Sunday, January 13, 2013

Corn Dogs and RuPaul

When Mike and I were early in our relationship there were many incidents which, in hind sight, would be a huge red light.  Obviously I was blinded by love and the burn of cat urine. 

Back off ladies.  He's all mine.

There was the time we were in the checkout line in the grocery store.  Our groceries were already scanned and I was ready to pay.  There was a woman behind me in the line and a young girl was ringing up my total.  A boy, maybe 16 years old, was bagging up the purchase.  Mike quickly walked away from the checkout line towards the door and loudly proclaimed, “Jesus, Susan!” as he waved his hand in front of his nose, "You couldn't wait until you got outside"?  The son of a bitch ripped a silent but deadly and pinned it on me.  There was no where to run.  The gaseous toxic smell made it hard to find my debit card.  The looks I got… the fucking looks I got from all those people.   The young people really piss me off.  I wanted to fucking kill the bag boy.  Maybe it was because he was young and didn't know the pain of embarrassment or maybe I just wanted to thin the population of yet another douche canoe in training. 

Then there was the weird week where every time we drove somewhere he would ask me if I was hungry or craving anything.  By the fifth day I realized he asked me whenever we were near an eatery of some kind.  It didn't matter the time of day or even if we had just eaten, he still asked. He was really starting to fucking piss me off.  There is nice and then there is fucking annoying in a weird serial-killer-way nice.  He was approaching serial killer really quickly, especially with the fake super concerned smile while he talked thing.  I wanted to punch him but he was usually driving the car and that could just end badly.  Turns out, for the entire week previous, just as I had fallen asleep, he was whispering, “ corn dog” in my ear over and over again.  He picked a food item I would never have eaten normally just to see if he could infiltrate my brain.  Fucking ass hole thought he could control me with mother fucking mind control.  Guess who’s in control now, you fuck nugget.

When I was pregnant with our first born we had to look for a new car since my 2 seat pickup truck wasn't going to cut it with a baby seat.  People get all  kinds of righteous and angry when they see babies riding in the beds of trucks.  They already get kind of pissed off when dogs are kept back there.  So a new car was in our future.  I sold the pickup which left us with one car and a shared work commute.  It was a stormy Florida morning with tons of thunder and lightening and even more rain.  I was big.  Like, bowling ball exiting my vagina big.  You would thing at this state in my pregnancy my fucking husband would be kind and gentle and loving and shit.  He ran out to the car first and got in.  For some reason I didn't have an umbrella.  Honestly though, I live in fear that an umbrella is just a sure way to die from electrocution.  Why the fuck would I willingly hold a lightning rod in an electrical storm.  It is quite similar to my fear of leaving cats inside the house with a toaster or crock pot plugged in.  Fucking cats are pyromaniacs.  Why the fuck would I leave a fire machine for them to use?  Anyway, I was running out to the car.  It was dark and raining super hard.  Since Mike had just gotten in the car, the interior light was still on and I could see him.  I could see the cock sucker smiling.  I could see him hitting the fucking car locks.  Then the lightning struck and illuminated my face.  My soggy, mascara streaked with rage and death, face.  He unlocked the door.  I got in.  The fucker says, “I just wanted to see your face”.  He just wanted to see my fucking face. 

He didn't stop there.  One night we came home and someone (fucking Mike) forgot to lock the fucking front door to the house.  Let me just say here and now that I HATE fucking horror movies.  I don’t watch them because I would rather have happy fucking thoughts.    I make Mike go in the house first because if there is a serial killer or homicidal maniac inside, the mother fucker who forgot to lock the door gets to die first.  Plus, it will give me a chance to run and save myself.  Anyway, he goes in the house and heads toward our bedroom.  Just as I round the corner to enter the bedroom, the fucker runs around the corner screaming, “OH MY GOD! HE’S GONNA GET ME”!  After slightly peeing my pants, partially from fear and partially from being 9 fucking months pregnant, I just started to cry.  I cried like a little fucking baby because my douche bag of a husband thinks he is a fucking solid gold fucking genius comedian.  I wondered how the fuck I could have married such an ass hole.  Then, a few days later, I realized that all fucking men think they are fucking solid gold fucking genius comedians.  I ran over to my friend Karey’s house.  I called first because it was late at night and I’m fucking thoughtful like that.    I pull in her driveway, exit the car, and walk towards her house.  Karey’s fucking jack wagon husband, Matt, jumps out from in front of his truck and growls at me.  MOTHER FUCKER!  I almost went into labor right there in the driveway. 
                                          Matt                                             Drunk Bear
As you can see, Karey is one lucky lady as well.

The conclusion that I have made from these and other events in my life are that men are genetically wired to die early from “accidental” or “unknown” causes and they are all severely brain damaged from birth.  I've started watching a lot of RuPaul’s Drag Race with my two toddler boys just so they know they have options later in life.  Regardless of their future, I love that they keep asking, “Daddy, are you a woman”?  Solid gold, baby.  

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