Tag Archives: conversation

Are You There God? It’s Me, Dumbass

26 Jul

Due to a nasty storm which resulted in hail damage, the house is getting new siding.  I’m excited, but due to my almost constant state of annoyance, the whole things has been a bit….annoying.

I had worked myself up into an annoyed tizzy just thinking about it while watering my flowers the other morning when I heard a buzzing in my ear.  Thinking it was a bee getting ready to fly into my ear, have millions of bee babies that would sting my brain, and then all fly out my nose after killing me, I instinctively swatted it away.  I used the same hand I was holding the garden hose in.  I ended up spraying myself in the face:

Nice

I looked around to make sure no one *clear throat* Hubby saw that.  I was in the clear, and so continued to water the plants.

I was giving the rose-bush in front of our diningroom window a good soaking when I noticed that the shutters could use a fresh coat of paint.  “I wonder if they would paint the shutters when they replace the siding”, I wondered….out loud. 

*SIDE NOTE:  I talk to myself…a lot.  It’s not really talking to myself.  It’s more like thinking out loud.  The problem is that I tend to ramble.  Imagine what that looks like to a normal person.  A bit cray-cray.

Just then I heard a soft muffled voice say something like,  “I can’t believe this.”  The voice sounded distant.  The neighbors must have had their radio on or something.  Oh well.

I was working my way to the flowers at the back of the house when the hose got knotted on something.  That put me over the edge:

SON OF A BITCH! I hate this g-damn hose!  Why does it always get knotted?!  You would think they would have invented something that stops hose knots.  Actually, they probably have something at Home Depot.  I should look the next time I go.  I think we need AA batteries, too.  And, I think they have a sale on charcoal.  I’ll have to call mom.  She always knows when there’s a sale on something.

My tirade was interrupted when I was startled by “the voice”.  This time the voice was a little less muffled.  It sounded like it was coming from my butt.  Maybe I had butt dialed someone? I panicked at the thought of having gotten my phone wet.  I reached for my back pocket (wait for it)  with the hand holding the hose.  Good news:  My phone was in the house.  Bad news:  My face and my ass were totally soaked. 

The voice:  How long?….Again?  Seriously?

Me:  Hello?  Hubby?

The voice:  …..all day.  Moron. 

Me:  Whatever!  I’m almost done watering the plants.  Keep your pants on…for now. *chuckle*

The voice:  What?

Me:  Did you go to the store yet?  Can you check if there’s something that prevents garden hose knots?  I’ve been having technical difficulties out here.

The voice:  Hello?  Ma’am?

Me:  (Confused)  Hello?

The voice:  Hello?  I’m up here. 

Just then I looked up to see a man sitting on our very steep roof and a very looooong ladder laying on the ground with my garden hose knotted around it.   Then, I realized that it was Saturday.  The insurance adjuster was coming on Saturday to survey the damage on the roof and siding.  He was coming early, was going to climb up, inspect the roof, and leave.  We wouldn’t even notice he was there.

Me:  (Mortified.  Staring straight ahead.)  Hiiiiiiiiiiii.  You must be Tom from the insurance company?

The voice:  Yeah.

Me:   I suppose you need this ladder to get down?

The voice:  Yeah.  I do.

Me:  How long….

The voice:  A couple of hours.  I hoped to get your attention when I saw you come out to water the plants, but….

Me:  Soooooo…you saw?

The voice: (beyond annoyed and terrified by the crazy lady who talks to herself) Can you just get the ladder, Ma’am?

Thankfully, (for Tom) we haven’t had to deal with each other since that day.  When Hubby asked me why he was suddenly fielding the calls from Tom the Insurance Adjuster, I just told him that Tom was probably being sexist and would rather deal with “the man of the house.” 

Hubby’s not buying it.

Someone Else’s Junk Is Pretty Much Still Junk

16 May

Old people love other people’s things.  Wuelita‘s building has plastic bins in the lobby where people can bring their thrift store donations.  The local thrift store is supposed to then send someone over to collect the donations once a week.  I’m pretty sure that they’ve never had to come.  As soon as someone brings something down, someone else is right there picking it up and hauling it back to their own apartment. 

Wuelita and I were watching her favorite novela at her apartment the other day when I suggested we go out to get something to eat.  Before we left she  shuffled over to the television, followed the cord to the outlet on the wall and gently unplugged it.  I knew right then that the television must have been one of her “finds” at the thrift store donation bins.  I gave her a hard time about it: 

Me:  Let me guess.  You found that TV downstairs?

Wuelita:  Jes!  Can joo be leeb it?!  It’s bran new. Dee only ting wrong is dat it don turn off.

Me:  Umm, you have to unplug it to turn it off and there’s no remote.  Can you even adjust the volume?  Also, how did you get that thing up here?

Wuelita: (laughs).  My fren Esteve/Kiley.

Me:  Steve and Kiley?  Who are they? 

Wuelita:   No “day”.  Eets Esteve/Kiley.  Juan pear-son.

Me:  What kind of name is Steve/Kiley?  Is his first name Steve and last name Kiley? 

Wuelita:  Nooooo.  Es sometimes Esteve and sometimes Kiley.  Any whey, let’s go.  I’m es starving.

As we are walked down the hallway to the elevator I noticed a rather large woman in a house coat and slippers struggling to carry a laundry basket. 

Me:  Let me help you with that.

Old Lady:  (deep Barry White voice)  Why thank you dear.  I’m right down the hall by your grandmother.  (Waves to Wuelita).

You must be Esteve/Kiley

 Wuelita:  Hi !  Joo look beddy preedy too-day.  Do joo like dee lipsteek I buy for joo?

Old Lady:  (very, very excited deep Barry White voice) Oh yes!  Thank you so much, dear.

I dropped the basket off at “Kiley’s” door and ran walked back to the elevator where Wuelita was waiting.   I could hear her giggling as I turned the corner. 

Me:  That must have been Kiley?

Wuelita:  (devilishly laughing) 

Me:  You could have warned me. 

Wuelita:  Why?  Den eets not phone-y. 

Me:  Yeah, well, I was going to take you to Goodwill after lunch to look around.  Now, forget it. 

Wuelita:  (Bent over her cane, tears streaming down her face, victoriously laughing)

Touché, Wuelita.  Touché.

In Your Dreams

10 May

This part of my post should be read out loud in a voice and tone that sounds as though you are trying to keep the person behind you from hearing what you’re saying.

Hi:

I want to keep everyone in the loop of what’s been going on in my life lately. Basically, it’s finals time and I’m freaking out.  So, I want to apologize for neglecting the blogs I follow.  I can’t wait to dive in once things calm down a little. 

Also, as my OCD-tendencies will not permit me to not post even though I’m extremely busy and should be doing something else as I type this, posts will be light in content for the next few days.  I apologize in advance for any personal turmoil this may cause you.

That being said, here’s a snippet of a conversation I had with Hubby yesterday:

Hubby:  What’s wrong with you?  You’ve been crabby all day.

Me:  Oh, nothing.  Just stressed about finals, I guess.

Hubby:  No, you’ve been pissy towards me, in particular.  What’s the deal?

Me:  Noth—

Hubby:  Don’t say nothing.

Me:  Fine.  I had a dream last night in which you were a huge a-hole. 

Hubby:  Geeeeezussss!  Not again.  You realize it was just a dream, right?

Me:  I know.  It’s just that you were extremely a-hole-ish. 

Hubby:  It didn’t really happen. 

Me:  Fine.  Forget it.

Hubby:  Knock it off.

Me:  (Crazy person silence)

Hubby:  (Loudly shakes the newspaper he’s been reading and then slams it down).  I’m sorry!  I’m sorry I was mean to you in your dream even though it didn’t really happen and it’s all in your head.  Happy?

Me:  Thanks, love.  I forgive you.

Hubby:  You know…I had a dream last night that you really wanted to give me a BJ.

Me:  There it is.

A Mother’s Unconditional and Fabulous Love

9 May

I was able to spend a lot of time with Son this weekend which is the best gift Mother’s Day gift ever.  That, and a spa day….and some books….and maybe some perfume, but time with Son was good, too. 

I often tell Son how much I love him.  He’s used to it and always indulges me with an “I love you, too”.  This weekend, however, he questioned my love:

Me:  I love you.

Son:  I know.  I love you too.

Me:  I really love you.

Son:    Yep.  Love you, too.

Me:  You’re my favorite thing in the whole world.

Son: I know.  You tell me that all the time.

Me:  I would love you no matter what.

Son:  Sorry.  I’m not gay.  You’re going to have to find your gay somewhere else.

Me:  (sigh) I know.  That’s ok.

Where are you, Mr. Fabulous?

Son:  You’re weird. 

Son:  Would you love me if I didn’t love you back?

Me:  Yes.  It would break my heart, but I would definitely still love you.

Son:  Would you love me if  I married a girl you couldn’t stand?

Me:  I would mastermind a way to break you up, but I would definitely still love you.

Son:  What if….I joined a cult?

Me: For sure!  I would have to infiltrate the cult, and act so incredibly werid that they would kick us both out. 

Son:  What if I was a serial killer?

Me:  That’s dark.  Again, you would break me heart, but yes.  I would still love you.

Son:  I know.  What if I worked for ________________’s Presidential campaign?

(Uncomfortable, awkward silence.)

Me:  I would love you a little less.  But, I love you sooooo much, that you wouldn’t even be able to tell.

Son:  I love 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.

An Eternal Philosophical Question

8 Apr

I need your help settling a long-standing debate between Hubby and I.

In order to remain as neutral as possible, I will not tell you my position in this matter.  I will leave the final decision up to you, and will concede to your decision (as long as I agree with it….just kidding…..no, I’m not.)

The other day Hubby and I ran into an old friend who, for years, had been a complete burnout.  He is a very nice person, but he just didn’t have much ambition in life.  Well, we didn’t even recognize him.   He was wearing a suit and tie.  He was also with a really pretty (and clean) woman who is a departure from the class acts he’s dated in the past.  Some of his ex’s include an exotic dancer who dropped the f-bomb approximately 50 times in a five-minute conversation, a woman who I’m pretty sure could get pregnant by just looking at a penis and had the kids to prove it, and a woman who beat him up.

______:  It was really nice to see him!  Did you see that girl he was with?

______:   Yeah.  I didn’t even recognize him without his Jesus beard.

______:  I know!  And, he carries business cards.  Faaaaaancy.

______:  It’s like he’s done a complete 360.

______:  I’m really happy for him.  You mean 180.  

______:   Where did he say he works?  It’s 360, like a complete circle.

______:   He works at a place that sells medical equipment to assisted living facilities.  It’s 180.

______:  It’s 360.  As in, he’s done a complete turnaround.

______:  Nooooo, 180, as in, he’s the complete opposite of what he used to be.  The opposite of burnout is professional. 

______:  He’s completely turned his life around.  A complete circle is 360 degrees.

______: He used to live in Burnoutsville. Now, he’s living in Classygirlfriendwood.  180 degrees.

______:  Whatever.  I’m right.

______: (mumbles almost inaudibly) It’s 180.

______: 360.

Choose carefully.  Do some research if needed.  I need to be right on this one.  If you determine that Hubby is right I will never hear the end of it, and may need to stab pencils in my ears to muffle the sound of “IN YOUR FACE!”. 

Workin’ It- The Importance of Recovery Time

5 Apr

 *What follows is a conversation between husband and wife regarding sexy time.  If you would rather that your virgin eyes remain in your virginal head, STOP HERE. 

Me:  Sounds like you’ve shaken that cold.

Hubby:  Yeah, this one really wiped me out.

Me:  I noticed.  You’ve gone to bed early every night this week. 

Hubby:  I know.  The NyQuil knocked me out.  I didn’t even need your girly bits to fall asleep.

Me:  *giggle*  That’s ok, my vage needs a break once in a while.

Hubby:  (Sarcastic disbelief) Really?  Your vage needs a break?

Me:  It gets tired if it works out too much.   Picture a Richard Simmons video where my vage is sweating to the oldies.  It needs to recover.

Hubby:  NO, DMTF!  I will not picture your vage as Richard Simmons!!!

 
*A moment of silence while I check an incoming text message*

Me:  Ok, picture…

Hubby:  I KNEW IT!

Me:  …listen, picture my vage wearing a sweatband and workout gear.

Hubby:  I don’t know what you mean.

Workin' It

Can you see it, now?  Do you see how hard it’s working?  Recovery time is important in avoiding injury. 

P.S.:  I’d like to thank my mom for reading this blog.  I will miss her as I know this is the last blog entry she will ever read.

Excuse Me, I Have to Poop

18 Mar

If you haven’t picked up on it yet, I’m generally in a constant state of annoyance.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m a happy person, but I’m also easily annoyed by almost anything.  Here’s a list of a few things that take me from pleasant to pissy in less than 5 seconds:

  1. Rain (or any form of humidity) after I’ve sat in a salon for 2 hours getting a blowout.
  2. Getting up early to go to the gym.
  3. Pregnant pauses.
  4. Forward emails.
  5. Many, many, many more things.
  6. *NEW The sentence finisher.

I recently met someone who, although I’m sure is a nice person, I will never know for sure because I will never speak to her again.  She’s the Sentence Finisher.  Let me explain.

We were having a discussion about our teenagers.  Things started off ok.  Then, we started talking about curfews.  I said:

Nothing good can happen after midnight. 

As I said the last two words of the sentence, “after midnight”, I noticed that Sentence Finisher said them along with me, three octaves higher.  She sang them more than she said them.  “Aaaaafter Midniiiiight.”

Ok, that was weird.  Whatever.  We continued our conversation.  I said:

I think the driving age should be bumped up to 18.  I had no business driving when I was 16.

As I said “when I was 16” Sentence Finisher chimed in (literally), “When I was sixteeeeeeeeen”.  This time she opera-sang “16” so loudly and so high that I had to look around and silently assure everyone in the room that I didn’t have Sentence Finisher in a headlock.

This continued for the next five minutes until I came up with the excuse that the meal we had just shared wasn’t agreeing with me, and excused myself to use the restroom.  In order to get away from her I resorted to the “I have to poop” excuse.   Basically, I would rather this woman picture me pooping than think of me as someone she can talk to. 

I’m an a-hole.

P.S.  I was tempted to say “I’m a tool!” just so I could hear her sing “I’m a toooooooool!”

Massage Your What?!

3 Mar

A conversation between Hubby and I over dinner last night:

Hubby:   Can you pick up some of that red I like when you go shopping this weekend?

DMTF:      Which one?

Hubby:    You know.  The one I had at that party last month.

DMTF:      The wine tasting party?  You’re going to have to be a little more specific.

Hubby:    It was the California red.  The one with the two people dancing on the label.  It starts with an ‘”M”.

**Annoyed silence as we rack our brains**

Hubby:    MASSAGE MY TWA-!

DMTF:     WHAT?!

Hubby:    MASSAGE MY TWA-!!  That’s the name of it!

**Long unblinking stare**

Hubby:  What?

DMTF:  Honey, I’m pretty sure it’s called Menage a Trois.

Massage My Twa-

DMTF:      But you can massage my twa….

Hubby:    Shut up!  And, you better not blog about this!

Grandmother, What Big Eyes You….Is This A New Place?

2 Feb

I called my grandma Wuelita yesterday.  Here’s how it went:

Me:  Hi Wuelita.  How are you?

W:    I’m fiiine my sweedy  How are jo0?

Me:  I’m good.  There’s a blizzard coming and I was wondering if you needed anything.

W:     Noooo.  Gracias, my sweee har.  I no need no-ting.

Me:   Are you sure?  Do you have coffee?  Milk?  I’m going to the store anyway.

W:     No!  I no need no-ting.  Joo go home.  Don drrrrive.

Me:   Ok, if you’re sure you don’t need anything.  I tried calling you a couple of times this weekend, but you didn’t answer.  Did you go somewhere?

W:     Jes. I go to shursh, da store, and den I mooove.

Me:   What?!  You moved?

W:      Well, jes.  I mooove.  I get bedder aparmen don dee ‘all.

Me:  Wuelita, how did you get all of your stuff down the hall to your new apartment?  Why didn’t you call?!

W:    Well, I know joo bizzy with da schoool and dee wor, and I don wanna bodder jooo.  My frrrrend an hair sones ‘elp me.

Me:  I wish you would have called!  Well, at least you’re happy.  I can’t wait to see your new place.

W:    Oh, jes.  I like eet.   Joo comb see eet when joo brrrrring my co-fee an meelk.

I love her.

 

 

Wuelita