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I Scream, You Scream We All…Back Dat Ass Up

25 Jul

On Friday night Hubby and I decided to meet Drama at his favorite bar for a few drinks after work before we went to dinner.  Drama’s been working some really long hours so we didn’t think we’d be there long.

Three hours, a bowl of peanuts, three staggering trips to the bathroom, and several drinks later, the three of us are loudly and obnoxiously discussing our favorite of Drama’s ex-girlfriends.  Hubby voted for the woman who used to scream into the phone when she would call, “IS DRAMA THERE?!!!”.  We used to joke that she must be deaf. Then, we found out she really was partially deaf.  Awkward.

My pick was the woman who used to drive the low rider ice cream truck complete with spinning rims, and a noise ordinance-breaking sound system:

She would drive around town in this pimped out ice cream truck while blasting songs such as “Back Dat Ass Up” and Kelis’s “Milkshake“.  But, wait.  It gets classier.  She used to have a penchant for thong underwear, and if some kid was lucky enough to order the Sponge Bob Square Pants popsicle, he would also receive a up close and personal view of most of her ass crack.  It was like two treats for the price of one.   

I digress.

Drama’s newest interest is a woman he works with.  According to him she is beautiful, nice, and funny.  The problem?  We’re not sure if she’s a man or a woman.  You see, the rumor at Drama’s work is that this woman is a cross dresser.  No problem. 

Using Drama’s experience with classy women and my experience with tranny’s we came up with the following comprehensive “Chick or Dick” checklist which we wrote out on a bar napkin.  Keep in mind that Drama can’t get a up close look at this woman because he heard in the last sexual harassment prevention class that getting too close can be “creepy”:

  1. Tell a funny (not dirty) joke.  Does she responded with a Geisha-like giggle or Santa Clause belly chuckle?
  2. Do her hands appear soft and delicate or are you looking at gnarly sausage  fingers?
  3. Is there ever any adjustment of a “package”?

That’s it.  That’s all we got.

I was going to call Drama this morning and tell him he should just follow her to the bathroom, but I decided against it.  I’m curious to see whether or not our Chick or Dick checklist works.  I’ll keep you posted.

P.S.  I missed you guys.

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Apparently, You Can’t Be Both?

5 May

Hubby, Son and I went out for burgers the other night.  During dinner Hubby mentioned that he wanted to stop at the nearby mall and walk around.  This never happens.  He hates shopping.  I didn’t want to get overly excited so I coolly responded, “That’s cool.”

Son, with an eye roll so exaggerated I thought for sure his eyeballs were gone forever, responded with a whiny, “Nooooooooooooo.  Pleeeeeeeeeease.  I don’t want to go to the mall with you guys.  No offense.”

I knew right then the mall wasn’t going to happen because I would rather go home than walk around with a mopey, disgusted, whiney, pouty, eye-rolling teenager.  We’d all be miserable.  But, being the extremely inappropriate and weird person I am I countered with:

Me:      Ok.  We don’t have to go the mall if you answer one question.

Son:    (Knowing apprehension)  What question?

Me:      First, the rules.  You have to answer the question or we’re going to mall.

Hubby:   And the bookstore.

Me:      Nice.

Son:    Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahg.  What?

Me:      Are you a boob guy or an ass guy?

Son:    No way!  I’m not answering that.

Hubby:     Cool.  I really need new pants.

Me:      We could stop by Victoria’s Secret, too.  I need panties.  (I hate that word.)

Son:    FINE!  Geez.  You guys are soooooo weird. 

Me:      Soooooooooo…..

Son:    (With his sweatshirt over his face)  Ask me and I’ll either nod or shake my head.  I can’t look at you.

The next day the three of us were driving Drama around on some errands:

Hubby:  So, last night we asked your grandson if he’s a boob guy or an ass guy.

Drama:  Really?!  So, what is he?!

Son:  Why are you guys so weird?

Drama:  Oh, Grandson!  You’re an ass guy like your grandpa, right?!  You gotta be!  (With a remembering and thoughtful gaze out the window) Asses are like magic.  They hypnotize you.  When I was younger, every time grandpa saw a woman all I saw was a round beautiful butt.  No face.  Just butt.  If a girl had the perfect butt, she could drive grandpa crazy.  They’re beautiful. (Heavy, sad sigh) Now, I’m too old. 

The next several minutes were filled with Drama’s detailed descriptions of the most beautiful asses he’s ever seen, and the women they belonged to.  This was followed by an explanation of ass categories (big and juicy, small but round, flat but still nice, wide, etc.).   

The car was silent as we took it all in.  After a few moments of reflection:

Drama: So you see, Grandson.  You have to be an ass guy just like your grandpa. 

Son:  Wait.  So, basically, when you see a woman, you see  a buttface?

Drama:  You’re a boob guy, aren’t you?

A Fish Fry, Crab Legs and a Nut Brush

18 Apr

I have wanted to introduce you to my father-in-law since I started writing this blog, but I wanted to discuss it with him first, as well as get his permission.  

This weekend we had a conversation that I believe perfectly sums up his personality.  I took it as a sign.  He granted me his permission after I promised I wouldn’t give him a “pu$$y-ass” pseudonym, such as Alejandro. 

Ladies and Gentlemen:   My father-in-law, Drama:

 Hubby:  Let’s have a fish fry on Friday.  We can have some family and friends over.

Me:  Yeah!  Can you fry the fish outside, though. That smell lingers for days.

Hubby:  If it’s not snowing I promise to take it outside.  My dad can help me out.

Me:  Thank you.  What’s on the menu?

Hubby:  I was thinking some cod, talapia…whatever’s on special.  I’ll talk to the old man and see what he wants.  Where is he?

Me:  He’s on the phone with one of his lady friends.  I have a potato pancake recipe I’ve been wanting to try.

Hubby:  I could go for some crab legs. I think I saw crab legs on sale somewhere.  Dad!  Where did we see those crab legs?

Drama finishes up his conversation, and walks into the kitchen:

Drama:  I had crabs once. 

Hubby and I locked eyes for approximately five seconds as we let the phrase “I had crabs once.” sink in.  Then, things literally got a little hazy because I couldn’t see through the tears rolling down my face, the mascara was burning my pupils, and the urge to pee my pants was making me dizzy.   Eventually, we were able to form words again:

Hubby:  Did you really have crabs once?

Drama:  Yes!  It was awful.  I had my nut brush, but still.

Me:  (On the verge of losing it, again)  Your nut brush?!

Drama:  (Condescending tone)  It’s not really for your nuts, stupid.  It’s a regular brush.  I just use it for…that.  Sometimes they itch, and I get so mad and I’m like “Oh my God, please help me.”  So, I grab my nut brush.

Relief.

At this point, the urge to pee my pants is much too overwhelming, and so I excuse myself to use the restroom.

Drama:  (Yelling) OH YEAH!  DMTF!  Don’t use the brown brush in the bathroom anymore!  I’ll buy you a new one.

Nice.  And, yes.  You will buy me a new one.