Monday, March 12, 2012

This and That



(Started last Friday, finished on Monday)


It's been a quiet month in the Sarcasm Household. With the doctor working over 90 hours a week (shhh, technically the law says he's not allowed to work more than 80) and studying for a big exam, there hasn't been much banter. BUT, things are looking up. He's currently finishing his last 30-hour shift (for awhile) and he'll be on a new rotation soon. He informed me Wednesday night that as soon as he gets home this afternoon he is:

(Note: My boyfriend very rarely drinks. And when he does, he almost never gets drunk. Therefore, this little spiel was highly entertaining to me.)  

"Poppin bottles! (makes big sweeping gesture which I think was meant to simulate popping a bottle) I'm gonna get DRUNK. (pauses and looks into the distance as he imagines the glorious-ness of finishing his shift. then comes back to the present) Yeah. Gonna get SCHMAMMERED and watch Storage Wars alllll night."


WoW. Really knows how to live it up, this one. I offered to take him to Eagle's Nest using a gift card but,

Ron: Daaang girl you got expensive taste!

Me: Dude whatever, I was just trying to reward you. But that's fine I'll take your @ss to MAC-DONALDS and call it a day!

Ron: That's what I'm TALKIN about.


Oh my.

Anyway.

This is going to be a hodgepodge of a blog post.


First, a couple "Just because ____ doesn't mean _____" moments. 


Just because those stupid little stickers that look like bullet holes are available, doesn't mean you should buy them. 

Particularly not if you plan to COVER your rust red mini van with them. Nothing says NOT-hardcore like a soccer dad driving a bunch of kids to practice in a vehicle covered in "bullet holes." (And no, I do not care if the reason you put them on your car is because your 9-year-old kid thought they were the coolest thing on the planet. In fact, I'd call that poor parenting. You should have taken the opportunity to explain the seriousness of gun violence in our society. Just sayin.)



Just because the hood of my car is sticking way out past the white line by the stop sign, doesn't mean I pulled out there on purpose because I love making people veer around me.

It's there because it's frickin impossible to make a left turn onto 267. From ANYWHERE. And when I attempted it the first time, I underestimated the speed of a vehicle 3 times the size of mine. So I stopped in part of your lane. Sue me. Or rather, drive toward me all aggressively like you're going to hit my car and then emphatically point backwards as if I could back up when there's a car right behind me. That'll teach me a lesson. Actually no. That'll just earn you the privilege of meeting my middle finger. Because I don't care who you are, or that you're old enough to be my great-grandma. My temper doesn't discriminate.

(Yes I'm aware I should limit my middle finger usage in the town in which I work. Ok fine, I should limit it in general, but especially the town in which I work. I usually do a good job of that but the little old lady and her scrunched-up angry face really got to me for some reason and I lost my composure.)

Second, a text conversation the evening after I flipped off a granny. 


Me: I flipped off a little old woman today and I'm not ashamed.

Shay: Lol that's fine. Being old doesn't entitle anyone to immunity.

Me: Exactly, thank you. This is why I text my true confessions to you.

Shay: Well, I'm probably not the best to ask. I have a short fuse and right before your text I got burned by a pot sticker.

Love her.


Third, an observation. 


Ron enters every room with all the grace of a hugely overweight beagle with attitude.

Case in point. Our family's first beagle, Champ (who was huge and overweight due to Cushings disease. Well that and probably one too many McDonald's french fries), never took a 99.9% closed door for an answer. If it had the slightest crack in it, he felt it was his cue to ram it with his head (making a huge BOOM sound) and then saunter in like "Hey guys...what's up....whatcha doin in here...why wasn't I invited to the party."


At least five times a week, Ron does the same thing. He barges into the bathroom while I'm getting ready for work/bed/to go out to eat. And because he seems to think he can't enter a room unless the door is COMPLETELY open, and I often leave part of the bathroom closet door open as I'm getting in and out of it, they slam into each other and make a bunch of noise.

When he did it this weekend:

Me: Seriously? Do you have to do that every. time. You're as bad as Champ!

Ron: (unphased) I like to make an entrance.








Back tomorrow with....something. Maybe letters, Maybe sometimes. Maybe conversations. Who knows. But I'll definitely be posting more consistently this week. No excuses.




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