Then again, I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything I could actually have.
So…yes, today was hot and miserable and we are all dehydrated more from crying about it than actual sweat. I completely understand. I had to work outside, on the patio, so I know how bad it was. Four seconds in to the “umm”s and “well what do YOU think about the crab cakes?”, etc, and I was literally sweating through my shirt. Suffice it to say, I was frowning more than usual.
One of the last tables to sit down was made up of two couples, probably in their early thirties, and a pair of 1 or 2 year old twins, a little boy named Drew, and a girl named Liza. And they were ADORABLE. I hate kids, but Liza kept beating up Drew and pushing him around, and I’m a sucker for kids who are already assholes. I just don’t like it when they talk, or cry, or eat, or chew, or walk around. But pushing your little brother down with no remorse…that’s fine by me.
But I digress. As per usual, I was standing with my hand on my hip, pretending I wasn’t woozy from the heat, and listening intently as each member of this party detailed their dinner order as though it were the most precious recipe of all time. I nod frequently, and say lots of silly things like “Sounds great!”, and “Oh, you guys are killing me, I’m so hungry!”. I should be euthanized, really. Anyway, while the mother of the twins is talking, her little girl pushes herself up in her high chair, cocks her ass to the side, makes eye contact with me, and then lets one rip. Like a full-grown man fart. Like a sound effect fart. And it was so loud that it actually SCARED the little girl. Her own body sounds frightened her.
I lost it. I totally lost my shit. I was doubled over clutching a menu cracking up. Tears in the eyes, the whole deal. That one act of flatulence took me from a totally foul mood to feeling like a million bucks. The woman’s response?
“Uhh…I’m gonna go ahead and order another glass of wine.”
Awesome. Thanks, little farter.
The website “99 Rooms” just scared the FUCK out of me. I couldn’t even make it through all the rooms. No sleep for me. I’m all weirded out.
That kid who won the US Open or whatever (the golfy thing that doesn’t involve windmills or colorful balls), Rory McIlroy:
Is ACTUALLY Harold from “Harold and Maude”. Observe:
Whoa! 40 years, and barely a wrinkle on him! And he golfs now! Amazing.