Last night, Esteban and I drove to Appleton for Mongolian food and book buying at Barnes & Noble. Esteban needed healthy amounts of reading material, as he is flying out to Canada tomorrow morning. He’s got a conference in Banff, where the elk are plentiful. Apparently, wildlife is conducive to computer talk.
Then on the way home, I was trying to get some CD’s out of the console of the Monte (some Rob Zombie, if you must know’ I hope that you do not think less of me, but sometimes a little ‘Living Dead Girl’ aids in digestion of Mongolian food) and did not realize that Esteban was resting his elbow on the console and, thus, now have a broken console door. That sucks. Esteban is currently trying to fix the little plastic piece, but I’m not sure how it ever went in. I have faith in his rigging efforts, but as he is flying to Calgary tomorrow and the glue he’s used to fix the little broken plastic piece will take 12 hours to dry, I will have an exposed CD compartment all week. And I won’t be able to wrest my elbow on it either.
Esteban always has a role-playing game date on Sundays. I feel for him, however, as the house at which they play does not have air-conditioning. Also, the owner of the house has installed a fan, pointed directly at himself. Esteban stated that this would not bother him except for the fact that he sits on the opposite end of the table from the owner of the house and apparently these sessions are rife with ass blowing, being as there are only men present (because of course, most women would not put up with flagrant farting, not to mention the prime dorky factor of role playing games in general).
Apparently, several of the participants have the unhealthy ability to lay some deadly stealth farts. Blame can only be laid when their neighbors begin to turn green and mass evacuation happens. Thus, with the homeowner’s fan blowing the air across the table, all ass winds blow toward Esteban and stop there, lingering for tens of minutes. I’ve tried to explain to Esteban that these are the downfalls of game playing, the dorkiness factor aside. He has, however, brought his own fan. It was purely a survival move on his part, he explained. I’m a bit astonished that he actually had to strategize the ‘Fart Defense’ so to speak.
Have I mentioned how glad I am that I am not a man? Never at a Mary Kaye party would someone let a big butt bomb and then start to giggle when throngs of women began to faint or vomit! Never. This is not to say that I don’t fart or that women in general don’t fart. And I may participate in gentle fart humor with Esteban but the sanctity of our relationship upholds a level of fart etiquette. One does not waft a deadly vapor over one’s spouse. One should warn when noxious fumes are present. It is one thing to ‘thip’ playfully, it is entirely another to engage in toxic warfare.
Oh, and that reminds me, last time I saw Joel he asked me if it was “worth his time to read (my) diary again”. No, you fuck, it’s apparently worth my time to write it, but your precious time is far too valuable so don’t bother.
Dumas. (which, by the way, is the refined way of saying “Dumb Ass”)
Seen on a tube of Pantene hair gel:
Full-bodied hair builds a full-bodied soul.
Are we so spiritually bereft that we need to buy our religion with our styling products?
