answer: Three.
Renty: Oh yeah! Straight up, baby! My pants are on fire!
Me: What?
Renty: *joker smile*
So yeah, we totally won the game and Mailman Mike bought us a round to celebrate our nerdy dominance, Renty is coming to trivia night again next week and I totally cannot get that one Bay City Rollers song out of my head.
S-A-TUR-DAY *clap* Night!
Damn it.
So I went last night and drank myself into oblivion! Yeah! Party! I’m an animal!
Not really. I drank three Diet Cokes. Because I needed to keep my wits about me to keep up with all the trivia geeks on our team. Seriously y’all. I suck at trivia and sitting at that table made me feel I had somehow teleported to a super-nerd conclave.
Name the three saints depicted on the Union Jack.
Which country has the highest elevation active volcano?
What was the name of Gollum’s sword in Lord of the Rings?
Which President stayed a bachelor his whole life?
What female swimmer successfully swam the something something big body of water something something something in 1950?
They knew the answers to all of them. I knew none of them. I mean, Gollum’s sword? Come on! I spent most of the night staring vaguely towards the ceiling with a contemplative look on my face, like each answer was totally on the tip of my tongue. And then when someone would whisper an answer I was all “Oh right! Yes! Of course!” and then nodded sagely. Fortunately for me, Renty came along so I was spared from being the dumbest person at the table. He spent most of the night smiling his joker smile and saying things like “Boo ya!” and “Straight up!” and “That’s what I’m talkin’ bout!” along with weird airport tarmac arm movements every time our team got a question right. He was either guiding a in a plane or signaling how awesome we were. He drank five beers, so it’s anybody’s guess.
But then? The worm turned, people.
Question: Which famous couple has children named Brooklyn and Cruise?
Me: Ohmygod!!!
Everyone else: *blank stare*
Me: Soooo easy.
Everyone else: *scrunchy eyebrow face*
Me: Becks and Posh.
Everyone else: Wha??
Me: Oh come on. Posh? The Spice Girls? David Beckham?
Mailman Mike: Oh, the soccer player?
Me: Pssh. Smart people. Don’t you ever read OK magazine?
Question: Which 80’s Saturday morning show featured a cartoon character named Penny?
Me: *gasp!*
Captain Carl: I’ll just go ahead and let you answer this one.
Me: Oh it’s too much! I can’t believe we got this question.
Mike: I’m pretty sure it’s….
Me: *finger point* Don’t say it!!
Everyone else: *scared face*
Me: This one is mine! Mine!
Everyone else: *scooting chairs away from me*
And then it was Renty’s turn.
Question: Who sang the song “Bye Bye Baby” in 1975?
Renty: I’m pretty sure I know this one.
Captain Carl: The Bee Gees maybe?
Me: What about The Jackson 5?
Renty: Nope, it’s Bay City Rollers.
Super smart Asian girl who’s name I forgot: That doesn’t sound right.
Mike: The Jackson 5 would be my guess too.
Renty: No, no….I know this one.
Captain Carl: Okay, if you say so.
Answer: Bay City Rollers.
Renty: Holla!! *raising the roof*
Question: How many hearts does an octopus have?
Renty: *whispered yell* Three!!
Everyone else: *stare*
Mike: Are you sure?
Renty: Umm, yes absolutely.
White girl who really really loves Dr. Who: This could be a trick question.
Super smart Asian girl who’s name I forgot: Yeah, the answer is probably one.
Renty: Ummm, nope. No. It’s three.
Captain Carl: Well….
Mike: Sure why not. Let's go with it.
Dr. Who girl/Asian girl: *smart nerdy eye roll*
Answer: Three.
Renty: Oh yeah! Straight up, baby! My pants are on fire!
Me: What?
Renty: *joker smile*
So yeah, we totally won the game and Mailman Mike bought us a round to celebrate our nerdy dominance, Renty is coming to trivia night again next week and I totally cannot get that one Bay City Rollers song out of my head.
S-A-TUR-DAY *clap* Night!
Damn it.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Just Like Neil Peart, Only More Hilarious
For those of you wondering, Renty is still here. I haven't blogged much about him lately because he hasn't been very entertaining. Until late last week, which is when he brought home something awesome...
Renty: Check this out!
Captain Carl: What is that?
Renty: It's a digital drum set!
Me: Wow.
Renty: Yeah!
Captain Carl: Well that's, ummmm...cool?
Renty: I bought it at the Goodwill store.
Me: I think I had one of those in the 8th grade.
Captain Carl: *glare* No, this looks way more awesome than what you probably had.
Me: Nooo, I'm pretty sure it's the exact same one.
Captain Carl: *stern glare*
Me: Oh! Yeah, you are so right. Way more awesome.
Renty: Yeah so I ran out and got some batteries for it. Check it out!
*tap tap tappity tap tap clang*
Captain Carl: Dude! Sweet!
Renty: I know, right?
Me: You're a natural.
Renty: Well, I'm not that good. YET.
Me: Oh you're just being shy. Come on, play something else.
Renty: Okay..
*clash clash clash bong tap tap clash*
Me: Oh man. True talent. Right here. This guy.
Captain Carl: *evil glare* Hey, the Kiddo would love this...you should show it to him.
Me: Yes! He can play his keyboard and you can play the drums. Jam session!
Renty: That would be fun.
Me: And it will be even more fun when I videotape you and put it on youtube.
Renty: What?
Me: Huh?
Captain Carl: *warning eyes*
Me: Ohmygod! Do you remember that episode of Friends with Ross and his "sound"?
Captain Carl: *menacing glare*
Renty: Oh yeah, that was hilarious!
Me and Renty: *laughing hysterically for different reasons*
Me: Oh! *wiping eyes* Yeah...hilarious.
Renty: Yeah. I love Friends. Remember the one where they switched apartments?
Me: Yeah, that's what we're doing...remembering good Friends episodes that have nothing to do with your drum kit.
Captain Carl: *killing me softly with dirty looks*
Renty: Check this out!
Captain Carl: What is that?
Renty: It's a digital drum set!
Me: Wow.
Renty: Yeah!
Captain Carl: Well that's, ummmm...cool?
Renty: I bought it at the Goodwill store.
Me: I think I had one of those in the 8th grade.
Captain Carl: *glare* No, this looks way more awesome than what you probably had.
Me: Nooo, I'm pretty sure it's the exact same one.
Captain Carl: *stern glare*
Me: Oh! Yeah, you are so right. Way more awesome.
Renty: Yeah so I ran out and got some batteries for it. Check it out!
*tap tap tappity tap tap clang*
Captain Carl: Dude! Sweet!
Renty: I know, right?
Me: You're a natural.
Renty: Well, I'm not that good. YET.
Me: Oh you're just being shy. Come on, play something else.
Renty: Okay..
*clash clash clash bong tap tap clash*
Me: Oh man. True talent. Right here. This guy.
Captain Carl: *evil glare* Hey, the Kiddo would love this...you should show it to him.
Me: Yes! He can play his keyboard and you can play the drums. Jam session!
Renty: That would be fun.
Me: And it will be even more fun when I videotape you and put it on youtube.
Renty: What?
Me: Huh?
Captain Carl: *warning eyes*
Me: Ohmygod! Do you remember that episode of Friends with Ross and his "sound"?
Captain Carl: *menacing glare*
Renty: Oh yeah, that was hilarious!
Me and Renty: *laughing hysterically for different reasons*
Me: Oh! *wiping eyes* Yeah...hilarious.
Renty: Yeah. I love Friends. Remember the one where they switched apartments?
Me: Yeah, that's what we're doing...remembering good Friends episodes that have nothing to do with your drum kit.
Captain Carl: *killing me softly with dirty looks*
Friday, February 26, 2010
Check Out The Cheeseburger On That Guy
I've never posted pictures of any of our renters for obvious reasons. But I really really wanted to give you an idea of what Renty looks like when he's kind of drunk and/or overly excited about something. He looks like the Jack Nicholson Joker, except thinner and younger and without the hat and clown makeup.
So Renty hasn't had a whole lot to be joker face smiley about lately. I'm not going to list his person problems here because that's his story to tell, not mine. And also because I like not getting sued. Because I still can't decide if he knows about this blog or not. Probably not, but he tells me every day that he's "keepin' it real"...like he's trying to fuck with me and be all "I totally know about your little blog and how you make fun of me and my sayings and the way I make out with your cat".
So last night, Renty comes home from work and starts going through the mail. There's a small package for him and he gets all excited and rips it open. I'm watching the Olympics because I love sports and international relations and feel-good stories about snowboarders with head injuries and ohmygod sled dogs!!! So I'm all wrapped up in the latest Lindsay VonBlondeHair wipeout when Renty walks over and is all "Check out my new cd case!" and I look over and he's holding a giant cheeseburger in his hand.
I'm all "Ummmm, hahaaa nice cheeseburger?" and his joker smile gets even more jokery and he's all "It's a cd case!" and I'm all "Oh. Neat." and he's all *zip zip zip* "See? It opens where the meat part is and that's the inside where the cd's go!" and I'm all "Huh." and he's all *crazy smile crazy smile crazy smile* and I'm all "It's puffy" and he's all *creepy joker face stare* and I'm all *nervous laugh* "I mean, wow! Awesome! I'd never guess that cheeseburger has cd's inside it!" and he's all "It only cost me five dollars on ebay!" and I was all "And now your cd's are nestled snug between two buns. Just like your mom." and he's all "What? Oh! I get it! Haha haaaa ha haaaaaaaha aaahaaaaaaaseriouslyscaryjokersmileyface!!!!".
Then he put his cheeseburger cd holder in the pantry next to his tortilla chips. For reals.
His smile covers the entire width of his face. It's equal parts hilarious and endearing and creepy.
So Renty hasn't had a whole lot to be joker face smiley about lately. I'm not going to list his person problems here because that's his story to tell, not mine. And also because I like not getting sued. Because I still can't decide if he knows about this blog or not. Probably not, but he tells me every day that he's "keepin' it real"...like he's trying to fuck with me and be all "I totally know about your little blog and how you make fun of me and my sayings and the way I make out with your cat".
So last night, Renty comes home from work and starts going through the mail. There's a small package for him and he gets all excited and rips it open. I'm watching the Olympics because I love sports and international relations and feel-good stories about snowboarders with head injuries and ohmygod sled dogs!!! So I'm all wrapped up in the latest Lindsay VonBlondeHair wipeout when Renty walks over and is all "Check out my new cd case!" and I look over and he's holding a giant cheeseburger in his hand.
I'm all "Ummmm, hahaaa nice cheeseburger?" and his joker smile gets even more jokery and he's all "It's a cd case!" and I'm all "Oh. Neat." and he's all *zip zip zip* "See? It opens where the meat part is and that's the inside where the cd's go!" and I'm all "Huh." and he's all *crazy smile crazy smile crazy smile* and I'm all "It's puffy" and he's all *creepy joker face stare* and I'm all *nervous laugh* "I mean, wow! Awesome! I'd never guess that cheeseburger has cd's inside it!" and he's all "It only cost me five dollars on ebay!" and I was all "And now your cd's are nestled snug between two buns. Just like your mom." and he's all "What? Oh! I get it! Haha haaaa ha haaaaaaaha aaahaaaaaaaseriouslyscaryjokersmileyface!!!!".
Then he put his cheeseburger cd holder in the pantry next to his tortilla chips. For reals.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Look Deeply Into My Eye Fist
Remember how I said a while back that we were getting a new renter? Yeah, the bitch didn't show. Just never moved in and didn't bother to call or email or anything. I thought I'd better let y'all know in case you were wondering. Because I'm the center of the universe.
So this conversation happened awhile ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday because my mind is a steel trap and almost as awesome as my boobs.
Me: So our new renter ever call you back about moving in?
The Captain: Nope.
Me: Did you email and ask her why she never showed?
The Captain: Yep. She didn't answer me.
Me: What the hell, man?
The Captain: I don't know, guess she changed her mind for some reason.
Me: That's so rude to not even call.
The Captain: Very. I wonder what happened?
Me: Hmmmm....
The Captain: What?
Me: Maybe it was my fault.
The Captain: How is that possible?
Me: I might have mentioned that she was bald on my blog. But only in passing.
The Captain: So you think this random lady who was going to rent a room from us just happens to also read your blog and figured out you were talking about her and got upset and decided not to move in.
Me: Maybe.
The Captain: Right.
Me: *squinty eyes* My blog is very popular.
The Captain: Yeah it is.
Me: *more squinty eyes* What are you trying to say?
The Captain: Nothing!
Me: *intense squinty eyes*
The Captain: What's wrong with you? Do you have something in your eye?
Me: Yeah. My fist.
The Captain: What?
Me: It's a metaphor.
The Captain: For what?
Me: For me punching you in the face.
The Captain: With an eye fist?
Me: Hell yeah with an eye fist. To the max.
The Captain: I don't think you understand what a metaphor is.
Me: *extreme squinty eyes*
The Captain: See, a good metaphor is something something something analogy something something something conveyed something something something word.
Me: Your mom's a good metaphor, punk.
The Captain: Why are you talking like Clint Eastwood?
Me: That's my eye fist talking. Right before it hits you in the mouth.
The Captain: I'm going to bed.
Me: You feelin' lucky, punk?
The Captain: *sigh* Goodnight, Dirty Harry.
Me: *scariest squinty eyes ever* That's right. Keep walkin', punk. Keep walkin'.
So this conversation happened awhile ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday because my mind is a steel trap and almost as awesome as my boobs.
Me: So our new renter ever call you back about moving in?
The Captain: Nope.
Me: Did you email and ask her why she never showed?
The Captain: Yep. She didn't answer me.
Me: What the hell, man?
The Captain: I don't know, guess she changed her mind for some reason.
Me: That's so rude to not even call.
The Captain: Very. I wonder what happened?
Me: Hmmmm....
The Captain: What?
Me: Maybe it was my fault.
The Captain: How is that possible?
Me: I might have mentioned that she was bald on my blog. But only in passing.
The Captain: So you think this random lady who was going to rent a room from us just happens to also read your blog and figured out you were talking about her and got upset and decided not to move in.
Me: Maybe.
The Captain: Right.
Me: *squinty eyes* My blog is very popular.
The Captain: Yeah it is.
Me: *more squinty eyes* What are you trying to say?
The Captain: Nothing!
Me: *intense squinty eyes*
The Captain: What's wrong with you? Do you have something in your eye?
Me: Yeah. My fist.
The Captain: What?
Me: It's a metaphor.
The Captain: For what?
Me: For me punching you in the face.
The Captain: With an eye fist?
Me: Hell yeah with an eye fist. To the max.
The Captain: I don't think you understand what a metaphor is.
Me: *extreme squinty eyes*
The Captain: See, a good metaphor is something something something analogy something something something conveyed something something something word.
Me: Your mom's a good metaphor, punk.
The Captain: Why are you talking like Clint Eastwood?
Me: That's my eye fist talking. Right before it hits you in the mouth.
The Captain: I'm going to bed.
Me: You feelin' lucky, punk?
The Captain: *sigh* Goodnight, Dirty Harry.
Me: *scariest squinty eyes ever* That's right. Keep walkin', punk. Keep walkin'.
Monday, February 22, 2010
The Scariest Snowman In The History Of Ever
So last week we had a snowstorm and every kid in town spent their day off from school making snowmen and snow forts and snowballs and such. My kid was no different. I really didn't expect him to get that excited about it though because he's 18 years old and nothing excites him. So I was a little surprised when he ran out the front door and started throwing snowballs at my office window.
Then it got quiet. Really really quiet. 15 minutes later, he ran back in and was all "Come meet Steve" and I was all "Ummm, what?" and he was all "Steve the Snowman."
I opened the front door and there stood the scariest fucking snowman I've ever seen.
Behold, Steve.
Now, Steve probably seemed a little scarier than he really was because it was dark outside and the Kiddo positioned him so that he looked like a creepy intruder about to invade either my home or my vagina.
The Kiddo: Creepy, huh?
Me: Totally.
The Kiddo: He's gonna scare the shit out of Renty in the morning.
Me: Omygod yes! Great idea! High five!
I'm a great parent, aren't I?
What?? You're supposed to encourage your children's creativity. That's what I was doing. Encouraging.
Then it got quiet. Really really quiet. 15 minutes later, he ran back in and was all "Come meet Steve" and I was all "Ummm, what?" and he was all "Steve the Snowman."
I opened the front door and there stood the scariest fucking snowman I've ever seen.
Behold, Steve.
Now, Steve probably seemed a little scarier than he really was because it was dark outside and the Kiddo positioned him so that he looked like a creepy intruder about to invade either my home or my vagina.
The Kiddo: Creepy, huh?
Me: Totally.
The Kiddo: He's gonna scare the shit out of Renty in the morning.
Me: Omygod yes! Great idea! High five!
I'm a great parent, aren't I?
What?? You're supposed to encourage your children's creativity. That's what I was doing. Encouraging.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
It's Not Gay If No One's On Top
This post has nothing to do with the title. Someone said that me yesterday and I thought it was too awesome not to use as a blog post title so there you go. And by "someone" I mean "crazy person stalking me named Tristachio". I once had a blog style duel to the death with her over who was more awesome. I won. She lost. She's never gotten over it. Now she IM's me every time I'm online and keeps saying things about my giant man hands and how she's my hypothetical love child and how our birthdays are one day apart and something something dutch rudder. Seriously, all those things have come up in our conversations. She's not right in the head, people.
So Captain Carl went to a whiskey tasting at an Irish pub with his brother, Mailman Mike, last night. He was all "I'll be home early, we're going with his girlfriend's dad blah blah blah". Four hours later he calls me and is all "Sorry, we had to stay for awhile and sober up and omg we got 8 shots of whiskey and omg it was amazing and omg blah blah blah" and I was all "Yeah, I did your kid's laundry all night and cleaned the kitchen, so that was probably just as awesome" and he was all "What? Wait, am I in trouble?" and I was all "No, I'm just sharing the awesomeness that was my evening with your drunk ass" and he was all "You told me to go!" and I was all "I'm not mad at you" and he was all "That means you are mad at me" and I was all "I'd like to stay on the phone and argue with you some more, but your kid's socks are ready to go in the dryer" and he was all "I love you?" and I was all "click". Then he came home and I was all "fold fold fold" and he was all "I'm totally not drunk oops I just tripped over nothing hee hee heeee!". Seriously though, I wasn't mad at him. Much.
I really need new underwear. Almost everything I have left to wear to work is getting worn out and also they're all granny panties. The last time I mentioned that I wear granny panties on this blog, I think it was The Peach Tart who left a comment like "Oh honey, noooo. Not granny panties". Yeah. Yet I can't bring myself to buy some new, sexy underwear because it seems like too much of a luxury. This is seriously the life I am leading right now. Where panties are a luxury.
Oh, and we're getting a new renter. She's 40 and bald. True story.
So Captain Carl went to a whiskey tasting at an Irish pub with his brother, Mailman Mike, last night. He was all "I'll be home early, we're going with his girlfriend's dad blah blah blah". Four hours later he calls me and is all "Sorry, we had to stay for awhile and sober up and omg we got 8 shots of whiskey and omg it was amazing and omg blah blah blah" and I was all "Yeah, I did your kid's laundry all night and cleaned the kitchen, so that was probably just as awesome" and he was all "What? Wait, am I in trouble?" and I was all "No, I'm just sharing the awesomeness that was my evening with your drunk ass" and he was all "You told me to go!" and I was all "I'm not mad at you" and he was all "That means you are mad at me" and I was all "I'd like to stay on the phone and argue with you some more, but your kid's socks are ready to go in the dryer" and he was all "I love you?" and I was all "click". Then he came home and I was all "fold fold fold" and he was all "I'm totally not drunk oops I just tripped over nothing hee hee heeee!". Seriously though, I wasn't mad at him. Much.
I really need new underwear. Almost everything I have left to wear to work is getting worn out and also they're all granny panties. The last time I mentioned that I wear granny panties on this blog, I think it was The Peach Tart who left a comment like "Oh honey, noooo. Not granny panties". Yeah. Yet I can't bring myself to buy some new, sexy underwear because it seems like too much of a luxury. This is seriously the life I am leading right now. Where panties are a luxury.
Oh, and we're getting a new renter. She's 40 and bald. True story.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
This weekend we put up the Christmas tree.
sigh.
I am sooo not feeling it this year. If it weren't for the Kiddo, I wouldn't have bothered with it. But I don't want him to remember his last Christmas before college as "the one without a tree and also the one with the really bitchy stepmother". So I made Captain Carl drag the damn thing out of the garage and I set about clearing the the furniture from the front window and pulling all the fucking ornaments from the very back of the closet and damn it! why did I put all this fucking shit in front of the Christmas decorations?? Who needs three extra comforters and five suitcases anyway???
And right about then Renty walked in with a big box and an even bigger grin. Turns out he had a crap ton of his own ornaments and garland and he bought the whole thing at Sam's and it's called "Christmas in a Box" or "A zillion tiny glass ornaments that will take you forever to put up on the tree Box" or something like that. Renty was super excited and looked about 8 years old when he told me he'd love to help us decorate the tree.
well shit!
Let me explain something before I go any further with this story. I have major control issues when it comes to the Christmas tree. I like all the ornaments to be just so and that angel on top better be fucking straight as an arrow or there will be hell to pay. In short, it's perfect or it's not done. I relented a bit last year when, in exchange for their help, I agreed to keep my hands off of the ornaments that Captain Carl and the Kiddo placed on the tree. And I kept my word, even though there were about 15 ornaments that were clearly too close to other ornaments and there was a huge gap near the bottom where no one hung anything and honestly, who hangs two identical angels right next to each other???
Fast forward to today and our lives are very different than they were last year. We've had almost a full year of renters in the house and I've had to let a lot of things go so that I wouldn't drive myself and my family crazy. As I stared at Renty's face, I knew right then that the Christmas tree was going to be another on of those things. I mean, the guy's ex-wife just got remarried (I didn't tell y'all about that...it was a surprise to him and I felt kind of bad blogging about his misfortune), he was alone on Thanksgiving and will be alone again on Christmas. There was no way I was gonna be that big of an asshole and tell him "thanks but no thanks".
So Renty, Captain Carl and myself spent an hour decorating the tree. The Kiddo was at a band function, so it was just the three of us. I even used Renty's tree skirt, which was a huge deal because my tree skirt is the shit. We started drinking about half way through the process and the Captain was blaring Christmas music and Renty was so happy that he looked like he could have burst apart into tiny divorced 40-year old man bits at any moment.
And guess what, y'all? It was really fun. And my tree looks great and I didn't move any of the ornaments and Renty watched Christmas Vacation with us afterwards and we all agreed to make gingerbread houses next weekend when his kids are here and I know that will be awesome too.
Okay, so I moved one ornament. Big deal. It was one of the vintage ones my dead Grandma gave me and the Captain put it on the back of the tree and those always go on the front. So that didn't count.
Okay, I moved three ornaments. Don't judge me.
Fine. I moved four. But that's all. And I totally did it when they weren't looking. I'm like the stealth bomber of tree decorating.
sigh.
I am sooo not feeling it this year. If it weren't for the Kiddo, I wouldn't have bothered with it. But I don't want him to remember his last Christmas before college as "the one without a tree and also the one with the really bitchy stepmother". So I made Captain Carl drag the damn thing out of the garage and I set about clearing the the furniture from the front window and pulling all the fucking ornaments from the very back of the closet and damn it! why did I put all this fucking shit in front of the Christmas decorations?? Who needs three extra comforters and five suitcases anyway???
And right about then Renty walked in with a big box and an even bigger grin. Turns out he had a crap ton of his own ornaments and garland and he bought the whole thing at Sam's and it's called "Christmas in a Box" or "A zillion tiny glass ornaments that will take you forever to put up on the tree Box" or something like that. Renty was super excited and looked about 8 years old when he told me he'd love to help us decorate the tree.
well shit!
Let me explain something before I go any further with this story. I have major control issues when it comes to the Christmas tree. I like all the ornaments to be just so and that angel on top better be fucking straight as an arrow or there will be hell to pay. In short, it's perfect or it's not done. I relented a bit last year when, in exchange for their help, I agreed to keep my hands off of the ornaments that Captain Carl and the Kiddo placed on the tree. And I kept my word, even though there were about 15 ornaments that were clearly too close to other ornaments and there was a huge gap near the bottom where no one hung anything and honestly, who hangs two identical angels right next to each other???
Fast forward to today and our lives are very different than they were last year. We've had almost a full year of renters in the house and I've had to let a lot of things go so that I wouldn't drive myself and my family crazy. As I stared at Renty's face, I knew right then that the Christmas tree was going to be another on of those things. I mean, the guy's ex-wife just got remarried (I didn't tell y'all about that...it was a surprise to him and I felt kind of bad blogging about his misfortune), he was alone on Thanksgiving and will be alone again on Christmas. There was no way I was gonna be that big of an asshole and tell him "thanks but no thanks".
So Renty, Captain Carl and myself spent an hour decorating the tree. The Kiddo was at a band function, so it was just the three of us. I even used Renty's tree skirt, which was a huge deal because my tree skirt is the shit. We started drinking about half way through the process and the Captain was blaring Christmas music and Renty was so happy that he looked like he could have burst apart into tiny divorced 40-year old man bits at any moment.
And guess what, y'all? It was really fun. And my tree looks great and I didn't move any of the ornaments and Renty watched Christmas Vacation with us afterwards and we all agreed to make gingerbread houses next weekend when his kids are here and I know that will be awesome too.
Okay, so I moved one ornament. Big deal. It was one of the vintage ones my dead Grandma gave me and the Captain put it on the back of the tree and those always go on the front. So that didn't count.
Okay, I moved three ornaments. Don't judge me.
Fine. I moved four. But that's all. And I totally did it when they weren't looking. I'm like the stealth bomber of tree decorating.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Reason #37 Why Having Renters In Your House Sucks
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Emo Loves Older Women
I know y'all are dying to know what's going on with our renters since I haven't blogged about them for awhile. Yes, they are still here. Yes, Renty is still traumatizing my cat on a daily basis with his molestation attempts. He's also still "keeping it real" and I swear he's found my blog because lately when I ask him what he's up to, he always says "Oh you know, just keeping it real" and then he winks at me. Shit! He's on to me!
Our other renter, Marian, went overseas for three weeks to visit her online boyfriend (I may or may not talk about that more here...I'm totally paranoid now after the whole "keeping it real" thing) and she just got back this week. We didn't see much of Emo during those three weeks. Before Marian moved in, Emo would be over several times a week. After she moved in, he was there almost every day. Emo doesn't have the best relationship with his parents and I think Captain Carl stands in as a fatherly role model when Emo gets into one of his funks. I do my best to be helpful too, but anyone who knows me in real life can tell you that I get annoyed really easily with people. Emo is really good at pushing that particular button with me, so sometimes I just avoid him completely. God bless the Captain...he's a saint.
So I was a little worried about Emo when he didn't come around much for three weeks. I asked the Kiddo about him and he indicated that he was getting tired of Emo and his drama. He was all "Everything is always about him. He never wants to talk about me." so I just assumed that was the reason we hadn't seen much of Emo lately.
Then Marian came back from her trip and Emo has been at the house every day since. But I didn't know this at first. Yesterday morning I woke up for work and discovered that our front door was unlocked. Renty and Marian are usually really good about locking up, so I was a little surprised. Then I noticed a dirty ace bandage sitting on my desk, which is right by the front door. The hell???
So the day goes by and when I get home from work, I ask Marian about the bandage. It is not hers and she doesn't know where it came from. Renty comes home soon after and before I have a chance to question him, he says "What's up with that thing?" and points at the bandage. Then Marian is all "Ooooh, I bet it is Emo's" and I was all "When was he here?" and Renty was all under his breath "When ISN'T he here?" and Marian was all "Ummm, he came over pretty late last night" and I was all "So he probably left and no one locked up after him" and Marian was all "Hmmmm". The Captain and I were in bed by 11pm that night. Apparently Emo has decided to come over in the middle of the night and hang out with Marian now. Ummmm...there is only one thing I can think of that a teenage boy would be wanting when he shows up at someone's house at 2am. Eeewwww.
Last night I had to have a little talk with Emo when he wandered over at 9pm. I had to explain that he was welcome anytime at our house, as long as "anytime" was "during the time the Captain and I are awake". Emo then apologized 12 times and said "I'm sorry you are mad at me and hate me now" over and over until I finally couldn't stand it any longer and told him to shut up and eat some dinner already.
P.S. I have no idea what Emo was using that bandage for, but it probably had something to do with the see-through fishnet shirt he was wearing.
Our other renter, Marian, went overseas for three weeks to visit her online boyfriend (I may or may not talk about that more here...I'm totally paranoid now after the whole "keeping it real" thing) and she just got back this week. We didn't see much of Emo during those three weeks. Before Marian moved in, Emo would be over several times a week. After she moved in, he was there almost every day. Emo doesn't have the best relationship with his parents and I think Captain Carl stands in as a fatherly role model when Emo gets into one of his funks. I do my best to be helpful too, but anyone who knows me in real life can tell you that I get annoyed really easily with people. Emo is really good at pushing that particular button with me, so sometimes I just avoid him completely. God bless the Captain...he's a saint.
So I was a little worried about Emo when he didn't come around much for three weeks. I asked the Kiddo about him and he indicated that he was getting tired of Emo and his drama. He was all "Everything is always about him. He never wants to talk about me." so I just assumed that was the reason we hadn't seen much of Emo lately.
Then Marian came back from her trip and Emo has been at the house every day since. But I didn't know this at first. Yesterday morning I woke up for work and discovered that our front door was unlocked. Renty and Marian are usually really good about locking up, so I was a little surprised. Then I noticed a dirty ace bandage sitting on my desk, which is right by the front door. The hell???
So the day goes by and when I get home from work, I ask Marian about the bandage. It is not hers and she doesn't know where it came from. Renty comes home soon after and before I have a chance to question him, he says "What's up with that thing?" and points at the bandage. Then Marian is all "Ooooh, I bet it is Emo's" and I was all "When was he here?" and Renty was all under his breath "When ISN'T he here?" and Marian was all "Ummm, he came over pretty late last night" and I was all "So he probably left and no one locked up after him" and Marian was all "Hmmmm". The Captain and I were in bed by 11pm that night. Apparently Emo has decided to come over in the middle of the night and hang out with Marian now. Ummmm...there is only one thing I can think of that a teenage boy would be wanting when he shows up at someone's house at 2am. Eeewwww.
Last night I had to have a little talk with Emo when he wandered over at 9pm. I had to explain that he was welcome anytime at our house, as long as "anytime" was "during the time the Captain and I are awake". Emo then apologized 12 times and said "I'm sorry you are mad at me and hate me now" over and over until I finally couldn't stand it any longer and told him to shut up and eat some dinner already.
P.S. I have no idea what Emo was using that bandage for, but it probably had something to do with the see-through fishnet shirt he was wearing.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Madam Librarian
So. Our newest renter.
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
My Bank Account Totally Got Taken To Brown Town Today
I just paid the mortgage, car payment, gas bill, electric bill, water bill and the cell phone bill all in one sitting. Now I'm all sweaty and depressed and also I want to punch someone but I can't decide between Renty or the meter reader. Because one of those assholes is responsible for my electric bill hitting $450 this month.
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.
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
Keepin' It Real
Renty is starting to annoy me a little bit. It was inevitable, I suppose. When you live with someone long enough, their weird little quirks are bound to bother you after awhile. But I really didn't have any major complaints about Renty (besides the cat molesting) until he got laid off a couple weeks ago.
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?
P.P.S. Don't forget to keep it real, yo.
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.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Who's Your Daddy? I'm Pretty Sure It's Not This Guy.
Captain Carl and I are sitting on the couch watching TV. My cat, Max, is sitting on the ottoman in front of us. Renty walks into the room...
Renty: (to Max) There's the wittle pwincess!
Me: *blink*
Renty: You are such a wittle pwincess! Yes you are!
Captain Carl: Oh yeah, she's so sweet I can hardly stand it.
Renty: You have green eyes, just like Daddy...I mean, just like me!
Me: *scared face*
Then Renty picks up Max's front legs and starts kissing the top of her head. Max is looking at me all "Don't just sit there, help me bitch!" but I'm all "Uh...ha ha haaaa?" because y'alll! I don't know if I should laugh or cry at this point. I guess since I wouldn't stop him, Max had to take matters into her own paws...
She coughed up a hairball.
It worked.
Renty let her go immediately and was all "She's quite the charmer, isn't she?" and Max was all "Charm this, kitty rapist" and then coughed up another one and then Renty just turned away and went back upstairs. We sat there in silence for about a minute. Then the Captain leaned over and whispered in my ear "Just like Daddy???".
Does anyone know the number for Cat Protective Services?
Renty: (to Max) There's the wittle pwincess!
Me: *blink*
Renty: You are such a wittle pwincess! Yes you are!
Captain Carl: Oh yeah, she's so sweet I can hardly stand it.
Renty: You have green eyes, just like Daddy...I mean, just like me!
Me: *scared face*
Then Renty picks up Max's front legs and starts kissing the top of her head. Max is looking at me all "Don't just sit there, help me bitch!" but I'm all "Uh...ha ha haaaa?" because y'alll! I don't know if I should laugh or cry at this point. I guess since I wouldn't stop him, Max had to take matters into her own paws...
She coughed up a hairball.
It worked.
Renty let her go immediately and was all "She's quite the charmer, isn't she?" and Max was all "Charm this, kitty rapist" and then coughed up another one and then Renty just turned away and went back upstairs. We sat there in silence for about a minute. Then the Captain leaned over and whispered in my ear "Just like Daddy???".
Does anyone know the number for Cat Protective Services?
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