These are titles I jotted down in this notebook I keep handy. (I’m on a new notebook, by the way. It’s got a squirrel on it. So … if you ever see a goofy-looking gentleman scribbling in a notebook that winds up having a squirrel on it, please come on over and introduce yourself. Unless you’re eating here. If that’s the case, then please don’t. Things won’t get off on the right foot between us. Either you’ll complain bout what you just ate, and I’ll be ashamed and resentful, or you’ll compliment it, in which case, I’ll think you’re nuts.)
Quit checking out her boobs. She doesn’t like coming into the restaurant since I put her ‘in the family way,’ and her sense of smell got real acute, which means the restaurant’s got a smell that's ... off-putting. She stopped in last night to say hey, plus get a club soda cause she gets thirstier than a bear lately. It was the first time in … a while that she’s been in, and since then, her boobs have … grown. Word of her boob growth spread to the kitchen. They all came out to stare at her boobs. Which is fine for the first couple minutes. After that, I get miffed. Specially if they (it was David, Nando and Rudy) don’t stop after I ask them to stop.
Then again, there’s my dad …
My dad liked your ‘nice cans.’ The first time my parents got to meet Wife-asaurus was at a Gospel brunch buffet. I can’t remember how, but mom and dad knew someone in the choir, or something like that. Anyway, so I was nervous as hell, cause mom and her seemed to be hitting it off, and … uh … that didn’t bode well. Not much good could come of mom and her getting along. They chatted. Dad told me to come with while he loaded up another plate. As we worked our way down the line, I asked him what he thought. He said she seemed great and just as soon as mom let him get a word in, he looked forward to talking to her for a bit. ‘But she sure does have nice cans.’
That was like eleven years ago. There’s times when it lays me low that he’s dead. Other times, I look back on him and his life with fondness and appreciation that I got to be part of him and it as much as I did. Usually, though, it’s a mixed bag of tricks. Like now.
But … speaking of all-you-can-eats …
Wow. She sure can eat. Just look at her eat. Wow. If you were at a certain mall on a certain Saturday and you ate lunch at a certain restaurant called, oh I dunno, Ruby Tuesdays, you might have seen a certain pregnant woman laying waste to a salad bar one gigantic, overloaded plate at a time. I stopped counting after her fourth plate cause she was sick of me counting out the plates. By the time she was done, that Ruby Tuesdays had to order more beets, chickpeas, sunflower seeds, croutons, peaches with cottage cheese, tomatoes and pasta salad, but not the gross mayo elbow macaronione, the somewhat more palatable vinegar rotini one.
That’s an Alan-tizzy, all right. I was in the shower one evening, and Alan called my cell phone from the restaurant. She answered, in case it was something urgent, only to have it be Alan calling. She told him I’d call back just as soon as I was outta the shower, then tried to hang up. (Poor, sweet, innocent, naïve, stupid Wife-asaurus. Thinking she could get out of talking to Alan so easy. If getting out of talking to Alan was so easy, no one would ever talk to Alan.)
She wound up listening to a story bout when Alan was in college and hisgirlfriend at the time was real late on having her period and he was sure he knocked her up but no, she was only two days late, so he didn’t haftaworry bout her being the father of his child cause she was so crazy but the sex was real good so that’s why he put up with all that crazy and he saw her just a couple years ago and she was all over him cause she never really gotover him.
By the time I got out of shower, she was in an Alan-induced tizzy. You know how when you get real frustrated you can only mumble to yourself bout what just happened as you walk in small, tight circles? Well, you would if you knew Alan.
I sure hope I’m the father. George has this bit. Came up with it very soon after we announced there was to be an addition to the (squirrel) household. The bit is essentially someone else is the father of that addition. Jimmy, Glen, David, Oscar, Jason, Steve, Alan, Julie, Laura, King Turd, Stinkhead, damn near everyone who passes through our neck of the woods. It’s not a bad bit, as far as Mexican bits go, which ain’t exactly far. Most of their bits involve them putting various kitchen objects up my butt.
Baby Bargains isn’t much of one. She got this book called Baby Bargains, which is full of bargains for your baby, I guess. I dunno. But the book cost eighteen dollars, which’s a bit steep, for a book that just tells you how to save on baby crap. So I was gonna write bout that, and how it doesn’t exactly seem fair that she can drop almost twenty bucks on something like that when I get taken to the woodshed (by her) when I buy two new cds cause I can’t find the ones I had so I need replacement ones. I had the whole post figured out in my brain, til she told me a friend gaveher the copy.
That Chinese guy almost killed you. We were crossing the street a couple days back, and this green van tried to turn on red, even though it was a No Turn On Red corner. He had to slam on the brakes to not run her over. I told him basically to watch what the fuck he’s doing. He jumped outta his van, got right in my face, yelling real fast and loud cause he’s Chinese. I yelled back, which ain’t normally the case, cause I’m not the most assertive guy you’ll meet.
We jawed back and forth til the light turned green. Then we scooted back to the sidewalk, he hustled back to his van and took off. She remarked that I’m more protective of her now. I told her I didn’t know bout anything likethat, but there’s one thing I’m damn sure not gonna let happen and that’s have her get almost run over by a Chinese van driver who’s trying to make an illegal right turn, and then when that Chinese van driver tries to act likeI’m being the asshole, just stand there and let him yell at me.
Love means always having to say you’re sorry. There was this thing she did that wasn’t a big deal, not in the grand scheme of things, (she left the big heavy trunk half in the bedroom doorway one morning before I woke up, and I didn’t see it cause I wasn’t looking, so I wanged my toes real good on the blunt corner of it as I walked out to get my morning coffee going), but I made her apologize bout it too much. Laid this big guilt trip on her. I shouldn’t’ve done that. To those few remaining people who don’tthink I’m an idiot, I offer this as evidence that, yes, I am. Sides, the toes weren’t even broken. Just really wanged hard. They turned purple. But they’re fine now. Sore, but fine.
I don’t mind waiting. I’m tall and gangly, with long legs, and I walk fast, cause I’m a spaz. We were walking in the park, and she was slower than usual, cause, you know, she’s pregnant and everything, plus it was a hot, muggy day. I didn’t mean to keep walking ahead, but I kept walking ahead. Four or five paces ahead of her til I caught myself and walked back to her. She started feeling bad cause she couldn’t keep up. I told her hey, no rush, I don’t mind waiting, we’re not in any hurry, we got all kindsa time, baby, all kindsa time.
yay!
Posted by: theparakeet | 08/08/2009 at 10:12 PM