I was about to start this entry by telling you that I was going to be entirely random but then I realized, “And that is different than…?” Thus, this entry is a Star-bellied Sneech.
I just got done reading Fraud by David Rakoff, which was part of a birthday present from Chauffi. I am loving David Rakoff, even though he’s brilliant and makes me feel as smart and edgy as Jell-o. I mean, I’m marinating in the friendliest part of the country. If a screenwriter wants to show that a character is naive, overly stupid, or extremely wholesome, they say they’re from Wisconsin. Kevin Smith made it God’s punishment for some bad angels. Gosh darn it anyway.
I received the contents of an online book-buying binge yesterday. Esteban opened the package and perused it, because his Fuzzy Logic, a compilation of Get Fuzzy comics, was also inside. I was a bit concerned that it would bother him, reading a comic book about a cat that looks remarkably like our departed cat Pookie, right down to the single long fang, but he dug into the book with relish. And mustard. Wait… I just used that joke last week.
He also got an opportunity to see the other things I had purchase… and panic. Besides the Buffy The Vampire Slayer Season 2 DVD set and the literary (and to him) non-interesting, stuff such as Gerald Locklin’s Candy Bars and Other Stories, Ethan Canin’s The Palace Thief Stories, eclectic weirdness like Sorting Things Out: Classification and Its Consequences, there was also some girly feminist stuff like The Bust Guide to the New Girl Order and Gloria Steinem’s Outrageous Acts and Everyday Rebellions. Esteban drew the latter from the box with a look of utter horror on his face, calling me a left-wing hippy freak. I think he sometimes holds me at arm’s length, as though I might spontaneously combust into a fury of Camille Paglia-esque radicalism and immediately eschew the societal norms, which keep women tied down. Or something. Then I held my breath as he pulled the last book from the box, Nerve: Literate Smut. I waited to hear what scathing remark would come from that particular book. He replied, “Hey… leave that one in the bathroom.” Teehee!
Last night, Esteban and I were swimming at Club Parents before they came home. I was wearing my seductive/annoying suit that exposes far more boobage than I feel is appropriate, but is also a lot nicer to swim in because it was made for racing and not to look cute. I’m getting very annoyed at my bouyancy. I physically cannot sink. It’s a workout to get to the bottom of the pool. If I had been on the Titanic, I would have been floating there, sans lifejacket, calling everyone a bunch of whiners. Then, for shock value, I flashed Esteban under the water and discovered that not only does my ass float, my boobs do as well. In fact, it is the most impressive display of perking that I’ve ever seen. They positively defy gravity in water. They are front and center and I look like I belong on the side of a WWII bomber or something. Of course, Esteban then proceeded to, er, hoist his main sail. Hello! I suppose I asked for that, being all wanton and flashy and such, but it was just such a shock, those perky perfectly shaped islands just barely breaking the surface of the water. It was like I had Barbie’s rack all of the sudden. And then I had a realization. I don’t need better bras… I need to become a curvilicious mermaid.
Note to self: investigate cute glam scuba gear.
Scene: Bedtime.
Esteban: (farting)Ahhh!
Weetabix: I really wish you wouldn’t do that.
Esteban: Fart? You wish I wouldn’t fart?
Weetabix: Exactly.
Esteban: How does someone not fart? Seriously. I would think the pressure–
Weetabix: You know… you might hurt yourself… (laughing) you…you… might… (strangled gleeful gibberish) anus!
Esteban: WHAT?!?!?
Weetabix: You might…. tee hee hee… your…. (laughing) you might forcibly expel your anus! Inside out!!! (gleeful laughter)
Esteban: (Looking at her incredulously)
Weetabix: (Laughing so hard she can barely breathe) And… and… it would hang outside of your body, inside out…. like… like a…. like an ANUS TAIL! (erupts into uncontrollable laughter)
Esteban: What are you talking about?
Weetabix: And…. and…. when you farted… it would be like letting a balloon go around room! Bah! (makes a wavy motion with her hand) Bptptptpptptptpt!!!!!!
Esteban: You’re an absolute freak sometimes, do you know that?
Weetabix: (gasping for breath through her giggles) Distended Anal Syndrome!
Esteban: You took too many Benadryl again didn’t you?
Scene: Driving home from dinner with Ward and June.
Esteban: You know what’s a cool word? Occipital. That’s a cool word. It’s neat to say. Occipital.
Weetabix: Do you know what that means?
Esteban: No’ um’ it’s a ‘. Place? It’s the Occipital Area? Like Area 51? It’s the real name for Area 51?
June: Oh it is not?
Esteban: How do you know? Maybe the government is keeping that secret.
Weetabix: It’s a part of your brain.
Esteban: Area 51?
Weetabix: No. The Occipital Lobe.
Esteban: If we’re from Wisconsin, do we have Cow-cipital lobes? Because we don’t have oxen here. You know’ Ox-Cipital lobe? And do the people in Maine have Lobstipital lobes?
Weetabix: OCK-cipital Lobe.
Esteban: Does that mean there are eight of them?
Weetabix: Not Oct. OC. Like ‘ocular’.
Ward: She has a point. Ocular cavity. Ocular nerve. It’s all connected in that area there. And speaking of all connected, boy I am full. I’m going to need to sit on the john.
Esteban: Me too. I think I have a long one coming up. You know what I wonder? Why don’t bidets have seats? Occipital seats?
June: (who has a bidet in her bathroom) You don’t sit on them. You sit backwards on them.
Esteban: But that doesn’t mean that you couldn’t have a seat. You could still have a seat on the thing.
June: You don’t actually sit on it. You just hover.
Esteban: Doesn’t it get your clothes all wet? I mean, you’d have to completely be bare-assed on the thing then if you face backward.
June: No’ no’ you just–
Ward: Take one leg out.
June: Yeah, you just have to step out of one side.
Esteban: But wouldn’t that leave you all wet when you stood up?
June: You wipe off before you stand.
Weetabix: Too’much’. Information’ going deaf’.
Esteban: (horrified, thinking of the times he’s taken showers at Ward and June’s house)Wait’ where do you keep those towels?!?!
June: On the towel bar.
Esteban: OH. MY. GOD! I mean, think about it. What if you accidentally used those towels on your hands or face?
June: So? The same as any other towel.
Esteban: They must be covered in poo!
June: No. That’s why you’re one there Est’Teb’Bahn. To clean the poo off.
Esteban: See’ there’s poo involved. There’s going to be poo in the basin.
Ward: Uh-oh. I can see where this is going.
June: There is not! It’s very clean!
Esteban: But you’ve got to admit that there’s maybe microscopic poo. Not like a poo covered towel but little atoms of poo.
June: Oh Esteban! Ward! Listen to your son!
Ward: Hey’ I’m not’
Esteban: Oh my god. I just had a horrifying thought. What it’ what if you had the wrong temperature? What if’ things got too hot’ or they got too cold. There’s stuff down there’ stuff that shouldn’t be getting too hot or too cold. Like that area between your potatoes and your gopher hole. I’m thinking I don’t want anything cold shooting up right there.
Weetabix: You never know what might happen. That’s a magical male spot. It might be a secret button. It might’ it might’
Esteban: It’s Area 51! Don’t ask, don’t tell.
Ward: They got to keep Area 51 cold to keep the aliens frozen. I saw that in a movie once.
Esteban: Ahhh’ I hate to think about that.
June: You turn on the faucets first and test the water’ and then you shoot the water.
Esteban: God’ could you imagine though? Trying to explain to your doctor how you scalded Area 51?
Ward: It would be an occipital scalding.
Esteban: This is what I’m saying.
Weetabix: One time when Mo came over and was looking at your bidet, I told her that it was so that you could wash your hands while you were still on the toilet.
June: Did she believe you?
Weetabix:I think she was younger. Maybe 17.
Esteban: It’s better than telling her it was a dental sink.
June: ESTEBAN!!!
Weetabix: God, I wish I had my little recording device. I would so put this on the Internet.
Esteban: God, I gotta take a dump.
June: Not at our house! You might leave microscopic poo.
Esteban: Oh. It’s not going to be microscopic.
June: Weetabix’ aren’t you glad that you married into our family?
Esteban: Bah. She thinks poo is hysterical.
Weetabix: I do. Please stop now, all of this laughter is making my hives hurt.
Esteban: Ok. I wonder how many bodies you could fit in one of those ice freezers.
June: I suppose it would depend if they were alive or dead. If they were alive, you could tell them ‘Move this way’ or whatever.
Esteban: I would say six or seven. You’d have to stack ’em.
Weetabix: It’s not the Family of Poo. It’s like the Manson family.
June: You’re just figuring this out now?
Weetabix: Hey. I always get the last word on my conversation entries. So there.
