Wasting most of my work day on Friday, I had a little IM conversation with Guamaniac where we fantasized about leaving work at 10:30am, and going to happy hour. It developed in to how we perceive mothers, which, it being so outside our own personal viewpoints, quickly developed in to generic stereotypes. Sue us.
guamaniac: tgi muther fucking friday!
Grumples: no shit
Grumples: can we go home now?
guamaniac: i wish. when do the happy hours begin?
Grumples: if we leave right now, we can have it at 11am
guamaniac: score! i'll be waiting out front.
Grumples: cool
Grumples: where are we going to go?
guamaniac: ummm..some place classy. applebee's?
guamaniac: that would be awesome if we skipped work and went and got trashed at an applebee's.
guamaniac: then made The Boy pick us up
Grumples: totally
Grumples: maybe we can go to chili's and have lots of ribs
Grumples: so not only will we be drunk, but we'll be covered in meaty bbq sauce
guamaniac: yes. can we please do it. let go home sick for the rest of the day
Grumples: sadly, that would disappoint my little middle schoolers
Grumples: today is a party day for them because they just finished the TAKS
Grumples: we're going to play games and have ice cream
guamaniac: boo...putting children before me and applebee's? i don't even know you anymore
i know
Grumples: it's terrible
Grumples: next thing you know i'll be married and knocked up
Grumples: painting my walls beige
Grumples: worring about calories
Grumples: wearing elastic-waisted pants
guamaniac: cutting crusts off of bologna sandwiches
Grumples: obsessively cleaning
guamaniac: sewing outfits and ironing socks and towels
Grumples: and underwear
Grumples: don't forget the underwear
Grumples: and sheets!
Grumples: at least two loads of laundry every day
guamaniac: clipping coupons and making casseroles
Grumples: joining the PTA
guamaniac: getting some small dogs named gracie and noodles
Grumples: with two cats: mops and butters
guamaniac: having ladies over for tea and homemade biscotti
guamaniac: wearing white gloves everyday
Grumples: and sensible shoes with a low pump
Grumples: with matching handbag
guamaniac: vasoline smile and natural make up
Grumples: pantyhose with open-toed shoes!
guamaniac: spearheading the church bake sale
Grumples: start wearing a cross pendant and judging people who drink and do drugs
guamaniac: pray for their souls
guamaniac: start a prayer chain for all the homosexuals
Grumples: paper your door with names of organizations that can help you, turn you around, make you in to a good upstanding christian who only has sex with men under the cover of darkness in some remote bathroom in the woods
guamaniac: or in the confessional
Grumples: no, i would totally look down on that and drive you out of town for doing such a sinful thing in our holy place
guamaniac: send me to camp to rid me of my sins
Grumples: exactly
Grumples: a boot camp
guamaniac: where i will fall ill, but they wont send me to the hospital because the power of prayer will heal me.
Grumples: and if our prayers don't work, it is because you were still thinking sinful thoughts
guamaniac: it's better that i am with god, then here on earth sinning
Grumples: with god, you're asexual and that is the most pure you can get
guamaniac: i can't wait to wear all white
guamaniac: and sprout wings
Showing posts with label Guamaniac. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Guamaniac. Show all posts
26 April 2010
Scoop Hands!
If you found yourself downtown tonight around 8:45p, and saw some crazy lady try to turn left in to oncoming traffic, I apologize, it was me. Sure, I had a glass of wine and maybe half of another one, and I was totally high off a great night with Guamaniac, my Viola Lady and the Golden Hornet Project, but that wasn't the problem. I SWEAR. I just didn't see the median, and turned too sharply for that road. Good thing Guammy shouted (in the nicest way, where I would have been totally shrill and shrieking in terror) for me to look out, I was going the wrong way. Luckily he caught me in time, and I just had to swerve around the median, but still, hot damn, that would have been messy. And just think, I was recently conversing with Fink-Nottle over the weekend wondering how the hell this woman ended up going the wrong way down I-35 at 2am. I think I may understand now. Look, if you don't like my driving, then don't make the night-blind lady drive in the dark. Okay?
This was the best Monday night for me in a very long time. Today was a bit meh (I made some really dumb mistakes at work, which made me wonder why my brain apparently had slept later than my body), but oh, the fun I have with Guammy. Every girl should have a gay boyfriend. I have been lucky my whole life in this regard. I continued the weekend trend of gluttony and had carpaccio, beef kebab, bread and butter, and a bacon pizza. Uh, that's the way we roll. And roll and roll. My hamhocks are growing by the minute. We thoroughly enjoyed the program tonight even though we di fail to throw our panties at Miss Viola. I did clap wildly through the show, and tried to send all my happy vibes her way. She is so good. Impressively good. I'm proud to know her. She inspires me when I listen to her perform. Then I go home and get lazy again. She obviously needs to play here at the house. Right? We stayed after and gave her lots of SCOOP HANDS. Said hello to Peter and sniggered when Graham walked by. They both composed beautiful pieces, and are very smart to get the best quartet ever involved. So, I give them props, even if one does look homeless and can't seem to remember who I am. That's okay. I respect his work. He was even a bit funny on stage. And it was Peter who di the most random thing of the night. An odd choice to end the show, he sang! Peter sang. It sounded like he was taken by the spirit of Anyanka's husband (go look it up kids). I can be picky about how far people push certain things. It di not overshadow the evening, so I should shut up now.
Driving home, Guammy came up with a new name for diabetic cats: Diakitties. Go ahead, slap that knee. Then feed you insulin-dependent cat some Diakitties Crunch for those with a Feeble Pancreas (hey, that's my next band name, hands off). We find this all highly hilarious. We are obviously the smartest people in the room.
The sad note to end this is I didn't get to see The Boy today. Sniffs. Also, sad, Ari-fucking-zona. It's disgusting. I'm angry and feel something akin to grief for the people who live there and what they are facing. Even the police aren't comfortable with this, and seriously, if the police aren't even down with it, you know you've gone way too far adrift to the right. Worse, are all the people who believe that this law is necessary because they feel that people who are here illegally from Mexico are deviant criminals, who do horrible criminal acts here in the U.S. then return to Mexico? SERIOUSLY! There are so many politicians and idiot racists and bigots that I want to give a serious kick to the genitals. There are so many people here doing our dirty work for paltry wages, and all we can do is say, oh, you know, you're here illegally, I know you were just raped and all, but see, there's this law where we have to ask your citizenship status during all LEGAL matters. Oh, not a citizen. Well, we'll do our best to capture your rapist, but we're going to have to also deport you. Thank you and have a good day. No wonder Fink-Nottle is always railing at the news these days. I may just have to keep listening to OMD while driving instead of NPR. It will probably be better for my health.
This was the best Monday night for me in a very long time. Today was a bit meh (I made some really dumb mistakes at work, which made me wonder why my brain apparently had slept later than my body), but oh, the fun I have with Guammy. Every girl should have a gay boyfriend. I have been lucky my whole life in this regard. I continued the weekend trend of gluttony and had carpaccio, beef kebab, bread and butter, and a bacon pizza. Uh, that's the way we roll. And roll and roll. My hamhocks are growing by the minute. We thoroughly enjoyed the program tonight even though we di fail to throw our panties at Miss Viola. I did clap wildly through the show, and tried to send all my happy vibes her way. She is so good. Impressively good. I'm proud to know her. She inspires me when I listen to her perform. Then I go home and get lazy again. She obviously needs to play here at the house. Right? We stayed after and gave her lots of SCOOP HANDS. Said hello to Peter and sniggered when Graham walked by. They both composed beautiful pieces, and are very smart to get the best quartet ever involved. So, I give them props, even if one does look homeless and can't seem to remember who I am. That's okay. I respect his work. He was even a bit funny on stage. And it was Peter who di the most random thing of the night. An odd choice to end the show, he sang! Peter sang. It sounded like he was taken by the spirit of Anyanka's husband (go look it up kids). I can be picky about how far people push certain things. It di not overshadow the evening, so I should shut up now.
Driving home, Guammy came up with a new name for diabetic cats: Diakitties. Go ahead, slap that knee. Then feed you insulin-dependent cat some Diakitties Crunch for those with a Feeble Pancreas (hey, that's my next band name, hands off). We find this all highly hilarious. We are obviously the smartest people in the room.
The sad note to end this is I didn't get to see The Boy today. Sniffs. Also, sad, Ari-fucking-zona. It's disgusting. I'm angry and feel something akin to grief for the people who live there and what they are facing. Even the police aren't comfortable with this, and seriously, if the police aren't even down with it, you know you've gone way too far adrift to the right. Worse, are all the people who believe that this law is necessary because they feel that people who are here illegally from Mexico are deviant criminals, who do horrible criminal acts here in the U.S. then return to Mexico? SERIOUSLY! There are so many politicians and idiot racists and bigots that I want to give a serious kick to the genitals. There are so many people here doing our dirty work for paltry wages, and all we can do is say, oh, you know, you're here illegally, I know you were just raped and all, but see, there's this law where we have to ask your citizenship status during all LEGAL matters. Oh, not a citizen. Well, we'll do our best to capture your rapist, but we're going to have to also deport you. Thank you and have a good day. No wonder Fink-Nottle is always railing at the news these days. I may just have to keep listening to OMD while driving instead of NPR. It will probably be better for my health.
25 April 2010
OMD Takes Me to My Special Place in the Grocery Store
Like so many of my fellow Americans, I suffer a horrible addiction where I walk in to Target with a specific item in mind to purchase--that item and nothing else, and walk out with a lot more in hand than what I was expecting. I didn't do so bad today. I got some panties and socks (I'm finally throwing out all my old underwear that have holes), and came out with those and two shirts. Lovely tank tops with a cowl neckline. I heart cowl necklines (see my red-and-blue duck dress!). I wore the black one to the Urban Family Get Together tonight, and it showed off my new necklace from yesterday so perfectly, that the necklace got unsolicited compliments. Whoot!
Now, can someone explain to me when I wear a size 2 dress, a size 4 skirt and size 6 panties? Seriously? What the fuck is going on here? It is so baffling to me that women have to deal with this bullshit. Is it so hard to size things by you know, inches? Give me an inseam and hip circumference, then I'll know what panties will fit the best. There is nothing worse than wearing panties that are too small for my ham loaves.
It was a great Urban Family Get Together (as always). I ate this MOIST cake (C, I hope you're reading this and just cried in your heated seat a little bit) that was made of white wine and butter. I totally thought it would be gross, and I was so wrong. My caramel and butterscotch magic cookies bars were a hit (that's two different flavors), even though the edges were a bit burnt (note to self: you cannot hear the microwave time go off when Vitesse is playing loudly on the stereo and the iSuckBot is vrooming around the hardwood floor). Guamaniac brought a hot boy--I can't wait to find out the details on our date tomorrow. I made terrible comments regarding KiKi's dish (ew, ceviche), and honestly it's not because he's the tallest yummiest black guy I know. So stop calling me racist, Guammy. I'll tear off your mustache and show everyone how you really are a 12-year-old boy disguised in that handsome body with the super smooth skin. Also, I would eat the pizza bagels because they have mushrooms on them. It is so hard to please me (stop snorting over there, BOY!). My friends are so talented and funny. I'm glad we get together every month. To have something to actually look forward to every month is a serious pleasure.
Now, time to decide my outfit for tomorrow (Guammy is wearing all black, so obviously I need to be the colorful flower on his gay arm--I'm thinking red dress and turquoise tights, yes?). Then more James Tiptree, Jr. for fantastical dreams.
Goodnight kittens.
Now, can someone explain to me when I wear a size 2 dress, a size 4 skirt and size 6 panties? Seriously? What the fuck is going on here? It is so baffling to me that women have to deal with this bullshit. Is it so hard to size things by you know, inches? Give me an inseam and hip circumference, then I'll know what panties will fit the best. There is nothing worse than wearing panties that are too small for my ham loaves.
It was a great Urban Family Get Together (as always). I ate this MOIST cake (C, I hope you're reading this and just cried in your heated seat a little bit) that was made of white wine and butter. I totally thought it would be gross, and I was so wrong. My caramel and butterscotch magic cookies bars were a hit (that's two different flavors), even though the edges were a bit burnt (note to self: you cannot hear the microwave time go off when Vitesse is playing loudly on the stereo and the iSuckBot is vrooming around the hardwood floor). Guamaniac brought a hot boy--I can't wait to find out the details on our date tomorrow. I made terrible comments regarding KiKi's dish (ew, ceviche), and honestly it's not because he's the tallest yummiest black guy I know. So stop calling me racist, Guammy. I'll tear off your mustache and show everyone how you really are a 12-year-old boy disguised in that handsome body with the super smooth skin. Also, I would eat the pizza bagels because they have mushrooms on them. It is so hard to please me (stop snorting over there, BOY!). My friends are so talented and funny. I'm glad we get together every month. To have something to actually look forward to every month is a serious pleasure.
Now, time to decide my outfit for tomorrow (Guammy is wearing all black, so obviously I need to be the colorful flower on his gay arm--I'm thinking red dress and turquoise tights, yes?). Then more James Tiptree, Jr. for fantastical dreams.
Goodnight kittens.
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