Before today’s post, just a few quick reminders:
First, for only $7.00, you can win a chance for a roundtrip ticket to Orlando for the Halloween Party! And if you get your friends to sponsor you by buying tickets in your name, you’ll increase your chances! Right now, only a few people have purchased raffle tickets, so your chances are pretty good of winning at least one of the prizes, including all four Halloween T-shirts. Void where prohibited by law. Just use the button below:
(If the button doesn’t appear, click here.)
Secondly, you can find all of the new T-shirts in the sidebar where they’ll be for the next month or so.
Finally, don’t forget to email me (my first name at my last name dot com) with a photo of you and/or your spouse or s.o. as a child, teen, or young adult for a cool project we’re doing that will tie into Halloween, even if you’re not attending!
And now back to your regularly scheduled hilarity:
It was another normal work day. Normal meaning, of course, that I was in my underwear, we were at my house, and there was lots of non-work related blog discussion going on.
Around 11, I called out to Britt’s office. “Do you want to go to lunch soon?”
“Siiiiiiigh. I guessss so.” You’d think I was inviting her to be tortured or to watch Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 (which in all truthiness I would totally go see because I love Alexis Bledel).
“Well, we don’t have to. If you want to stay and eat that delicious cottage cheese you brought, you can do that. I’ll just go find a new friend to eat lunch with.”
“Fine, fucker. I will stab you where you stand, so you’d better watch it.”
Ah yes, a normal work day between boss and employee.
We got in her car, cranked up the AC and rolled the windows down to let some of the heat out. Britt pulled out of the driveway and headed towards Mimi’s, the restaurant. I don’t remember exactly what we were discussing, but it went something like this:
“SHOOOOOONMAWKAHWOBBLE,” Britt exhaled a cloud of smoke, “So I’m awesome and you’re not. Suck my nuts.”
“You make my heart hurt when you say those mean and hurtful things,” I pleaded.
“BWAHAHAHA! I laugh at your misery and stomp on your pain!” She cackled.
Anyways, as we were having this conversation, we pulled up to a traffic light and stopped. A truck pulled up next to us and I happened to look over, only to see a spider fly in Britt’s window and land on the inside of the door.
I reached over to quickly kill it, but that’s when Britt saw it. “YIEEEEEE!” she squealed and somehow managed to almost jump over into my lap while keeping her foot on the brake. The little fucker (the spider, not Britt) was quick, and it skittered down the door over to the floor. “ohgod ohgod ohgod ohgod ohgod,” Britt chanted, almost hyperventilating.
The light turned green and Britt shifted her foot over to the gas while still managing to be half in my seat. As we drove the block to the restaurant, she kept squirming, and rubbing her legs like she could feel it running up her body. “It’s okay,” I said soothingly, “it’s under the seat but it’s not on you. I can see the floor and if it goes for your foot, I’ll tell you, okay? I promise, it’s not going to be on you.”
“YOU CAN’T PROMISE THAT!” She shrieked, continuing to freak out while driving down a major road with cars speeding by us.
“I do promise. You’re going to be okay. Just don’t kill us. Just drive and trust me – it won’t get on your leg.”
She pulled into the parking lot and quickly turned into the first available space. Not even pulling all the way in, she managed to throw the car into Park and leap out of the vehicle in a movement so graceful I would have sworn she was part monkey. “Kill it kill it kill it kill it!” She demanded.
I got out of the car and went over to her side of the car. I pushed her seat all the way back and didn’t see the spider. Then I lifted out her floormat and there it was.
“SEE! I knew it was near my feet! You fucker fucker fucker!” Britt pounded on my shoulder.
I reached down with a receipt that I had picked up and went to kill the innocent little thing. It moved fast though, and disappeared behind the center console. “Damn!”
“Did it get away? Oh God I can never drive this car again!”
“No, no. I got it. It was fast, though.” I used the receipt and quickly grabbed a small piece of food that was on the floor. I mashed it up in the receipt.
“I don’t believe you – show me!” I opened the receipt and showed her the mashed food. “Ewww, okay. Thank you.” We started moving towards the restaurant.
“I just totally saved your life.”
“I know! You’re the best boss ever!”
“As far as you know.” I mumbled.
“Nothing! I said, ‘I’m totally a hero!’ Now, let’s go eat.”
The End. Well, my end at the very least, once she reads this and realizes that spider is still living somewhere in her car.
Make-up, cosmetic surgery, and women’s self-image: Where does the problem start?
For Episode Six of “Clearly, you’re retarded”, Britt and I will be using language to wound at 9 PM EST on Talkshoe. The topic tonight is COSMETIC SURGERY – Why do women feel the need to make themselves look different than their natural look? Join in on the fun by listening live! You can listen live online at Talkshoe.com, or download the Talkshoe application and you can chat and even call in!