I got bored waiting for a showing earlier this week, so I started playing Draw Something. There are entirely too many somethings being drawn in this game with decidedly sexual overtones. I’m not much of an artist, but I feel like I get the point across pretty well. Not like these little fuckertwats who just draw the word I’m supposed to be guessing. I actually give up on those people and call them assholes in the comments. Because they are. I’ve also come to the conclusion that I’m playing with a bunch of 13 year olds because they don’t catch what normal people would otherwise consider to be pretty well-known references. Also, the easiest way for these little schmucks to distinguish between male and female is to draw an enormous rack on their stick figures. And not just any rack – very detailed, right down to the shape of the areolas. Sometimes they toss in a pair of giant knockers even when the word isn’t gender specific. It’s like playing with 10 year old boys who just found a stack of Playboys in the trash.
The little sociopaths that constitute my tenant base are wrapping up finals and leaving town finally, but not before they stop in to be assholes, mostly just for the sake of being assholes. Seriously, some little dipshit stopped in to drop off his keys, looked in my candy dish and said,
“Man, why don’t you ever have anything good like M&Ms or Skittles?”
“Because they’re not individually wrapped, and children are filthy creatures.”
“We’re not children! I also happen to think I’m pretty clean compared to most people.”
“For starters, I’m old enough to have birthed you, kid. Granted, it would have been into a toilet bowl at prom, but I’m still old enough. And you forget that I’ve seen your apartment. A prom toilet full of afterbirth is still cleaner than anything in your place.”
I wish I could say the reference to birth at prom was the first one this week. Ken and I went to the last symphony performance of the season this past Saturday and we stopped at Cold Stone for dessert beforehand. Of course we got there and then a group of teenagers walked in looking like a bubblegum quinceanera. I’ve never seen so much tulle outside of a Joann Fabrics. Tis the season for prom, I suppose. As we were walking to the car, Ken asked, “Can you imagine chaperoning for those kids?”
“No. I wouldn’t be caught dead at another prom.”
“I would! I’d be the one outside the bathrooms asking, ‘Young lady, did you leave a baby in that toilet?'”
So then we get to Overture Center for the performance and find that the other half of the center was rented out for a special event: prom. Only there were security guards to stand outside the bathrooms and ask inappropriate questions, instead of my husband who would probably wind up on a sex offender registry for telling dead baby jokes, knowing our luck.
Moving on to classier subjects (hah!), I’m a good sanding and another coat of paint away from refurbishing Jana’s crackhouse mannequin. Since this is going to be a fabulous gift for the Queen of NATurally Inappropriate herself, we decided to turn it into a wall mounted planter for her herb garden. The most inappropriate thing about her after that will be the placement of the pots. And if we’re being honest, it wil be more clothes than she was wearing when I got her.
And of course, I’m going to have to deliver this thing to her personally in Texas when it’s done because I’d cry if it broke in shipping. Which led to this conversation:
Me: So I think I’ll put a wide pot around her legs. I’ll leave the midriff bare so you can write on it, and I’ll add two smaller, round titty pots.
Nat: It’s going to be legit.
Me: Jana is going to be jealous that she didn’t accept my offer of a kid’s craft station. I be talented, yo.
Nat: So you’re going to have to carry that on a plane. And pretend like nothing is up. And get pics.
Me: Yes. Epic blog post coming in July.
Nat: Like, just stare at peeps like you’re just holding a shopping bag. It’s soooo fabulous.
I will, too. I may be getting a cavity search, but it will be my greatest blog ever.