CAUTION!
(ACHTUNG!)
Randomness ahead!
*****
I got Bill the new Super Mario Bros for Wii last Father’s Day. It’s the one where multiple players can play the same board at the same time. This has not been good for our marriage, as we end up killing each other on accident more than helping the other out. Then I get mad that I was killed, even though it was (probably) an accident so I kill Bill’s mustachioed plumber on purpose. Only that really doesn’t solve anything because we are supposed to be working together to save the princess. We are not one of those couples that opperates well together when put in stressful situations. We are one of those couples that turn on each other by hurling turtle shells at one anothers’ faces.
Anyway, we’ve been stuck on playing level 3-3 for probably 70 years now. It’s an ice world and true to life, when you walk on the ice you slip and may possibly fall down a bottomless crevice that first eats your soul and then sets you on fire while you just. keep. falling (I can only assume this is what happens after the wah-wah-wah YOU DIED music plays). After dying an inordinate amount of times, I made an executive decision to try to beat the board myself, for I was trying to save my marriage. It didn’t go as well as I had hoped and I died probably 76 more times and then you know what happened? It took pity on me! A little message box popped up and asked me if I wanted to see a demonstration of how the board should be played and then it sent Luigi in to do what I couldn’t. It felt weird at first but then I was all, Whatever Luigi, BETTER YOU THAN ME. Then it asked me if I would like to move on to the next board or try to play it myself and since I have no pride I was all, MOVE ON BITCHES!
*****
I use the Nike+ iPod application and device while running, which I really, really like. After I obtain a new personal best I get a congratulatory message from Paula Radcliffe. But…who is Paula Radcliffe and why is she congratulating me for shit when I run? What kind of motivation is that? I would much prefer this message, “Hello. This is Javier Bardem and that mile you just ran was so sexy I’m considering leaving Penelope for you.” I don’t want some chic my fingers don’t even have the energy to google, giving me a marginally interested pat on the back with her haughty British accent, because people with accents really always make me feel inferior and I think my iPod must know this. It’s completely backhanded. “I’m complimenting you but I’m British so really what I’m saying is you fucking suck. But in a way that’s so dignified you’ll never be able to decipher it.” Now I try not to obtain personal bests because I don’t want Paula judging me.
*****
This was the headline on the website for one of our local news stations:
“Craigslist killing suspect dead in Mass. suicide”
OK, really? I see that there is capitalization and a period after the “Mass.” so I know that they mean Massachusetts but COME ON. You didn’t have to abbreviate it like that, KARE 11. I know you did it on purpose so people who are maybe in a hurry or perhaps just a little slow would be all “Mass suicide? What? Where? How many people died?” Click click click. Or, “They hold mass for suicides now? I’m confused, I thought the catholic faith was decidedly not pro-suicide.” Click click click. For shame, news outlet for using mass suicide as a way to garner traffic on your stories.
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Bill and I share laundry responsibilities, which typically goes something like this, Step 1.) Christy sorts laundry, puts first load in and promptly forgets about it. Step 2.) Bill does everything else. The best is when my swimsuits are in because the boob pads inevitably come out of their boob pad homes when being flung around in the drier. So the little thin sort of/but-sort-of-not triangular pads need to be placed back into their slots, by means of a very small slit on the inside of the swimsuit top; this job being only slightly easier than re-stringing a pair of sweatpants that have been filled with hyperactive mexican jumping beans. That is to say, I don’t like doing it so much that I intentionally let Bill handle the load my swimsuit comes out of. Scruples? I HAVE NONE. I see him struggling with the boobie pads, trying to stuff them in and smooth them out with his giant man fingers that are not at all conducive to this task and instead of helping I pretend to be really engrossed with something so he has to figure it out on his own. WHAT?! Don’t you understand that it’s really hard and I don’t like doing it and twittle doodie fukes splarg he’s still not done but I have to look busy type type type etc type buffalo pancakes.
*****
The kids have been in a pretty big potty talk stage for, well, the whole summer. They think poopy head, pee-pee face and tootie-butt are the best words the English language has to offer. And while I appreciate this is a right of passage that every kid must go through and honestly I too think pee-pee face is pretty great, I can’t have them going around repeating these phrases once school starts. So when they start calling each other names I turn into a Very Responsible Parent that has Rules and Regulations and lay down the no potty talk and/or name calling rule, but Internet? They have found other ways to insult one another. It goes something like this:
R: {pointing to a picture on a box} I want this Littlest Petshop armadillo!
K: Dats not an armadillo.
R: Yes it is.
K: No it’s not! Not an armadillo!
R: Yes it is an armadillo!
K: No, it’s NOT an armadillo!
R: YOU’RE AN ARMADILLO!
K: NO, YOU’RE AN ARMADILLO!
R: NO, YOU’RE AN ARMADILLO!
Etc etc etc etc and onandonandonandon for infinity times pi.
I know I have to step in here but I can’t exactly pinpoint what I should be yelling at them for. Yes, they are arguing but arguing is not really something we altogether discourage in this house as long as they are being respectful of each others’ personal space. There was no potty talk and yes, they were technically name-calling but would Armadillo as a defamatory remark really hold up in a court of law? It’s all so confusing. Usually I just get so annoyed with their repetitive persistence and steadfast conviction that the other is in fact an armadillo that I just snap and say “GAH! NO ONE IS AN ARMADILLO!” when secretly inside I am saying “You are BOTH armadillos.”
*****
Another headline:
“Mel Gibson ‘fine’ after car crash”
That sucks. I don’t even know why I read the news anymore. Nothing but depressing shit.