And the top five conversations of the week (thus far) go to:
1 - My brother’s roommates:
Background music - Sweet Child of Mine - Guns and Roses
Cody: Hey dude, if you could play guitar like that, I bet you could get someone to sleep with you.
Matt: I get girls to sleep with me all the time.
Cody: I can’t believe that. There aren’t THAT many stupid women out there.
Me: Cody, I think you underestimate the amount of women who will give a decent looking guy with no brains a pity fuck.
2 - An e-mail conversation regarding tact with a very wise friend:
Tact is the way to tell a woman that she is fat...
Woman: "Honey, do these jeans make me look fat?"
Answer A: Yes.
Answer B: Babes you make them look amazing.
Answer C: ~ignoring~ do you think this shirt is tight, damn I need to get back into the gym, wish I had a workout partner as hot as you to motivate me ~lustful look~
Answer D: No, they don't make you look fat, you are fat.
If you're dating women insipid enough to ask you that question to begin with, they deserve the tactless answers.
I, however, never ask those questions.
I'm well aware that I'm fluffy.
Gotta love diseases and medications.
But if I ever get all out, jesus christ, save me from myself, fat . . .
Robin has agreed to smack me in the mouth with a sledgehammer.
Surely to God, I can't continue to gain weight if my jaw is wired together.
She has also agreed to do so if I ever stop getting asked out by men.
Because if that occurs, it's quite obvious that I'm too fat or too damn mouthy for my own good.
So . . . again . . . the sledgehammer solves both problems.
3 - Child center Preschool teacher Deedra:
Deedra: “Happy Valentine’s Day, Ms. Brittany.”
Smiling cheerfully, yet ruefully; “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
Deedra: “Gonna give him some tonight?”
Brutal honesty: “If by him, you mean that lovely battery powered male appendage located in the top drawer of my night stand. Most certainly.”
Deedra: “What happened to that guy?”
Confused, and looking it: “Huh? What guy??!!?”
Deedra: “That guy you were with out in the parking lot the other day.”
Wan smile: “Oh, you mean Stalker #3.”
Her turn to look confused: “Stalker??”
Me: “Ohhhhh yeaaaaahhhh. That would be Mr. I Just Happened to Drive By Your House In Your Isolated Neighborhood 25 Miles From My Own at 2:00 A.M. on a Wednesday and Saw Your Lights On and Thought I Would Call Four Times in a Row and Text Mail In Case the Ringing Didn’t Get Your Full Attention.”
The Eternal Optimist: “He’s too fine to be a stalker.”
Alarmed, yet not surprised: “D, you judge stalkers on their fine-ness??”
Her own brand of honesty: “Yeah. And their bank accounts.”
Laughing: “D, isn’t that a bit shallow?”
Laughing, as well: “Not if you’re swimming in money with a fine man.”
Bemused: “D, aren’t you always complaining that your man is broke and quote, unquote not that cute?”
Patting me on the back: “Yeah. So you should really listen to me. This is the voice of experience talking. Go for the fine guys or the rich guys. If you can get both, marry it.”
I’m so not taking her advice.
4 - With a three-year old child in therapy:
Small back story - this particular child has very strict parents. With very odd rules.
We’re naming body parts.
Touching her elbow: “What’s this?”
K: “My elbow.”
Touching her stomach: “What’s this?”
K: “My tummy.”
Touching her foot/shoe: “What’s this?”
K: “My shoe.”
Confused as how to get the answer I want, because I don’t want to take her shoe off: “But what would it be if we took your shoe off?”
K: “A spanking.”
5 - My friend Amanda, with my voice-mail:
“Hey Britt, you skank, you never answer your phone. You suck. Boo! Anyways, I had some things to tell you but I know better than to leave them on your voice-mail because you never check your voice-mail either. Why do you have a cell phone? Or voice-mail? And why am I talking about all this on a voice-mail you’re never going to listen to? And yet here I am still jabbering away on this message. I wonder how long I can talk before it just cuts me off. Do you have a limit or can I recite the Gettysburg address on here. Not that I know the Gettysburg address. But I do know all the words to Ice, Ice Baby. Maybe I could recite that. But not sing it because you know I can’t sing. Alright. So. Yeah. I should stop leaving this message, but I’m bored so instead, here goes. Stop, collaborate and listen, Ice is back with my brand new . . . shit, there’s a beep, I bet I’m about to get cut off before . . . “ BEEP.