Archive for January, 2007
Spelling, grammar, and word choice all verbatim.
PANCAKE SUPER (Unfortunately found outside of the Korean Baptist church.)
TOUCH HIS GARMENT (I guess this is better than “Touch his holy meat-hammer” but it’s still weird.)
SOMETIMES A LOVE DIVIDED IS A LOVE MULTIPLIED (wtf? Is this church advocating divorce? Or just bad math?)
IT FEELS LIKE FAMILY (This one REALLY skeeves me out for some reason.)
ABROTION IS ALWAYS WRONG (So is terrible spelling. Jesus hates you.)
COME INTO THE SON (I’m pretty sure this would be the best orgasm you’ve ever had.)
It was a good weekend.
Friday we broke the self-imposed fast of restaurant food and alcohol, not that I really missed it, because I’ve been feeling so sick. Saturday we spent together, back and forth, store to store, working as a team to find what we were looking for, until we realized we needed to get home for the party.
My great-aunt turned 90 on Saturday, but I’ve only spoken to her once, as far as I can recall. She was happy, alert, and had a strong handshake for someone so short and with a hunched back. Her sister, my grandmother, is trapped in her own failing memory. Physically more mobile, but mentally in an unending feedback loop that she can’t seem to recognize. She knows something is wrong, forgets, and then realizes something is wrong again. It’s terrifying to watch.
I wonder if which one I’ll end up like. I guess it doesn’t matter. If I’m lucid, I’ll know it, if I’m not, I won’t.
Saturday night was a relief. We’d made our purchase, and we had friends on the way. Talk, snacks, and wine were enough to make the evening a great time.
The next morning we further obliterated our restaurant embargo with brunch. It was delicious, no doubt, and I only felt the slightest pang of guilt for ordering a Bloody Mary. Bacon is always better when someone else cooks it.
Then we worked all day. Cleaning, assembling, laundering. And off to dinner.
After dinner we were working again. Cleaning, laundering, folding. I wish we had taken a break after the first half-hour, but by the end of the evening I was happy to be in bed, book in hand. We have a great life. Thanks.
1) Thanks for all the elliptical advice. I realize that going for a walk/jog/run outside is better/smarter/cheaper, but Mrs. ACW has bad knees (minds OUT of the gutter), so she can’t really do the running/jogging thing. Also, we get home so late from work that it’s already dark, and I wouldn’t encourage running around our neighborhood in the dark. It’s not like we live in Washington Village or anything like that, but it’s still not exactly “mall-walking” safe. Plus, we’re a couple of lazy lumps (my lovely lazy lumps?) so we think an exercise machine in front of the TV might be helpful.
2) Damn that Lily Allen song is catchy.
3) I got a heads up about the Fratellis from The Slender Reed, watched some of their videos yesterday and thought, “Cool. Maybe for once I’m slightly ahead of the curve.” Then I heard the Fratellis song Chelsea Dagger in a Safeway commercial, cementing my place at the ass-end of current popular culture. I can’t believe I got scooped by a supermarket.
4) The occupational hazard of driving past the airport every morning is that frequently many people on the road have no idea where the fuck they’re going, what the fuck they’re doing, or know how to figure out whether food goes in the up-top hole or in the down-low hole what where the stinkfruit comes from. My first example is from the other night when a cock-snorting shit-bather was driving at HALF the posted speed limit (i.e. 25 in a 50) changing from left to right lane and back again every few seconds. No lie, this fucker changed lanes eight-hundred and forty-three times. When I was FINALLY able to pass the pig-raper I saw that he was on his phone staring at a map in his lap. Awesome. I couldn’t imagine that PULLING OVER FOR A FUCKING MINUTE would have made that process easier. In retrospect I think he was right to go all DeathRace 2000 on our asses.
The second example is from this morning. Once again it’s cell-phone related, and once again the driver was going half the speed limit. But this time it was a member of the fairer sex. Why “the fairer sex”? Because it would have been fairer if I could have pulled her out her her car and given her a free colonoscopy with her cell phone camera before beating her to death with her own bumper. The worst part is that she cut me off in order to go less than HALF the speed at which I was traveling. In the left lane. I hope she gets together with the Mercedes driver from the other day and has a baby so I can kidnap that baby and kill it in front of them.
No, you’re right. That’s not fair. I wouldn’t kill a harmless baby just to prove a point.
But I would have no problem burning their houses to the ground while they were sleeping.
Mrs. ACW and I are considering the purchase of an elliptical trainer machine. Any recommendations/horror stories about any brands?
Thanks
Hey, you’ve got the InformationSuperhighwaynettubesweb, look it up.
Lazy bitch.
Last night Mrs. ACW and I went down to my brother’s house to play with his new Wii. He managed to snag one with varying degrees of subterfuge, espionage, trickery, no-goodnik-ism, and ritual blood sacrifice to Ba’al Zebub. I’m pretty sure that the people at Circuit City made him clean the chicken carcasses (carci?) out of the parking lot before they let him leave with his Wii. I guess it’s a good thing that he keeps a surgical-grade flame-thrower in his trunk.
Anyway, as soon as I got there I demanded the Wii remote to find out if it was as intuitive as everyone said, and within 5 minutes I was so familiar with it that I was designing a new Legend of Zelda game while simultaneously playing with my niece. It was almost TOO simple.
The games are lots of fun, especially bowling. All you have to do is move like you’re bowling, and you bowl. It’s simple. Baseball is the same way. Swing like you’re holding a bat and you hit the ball. Make like you’re throwing and you pitch. Boxing is a little clunky, but it’s virtually the same as the previous two. Swing and you hit. Move and you dodge. It’s so cool!
Tennis is alright, but I found two problems. The first is that you have to conform your swing to the location of your character (Mii). You don’t have any choice as to whether you’ll hit forehand or backhand, you just have to hit the way your Mii is standing. The other problem I found was that I couldn’t figure out which configuration of buttons to hit to have my Mii explode in a McEnroe-like meltdown, attacking the other players and feasting on their brains. Did John McEnroe eat brains? I’m pretty sure he did.
Golf was a little weird. We played a few rounds and then we got to the 19th hole. You have to keep putting the remote up to your face to make your Mii take a drink. If your Mii drinks too fast, he vomits all over the cocktail waitress and you lose. If your Mii drinks too slowly, he’s mocked by the other Miis and has his manhood challenged. Then you have to drive your Mii downtown to hire and subsequently assault a prostitute. It really wears you out, but the process is so similar to what real golfers do that I guess I have to hand it to Nintendo. They’ve created a real quality, family game here that even toddlers should be encouraged to play.
Yesterday Mrs. ACW and I were visiting with her family up in Hanover. Okay, I’ll be honest. It was her family’s Christmas party. Everyone in Mrs. ACW’s family is very nice, and very friendly, but they’re all a little slow. Not short-bus, helmet-wearing slow, but like actually slow. They move at a lower rate of speed than other people. Each year the Christmas party gets later and later. I hear the forthcoming Summer Christmas parties are the best, and that we’ll eventually have the party fall around Christmas in about 10 years, and that should last for about two or three years, but in the meantime, we just have to deal with this comic-book-esque quirk and have the party when the family is ready to have the party. Also, they think it’s 1974.
So, when it started snowing up in Hanover, the family started to skedaddle. They all live varying degrees of south of Hanover and wanted to get on the road ASAP. I figured we could wait for all the other jerks to get into accidents and THEN we could go home, so we stayed about an hour later than everyone else. Once we finally left the roads weren’t too bad, and I was sure that we could get home in about the same amount of time that it took us to get up there.
Unfortunately, some dipshit turdfucking cockbag in a Mercedes was trying to give me an aneurysm. See, Hanover, and northern Maryland in general, isn’t a place that anyone wants to go to for any reason, so all the roads are only two lanes until you get to Westminster, and that’s about 20 miles away.
The first few miles were fine, but there was a large hill that I had coasted down with a “Wee!” on the way to Mrs. ACW’s aunt’s house, and I wasn’t looking forward to going back up that hill in the snow. When we crested the small ridge on the opposite side of that hill I immediately noticed three things. The first was a minivan turning around at the intersection at the lowest point between the small hill I was on, and the large hill in front of me. The second thing I noticed was a car stopped at the top of the large hill. The third thing I noticed was thick black marks behind the car at the top of the hill showing where they had lost their momentum and spun their tires to make it the rest of the way up the hill.
Because the car at the top of the hill wasn’t moving, I knew I would have to wait, because if I stopped behind them on the slope, I would slide back down to the bottom of the hill. So I waited. And I waited. And I waited. And the stupid fucking car at the top of the fucking hill never moved.
Finally, after about five minutes, the brake lights on the car went out and the car at the top of the hill almost imperceptibly started moving forward. Traffic had been piling up behind me, but they could see that I had no options because Shitfuck Cockbag wasn’t going anywhere. I started the car rolling down the hill, slowly but steadily picking up speed until I thought I had just enough to make it to the top of the hill without going so fast that I would hit the scumfucker in what I could now tell was a Mercedes. Just as I was about to pass the minivan, who had been sitting motionless at the intersection at the bottom of the hill, the stupid bitch decided to dart in front of me. I hit my brakes, she realized she was a big retarded piece of shit, and an accident was avoided, but I had lost all my momentum.
I glared, gunned it, and made it 3/4 the way up the hill before my wheels started to spin. As we slowly climbed the hill, I noticed the Mercedes had stopped again. I couldn’t stop because I would slide backwards down the hill, and I saw in my rearview that the car behind me was starting to make it’s attempt down the smaller hill. I figured that I could pass the dumbshit fartlicker in the Mercedes once I crested the hill and could see if there was any oncoming traffic.
Finally, the Mercedes started to move, but my problems were far from over. For the next 15 to 20 miles the Mercedes driver engaged in what can only be referred to as the skullfuckingly stupidest shit that you can do when there’s snow on the road. Braking to almost a stop at the bottom of hills. Braking going up hills. Speeding up for no reason. Slowing down for no reason. It was impossible to follow this nut-sweat drinking pissbucket without knowing that they were going to get you into a wreck.
I backed off and gave as much space as I could, but no matter how slow I tried to go, they would go even slower. And then speed up for no reason. But then, before I knew it, I’d be going 5 miles an hour behind them with their brake lights on and slowing. It was maddening. I really wanted to get out of my car, drag them out of their Mercedes, and beat them to death on the side of the road with a tire-iron. I was infuriated.
Finally, 45 minutes later when we got to Westminster, I was able to pass the Mercedes just in time to notice them cutting off a plow. Superb.
After that the gridlock on the beltway (”Hey, it’s snowing! Who wants to get on the beltway on Sunday afternoon for no reason? Everybody? Great! Get in your cars and let’s go!”) wasn’t even surprising. It was like all the Mercedes’ driver’s friends and relatives had come out to support Shittastic Driving Day.
Mrs. ACW and I detoured around all that bullshit and were home before long. But I swear, if I ever see that Mercedes again when I’m in my Tercel, I’ll ram the fucker right off the road and take us both out in an explosive cacophony of death, screams, fire, and metal.
1) I accomplish about as much work when sick as when well. This is distressing.
2) I can watch any movie when well. When sick, my body won’t let me punish itself with anything worse than The Last Boyscout. Which I watched. In its entirety. After watching Car Wash. Which was awesome. Please send the Car Wash soundtrack post haste.
3) It’s no fun to be sick with your spouse. You don’t even have the energy to fight over who is well enough to get up and get more blankets, or to fetch the remote, so you just lay there shivering while watching QVC hoping for someone to break into your house so they can remedy the situation.
4) I drink three bottles of Gatorade, and even though I don’t have to, I feel you should make an attempt to go to the bathroom, and when I do I just dribble all over the front of the toilet for a few seconds. I haven’t really peed in about 18 hours.
5) And lets talk about poo, shall we? Apparently when I’m sick, my anus turns into an obstinate 5-year-old, throwing a tantrum and sitting down in the middle of the store as opposed to doing what I want it to do. And that is to poop.
6) I can’t think of a sixth thing to write about. Let’s blame that on the illness too.
