Today I attended the annual fundraiser for Testiclese’s pre-school. Even though he graduated last year, it’s fun to and see all the teachers and take advantage of the carnival games and margaritas (hence why I wrote this post theme on my arm, so I wouldn’t forget).
Bonus! This year Eddie (the director’s husband) made moonshine that was right tasty. I’d like a mason jar of that for when Zeb and I watch Justified.
I mentioned this to one of the women in attendance and she was all, “What’s Justified?” and I explained it was a TV show. She, in a very Holier Than Thou way said, “We never did the TV thing with our kids.” and I was like, “We don’t do the TV thing with our kids either. This was on DVD and we watch it after they go to bed.”
She lightened up a bit and asked, “What’s it about?” and I told her it’s about hillbillies shooting each other up over feudal warfare and meth. Makes me want to drink strong liquor. She made a face like someone farted (not her, of course) and excused herself.
What can I say? It’s one step forward, two steps back with me. Maybe that’s why I don’t have any friends. I know at least one person who would say I don’t have any friends because I’m a fucking bitch (guilty as charged) but I’m fun! I’m usually nice!
Or maybe it’s because I am always at home writing or throwing shit out or placating a short-term tenant who is having a shit-fit because I won’t let her and her “spirited” dog stay in my house without some kind of damage deposit.
Be honest with me here. When someone says they have a “spirited” dog, what do you think that really means? If I called my kids spirited, it would be my nice way of saying I have uncontrollable brats.
“It’s not about the money,” she said, “it’s just more than I’m accustomed to.”
And I’m like, “I require the same deposit of all my guests, not just ones with pets. Perhaps you would be more comfortable at an establishment that doesn’t charge a security deposit.”
She: No, no, no! It’s not about the money. It just seems like a lot.
Me: So you aren’t comfortable with the deposit?
She: No, I’m just not used to it being that much.
Me: So it’s about the money. Remember, I don’t keep the deposit if no damage is done.
She: No, I’m fine with the money. The money isn’t the problem. I just want to make sure we’re a good fit.
Me: So if I didn’t ask for a FULLY REFUNDABLE (as long as your dog doesn’t eat my couch) deposit, you would be A-Ok?
Me: So it’s about the money.
She: No, it’s not about the money. I just don’t want any problems down the road
after my dog destroys your house and you want me to pay for the damages.
To myself: Right, because you are afraid that your spirited dog will chew the crap out of my Victorian molding and I might have the audacity to charge you for it and you won’t be able to stop me because I’m holding a damage check.
Me (out loud): I think you would be more comfortable in a hotel that doesn’t charge a damage deposit
if they will have you and your psycho dog.
She: Really? Oh. Okay.
Oh! But back to what this post is really about. I was approached a couple times at the preschool fundraiser by women who said, “You write a blog, don’t you?” and proceeded to tell me that they are regular readers and had only the nicest things to say. It was awesome! Thanks Sunday and Mitzi!
This doesn’t happen to me. I have my on-line comments, but this face-t0-face thing is new territory. I have to admit I felt a little naked. These women know almost everything about me.
They know I say fuck a lot. They know I medicate my dog and that he may or may not have orgasms when he yawns. They know my crazy dreams, that I have crap stuffed under my stairs and have probably seen awkward photos of me on the pole. And I’m hanging out at a preschool. With kids.
I guess I need to get used to this. Zeb said it’s my own dang fault and it is. Frankly, it’s a problem I never thought I would have. I’m kinda psyched.
Okay, time to cut the crap.
My dad left this insulated cup at my house (guaranteed to keep liquid piping hot for 24 hours and not leak, like I want to drink 24 hour old coffee). I know for a fact that he has at least twelve of these in his basement because he is freaked out that it will be discontinued and he will be doomed to drink tepid, leaky coffee. Forever.
I asked him if he thought that it might be possible that in the future, with technology, a better cup might be invented. Blank stare. Fine, I’ll mail it back.
Crap from the garage. This is merely the tip of the iceberg. I’ll take a picture tomorrow and you can laugh at me.
Remember these? You put your paper plate on them at a picnic. Also included is an old knife and a metal doohickey. TRASH.
A snow brush, a coffee can, a piece of a pencil sharpener, a fruit basket and one half of an intercom duo. TRASH.
A dishwasher basket, two snorkels (one broken). TRASH.
And here’s something to be excited about. Pamcakes and I won a silent auction bid for one of those Paint and Sip. We intend to get wasted and make a Yoda painting. The ugliest one wins.
We are totally painting Yoda.