Do they not teach math in public school anymore?

*What should have happened:

(Scene: Local Meijer grocery store customer service desk. For the uninitiated: Think Walmart but cleaner, and less hobo-ridden).

I bought item X for 169.99 on sale (original price was 209.99) two days ago.

It went on sale yesterday for 25% off the original price, making it about $157. Meijer does the whole "price match" thing so, if something gets cheaper within a week, you get the difference.

I should have gotten the difference between what I paid and what the new sale price is: about $13.

169.99 - 157.49 = 12.50

Still with me?



*What actually happened:

Customer Service Girl insists I should get 25% of 169.99.

Me: Are you sure?

CSG: Yes.

Me: Really? I don't think that's right.

CSG: Yes, have a good night!

169.99 x 25% = 42.50

Me: Oh, I will.

I wish I had a communicable, uncurable disease right now

I decided that since I was running late to the gym I would just get in a little treadmill action. It's not ever my first choice of activity because it involves me making an actual self-motivated effort to sweat.

In a class I am sort of guilted into pushing through because everyone around me is too. When I work out by myself I usually get bored and quit early.

Today though I actually pushed myself and...RAN. Not super fast or anything, and only for a few minute burst, but I did it. And I didn't die. It's a good start.

After about a half hour I decided I wanted to be done, but I knew Audrey would have a Britney-scale freak out if I told her it was time to leave the kid care room. She loves that place.

I decided I would go upstairs and, no matter what the 10:15 class was, I would take it.

Lucky me, it was that "dance" workout class, Zumba.

Not wanting to puss out, I stayed. The teacher was really sweet so I wanted to at least give it a chance.

The second I decided to stay, I saw this woman walking towards me who I recognized from Audrey's first preschool. I don't remember her name, so I'll just call her "Bitch that won't shut the hell up" or BTWSTHU for short.

BTWSTHU started in immediately. "HI! How've you been? Carson is in preschool today so I'm here taking this class, it's fun, I've only done it once, but it was really really fun, how's Audrey? I think about her all the time, I knew I would run into you sooner or later, do you do swim lessons? We do them at Happy Splashes, and my sons love it, it's two times a week so they really liked it, it's expensive but I think it's worth it, you will love this class, it's not that hard...."

No breaths taken. No pauses for responses.

And she's one of those who, instead of taking a breath or a break from yapping, she inserts a "well, like I said before" to segue back into something she already beat to death 10 minutes ago.

It's impossible to escape conversation with her short of being hit by a car.

Thankfully the class started and the music was so loud I couldn't hear her. Finally, she stopped talking.

I'll admit the class was kind of fun. I'll probably do it again but really, if I feel like dancing around like an idiot I'll do what I normally do and throw back a few drinks before heading downtown to the gay bar. Duh.

I stopped to take a water break at the same time as an old lady in the class. As soon as I had the water bottle to my lips I heard, "Excuse me. I think that's mine".

I felt really bad, but it wasn't really my fault. She put her water, which looked exactly like mine, right next to my stuff.

"I'm so sorry, " I said. What was I supposed to do? So I added, "Um...I don't have cooties if that makes you feel any better." and kind of lightly put my hand on her shoulder to really bring the point home.

What do you think that bitch did? Bristled! BRISTLED at my friendly gesture. And then took the other water bottle and went out of her way to throw it in the trash.

Oh, for the love.

I ended up leaving the class early because I had had enough of both BTWSTHU and Crotch-face old lady. Plus I was getting hungry.

As I was leaving I made sure to make eye contact with Crotchy and mouth the word "Herpes" and blow her a kiss.

That'll show her.

Brain Dump

I have a profile over on Facebook and I've been getting back into touch with all these people I hung out with in college. We're talking 12 to 16 years ago. Christ.


I ran with an insane crowd of people back then. I still hang out with some of them, but our insanity has settled into more of a simmering weirdness.


A lot of these old friends have been posting pictures from "back in the day". Some of them make me laugh my ass off and some of them make me have to catch my breath. I lived a lot of life in those few short years.


By looking at all those old pictures, mostly what I am reminded of is how much of a total dipshit I was.


I tried to explain this on the phone to an old friend the other day. He just laughed and told me that "we were ALL dipshits". I don't know though. That's not exactly how I remember it.


It doesn't help that I still live in the same town that I went to college in. Maybe if I didn't have to drive past the houses and apartments I partied in (or the spaces where the houses and apartments used to be) it wouldn't still be so fresh in my mind.


You'd think with all the mind-altering substances I put into my body during that time I wouldn't be able to remember much, but it's still there.


Don't get me wrong. I had A LOT of fun--probably too much fun. But somewhere in between all that "fun" were some not so pleasant memories. Part of getting older and having to become a "grownup" must be the lingering guilt of the past.



Or is that just me?


I don't think I was a mean person, just thoughtless. Selfish. Self-centered.


If I could go back in time and talk to my 20 year old self, I would tell that person to quit being such a dumb ass. I would tell her to try and think her decisions through to the end instead of demanding instant gratification.

"See that guy? You will come home from a party and find him bleeding in your bed."

"And that guy? He will dump you "to be alone", but introduce you to his new girlfriend about 12 hours later."

"That one? You'll catch him ogling another girl's tits at a party and he'll break up with you when you call him on it. (But he'll make a spectacular fool of himself trying to sleep with her, so it all evens out in the end. And then he'll ask you to take him back by biting the heads off roses and spitting them at your feet at a bar.)

Obviously what's done is done. And things turned out pretty peachy in the end.


I just can't help but think of how much time got wasted getting here.

Besides, I'm pretty sure my 20 year old self wouldn't have listened anyway.

By the way, I hit someone on a bike a couple weeks ago

Yup. Just as the title states.

I'm thankful for two things:

1) The girl I hit is OK.
2) It totally wasn't my fault.

I was driving Mina to school and was at the four way stop a few blocks from my house. I waited for my turn and, just as I let off the brake to go, I had a college coed on my hood. Not in a teenage boy fantasy Whitesnake video kind of way either.

It happened so fast. I seriously did not see her until she was right there splayed across the front end of my car.

She got right back up and started apologizing to me. I felt like an attempted murderess.

A witness across the street called 911 and they were there in like 3 minutes.

The cop was super nice and kept asking Mina if she was alright (she was).

Basically, the girl wasn't watching and didn't stop at the crosswalk before riding through. There was no way I could have stopped in time. The witness, the cop and even the girl all said it wasn't my fault.

I held it together until I had to call Jim at home and tell him he needed to give Audrey a ride to preschool. Then I started a lovely hysterical sob in front of Mina. And still, she held it together.

It took me a whole weekend to process the whole ordeal.

Monday I took my car in for an estimate on the damage. My car came away with some hefty scratches and a dent. I wasn't really going to do anything about it, but my insurance agent said I really should as this would seriously lower my trade in value.

TWELVE HUNDRED DOLLARS.

We're turning it into her parents' insurance. There's no way I would be able to get it fixed otherwise. Since the cop said it was her fault, her Mommy and Daddy get to pay for the fixin'.

Except that her Mom isn't being real forthcoming with the info. My agent said she's, and I quote, "being real North Shore cunty about it".

Apparently Mommy doesn't understand why we would "go to all this trouble on a 6 year old car".

HA!

Sorry I can't trade in my lease for the newest Jag every other year. Some of us have to drive older cars that they worked very hard to get paid off.

So Friday will be two weeks since the accident and I still haven't heard a word from their insurance. I can't really do anything about it until their person comes and does their own assessment of the damage.

Part of me thinks they might try and fight it. Can they do that?

More importantly, is there a possibility I can come away from this with a new car?

Pimps up? Hose down.

I've been addicted to the 24 hour news channels since yesterday afternoon when John McCain announced his running mate.

The more it sinks in, the more I kind of feel sorry for the old dude.

Yes, it was a "smart" move to try and woo the conglomerate of pissed off Hillary supporters to the dark side. And yes, unfortunately, it will work on some of them.

That's sad for so many reasons.

The only thing Sarah Palin and Hillary Clinton have in common is a vagina.

And matronly hair.

None of this attempted wooing has any affect on me though. I've been an Obama supporter since the primaries. Actually I voted for Obama when he was running for the Senate, but I didn't know that much about him back then. All I knew was that he wasn't Alan Keyes, and that was good enough for me at the time.

I bring this up not just because it's what everyone is talking about, but to share a story from Disney World...

While waiting in line for Pooh's Honey Spot (is that what it's called? That's pretty pervy), I saw a young man wearing a t-shirt that stopped me in my tracks.

I'm always excited to see other people supporting the same candidate as me. Like, "Yeah, we're on the same team! GO US!". In this case though...I was kind of embarrassed.

The shirt in question featured an outline of Obama's face on top with Clinton's face below.

Over it was written:

"BRO'S BEFORE HO'S"

Yeah.

Not wanting to ruin my family's vacation I retracted the claws, and tried to ignore it every time we passed this guy in the ever winding line to see Audrey's favorite little bear all stuffed with fluff.

Most of me however wanted to shake this young man by the shoulders in an attempt to rattle his mind and "help" him figure out why his shirt sucks major donkey balls.

Don't we have better things to do than encourage the already abundant sexism in this race (country)? I want to see the humor in it. I really do. Worn ironically 15 years from now, I would be on the floor in a puddle of my pee from a fit of the giggles. But now? Not so much.

And we were in Florida--Land of the Republican. I couldn't help but take this guy's t-shirt as a sign that he doesn't truly care. Hell, maybe he isn't even registered to vote. He looked pretty young. Maybe he's not even old enough to vote?

Maybe the Republicans themselves are selling these t-shirts? After all, wasn't it the big R that was hocking the buttons which read: "Keep the White House White"?

The saddest part is that this guy was with what appeared to be his whole family--Mom and Grandma to boot. I have to draw the conclusion that they think the shirt is an OK statement too.

Way to forward the cause, assholes.

Karma

I was stopped at a red light today.

I was second in line.

The cross street we were waiting at is a one way.

I noticed a woman off to the right, half on her street/half turned onto our street.

Our light turned green.

She tried to beat us to through the intersection, ended up swinging way wide and cutting off the driver in front of me.

The person in front of me tapped his horn to acknowledge her shitty driving.

Crazy lady driver gave him the finger...

before she realized it was a cop.

I've been watching way too much reality television

Suggested titles for forthcoming Pussycat Doll songs:


Look at My Snatch!
Who Wants a Ham Sandwich?
Attention Whores Need Love Too
Best Cocksucker in da House (dance remix)
Doncha' Wish Your Drag Queen Was Hot Like Me?
(Oops) I Forgot my Panties
One Pretty Decent Singer and Some Filler
Hot Nubs

Amtrak: Portal to the Underworld

I took a train ride up to Chicago yesterday. The last time I took the train up, it was quite pleasant. Sure the train ran a little late, but 45 minutes wasn't really any bother. Yesterday's train however, ran much much later than that.

I was supposed to be on my merry way at 11:43 in the AM. We didn't push off from the station until close to 3. Once we got moving, things seemed to be fine. Sure, I was three hours later than I had planned but I spoke to my friend up north and we made arrangements for me to get out to her place by Metra. No big.

About an hour into the ride, we stopped. And stay stopped for what felt like an eternity. The natives began their slow descent into insanity.

There were a handful of hairdressers on board who were headed to a big beauty show at McCormick Place. Having been in the business I knew things were going to get rowdy in a hurry.

Next to them was a group of older women celebrating one of their birthdays. They too partook of the 4 dollar cans of Bud in the dining car.

One of the birthday party girls sounded like Britney Spears on a bender. You know how people sound when they make fun of a southern accent? Multiply that by 100 and you'd come close to how cranked up this woman sounded.

Then there was the woman who freaked out on a dude while the both of them stood right next to my seat. It seems that the man (who later revealed he was 48 years old) had made a suggestive remark to one of the woman's preteen daughters.

"If you even look at my daughter I'll cut you up, motherfucker" is one of the more delightful zingers she screamed at him not two feet from my head.

The dude most definitely deserved it. I just wasn't in the mood to be party to any bloodshed at the moment.

Later that same man was "detained" on the lower level for smoking in between cars (during one of our many standstills of the trip) and getting belligerent with a conductor. He was really drunk, and this did not help his case. Nor did him shouting, "I am not some ni***r! Don't treat me like some ni***r!". EEP.

At some point the birthday girls and the hairdressers started calling the Amtrak 800 number to complain about the delay. Nothing is more entertaining than listening to a bunch of drunk yahoos trying to sound sufficiently angry without slurring on the line with some operator who couldn't possibly care less that there was a bunch of drunkards stuck on the track in bumfuck Illinois.

One passenger lamented that she really needed to smoke. I mentally agreed with the sentiment. Redneck Birthday Girl, ever the patron saint of drunkards, had a mini lecture session.

"You shouldn't smoke! You're so young! It makes you stink! It's so EXPENSIVE!"

And the best line of the entire night:

"Think about how much more you could drink with all that money!"

Once we finally started moving the mood lightened a little.

I decided that since I wouldn't have time to get ready before the show, I would pull a cheap hooker move and put my makeup on in the train bathroom. Sometimes I astound myself with the magnitude of my class. Yeah...

After that I decided to go full force and change my clothes, but was then informed no one was allowed downstairs to the bathrooms because of the aforementioned drunk, loud guy being "detained".

I shared my quandry with the hairdressers and they kindly offered to hold up their coats so I could change right there in a seat. Again with the class.

We finally got to Union Station around 7:15. Only about FIVE hours late.

I was just glad it was over.

After some phone tag and some well deserved smoke breaks, I was on my way to meet up at the show.

I ended up having a fantastic time with some wonderful friends.

I'll probably take the train again. I'm a sucker for punishment and really...what else do I have to blog about?

Oy vey is right

My husband told me about an application on Facebook for playing Blackjack. I loooove playing Blackjack, so naturally I was all about it.

I picked an empty table to practice and see how all the bells and whistles worked. I had a few games under my belt when someone else joined me.

She didn't do anything at first. I continued to play.

Suddenly there was a message from her down on the chat function in the corner.

All it said was:

"jewish?"

My name is a slight bastardization of a Hebrew word. My father happens to have been raised a Jew before converting to Christianity as a young adult. When I was young, my family would sometimes light the menorah next to the Christmas tree (well, not right next to it--didn't want to burn the house down.) But my Mother is not Jewish, so none of this makes me "officially" Jewish.

More like Jew-ish.

"yeah," I typed back to my nosy table mate, "no one usually gets that from the name."

And as soon as she read it, she was gone.

Nazi bitch.

A Friendly Reminder to the Fucktard Parents at After School Pickup

There is limited parking in front of the school. Please refrain from stopping your car three feet from the person in front of you instead of pulling up far enough to let another car in the line.

You are not special.

I'm looking at you BMW Bitch.

If you are driving a gaggle of children home from school--presumably other people's children in addition to your own--have enough seat belts and/or car seats for all of them.

Seeing a seven year with a toddler on her lap in the back seat makes me want to see how you'd like being thrown through a windshield face first.

Smoking on school property while waiting for your kid to come out is trashy.

...as is swearing into your cell phone in front of little kids.

That sign that says "Buses and Daycare Vans Only"? It applies to everyone--even you, Mr. Jesusfish Minivan.

Generally, and I'm just guessing here, it's not recommended to blast your stereo at full spleen-shattering volume with kids in the car.

That is all.

One time I could have gone to jail

Back in college I partied a lot. Like a LOT a lot. It makes perfect sense that I never got my degree. I pretty much pushed the limits of my very being for a good four years.

But it's alright. I wouldn't take more than a handful of those experiences back, and everything turned out OK in the end. I mean, look at me now. I'm Suzy fucking Homemaker!

I was a bartender as one of my many jobs through college which meant that, on a busy night anyway, I didn't get the chance to get my personal drink on until after close at an after hours party.

Most of the bartenders went out together after close which was fun because I didn't have to be the only partially sober person walking into the mayhem of people who'd already been drinking for several hours.

One night my friend Alison and I went out after work with an old friend of hers, Pete, who was in town visiting. He was a nice guy and was game to join us for what I thought would be a few beers at a small gathering.

We got there and the party was outside. I remember it was a really warm night and everyone was sitting in the grass just chatting and laughing.

At one point I lost track of Alison. I was talking to Pete for a little bit when I looked up to see Alison in a very heated argument with some dumpy drunk guy.

Pete seemed a little apprehensive about the situation but we both knew Alison well. She could handle herself in just about any situation.

A few minutes later I could tell their conversation was getting heated...then physical. Pete and I looked at each other in disbelief. They weren't throwing punches. It was more like a very unfriendly wrestling match. It was so weird because they weren't making a whole lot of noise and it was pretty dark in the yard so no one was really paying attention.

At one point, Dumpy Drunk Dude had Alison pinned by the shoulders with his knees. He had his weight as a major advantage and I could tell Alison was stuck.

I looked at Pete, reached behind him and grabbed an empty beer bottle. I got up and silently walked over to the ruckus.

I calmly told DDD to "get the fuck off her" before smashing the bottle over his head.

I stood there for a good 5 seconds before I heard someone tell me to run. And I ran.

My boyfriend at the time (presently my husband) lived a few short blocks away and I sprinted just as fast as my short little legs could take me.

I burst into the apartment to find he and his roommate playing Tomb Raider, oblivious to my half crazed panting behind them.

"Holy shit!" I said trying to break Lara Croft's vice-like grip on their senses, "I just broke a bottle on some guy's head!"

Before I could get any reaction out of either of them, Alison and Pete came in.

"Holy shit!" Alison yelled, "You just broke a bottle on some guy's head!"

About a year later I was at the bar hanging out when some guy I didn't recognize walked up to me and told me I owed him a drink. It took me a minute to figure it out. Then, I couldn't help myself. I started laughing.

He tried to make me feel guilty about the fact that he needed a bunch of stitches that night, but I wasn't having it. I told him he deserved it, and walked away.

Kind of makes me want to eat some pussy and have an abortion just to spite them

A friend forwarded this to me. You've probably seen it by now but just in case, here you go:


http://view.break.com/278059 - Watch more free videos



It goes without saying that the last bit breaks my heart into a million pieces. Hate breeding hate. My skin is crawling. Lovely.

I have to wonder what the upside down Canadian flag has anything to do with the song. Does God only hate Canada? I thought he hated the whole world.

And really, if we are doomed to the everlasting pits of hell anyway, why are they bothering to tell us. Isn't it too late to save our heathen souls?

Reason #4852 I Shouldn't Own a Gun

On the way home from Mina's first birthday party of the today I had to stop at a gas station to fill up one of my tires. One of my neighbors was nice enough to knock on my door and let me know that he noticed I had one going flat. I thought that was pretty damn swell. Wasn't it?

I pulled into one gas station and their air machine was broken. I will refrain from going into my thoughts on a fucking AIR machine being broken. (Seriously. It's air. Did they run out?).

Next stop was the gas station by my house. Their air machine is free. Honestly, I never understood paying for air in the first place.

There are two non-handicap parking spots one can park in the get access to the machine. One was taken and one was blocked by some asshole pulling out of it as slooooowly as he possibly could.

If it would have been some old person just being elderly and shit, I would have given them a pass, but it wasn't. It was some dude in a POS van, yakking on his cell phone, not paying attention.

Well, not paying attention until he saw my eyelasers fixed on his location. But did that shake him into the real world--the real world where people are courteous and aware of their surroundings? Nope.

Not until I mouthed (mouthed, not said. My kids were in the car) "you need to get out of the way" did he finish his 37 point turn--still having a cell phone conversation--out of the spot I needed.

I thought he had left the parking lot, but was mostly intent on filling up my flaccid rear tire. When I looked up after returning the air hose, I saw that he had stopped his car directly behind mine.

I knew I just needed to get in and put my car in reverse and he probably would have gotten the hint. I knew that the best thing would be to just keep my mouth shut and give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he thought I was going into the gas station. I hadn't gotten my very visible children out of the car. I didn't have my purse on me. It was plainly obvious all I needed was some air for my tires, BUT maybe he was so engrossed in his obviously important phone call he didn't notice that I HAVE SHIT TO DO.

But I didn't keep my mouth shut.

Hands on hips, cocked head and all, I spat a "REALLY?!" at him.

He moved. Quickly.

At times like these, I don't really need a gun.

"Pissed Off Chaylene" is scary enough.

Random

Dear girl holding up traffic,

I get it. You have great posture and HUGE tits. Congratufuckinglations.



Dear Garlic Press Deli,

Your pumpkin bread is so good it almost makes me believe in God. Whoever made this deserves knighthood or princessdom or at the very least, a street named after them.


Dear woman who teaches 90 percent of the exercise classes I take,

I'm sure you're a nice person in "real life" so I'm sorry for the eye lasers during class(es). I can't help but give dirty looks to someone when they are making me want to cry in public (though my waist and ass thank you for your efforts).


Dear Weather Gnomes,
Please make it nice out tomorrow so I don't feel bad for making my dogs stay outside during the birthday party.


Dear Dogs,
Don't pee on the pumpkins, OK?

Dear Spellcheck function,
"Congratufuckinglations" is a word.


Sincerely,
Chaylene

I Stand Corrected

It has become glaringly apparent that I am a terrible judge of character.

A few tidbits of information have come to my attention that I can't ignore. I am heartbroken that I was indeed wrong about the person I trusted my stupid, sometimes annoying, but enormously loved dogs with.

Damn it.

In other news...

I saw an office in the medical park next to my bank titled "Successful Aging Center".

Um, isn't not being dead considered successful aging? What the hell do they do over there--give you a plaque on your birthday?

"Hooray, you've managed not to die! Here is a prize for your effort. Carry on."

Don't rich old people (the only people I can imagine with a use for such a place) have anything better to do? If they're that intent on handing over their cash, I'd be happy to help them out.

Weighing In

I've resisted until now, but it looks like my rabid obsession with stupid people has won out.

Oh Britney....

Did fame at an early age warp her grasp of reality, give her an overinflated sense of entitlement and rob her of a normal childhood? Yes. (paging Michael Jackson)

Is she a drug addict/alcoholic/fame whore? Yes.

Should she have ever been allowed to breed. Fuck no. There should have been someone on her payroll with the sole job of sneaking birth control pills into her Red Bulls every morning.

But she did breed, and I could weep for what those poor little boys have probably seen and been subjected to. Being dropped out of a highchair is likely the least of their worries.

I think she thought she wanted the domestic life, but (in obvious news) not only did the husbitch turn out to be a skeezy loser,(in more obvious news)it turns out that having children is hard work.

"Oh mah gawd, like, why aren't they just sitting there being cute and stuff?"

So, here's the thing. Now that she's had her children taken out of her custody, why does everyone assume that she wants them back?

A quick scan of the supermarket checkout stand and a few minutes of E! is sure to clue even the most die hard Britney fan that she couldn't care less about being a mother.

I think she's relieved not to have to take care of (or rather pay someone else to take care of) her kids while she blows some douchebag in the hot tub at the Palms.

She's not going to go to rehab...rather, she'll go for show, but not take it seriously. She's not going to stop flashing her bald vag at the paparazzi, and she's not going to get those kids back. If she doesn't want them back, why would anyone want her to have them?

I don't understand how anyone who's given birth doesn't want what best for their offspring. In this case, the best thing for those boys is not being around their trainwreck of a Mom.

I would actually think more of her if she just fessed up.

Note to newly arrived college students in town

If I am driving down the road and my light is green, that means you stop and wait at the corner until I have passed through said green light. My green light is not a signal for you to begin crossing the street in front of me. If you are halfway across the street as my light turns green, I will cordially tap my breaks to allow you approximately 4 seconds to get the fuck out of my way. Otherwise, stand clear because I am usually not in the mood to scrape a skanky freshman coed off my hood.

Regarding Dave Brown

After some of the comments on the last entry, I feel I should elaborate on the story a bit.

The garage sale was coming to a close. The people I was having the sale with and I were closing everything down and packing up the unsold stuff to donate. We were tired and hot and a little cranky.

A guy on a motorcycle pulled up as we were just about done. He sat there, helmet on, in front of my house for a few moments.

At first, I thought he was trying to figure out if we were done with the sale or not. But he just sat there, staring. I started to get creeped out, and wondered if I was going to have to pull out the bitch stick when he took off his helmet and started up the driveway.

"Hi there. I used to live here," he said as he extended a hand.

Giddy, I asked him what his name was. When he said "Dave", I immediately let out a laugh, "I found your little note, Mr. Dave Brown."

He looked shocked for a split second, but then said he didn't remember what it said.

I told him, and he laughed but it was a weird, nervous laugh (for the record, he is still married to the same woman he was married to when he put up those cabinets).

I think it was then that he realized that we had taken down some of his handy work.

"So, how ya' likin' the intercom system?"

"Uh...we took it out. It didn't work."

"Oh. What about the security system?"

"Ditto."

At this point, I thought he might cry. I offered that the gazebo thing he built in the backyard was still intact and was one of the main reasons we fell in love with the house. This seemed to satisfy him, and he asked to see it.

With some trepidation, I took him into the backyard. My friends were still there at this point and I can scream pretty loud, so I wasn't too worried.

I took him through the garage because I really didn't want him blubbering all over the guts of his former kitchen.

He stood on the back deck for a moment, not speaking. I didn't like it, so I started blathering on about how much we love hanging out back here, how nice it is, blah blah blah.

He just got all wistful about the tree swing. I started to feel bad for the guy, but then he started in on the intercom system again.

I changed the subject by telling him he needed to go into our shop and talk to my husband about the sprinkler system we apparently have. I told him the people that we bought the house from didn't know how to use it either. This frustrated Dave.

He said something else about something, and I again redirected the conversation to his talking to my husband at his work.

"Oh, when you walk in," I told Dave as I was pushing him back into the garage, "Walk in and say 'Yep, I remember when gas was a a buck O nine a gallon! Those were the days!' It would be HILARIOUS!"

Sadly, I think I was alone on that one.

I am such a fucking slacker

I can't believe what a complete and worthless loser I am. I haven't updated this thing in like two weeks! Jaysus H., I really need to get it together.

It's not like I have anything else to do but tippity type away all day on a blog.

OK, now that that's off my chest...


I had a gargage sale a few weekends ago, and guess who stopped by? If you guessed none other than the infamous Dave Brown, you'd be correct!

I could tell he wanted to come in and take a look around, but I got a bit of a weird vibe off of him and stopped the tour at the back yard.

I was a little afraid he would go apeshit if he saw how many of his precious cabinets we tore out, and the alarm system, and the intercom system...

I'm pretty sure keeping him outside was a good decision.

One time I dated someone really dumb

In between sluttin' it up in college, I had an actual honest-to-goodness boyfriend for a good stretch.

He was sweet when I first met him. I almost didn't go out with him, he was so sweet. I just wasn't into nice guys. As it turned out, he wasn't a total anklebiter so I gave it a go.

We were together a few months when Christmas break came around. I visited him at his parent's house (a good three hours from mine) over the two week vacation, and had a nice time. His parents, little brother and sister left for church for a few hours at one point. Later, his dog brought the condom wrapper he had fished out from under the bed to the dinner table. I got a rockin' glare from Boyfriend's Mom and a wink from Dad.

A few months later, Boyfriend decided to get two pet mice for his dorm room. I questioned his judgement, but since I wasn't going to have anything to do with them, I passed it off as another of his stupid ideas. I was tiring of him by this point, but he was cute and fun and had certain talents a smart girl doesn't pass up lightly.

Then Spring Break rolled around.

When one lives in a college dorm, one is required to vacate the premises over any school break. They don't want you hanging around causing trouble (until moving off campus anyway) while no one "official" is on post.

I spoke with Boyfriend over break on the phone (as I wasn't exactly welcome to visit anymore...).

"How are your little pets doing? Did you Mom freak out when you walked in the door with a couple of rodents?"

Silence.

"You brought them home with you, didn't you?"

"Uh...no."

He left two mice in his dorm room for a week.

Having pets in the dorms was obviously strictly forbidden, but having some janitor find them wasn't really the point. We did a lot of things we weren't supposed to be doing in the dorms.

What kind of fucktard thinks leaving living things that need to eat food and drink water alone for seven days (nine if he left on the Friday before) is a good idea?

I had never held him up as a brainiac, but this took the cake.

When we got back to school I asked him what happened. Turns out these mice had a showdown that ended with them both getting out of their cage and one of them pulling an Alive worthy cannibalistic smackdown--on Boyfriend's bed. He came back to one and a fourth dead mice nestled on his pillow.

I refused to even enter his dorm room until he threw all his bedding in the dumpster and requested (and received) a new mattress. It wasn't long after that that I had to be done with him.

Some things you just can't overlook.