adventures in awkward

Do you guys remember the post I made about the little hell-child that roams my neighborhood? The one that I forced to take a swim in dog-poop-soup in my backyard? (Jesus, if you have no idea what I’m talking about, I probably sound like the worst human being there is.) THE KID HAD IT COMING, OKAY? I’m not a monster.

If you don’t feel like clicking the link, I’ll give you a fast overview. There’s a middle-school kid who roams our cul-de-sac and has no respect for anybody’s property. He walks in unlocked houses. Goes through cars. Jumps fences and tramples on flowers. Has left chip bags and other trash in yards. The worst thing about all of it – his parents don’t give a crap no matter how many people complain about it. The kid is the spawn of Satan. Seriously. Pretty sure his mother is Satan’s side bitch.

Now that we’re caught up.

We lost power for a short time last night during a heavy thunderstorm. Usually I like storms, but when the power cuts in the middle of the night and I’m suddenly sitting there in the dark only able to hear my cat slowly licking her ass, things get creepy for me.  Here’s the following series of events:

Alex: I love you

Me: I love you way more, though

Alex: Uhh, I don’t think so.

Me: God, I hate us. We’re so sick. If I weren’t me, I’d totally want to kill us.

*Front door randomly opens and a rain-soaked person walks right into our house*

At this point, I was 100% sure this guy was, in fact, here to murder us. So I did what every classy kick-in-the-balls-funnywoman would = aimed for his nuts. I ran up, while screaming like a banshee, and punted as hard as I could before shoving the person back out the door. Alex grabbed a flashlight and, lo and behold, neighbor boy was clutching himself as he ran away.

Yep. I kicked an 11-year-old in the balls last night. I’m not sure I should find this as humorous as I do. Maybe I AM a monster. I’ve got a first-class seat on the ride to hell. Who’s joining me?

Blair = 2 Neighbor Boy = 0

 

conversations, rambles

When I was living in New York, one of my biggest complaints were the people. Sure, there were some good ones around, but it seemed like the majority were complete assholes. If they didn’t ignore you, they went out of their way to be a straight prick. New Yorkers…right? It’s the opposite here in the south. Some days, like today, you get to meet a really odd stranger while picking out some produce. strangerdangercat

Random Guy: Okay, I have to ask. Why are you buying so many jalapenos? What are you making that’s so spicy?

Me: Just jalapeno poppers for the Super Bowl. Nothing crazy.

RG: Oh. Are you sharing them with other people? If not, you are going to be shitting fire for a week straight.

Me: *holds up bag of 35 jalapenos* Yeah. Definitely sharing all of these. No ass-fire for me.

RG:  I did it once. On a dare. I ate 10 whole ones. I felt like there was a zombie baby stuck in my colon and eating me from the inside. I was pretty sure my intestines were going to blow up and I was going to die. What a weird way to die, right? That would be a weird obituary. Death by ass-plosion.  But at the same time, I’d love to make my parents have to deal with that added embarrassment when I’m gone.

Me: … you’re pretty fucking weird.

RG: Yeah, I’m sorry. That was pretty inappropriate to say to a stranger.

Me: No… I’m trying to ask you to be my friend. I love weird. Anyone who has the balls to say ‘ass-plosion’ to a stranger is okay by me.

minionhug

 

Ah… gotta love the south.

GO PANTHERS. WOO!