Overheard conversation outside of a neighborhood school.

Little Girl:
“… Mommy, I said I was sorry.”

Mommy:
“I know you’re sorry honey, but sometimes being sorry just isn’t good enough.”

Little Girl [on verge of crying]:
“But I didn’t mean to get a ‘C’ on my spelling test! I studied and everything!”

Mommy:
“I guess you just didn’t study hard enough, did you?”

Little Girl [rubbing furiously at her eyes]:
“…”

Mommy:
“Oh honey, I know you didn’t mean to get a bad grade on this test and I’m not mad at you. I’m just a little disappointed.”

Little Girl:
“Why?”

Mommy:
“Because if you don’t do well in school now then you won’t get smart and you might not be able to do whatever you want to do when you grow up.”

Little Girl:
“Well, I could always be Pres’dent.”

Mommy:
“And how will you be President if you don’t do well in school?”

Little Girl:
“Well, you and daddy always say that the Pres’dent is dumber than a five year old, and I’m eight!!”

I walked away laughing so hard that I actually choked on my own spit.

I lost my nads yesterday.

Well, that’s not exactly true. You see, I didn’t actually lose my nads in the sense that I misplaced my keys or an umbrella. I lost them in the sense that they were forcibly ripped from my body and tossed into a corner as callously and casually as some people might core an apple.

And the person who did it never even laid a finger on me.

I’m a good guy, well… I’m a nice person, and when my lovely wife asks me to go somewhere with her and meet some of her work friends for dinner I’m only too happy to oblige. Not only because she’s my wife, but also because going to dinner with her would mean I’ll be seen in public with her thus proving to the doubters of the world that I really am married to The World’s Most Beautiful Woman™.

And you’re not. Neener, neener, neener.

Anywaste, there I was in a nice Polo shirt and jeans waiting for her to get ready so we could go meet her friends when she stops putting on her lip gloss/eye liner/other beauty enhancing product and gives me the evil eye. Since I hadn’t said anything in the last twenty minutes that would warrant such a look of disdain, I quickly reviewed all transgressions and/or slights that I might have intentionally or unintentionally bestowed upon her in the last week. Coming up empty, I spent another full second fruitlessly reviewing anything she might have imagined or even dreamed that I had done to piss her off in the last month.

You know, just to be safe.

Once again coming up with nothing, I thought it was safe to give her an inquisitive look of bemused clueless-ness and inquire as to why I was getting the Pursed Lips Of Feminine Disapproval™. Now pay attention men, because it is here, right here, that I lost my masculinity and I’m writing this incident down so that I will never, ever forget exactly when and how my nads were removed and I became the complete and total P-Whipped GirlyMan I am today. You see, when I asked HoBiscuit why she was looking at me with such disapproval she gave me the once over and said, said mind you, not asked, “You’re not going to wear THAT, are you?”

And so help me, without even a thought of protest, I changed my clothes!

Writing is hard.

Especially when you’ve been unwillingly forced to stop doing it for almost two months and have forgotten all the little things you used to do to make the words come so quickly and easily before. It used to be that I would sit down at my computer for about an hour and craft a silly story or an insightful and charming tale of my youth for the world to read and enjoy without breaking a sweat. But now I find myself sitting here begging the words to come forth from the ether they reside within and fill my screen with humorous banter that will bring back the throngs of adoring fans I used to command, and nothing comes out. It’s not as if nothing exciting or funny has happened to me in the last two months, quite the opposite really. I just seem to have forgotten how to write it in a funny way.

I know; sucks to be me.

Anywaste, since this is my first day back, and also since I’m STILL living under plastic sheets with all my worldly possessions contained within cardboard boxes and plastic crates while my kitchen, my own personal white whale, is still in shambles, I think I’ll go easy on myself and simply post some pictures of the renovations with a little descriptive text. If you’re all real nice to me (as in; leave a comment about how much you missed me) then maybe tomorrow I’ll tell you about some of my exploits over the last two months. Otherwise, I’ll just pretend I never left and just keep pounding away here until I become one of the elite Bloggers who are ‘discovered’ in the wild, tagged as ‘relevant’, offered a book deal, given a ‘real’ writing job and then revealed as a hack or has-been and promptly deleted from the collective consciousness of the human race.

It’s all part of my master plan entitled, “Taking Over The World While Baking The Perfect Shortcake In Twelve Easy Steps”.
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Saturday there was a family gathering.

At this gathering there were many, many small children, a few grown-ups… and my grandpa. When the party was over and it was time for everyone to go home, HoBiscuit’s father, who was sure this would be the last time everyone would be gathered together in one place for many years to come, whipped out his camera and insisted that everyone gather ‘round the couch for a big family portrait.

After the usual protestations, we all sourly headed to the living room couch.

All the children, who are all 12 years old or younger, were sitting on the floor and all the grown-ups were sitting on the couch waiting for the family friend who had been suckered into being the photographer for this soon-to-be family heirloom to take the picture when my grandfather opened his mouth. As soon as he did I knew, just knew that it was going to be bad.

Unfortunately, it was much worse than I feared.

Grandpa:
“Hey kids, what’s the worst word you know?”

Kids:
“Poopie!” “Pee-pee!” “Butt!” “Fart-face!” “Turd-breath!”

[much giggling from kids]

Family Friend:
“Okay everyone, smile for the camera…”

Grandpa:
“Those are good words kiddies, but I’ve got a better one. And I think we should all say it when we smile for the camera.”

Kids:
“What?! Their’s something worse than turd-breath? Tell us!”

Family Friend:
“Here we go. One… Two…”

Grandpa:
“Everyone say, ‘F*****g S**t’!”

Of course, now those kids fricking love my grandpa.

An open letter to the woman having lunch at the Tomato Café.

Dear Madam,

I’m normally not the type of man who intrudes upon a stranger’s life, especially when said stranger is a young lady apparently out on a date with a man she appears to be very attracted to, but in this instance I find myself compelled to speak my mind and the emotional discomfort of strangers be damned.

Please excuse my French.

With that said, let me tell you a tale of a young man who walked the streets of the Big City in search of a feast to fill his empty belly. Our hero wandered through the hot city streets until his brow was covered in sweat in search of his midday meal, and yet though he searched high and low for an inexpensive yet tasty meal, his quest remained unfulfilled. Although he had been searching for a quarter of an hour for his repast, he had yet to find a sustenance that would satisfy the monster that lived within his belly and the tight-fisted little green gremlin that dwelled in his wallet.

Oh, how he loathed that little green guy.

Now, I should mention here that our hero did indeed find nourishment that satisfied both his belly-beast and the green gremlin, but since his luncheon meal of a Taco Bell Mexican Pizza and two tacos for $4.99 is not pertinent to the story at hand, let us just say that although his immediate need for a cheap and tasty meal was met he did later regret his choice of nourishment as he sat upon his porcelain throne.

Especially when he realized he was out of toilet paper.

What is pertinent however, is the fact that during his search for nourishment on the Big City streets, our hero passed by the windows of a restaurant called The Tomato Café. It was here that our hero saw you, dear lady, sitting at your table facing the street and eating your grilled chicken salad. You were wearing a white blouse and a pink, or light red skirt, and you had your feet propped up on the windowsill as you laughed at some joke your date must have told you. Everyone on the street was stopping to look at you through the window, so beautiful and full of life. So charming. So happy.

So utterly clueless that you were showing the world your coochie.

Now, while it is true that our hero had no true desire to see the private parts that were on public display, once he became aware of it, it became virtually impossible for him to turn away. In his defense, it must be said that our hero was not spellbound simply because he was viewing the coochie of a strange woman through a glass partition during his lunch break without paying for it, because that’s not the full story. You see, even though he did stand around for a full thirty seconds staring through that window, it wasn’t your coochie that held him rooted to the spot.

It was your underwear.

Your pink underwear with the cute little puppy on them, to be exact. But even this is only part of the truth, because although your underwear might have been noteworthy in and of itself, it was the big, bold, blue glittered word written underneath the cute puppy that held our hero’s attention for the thirty seconds that he stared at your coochie through the window. And when our hero finally did turn away to continue his search for food, he could be seen shaking his head in bemused disbelief as he muttered over and over;

“Friday?! But that doesn’t make sense. Today is Wednesday!”

Regards,
GeekMan

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