Archive for the 'conversations' Category

did you know libraries are chock full of crazy

I bring you a live report from the public desk at the city library. I am entitling it: “I’m tired of the disgusting coughing and strange questions here this week.” OR “My compassion limit is maxed out for your TB and questions about the satanic bible.” Both the title and contents are all Cupcake’s words, unless otherwise noted.

[me: How’s work?]

Well in total, this week the staff here has dealt with:

  • is my apartment haunted can you find news stories about suicides that occurred there in your archives
  • where can I find a witch doctor
  • can you find a copy of the satanic bible for me
  • how much room is at the end of a condom
  • OH and what can I do if I think someone has put a spell on me.


I am worn out from the crazy.

[me: Wow. Must be October.]

Also the other day this lady came up to a librarian and shouted a name at him in a mean and angry way. Then just stood there. Turns out it was the name of an author she was looking for.


I feel like it’s increasingly my job to manage othe people’s bad behavior.

[me: Yeah. Sometimes being a librarian is like being a 2nd grade teacher for adults. I am typing your tirade into a post as we speak, by the way.]


A scary man just gave me a weird look.

taco salad and consequences

Cupcake: “What are you up to?”
me: “Not much. Trying not to shit my pants while I drive home.”
Cupcake: “That is fabulous. Any reason in particular?”
me: “There were some Filipinos at work today and they had a bunch of food.”
Cupcake: “Okay?”
me: “And they all wanted to give me their food, so I took it.”
Cupcake: “Wait–what?”
me: “I ate their food. Unexpected Filipino food for lunch.”
Cupcake: “Who are you right now?”
me: “I know. Part of me was thinking ‘This is a poor choice in the making’ but the other part was thinking ‘Free Filipino food’ and that’s the part that won.”
Cupcake: “Who were these random people and why did they have food at the library?”
me: “You sound like all my coworkers when I told them to come downstairs for tasty Filipino food. You are giving me the verbal form of their facial reactions.”
Cupcake: “Whaaaaaat…?”
me: “Exactly.”
Cupcake: “Wait, so what was this Filipino food like?”
me: “It was taco salad mostly.”
Cupcake: (silence)
me: “Taco salad. I’m burping Filipino taco salad.”
Cupcake: “I can’t get past any of this.”
me: “These are consequences. I am living some consequences. They were hard to see at the time because the consequences were at least three hours in the future and I was enjoying taco salad.”
Cupcake: “I think you should definitely blog this.”
me: “Maybe later. I’m home now and taco salad is about to explode out of my ass.”

don’t make me get out my harsh language

I know, I’ve been slacking. No posts. No funny. No drawings. There are a few reasons.

Reason number one is, I am currently insane. Insane with lady hormones coursing through my system like never before. If you’ve ever been on birth control for a really long time and then went off, then you know what I mean. I forgot how INTENSE things get when not numbed by the pill. The day I shouted that I was on my period, at work in front of several members of the Public? That was just the start of it.

But at least I’m starting to get a handle on the crazy. I mean I’m still crazy. But fewer people are aware of it. For instance. I recently walked into work where they are conducting job interviews, luckily for a position I will have little contact with. I say luckily because today I see a member of the Public who creeps me out. And he is dressed all fancy. Almost as though he expects to be interviewed today. Pants sees my “ugh” face as I walk into the staff office.

Pants: “What?”
me: “So-and-so got an interview?”
Pants: “Ha! I love the disdain.”
me: “Whatever. Like you want to work at a place he has keys to.”

Sunday was Beerfest. The crazy was just starting to set in on that day, lurking underneath the sunshine, the drunkenness and the rejoicing with friends and sharing shade with the random vomit-covered unconscious man. Hot Lunch and I each bought 17 tokens worth of beer and did our best to drink them all. Score at the end of the day, me 7, Hot Lunch 27. Level of drunkenness, equal. Drunk Hot Lunch is flirty affectionate Hot Lunch, always an arm around me, a hand caressing the back of my neck, or his forehead pressed affectionately against mine, gazing into my eyes. I have to remind myself that there’s nothing rekindling between Hot Lunch and me. The arm around me all day was just to keep his drunk ass from falling down. Once home in my own apartment, the buzz is wearing off. And the crazy is rising.

The phone rings.
Hot Lunch: “Are you ok? You were kind of quiet on the way home.”
me: “Not really. I guess I’m kind of sad. And frustrated.”

A few minutes into the conversation.

And the other reason I haven’t blogged is that my computer died. I think my sister’s wedding killed it. Or maybe it’s scared. Of the crazy.

Update your blog already! But let’s do this thing first.

This conversation is indicative of why I never get any blogging done:

Cupcake: Did you blog yesterday?
me: No.
Cupcake: Why not! Bitch please!
me: I didn’t have any time! I didn’t have a spare second from the moment I got up at 6 to when I went to bed at 11. I went hiking, shopping, tubing the river and saw a movie. I think I need some down time today.
Cupcake: Down time sounds great! Let’s have some down time by the pool.
me: Umm. I won’t get any blogging done there either.
Cupcake: I’m okay with that.

you can’t say that in a TCBY

Last instructions before going out for ice cream.

Hot Lunch: Now what did I just say?
Joaquin: Not to say butthole in the restaurant.

don’t try to out-weird the 5 year old

My parents here, my nieces (their grandkids Sissy 5 and Peanut 3) in the Tri-Cities. Skyping.

Dad: “Hey, Sissy, guess what. I cut off that toenail.”

No reaction from Sissy.

Dad: “That weird toenail that was too long. I clipped it.”

Sissy just looks at him.

Dad: “So you don’t have to bite it off like you said you would.”

Sissy: “Guess what I have in my mouth.”

Possible response 1: There’s no telling.

Possible response 2: Did you hear any of that?

Dad goes with Possible response 3 (the least safe): “Um? Ok, what.”

Sissy fishes a finger in her mouth and holds it up to the webcam.

Sissy: “A fingernail. I just bit it off. Yeah.”

Sissy puts it back in her mouth and sits back, chewing and smiling.

When you try to out-weird the 5 year old, you lose more than the contest. You lose a little bit of your sanity.

i’ll have to demonstrate my bird dance for you soon

My coworker Motormouth went to her first Nia dance class the other night. Since I’ve been considering Zumba lately, I was really interested in her experience. As you can tell from her name, Motormouth’s talking valve is just like mine. When we attended PLA together, I’m pretty sure we both wore our talking valves out. And our drinking-margaritas valves. But that’s another story.

Here, I learned that asking Motormouth to tell a story is as entertaining on IM as it is in real life:

[me]: hey!
[me]: how was dance last night??
[motormouth]: OMG! I can’t believe I haven’t given you a demonstration yet!
[motormouth]: It was like a scene from a movie…
[motormouth]: the Native American tribal dance around the fire…
[motormouth]: and I…
[motormouth]: was the BIRD!
[motormouth]: C.R.A.Z.Y
[motormouth]: and awesome
[motormouth]: I’ll have to demonstrate my bird dance for you soon. I pretty much rocked it.
[motormouth]: Hahah!!! Get it!
[motormouth]: Rock n’ robin!
[motormouth]: duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude. Did you die?

Kevin Nash wants to kick your ass at the Cheesecake Factory

Me: It’s not chocolate bread just because it’s brown. By those rules it could be poop bread.

Hot Lunch: Look, it’s Kevin Nash over there. Walking out toward the parking lot.

Server: Here’s your bread.

Hot Lunch: Yes! Chocolate bread!

Server: Chocolate bread? Cool. I like it. I’ll be back to take your order.

Hot Lunch: See, he said it’s chocolate bread.

Me: He was astonished because he’s never heard anyone call it chocolate bread. Because it’s not chocolate bread.

Hot Lunch: What are those anyway, weeds? (About the ornamental grasses into which he disappeared when he fell off the patio in his chair as we first sat down.)

Me: They could be fescue.

Hot Lunch: They seem like weeds.

Me: One man’s weeds is another man’s fescue. I just wanted to say fescue some more.

Hot Lunch: Apparently. I see you like to rub that in. That you know what that means and I don’t. Kevin Nash is just standing out there. I think he wants to kick my ass.

Me: Except the fescue already did that.

Hot Lunch: It’s cool being by the mall. I love the smell of commerce.

i am head of my class at bad guy school

at my apartment’s arctic-temperatures pool, Joaquin and Diego spend most of their time in the hot tub surrounded by a lot of residents’ kids who are older, bigger and a lot more loud-mouthed. like wide-eyed blond cherubs, Joaquin and Diego often look a little nervous.

today, the subject of careers went around. every kid expounded on what they’re going to do when they grow up.

“what about you?” one kid suddenly asked the boys.

“uh… i don’t know,” said Joaquin.

“kill good guys,” said Diego.

maybe for the first time ever, there was silence in the hot tub.

i know a lot about badassery. and orca.

one of many conversations between Hot Lunch’s two angelic-looking boys, Joaquin (7) and Diego (4), in the backseat while driving around town:

J: I know a lot about math. Diego, what do you know a lot about?
D: Killer whales eating people.