Monday, March 19, 2012

OCD, Much?

Last Thursday night, after a thirteen hour workday, PC and I stopped at a local chain restaurant (which we haven't been to in years) to grab a quick bite to eat.  When we walked in the door, the first things we noticed were (A) the INSANELY loud music, (B) someone singing in a voice that would make Simon Cowell want to stab himself in the neck, and (C) a crapload of drunk people.

Yippee, folks!  We'd stumbled upon Karaoke Night with the Walmartians! 

We thought about leaving.  But, because it was so late, we decided that we would just suffer through the music, inhale our food, and get the hell out of there asap.  Quickly, we made our way to a table, ordered our food, and commenced our auditory TORTURE.

Dudes?  Have you ever wondered, IF when people are singing, they realize that they completely SUCK at it?

Well, wonder no more, people.  Because they don't.

Apparently, these karaoke singers thought that having a microphone in their hand made them all that and a bag of friggin chips.  Seriously.

We saw sweaty men--singing, bumping, grinding and walking all around the room--flirting with female barflies, a la Elvis Presley.

We saw teenage boys running around, screeching and jumping, and acting all grungy and shit, a la Kurt Cobain.  

We even suffered through an older woman's (in her 60's) version of Madonna's, Like a Virgin---which cracked me right the hell up because when she started singing, PC was all, "Give me a break!  It's been decades since that woman was a virgin!"  Hahaha!

And SHE was the catalyst for THIS conversation....

Me:  You should get up and sing a song!  That would be soooo funny!

PC:  NO WAY.

Me:  What if I gave you a hundred bucks?!  Would you do it then?

PC:  NOPE.

Me:  You wouldn't sing a karaoke song for a quick hundred bucks?!

PC:  NOPE.

Me:  Why not? These people don't even know you!  You'll never see them again!

PC:  It's not about these people.  I could give a crap about these people.

Me:  Then, why not?

PC:  Why not?!  WHYYYY NOTTTTT?!!!  I'll tell you WHY NOT!  BECAUSE SOME PEOPLE'S ASSES ARE CLEANER THAN THAT MICROPHONE!!!!!!!

Me:  Well, alrighty then....


























Thursday, March 15, 2012

No More "Sopranos" For You

Yesterday, Hubby and I stopped at a furniture store to look for a storage cabinet.  While I was taking my sweet time--strolling around every room of furniture--analyzing every knickknack and accessory, PC wandered ahead of me into the bedroom section.  Suddenly, from about twenty feet away, I heard him say, "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"

When I turned the corner and finally caught up with him, I saw this:


........which, incidentally, is SUPPOSED to look like THIS (minus the crazy man sitting in it):



At this point I was all....

Me:  Dude, you're making an ass of yourself.  Get out of there before the security dudes put you on YouTube

PC:  What kind of a sick bastard would put a tiny coffin in their bedroom? 

Me:  That's not a coffin.  It's kinda like a hope chest.  Traditionally, some guys offer these to the women they intend to marry so the women can fill them up with linens and crap.  It's kind of like a pre-bridal shower, except you buy your own shit and save it for when you get married. 

PC:  I don't get it.

Me:  When a man gives a woman a hope chest, he is in fact saying to her, I love you and would like to marry you SOMEDAY, but I am NOT ready for a commitment RIGHT NOW.

PC:  That's not what he's saying.

Me:  Enlighten me.

PC:  If a man gives you one of THOSE, he's either saying, "I hope you drop dead, you stone cold be-otch!" OR, "If you get out of line, I'll cut you up into little pieces and bury you in the backyard!"

Me:  *slowly backing away*  Uhhh...okay.  Let's just agree that this matter should be left open to interpretation.

(AND THEN I WENT HOME....TO HIDE ALL OF MY SHARP CUTLERY)








Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Stick With Me, Kid.....And I'll Teach You Things

Last Sunday, PC and I went out for lunch.  While we were eating, we saw a really nice car drive through the restaurant's parking lot.  Its license plate read:  EBAY 1.

THAT was the catalyst for the following conversation: 

Me:  Hey, check it out!  That guy's license plate says EBAY 1!

PC:  I've seen that car before!  That guy probably makes a living selling stuff on ebay.  He probably sits at his computer all day...in his pajamas...drinking coffee...totally unaware of the everyday rat race that normal people have to deal with.

Me:  Lucky bastard...

***FAST FORWARD ONE HOUR LATER***

Me:  Why are we circling the parking lot?

PC:  I'm looking for the ebay car.

Me:  Why?

PC:  I want to see if the car will give us any clues as to what the guy sells.

Me:  That's dumb. If that dude's making a crapload of money selling stuff online, do you really think he's going to give his "secrets" away, so ANY schmo can steal his ideas and cut into his business?  I mean...Do you honestly think that he's going to be ridiculous enough to have a bumper sticker on his car that says, "I SELL DILDOS ON EBAY?"

PC:  *shaking his head*  Really??? 

Me:  What?

PC:  REALLY???

Me:  WHAT?!

PC:  Of all the things that he could sell online, the first thing that popped into your head was dildos

Me:  Well, by the looks of his fancy, schmancy car (A BRAND NEW JAGUAR, PEOPLE!), I'll deduce that he must sell a SHITLOAD of stuff.  And because SEX SELLS and people are PERVS, my educated hypothesis is that he's probably the Ebay Entrepreneur of Dildos

*PAUSE*

PC:   I WILL NEVER, EVER understand you.

Me:  And I will NEVER, EVER understand why you'll NEVER understand me.  I'm really very reasonable. 

PC:  *sigh*