Dinner Conversations Part Two: Highlander or Viking?

Me: I cant stand the suburbs of (town). Whenever we drive through, I feel like I should drink every time I see yoga pants. I would be fucking lit before we left the subdivision.
Jason: I actually like it there. It seems like there’s some normal people.
Me: You’re not slowly trying to lead me towards suburbs and children are you? Because if that’s the case we have a conversation we need to have and I have bags I need to pack.
Jason: No no, that’s the exact opposite of what you should be worried about. I’m coming from the position that I would be stealing wives of (town) and talking them out of their yoga pants.
Me: You know, it’s a small community. Word would probably spread quickly and I don’t think their husbands would take too kindly to that.
Jason: It’s borrowing, not stealing. They seem neighborly down there.
Me: Is this something else I should be worried about?
Jason: No, no you shouldn’t.
Me: OK then.
Jason picks up his steak with both hand and takes a huge bite out of it.
Me: You really should have been a Norse invader or a clansmen the way you’re biting into that steak. All furry with war paint. Wielding a fucking ax or broadsword or something like that.
Jason: I told you I have no couth. And it would be a fucking ax. And which end I used would depend on the day. Is it all business or pleasure? Rape or pillage? Ugh. That piece was a little fattier than I thought.
Me: I’m sure you never said that after a drunken night.
Jason: No, actually, I haven’t.
Me: (sigh.) Just remember to pillage before you burn.
Jason: Noted.

Things That Probably Shouldn’t Be Done with Sprinkles

Me: Let’s go to the grocery store to get stuff for ice cream sundaes. We should go all out and get sprinkles and stuff. Ehehehe, you could make a sundae out of me!

Jason: That sounds sticky.
Me: Yeah, you’re probably right. Thinking about it now, rainbow sprinkles turn your tongue different colors. That would be pretty awkward if you got sprinkles in your hoo-ha and it turned it rainbow. I wonder how long that would last for. I bet all that sugar would be itchy too. And what if you missed some of the sprinkles? That would be super weird if they were falling out of you all day. But then you could explain to people that you literally do piss rainbows. It would be a very unique calling. I’m sure there’s someone, somewhere that would pay good money for that.
Jason: You’re probably right . . .
Me: Capital business ideas. That’s what I’m here for. Let’s get ice cream.

You Can’t Deny Nature

Me: So I was researching Rattlesnakes today. Apparently they nest in mountain valleys upwards of 11,000 ft,  like damp areas, and prefer temperatures of 50-80 degrees. It looks like they hide during mid day. So I’m safe to walk the dogs at noon. Look, they’re little, and I don’t think Henry would make it if he stumbled across one.
Jason: So we can add this to the ever growing list of your anxieties?
Me: Exactly.
Jason: Heights, snakes, God you’re just like my mom.
Me: Yes, you have successfully married your mother. Congratulations, the Oedipal complex has come full circle.

She Knows What She’s Doing

We had a concert to go to after Jason finished demoing some mountain bikes, so he brought a change of clothes with him so he didn’t have to keep wearing his bike shorts all night. The following is what happened after we parked downtown, mid afternoon.
Jason: God I can’t wait to get out of these shorts.
Me: Yeah. but there’s people everywhere. I know you’re cool showing off your ballsack to the world, but I don’t think everyone else is ok with seeing it.
Jason: Yeah, I know. Help me find the sun shield. That should give me some privacy from the front.
Me: God dammit, we need to sort out our summer and winter gear, I cant find anything back here. OK, here it is. Oh man, I’ll shut my door so that family in the yard next to us doesn’t see you. Looks like they’re having a garage sale.
Jason: Oh I didn’t even see them! See, it’s this kind of shit that I’m worried will get me arrested.
Jason starts to take off his bike shorts in the drivers seat
Me: Oh shit!!! There’s a little girl with her grandma! Where did they come from?? Change faster!!!
Jason: I can’t I’m stuck! GAH! This is EXACTLY what I was worried about!!
Jason hands me his sweaty bike shorts that he’s turned inside out as he scrambles for his underwear
Me: Ewww. I don’t want these! And I don’t want your sweaty stinky ball cup touching the beers! Gross! I’m putting them here. Oh man that girl was like 12 too. Oh phew they’re gone, the coast is clear.
Jason: She was not 12. She was like 17.
Me: Dude there’s no way. She was a little kid.
Jason: Did you see her face?! That girl looked like she knew what to do with a dick. 
 
Me:  . . . . .(looking at Jason with slanted eyes)
 
Are you ready yet?
Jason: Yes.
Me: Good. Lets go.

The Joys of Community

This morning I begrudgingly took the dogs outside in the rain because Jason said he didn’t have time before work. I’m pretty sure he sleeps in deliberately and takes extra time in the shower to ensure that he can never take them out. Like, he’s trimming every hair on his beard one follicle at a time in hopes of being able to escape this, or maybe he’s just trying to vex me. Rather than be the put together and pressed professional he could be to represent us to our condo community, he leaves it to me to make the two-story trek in my plaid pajama bottoms, knock off Ugg boots, and rats nest of morning hair. I don’t even get a cup of coffee first as I’m usually panic stricken at any moment Henry won’t be able to hold it anymore and will piss all over the carpet. At this point the upstairs hall and guest room looks vaguely like a map of Uganda, lower Asia, and possibly Patagonia. Henry also has an issue with, or a fondness of, electrical cords, things that are easy to shred, and sticks, and usually finds many inappropriate items to get his little jaws around. He’s a special little dog. We live on the second floor of an eight-unit condo complex, that is half residential and half commercial. Soooodasooopaaaaa. (Kudos if you get that reference.) Before I even take the dogs out, I have to strain to hear if any doors are being opened, and sometimes I’ll run upstairs to the second floor window to make sure the coast is clear in the atrium. GOD FORBID I run into one of my neighbors. Ever. Condo wasn’t the right choice in retrospect.

To get to the proper pissing area outside, I herd my geriatric terrier and hyperactive “Chipin” through a door to the commercial side, where Henry periodically breaks loose and terrorizes women and small children, and Wookie moves at a snail’s pace into the elevator. (I just discovered yesterday Chipin was a real thing, and unfortunately, I managed to adopt one. Henry was my biggest mistake of July 2017. But the little fur ball has grown on me since then.) We ride down to the parking garage and Henry bites and barks at Wookie all the way to the bottom, until, the doors open and we play Frogger around the parked and moving cars. Finally, the boys sprint to the courtyard opening, and burst into the freedom of sunlight, fresh American mountain living, and limitless possibilities of things to pee on. If I’m unlucky, I run into people I know. This happens frequently. It’s kind of like a community at a playground where people mingle just from the standpoint they have children, and that gives them a common ground, even though they would never, ever, ever think to attempt socialization with these people under any other circumstance, apocalypse notwithstanding. Most people here seem to have dogs, so as my dogs stand there awkwardly and antisocially amongst the other normal dogs, it gives me a common ground that I can make strained small talk over before I run for cover inside. Nothing is quite the conversation starter like watching your dog pass the neon green earplug that went missing in the middle of the night, or having to pull threads out of your dog’s ass so he stops dragging butt and looking at you pathetically. Yay for being THAT dog mom.

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I LOVE TOY!!!!!

This morning it had been pouring rain and at first glance I thought it had knocked a ton of sticks around, but when I looked closely there were actually tons of earth worms everywhere. Naturally, OPERATION SAVE THE EARTHWORMS kicked into high gear as my dogs scattered looking for places to shit. While still in my pajama bottoms (I mention still in my pajama bottoms, because my neighbors haven’t annoyed me to the point I would aggressivley strip naked and sprint through the commons area. But every day is a new day,) I found a stick, proceed to crouch down along the sidewalk, and systematically began to pick up and fling each earthworm for safety moving down the entire path. Priorities, and I’m doing nature a favor here. 9am and I already have points for saving the environment. I realize now in retrospect that I must have looked insane from anyone who happened to look out the windows onto the courtyard, but I swear my heart was in the right place. Even Wookie was looking at me like I was batshit crazy waiting for me to take him back inside. This is why I should have coffee before I leave the front door. So I can be caffeinated and fling worms even faster while my dogs silently judge me as I save the planet. How fast does an earthworm get safely back underground? Water table dependent? What is a “safe” water level for an earthworm? I guess the level where they aren’t drowning? How fast do they chew? How DO worms chew? Where is the worm’s mouth? Did the birds get them anyway before they made it back in after I saved them? Is the early bird pre or post 9am? Nature is vicious.

Before bed, I took the dogs out again because it seemed like the responsible thing to do, and we don’t need to add Madagascar or Sicily to our bedroom. This time, it was fucking pouring rain and dark. Luckily, Wookie is prissy, and neither dog likes to be wet so it was the quickest shit I’d seen from both of them in a while, until Henry started going after all the sticks. Nope. Not sticks. Massive fucking earth worms that Henry just decided he NEEDED in his mouth. Ugh. Jason might be picking up extra 24 hours shifts to get away from me or the dogs, but he’s not owning up to it.

There’s a Guinea Pig in That Bag

There’s a supermarket that’s about 30 seconds from my front door. Which is great convenience-wise, but the problem is it’s geared towards mountain tourists and you’ll pay $8 for a Hot Pocket and $15 for a jar of Vaseline. Not saying I was shopping for either, in any particular order, ever. It was just for comparative purposes. Anyway, they have trouble keeping full-time help and mostly local high schoolers fill the role of check-out clerk. I frequent the establishment for their breakfast burritos and fine salad bar, and have gotten to know some of the check-out staff. That’s how I met Chuck. And Chuck was not a high schooler, He was just high. (His name has been changed to protect his identity.)
It started like any other unassuming check-out conversation, How’s your day? I like that brand, genocide in Myanmar, etc when we got on the topic of pot stickers, which I happened to be purchasing. Things took an unexpected turn.
Me: Have you tried this brand? They’re really good and inexpensive.
Chuck: No! But you know who has the best potstickers?? That Chinese place down a town over!.
Me: Really? I’ll have to check it out.
Chuck: Yeah! That place is awesome! And I don’t think the bartender knows how to make drinks, because he basically fills the glass with vodka and then puts a splash of Sprite in it. It’s crazy. I hang out around there and wait for them to open after every time I get out of jail. That place is awesome!
This also followed a previous conversation we had about doughnuts.
Me: (Holding a bag of doughnuts)
Chuck: What’s in the bag?
Me: A guinea pig.
Chuck: Haha! That’s awesome! That reminds of the time some friends of mine who were major stoners, got a guinea pig and let it run around their apartment. It made a huge mess and when their landlord found out, he got really pissed off and evicted them. They couldn’t keep it anymore, and didn’t know what to do with it. They didn’t want to throw it out or release it to the wild, so they put it in a paper bag and put it on this girls doorstep who they knew wouldn’t get rid of it. So they rang the doorbell and ran away, and the girl kept it and took care of it.
Me: It’s actually three doughnuts.
Chuck: Cool. I’ll give them to you for 50% off.
Me: Awesome.
Chuck: Have a great day!
Chuck is the nicest, friendliest, check-out clerk I have ever had, and is the only one I know that keeps a flask in the front pocket of his store apron. Chuck is one of my absolute, most favorite people, and I’m pretty sure I know why he’s working as a check-out clerk. I will gladly continue to purchase doughnuts from him.
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