Drunken Shenanigans – Part Deux
30 Jul 2011 6 Comments
Ok, where were we . . . oh yeah, everyone was wasted. So, the fam is generally hanging out in the back of the bar, which is quite picturesque with the beach right on the bay and some tables and palm trees and cute twinkly white Xmas lights strung over top. So we get our waitress to start bringing rounds to us out on the beach area and are just generally goofing off having a good time when someone realizes that there are these wooden posts sticking out of the ground in this one area and decide that those suckers need to be put to good use. Enter the obligatory Mr. Miyagi posing on them by my brother in law (and the almost completely falling off and face planting in the sand . . . yeah, drunken balancing on one leg up high is never really a great idea). Then, there was the planking on these posts:
More like supermaning for my BIL.
Apparently around this time there was also loud belting of the song ”Roxanne” by the BIL, but my memory is a bit fuzzy on this. I never claimed I was sober. Just non-wasted.
Well, as you can imagine, having a group of drunks around a body of water is of course going to eventually lead one of them to believe that wading into the water fully clothed is an excellent idea. Enter my sister in law, wife of above brother in law. She only went up to about her waist, but was completely clothed the whole time.
Waayyyy out in the water.
Yes, I do in fact know that you can’t really see anything in that stupid picture, but I had a crappy camera phone, remember? That is her way out in the water up to about her waist. It was dark. She was far away. It’s very blurry. Sorry.
So, apparently once it was established that people were just gonna go in the water (my SIL broke the seal, so to speak), we happened to notice to our right that there is a couple, not part of our group, that are starting to wade into the water. They are clothed and only go up to about their shins and then get out. Ok, fine.
But then, a few minutes later, we look over and see this:
What is that glowing little dot in the distance?
Ok, let me explain the above picture since crappy phone . . . we’ve been here, right? Anyway, it is the same couple, who have now stripped down to their underwear, waded out deepish into the water, and started making out and/or fucking. We couldn’t really tell. They were pretty far away. But no doubt about their almost nakedness and drunkenness, so there is that.
Well, at this point it was about last call, where we of course had to order another round of shots and another round of regular drinks (at this point I apparently had forgotten the functional abilities of a “straw” as I kept trying to drink out of said straw, but at the same time tipping my cup towards me to get the liquid out, and of course kept spilling my drink all down the front of me. Ehh, whatever).
Then we left. The End.
Just kidding. There was this in the parking lot:
Um, I don't think this is really what it means BIL.
Yep, more planking. These 2 are getting addicted to this.
Then there was this at the bus stop:
She can do this on anything, yo . . . .
Are you sensing a theme for the night?
Then we got on the bus. The bus was very crowded, as it would be about 2:00 am near the bottom of a very long stretch of road where people go to have a good time, drink a lot, and then need to take a bus to get home. So most of us had to stand for the first few streets/miles. We were all crammed together, but too intoxicated to care. There was jostling and laughing and socializing with the other, mostly younger, bus dwellers.
Then apparently my brother in law thought it would be a good idea to start undressing. I’m not sure where it came from, but it was not the first time that night he decided that his shirt needed to come off.
Woo-hoo!!
Then, as you might notice above, some of the other bus riding peeps decided to take their shirts off as well. So it was at that point just a bus full of half naked menfolk. I think that was when the lap-dancing and dollar bills came out, but I can’t really be sure of the sequence of events at this point.
- Shake it baby!
I do know that soon after this the bus driver slammed on the breaks, yelled at everyone to stop being jackholes and pointed over to our left (where there were 3 cop cars with lights flashing), and he threatened to inform the cops of how we were acting if we didn’t settle down.
(Of course at this point I was thinking “inform them that we are intoxicated and instead of irresponsibly getting in our cars and driving down the road, we have taken the bus to get us home? Yeah, dude, go ahead and report us! Dickhead”).
But looking back, we (and by we I mean my family, not me personally) were acting like a bunch of drunken yahoos. Which we were at this point.
Oh, I forgot about the R. Let me back up. As we were leaving the bar and walking to the bus stop, we walked past this marquee thing with those letters you put up to announce stuff, like “LIVE MUSIC TONIGHT, FEATURING DJ SPITZNITZ” or “PRIME RIB $19.99″ or even “COME IN FOR BAR TRIVIA.” Yeah, so anyway, we are about to walk by one of these big signs and on the other side of the sign, there are a bunch of boys (also topless . . . this I believe is the theme of the night now that I think of it), who were throwing stuff up at the sign, I think. I’m not entirely sure, because the first I noticed of them was when I heard a THUNK and looked in their general direction in time to see one of the letters falling off the sign towards me and dropping to the ground. So I look over and see one of them going “damn, that’s not the one I wanted,” or something. Well, if you don’t want it . . . yeah, so I ran over and grabbed it. It’s an R. Not sure why I thought I needed that R, but I felt it was some sort of cosmic gift at that point and you can’t piss off the cosmos, so there ya go.
That's not me. But that be my Arrrrrr!!
And that’s the story of my drunken family and our crazy night where miraculously nobody went to jail or even puked. Hazaaah!!
Drunken Shenanigans
27 Jul 2011 3 Comments
So, to continue the story of my family’s fun and drunken night out, once the drinks started flowing and everyone finally arrived . . . ok wait, that was our first drama of the night, so let me back up a bit.
My nephew, who’s birthday was the next week and we were going to celebrate that night, lost his wallet on the beach that day. So as we were getting ready to leave for the bar, we called and discovered that they were frantically searching for the wallet on the beach so that he could get into the bar. They failed to find it, but we told them just to come anyway, since we were going to an outdoor-ish bar/restaurant type place and they probably wouldn’t be carding. So of course when we got there, they were carding. Damn. So I texted them that they were in fact carding, but they said they were on their way anyway. Now, half of us were already in the bar ordering drinks, so we were going to have to figure out what to do if the nephew could not get into the place. Luckily, it was found by his parents (my sister-in-law and brother-in-law) and they actually drove the wallet down to their son who was at that point waiting outside of the bar. He was turning 30, by the way.
Ok, so here is the cast of characters participating in the night’s activities: Me and the hubs, his brother and wife, his nephew and wife (both my age), his niece and hubs (couple years younger than me), and the nephew (brother of niece, age above). The participants above are all my hubby’s family members. They are really a lot more fun than my family, so we were in for a good time.
So we start ordering drinks all around. Some of us were a few drinks in already waiting for the others to arrive. But I was being a good girl and pacing myself. Plus, I had dubbed myself official group photographer (since I was the only one who thought to bring a camera, duh!), so I needed to keep my wits about me. But don’t think that means I hadn’t already sucked down about 3 mixed drinks already. They were super yummy and went down smoooottthhhhh! Ahem. Anyway, so we had to catch up the late-comers, especially the birthday boy, so shots were ordered for all (I passed). Then another shot just for the nephew. Then another round. You get the drift.
So you can now imagine that everyone is starting to get pretty lubricated. However, these are peeps from good Irish stock (mostly), so they can pretty much hold their liquor for a time.
By the way, this would be about the time that I realized that my camera was almost out of battery power. I had another fully charged battery back at our place (because I’m all responsible and shit) but that was a good 20 minute ride back to the condo one way, so I wasn’t going back to get it. I just had to deal with the fact that recorded memories of this night were only going to go so far. And of course, the camera died just when the night started getting really good and I really needed to be able to take good pics of the following events. I did have my phone, which has a really crappy camera, which I had to use as a back-up. Basically if it is really bright and nobody is moving, the picture is fine. Please note that we were in a dark bar and everyone was drunkenly moving about. So yeah, you can see how well the rest of the evening’s activities were documented by my piece of crap phone. Especially on the moving bus. But that’s for later . . . .
Ok, back to the events at hand . . . the first instance of some craziness to come was when my niece and I started talking about her recent trip to Florida and how she posted all these pics of her and her friends planking. So of course she was all, “hey, let’s plank right here!” As you do. I was all, you just go right ahead. I’ll take a pic (with my crappy phone, remember). So she grabbed 2 of our bar stools and just planked right there. (For those of you who live in closets, planking is where you take two surfaces, slightly apart, and make your body stiff like a plank while laying on top of those two separated surfaces. It’s apparently all the rage now).
THIS is planking.
Now, while she is planking, and I start taking a pic, some random drunk dude comes up and starts laying on top of her. I try to alert her husband, who is sitting right behind this, but he is already drunk and oblivious, and the 4 other menfolk in our party are likewise, so I end up having to go over to this douche, grab/pinch his scrawny bicep, and whisper in his ear “get the FUCK off her!” Which he did thankfully. Apparently, I’m very threatening. Good thing, too. Useless menfolk!
Then, when a few of us ladies went to use the facilities (together of course), the men apparently thought that meant it was time to go and settled the tab, so that when we came back, everyone was gone from our tables and we saw them hovering around the front entrance. We were like “what’s up with all this then?” and as we were walking out front someone decided that we needed “one more round!”
Now, instead of going back into the bar, we decided to go around back to the beach/bay area, which was pretty deserted. Had I mentioned that this bar was right on the beach on the bay side of Ocean City? Yeah, it was. So we are back there and just randomly hanging out and chatting, and of course someone has gone inside to track down our waitress for this “one more drink” we are going to have. Well, more planking ensues, this time without incident, and with both niece and nephew, and on tables this time.
The bay is behind them. Strung up Xmas lights above give a bit better pic.
Alright, this has gotten way too long again! I will continue the saga tomorrow, with the good stuff coming up . . . including: wading into the bay, toplessness, Mr. Miyagi-ing, drunks having sex in the bay, and topless lap dancing on the bus home!! Good times.
UPDATED . . . to add some more pictures of planking. These are not from this night but are from my neice and her friends:
Shenanigans
26 Jul 2011 3 Comments
Ok, so I had previously mentioned some goings on that occurred while I was away at the beach, significantly an evening out and about where there may have been some intoxication by the majority of the peeps in my group. (Ok, there was drunken half-clothed lap dancing on the bus, so you decide). I got to be the official photographer. I was only slightly drunk, while the rest of my cohorts were fucking wasted. As evidenced by the evening’s events.
But first, some fun things I saw that evening, pre-drinking. Let me start by saying that people are freaking weird. The night actually began by taking the bus to our destination. Now, I am not normally a bus riding type person. Where I live, you need a car to get anywhere, and I drive all over creation every day. But in Ocean City, MD, they have buses to drive all up and down the main drag, to prevent all the drunken assholes from killing each other and all the tourists. This here is a brilliant idea. So, being forward thinking peoples, we decided that we would be way too drunk to drive back home that night and that we would be taking the bus to and fro. Being somewhat early in the evening, the bus was pretty empty. There were only a couple of us and a few young boys as well. One of the boys had an arrow shaved into his head. Like instead of a mohawk, the hair on top of his head was shaved to look like an arrow pointing at his forehead. It was bizarre. I’m not sure what makes someone think that this is a cool look. Other than the arrow, he was a total Abercrombie type boy. Just this fucking arrow. Weirdness. (And no, I wasn’t sneaky enough to get a pic. Damn!)
Ok, on to the bar. Now, speaking of mohawks, there was this:
I'm hip, I'm cool. I'm a tool.
Ok, and then there was this . . . ya’ll, it’s Snooki!!
No, I wasn't in Jersey. Or Italy even.
Now I was trying to be surreptitious and shit when I took this pic, but it does not do the Snooki do on top of this girl’s head justice. Just believe me that it was epic and a total homage to the original.
Next we have . . . what the fuck are these?
It's like she's wearing a couch on her feet. A really uncomfortable 70's era porn couch.
- How does anyone walk in these?
Yeah, I don’t even really know what to say about these. She wasn’t actively dancing on a pole at the time, so not sure what the thought process was behind these . . . I’m going to a bar. I’m going to drink alcohol. I may dance. I know! Let me strap 2 wobbly leather (pleather more likely?) white atrocities to my feet to up the excitement factor. Hell yes, let’s do this!!
Ok, this got a bit too long. I’ll continue with the drunken shenanigans of my family in another post. To be continued . . .
Signs, signs, everywhere . . .
25 Jul 2011 Leave a Comment
in Randomosity
Hello all. I am back from a lovely vacation with the extended fam, and I am feeling quite refreshed. Although I am back at work, and let me tell you that while I was away, Shit Went Down. I will get into that at a later date. Anyway, as to the vacation, it was quite relaxing, but also busy with the beach and rides and mini-golf and steamed crabs and general mayhem which ensues when a majority of my hubby’s crazy family inhabit one place for an extended period of time. Fun times though.
One of the very interesting things that I saw (oh, and there were many), was this sign which was posted at the beach. I found it quite intriguing for many reasons.
Helpful, thanks.
Now, I don’t know if any of you have ever been caught in a riptide, but those are mean muthers. They will suck you down into a vortex of wetness, disorient your ass, and if you are lucky, they spit you back out at some point when they are done with you, or if you are really lucky, someone will see that you got sucked under and grab your arm to pull you out at that last possible second (this happened to my niece many years ago). From my understanding, it is a scary and possibly deadly occurence, and it is very difficult to just get out of it when you attempt to.
But, according to this sign, it sounds like just a gently lapping wave that is massaging your nether-regions and might be just possibly a bit annoying. I mean, if you could just relax and not fight it, all will be ok. Also, just merely swim out of it, for christ sake! If that fails, calmly wave your hand in the air so that an oh so helpful lifeguard can come to your rescue. Possibly running down the beach in slow motion in a skimpy swim suit and very large and bouncy surgically enhanced breasts. Or David Hasselhoff. For the ladies, you know.
Now, based on this advise, I have come up with some more helpful advice for another possibly life threatening event. I give you . . . Fire Safety:
IF YOU HAPPEN TO FIND YOURSELF ON FIRE . . . .
TO PUT OUT THE FIRE:
- Run as fast as you can to the nearest body of water. A lake, an ocean or large pot of water will suffice.
- Dunk your entire body in the water, but be careful not to mess up your hair or make up. You will want to look good for the doctors in the emergency room.
- If you cannot find a body of water, just gently lick yourself until the fire goes out. Saliva is in fact a liquid.
- If you cannot put yourself out in a timely manner, try to find some marshmallows and a stick, and enjoy a lite snack while you wait for someone to call the fire department. Don’t eat too many though, because you will want to look good for the possibly attractive firemen.
- Also, look on the bright side . . . you will now have a killer tan to show off amongst all your beach going friends. No more pasty white skin for you! You are a brown (maybe a bit charred black) goddess. Enjoy!!
Weekly Whacked: Phrase of the Week
15 Jul 2011 6 Comments
Since I am going away today for a week, I figured I would just leave you with a taste of some of the extremely entertaining things that I deal with on a daily/weekly basis.
This one is from a completely crazy defendant who wrote a threatening letter to his girlfriend. In said letter, he wrote this gem:
“Don’t piss in my cheerios, or I will shit in your cornflakes.”
Brilliant.
Also, the name of one of my defendant’s yesterday: Nimrod Bonaparte. I really can’t make this shit up. His parents apparently HATED him!
Have a great week and I will hopefully have some fun stories to tell when I return from my trip to the beach!
Ciao.
Where’s my Sponsor???
13 Jul 2011 2 Comments
So, this past weekend, my hubby and I actually went out with another couple to have some dinner, some drinks and generally a good time. This is a rarity for us as we are mostly homebodies and pretty boring type peeps. So a night out on the town was a big deal for us.
The night started just fine with some convos, catching up with some old friends during our drive to the place we were going. (It was a horse track with a casino, but enough about our degenerate gambling addictions).
Then we had dinner. And my friend suggested that we order a bottle of wine, and asked me which kind did I like. It just so happened we had the exact same taste in wine, so we were off! (Santa Margarita Pinot Grigio in case you were wondering. Yum!)
My GOD.
Let me note at this time, that I had eaten very little all day as it was a pretty busy day and I never really got the chance to sit down and eat. It was mainly just little nibbles of my kids’ lunches and some coffee. But I knew I would probably have a large dinner, so I didn’t worry about it. Plus, I just wasn’t ever that hungry.
So we get our bottle of wine and start drinking. And chatting. And betting on horses, etc. By the by, we have yet to begin eating anything at this point. And all of a sudden, the bottle of wine is gone. Just like that! Well, should we order another? Why of course!! What a silly question.
And that second bottle appeared like magic I tell you. So at this point, I believe we actually had our entrees, which consisted, for me anyway, of a piece of salmon, and some very unappetizing sides. (When the waiter asked if I was enjoying my meal, I told him the fish was great but I did not like the sides. He told me to add some salt, and they would be great. Seriously? I actually tried it though. It didn’t work, by the way. They were still awful). I ate all the salmon, but that was all.
This makes EVERYTHING better. Thanks!!
On a side note, the waiter had a southern accent when he took our order, then later was talking to the table next to us in a Jersey accent, and I later overheard him talking to another server and he sounded like a completely normal person. So I think he was a bit unhinged. Or an aspiring actor? But this was not L.A., where every waiter is an actor, and vice/versa. This was Wes Bygawd Virginny (per Hooty Hoo), dammit!!
Well, after some more drinking and betting on horses, and cheering on our favorites (mine stubbornly refused to win, bastards! Oh, except for the one who threw off his jockey right out of the gate. He won. Of course. Doesn’t count though. He was 120 lbs. lighter . . . and jockey-less), it was getting late and we decided since we were done with dinner (and the wine), we would go down to the track and watch the last race, then go to the casino to do a little gambling.
So we all got up from the table and went outside to see the race. Here is where I begin to have a problem. You see, I had been sitting at this table all night, but once I became mobile, apparently the wine started circulating through my body. And eventually it travelled all the way up from my stomach until it hit my brain. Where it apparently shut that mother down!
I was absolutely fine (well, I thought so anyway) until we all decided we would go into the casino, and my hubby realized that I was slurring. He also realized there might be a problem after he handed me tickets for the next race and I absent mindedly (read: drunkenly) tore them into itty bitty pieces. When I told him this, in an “oops” kind of way, he was not pleased. It was at this time that it was decided by the group as a whole that I needed a “guide.” My friend then was designated as my guide, but I like to refer to her as my “sponsor.” As in, I NEED A SPONSOR. WHERE IS MY SPONSOR? Which I kept yelling. You know, as you do. I thought it hysterical at the time. The group? Not as much. Party poopers!
My hubby was also a bit disappointed in my light-weightedness, because I drink wine pretty much every night. I mean, I train for this people! This was sort of like my olympics. But then I reminded him a) almost empty stomach, and b) an entire bottle of wine all by myself. I don’t routinely drink a whole bottle every night! Wait a minute. THAT’S the problem . . . I just need a better training program!
There must be some type of Russian trainer out there that could whip my ass into shape within a few years. Maybe the hubs could ship me off to some type of training camp for that sort of thing. Just for a few months. It would be hardcore training, really! Not a free vacation, including massive amounts of alcohol. I mean, who would enjoy that? I’m sure I would miss my kids. And husband. At some point . . . . right?
Well, at least at this point, I think it will be in everyone’s best interest if I start consuming more alcohol on a regular basis. I mean, I’m really doing it for the greater good, right?
Yep, that’s how I’m playing it. Anyone wanna send me a bottle of wine to help mankind? Won’t you please think of the children?
Keep your innards to yourself
12 Jul 2011 7 Comments
There seems to be this phenomenom amongst older people, usually north of 65 years, where they want to share with you all of their ailments and medical conditions . . . in great and painfully specific detail. My in-laws do this and, most recently, my mother has started to do this. It is quite disturbing on many levels. And I really don’t want to hear about it, thank you very much.
This is not to say that I don’t care deeply about their well-being and want them to be healthy and well. However, I do not need to be privy to all the ins and outs of their intestinal systems. It is just really not a part of their bodies that I particularly want to envision.
Purdy!!
Now my mother has begun to do this on a regular basis because she has recently been diagnosed with some type of internal thing which causes her some amount of discomfort, but is definitely not life threatening or really very serious. I know it has some medical name. She has told me. Repeatedly. I still have no idea what it is.
Anyway, what you need to know is that my mother is also a complete hypochondriac and also, shall we say, a bit myopic. Well, more than a bit. She is extremely self-centered and self-obsessed. There, I said it.
So, the other day she was staying at my house and told me she would make dinner. Great! One less thing I have to do when I get home from work. Then she calls me as I’m leaving work and asks me some random question about something in my kitchen. I answer her question. Then, she non-sequiturs into asking me this one: “Which side is your appendix on?”
Well, me being the eternal smart-ass that I am, my first reaction was of course: “You obviously are confused if you are asking ME that question, because I went to LAW school, not MED school. Sorry, no idea.”
Then, since I was about to lose the call in my parking garage, I told her I would see her at home but had to go. And she was all, “oh, alright. Bye.”
Now, you might think that a brighter person might have actually read between the lines of that question immediately and become quite concerned about the health and well-being of their saintly mother. However, I apparently am not that bright. Also, my mother loves attention. In any way she can get it. So, when I got in my car, I finally got the whole “where is my appendix” question and immediately started worrying that my mom’s appendix was about to burst and I had just flippantly blew her off.
Was my mom about to die from an appendicitis? Were the last words she would ever hear from me basically be, “don’t know and don’t care, see ya!”? Oh no, I’m a horrible person!!
But then I remembered who I was thinking about. I immediately calmed right the fuck down. I thought about how many times she had fooled me into thinking she was gonna just die right then and there dammit, and oh don’t you feel sorry for me, and could you please pay all of your attention to me . . . blah, blah, blah. She is an attention hogging whore. And I say that with love.
But this was a new one. I have to give her credit. She almost got me. Well played, mumsy. Well played.
By the way, I still don’t know what fucking side the appendix is on. But I can write a mean Motion Nunc Pro Tunc. So there, bitches! We all have our skill sets, right?
Weekly Whacked: Public Service Annunkmnt
08 Jul 2011 6 Comments
I just . . . guys, I just don’t have the words. I’m gonna give it a go though . . .
So, in my office building, there is one bathroom for each set of pipes (lady parts/guy bits) on each floor. Now, obviously, the bathrooms are not a high priority for the building, since routinely there is no TP in either of the 4 stalls by the end of the day, we often have to do the air drying, pat the pants water absorbancy technique for our hands, and there is usually something in there that is out-of-order, be it the sinks or the soap dispensers (which, let’s be honest, is a really good day if they even HAVE soap in them). This is all to say that we are used to something not being quite right with the pottys.
So, of course, as is the norm, the middle of the three sinks has been clogged for the last 3 days. You can use it, but you have to try to avoid the cess-pool of a swamp collecting underneath your soon to be cleaned off hands. Which is slowly rising while water is running over your soapy digits. Kind of like a zombie germ invasion if you will. They are shuffling slowly towards you, sure, but they will still eat your brains if you stand there long enough.
Anywho, today I went into the bathroom around lunchtime to get all the work germies off my hands before eating (I work in the City, so cleansing is a must on a regular basis), and as I went to wash my hands in the middle sink, momentarily forgetting that it has not been in proper working condition for the past few days, I looked down . . . and saw this:
You're what now?
Jesus. H. Christ on a cracker. What the fuck?
Ok, let’s break this down then. I have to assume that someone is trying to say that the sink is “Broke.” I have to assume this. What else could you conclude? I’ve been trying now to come up with some sort of explanation to soothe my worried mind about this one monstrosity of a word, but just Cannot. Fucking. Come. Up. With. Anything. Except that someone was trying to spell BROKE. And what they ended up writing was RROOK.
Are you fucking kidding me here? Is this some sort of prank to make me lose my fool mind?
This is beyond illiterate. This is stoopidity. That’s right, with 2 o’s. That’s how stupid this is. I mean, it doesn’t even start with the correct fucking letter people!! Argh. I might be having an aneurism right now.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not some sort of grammar nazi or anything. Not that I don’t appreciate good grammar and well written text. I was in fact an English Lit major and have an advanced degree in law. I like words, peeps. But I work in an environment where routinely if I can at least read it and make it out as english, I’m good. I don’t expect brilliance here, just coherency.
But this shit is just wrong on so many levels. It just makes me sad for society as a whole. Whoever wrote this does not even have basic skills to be functioning in society, in my opinion. I mean, this person is working in an office building for christ sake. Now, not everyone on my floor is an attorney, so it is most likely one of the customer service people or whatnot, but still. STILL. You have a job. You are a professional. You do not work at McDonald’s. Hell, those high school kids working at MickyD’s could probably at least spell Broke. Or at the VERY LEAST start the fucking word with a B!
I think I need to go lay down now. I may be hyperventilating.
For sure I think something inside my head has just RROOK.
GAWD.
Got Brains?
07 Jul 2011 6 Comments
in Boob Tube
I don’t want to alarm anyone, but due to a recent discovery, I felt it imperative to warn everyone of a possible Zombie outbreak!!
I know, I know, but calm down. Hysteria will do nobody any good!
I have been informed by reliable sources that one of the causes of Zombie outbreaks can now be linked back to . . . spoiled milk consumption!
So, for the love of all that is holy, (praise jeebus!), make sure that if your power goes out, you throw away all dairy products immediately (just to be safe, ALL dairy products . . . we cannot be too careful), b/c if some unsuspecting (and let’s be honest, probably male) person were to consume even a taste of said dairy product, they could become this:
Oh, you're making your sexy face I see . . .
Then . . . well we know what happens then. Annie get your gun, here come the looters.
This has been a public service announcement from someone who watches too damn much tv and basically believes everything she hears.
Your welcome.
Have the decency to at least LOOK crazy (aka “You have beautiful feet!”)
06 Jul 2011 5 Comments
So the other day I was leaving my office. I was waiting at a light for a bit and this random guy starts having a conversation with me about the weather. Now, he was a normal looking person, but he starting talking to me like we had been having this conversation already and like we were buddies (Red Flag #1). So I politely respond so as not to be completely rude. Then the light changes and he starts walking with me across the street. He then asks me if I work for a certain company that is in the building I just came out of, so he obviously had noticed me prior to his initiation of conversation (Red Flag #2), but I told him no, I didn’t work for them. He then proceeded to talk to me in detail about all these problems he had with his wife, and the divorce, and some property issues, and child support, etc. He was rambling a bit, and at this point I was starting to recognize that he might not be quite right. (Big Red Flag #3).
Well, we then come to the locked door to my parking garage (this has all happened within one block), and I go to unlock the door, hoping that he won’t follow me in because I don’t have any mace or anything. Instead, he stops me by placing his hand on my arm, looking into my eyes and telling me that he just had to say that I have beee-you-tiful . . . FEET.
Um, what?
Then he proceeds to tell me that he has a foot fetish (eww) and just had to let me know how beautiful my feet were. Then he let me go and I proceeded to run into the garage, hoping he did not follow my adorable tootsies inside.
Now, obviously this was my fault for wearing open toed shoes to work and walking around in the city where any old crazy person could gaze upon them. I was obviously asking for it!
But here is my real problem with this. Besides the obvious ick factor of some weirdo stopping me on the street to ogle my feet. The problem I have with this is that the guy looked Totally Normal! That’s right. He lulled me in with his completely non-remarkableness.
What I’m saying, is that if you are one bean shy of a full enchilada, have the decency to at least look a little off so I can avoid having a conversation with you. Is that too much to ask?
There is a guy down the street from my office that fits the bill there, and I greatly appreciate that, because I can routinely avoid him. He is usually shirtless (unless he is wearing his reflective vest – like the highway workers wear so as not to be crushed by oncoming cars), and wears shorts and black combat boots. He is usually WASHING THE SIDEWALK with his big broom and soapy water, or washing himself off with same soap and water IN THE STREET. He pushes around a huge cart full of broken down boxes and the aforementioned broom.
See? No problem recognizing the crazy, right? Exactly. That’s my point.
And I rest my case.
Seriously, try to control your excitement . . .
