This weekend featured an odyssey into full-blown adulthood. After getting our new mattress, which Jason and I were unhealthily excited about, we made a trek to Target to donate our weekly $80. Our shopping list did not consist of a single cool item: furnace filters, shower curtain liners, kitchen sponges, and cough syrup. Seriously. In a fit of rebellion, I purchased a bottle of Mt. Dew just to prevent myself from aging another 30 years.
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During our weekly weekend Game Night, where we blast loud music in the basement and play foosball and darts, we discovered that I can actually beat Jason at darts. (But only if the Beastie Boys are playing.) I won by hitting a triple 15, which is amazing considering the fact that I always aim at a bullseye and never hit anything but the right side of the board. Actually, what usually happens is that I hit the wall, and my dart caroms wildly to stick in the carpet like a menacing syringe, inches away from the cats, who do not comprehend the danger they are in. So my amazingly bad play is always compounded by the fact that I am nervous about hitting a feline’s major organ.
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To further demonstrate our adultness, Jason and I then had a very serious discussion, in which we tried to pinpoint the exact moment Nick Nolte and Gary Busey became indistinguishable. Conclusion: sometime after Blue Chips.
Jason and I went to eat at Old Country Buffet (OCB) this weekend for Sunday breakfast. We only go there every 6 months or so, because that’s all our digestive systems will tolerate. (Maybe it’s because I had both fried chicken AND chocolate ice cream for breakfast. Or did I?) I told Jason we should eat at OCB every day for a month and do our own documentary, a la “Super Size Me.”
I’d call it: “O-C-Besity.” Ha ha! I kill me. (If the fried chicken doesn’t first.)
I have an intense urge to speak in German today, if for no other reason than to express my annoyance with people in the form of guttural questions like, “Was diese scheise ist?” which in my mind translates roughly to: “What is this shit?” Because, as everyone knows, you need to use a harsh-sounding language when you’re annoyed. Such as German. Or Russian. Of which my vocabulary includes only a single phrase that means “Go screw your mother.”
Unfortunately, the only German phrases I’ve retained from my mandatory two years of high school language study are “Wo ist Monica?” (”Where is Monica?”) “Im boot.” (”In the boat.”) Which does not lend itself to everyday conversations, especially since 1) I do not know anyone named Monica and 2) I do not own a boat.
Anyway, in a city the size of Minneapolis, it’s not very often that you’ll run into someone you know. It’s even less likely that you’ll find yourself behind the same vehicle two days in a row. Especially considering all the factors that had to happen for this coincidence to occur: freeway lane choice, traffic volume, departure times, vehicle speed, stoplight length, etc.
And yet, that’s what happened to me this week. At the same stoplight in downtown Minneapolis, I found myself behind the same vehicle two days in a row. The only reason I knew was because of the bumper stickers. One proclaimed:
“Vaginas are Cool!”
Yes.
And the other featured what appeared to be a flamingo, but upon closer inspection turned out to be a woman with her head between her knees and her butt in the air. All very anatomically detailed.
To which I said, “Was diese scheise ist?”
