Where Am I Going, And Why Am I In This Handbasket?

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Pearls & Leftovers & TP in my Cooter

Dude, I'm wearing pearls today. My mom didn't even make me wear them. I don't know what this means. Am I just a full-blown yuppy now? No longer an opinionated nonconformist bleeding-heart liberal? I mean, I've never felt guilty for holding down a fucking job or paying taxes or separating my recyclables or living mostly within the law. But THIS? Ack. I'm wearing a collared blouse under my sweater, and I'm in khakis. I'm a fucking preppy now, too! Crap!

Especially since my mother never wastes an opportunity to tell me that pearls would go sooo great with my outfit. Not just with the black dress you wear to that winter wedding. She loves fucking pearls. Apparently they go with everything. "But MOM, I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt, SHEESH!" No matter. Pearls will go with it.
Andi's mother has been subjecting her to the same propaganda. My friend is dating. Her mother told her to make sure she crosses her legs and that she should wear her pearls, just in case she meets his mom. Oh, great, TWO things to vomit about in one sentence. What the hell is going on?

Naturally, I've been boycotting pearls for years. I've been given no fewer than 7 necklaces, and almost as many bracelets.

I don't even want to tell Carmela that I'm wearing a pearl necklace today. She would recieve too much joy from this. But then again, she's sick as a dog and she's going to board a plane tonight. She could use the cheer. My mommy's a nice lady. Maybe I'm an asshole daughter.
QUEEN O' PEARLS ACK ACK ACK
Mmm I'm tho thmart. Mummy's proud.

So my old man turned 35 on Sunday. This is how I will refer to him. We even got him a Ben & Jerry's cake that said "Happy Birthday OLD MAN". There it is, official. Completed the effect with annoying trick candles that amuse only whoever ISN'T trying to blow them out. Needless to say I was giggling as I held the bastard cake out to him. For my old man is also a heavy smoker. He was tired pretty damn fast. I laughed some more.

The twerps and their friends continued blowing, following after me as we gave up and I walked the cake back to the kitchen to cut it up. As I set it down I noticed that one of the damn blowing zealots had heaved a loogey on the cake in their effort to puff out the fucking candles. I gagged a little and told them I was going to cut the spittle up and divide it amongst them to eat. Animals.

Then we went to his parents' house on Holleeday Monday because Old Man's mom had cooked up a whole meal. She sent us home with leftovers and then other random shrimp scampi leftovers, which I took to work yesterday. About a gallon's worth of frickin' pasta. I'll be eating it all week for lunch. I was pretty excited.

When I grabbed the tupperware containter from the fridge yesterday morning, I realized the green saran wrap she'd covered it with was loose, so I grabbed some more of our own to wrap it more tightly. Naturally our saran wrap was crap as well and wouldn't stick. I searched for a rubber band. I have personally thrown a dozen rubber bands in almost every fucking kitchen drawer. So of course, none were to be found. What the hell do these kids do with everything? Mojo wasn't walking around wrapped in rubber bands, Joey hadn't constructed some science project out of rubber bands. WHERE WERE THEY? Argh!

Instead, I find swimming goggles in the fucking kitchen drawer. Fuck it, I was in a hurry.


Seefood. Hahaha.


Then I notice that Chris' mom used a fuckin SHOWER CAP to wrap the scampi with. Well, then. That explains it.

So I'm picking toilet paper crumbs out of my hoohoo all day because there exists in my house not ONE complete, unbattered roll of toilet paper that the cat hasn't mangled. I refuse to throw out dozens of rolls. Mojo burrows into the cupboards under every sink and drags a new roll out and carries it to some corner and rolls around, molesting it. I came home the other day and Nick's room was fully populated with rolls Mojo had taken from the downstairs bathroom. FUCKER.

So this is the state our ass-wipers are in these days.


The look on fucking Mojo's face as I left for work this morning. I searched for a glimpse of penance, shame - even friendliness. Nothing. No, "I'll miss you today! Sorry about all those toilet paper bits in yer chonch! Bye!"
Nothing.

And today is an ex-boyfriend's birthday. He's gone totally bald. Ha.


Posted by Marci Twitches :: 8:13 AM :: 0 Comments:

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