A conversation with my model/wannabe-rockstar house mate. We commented on Leonardo DiCaprio because we'd been watching "Catch Me If You Can" earlier in the day. We don't really like Leo that well, but it's hard to turn down a good Tom Hanks movie. We just don't flock to every pretty-boy banner that Hollywood hoists and declares to be the new God of Entertainment. She had recently enjoyed the movie "Pirates of the Caribbean" and proposed that a law be passed that banned DiCaprio from appearing in further movies unless Johnny Depp was in them. I tired of the subject of Leo and commented "I'd heard he got his start in Amish porn."
She admitted later that her first thought was "There's Amish people in LA?"
What came out was, "Huh? HAHAHAHAHA (thump) ow!" as she fell off the cedar chest she had been sitting on. "HAHAHAHAHA, oowwwwwwww my legs, you bitch!"
I laughed, I was used to "HAHAHAHAHA,ow!" but this was the best response I'd gotten out of her yet, so I said so.
She was still laughing, made alot of random noises in there like she was trying to talk. After she got her breath back, I asked what she had said, her response was "you're gonna make a website about this now, aren't you?" before she broke into yet more side-grabbing laughter.
Here it is.
Yes, there's more, I'm going to have to start dating these to keep track of them. For the record, both this and the above conversations occured in July of 2003.
This one goes thusly:
Roomie was complaining about a vocal "effect" she was trying to achieve. She was trying to sound like Bono, if HE was trying to sound like David Bowie singing a Queen song. (All this with a voice she does Joplin with like you wouldn't believe.)
She was muttering on about the nuances and paused for a moment, "Y'know, just thinking about it makes my head hurt."
I could only think of one reply, "At least it doesn't make your ass hurt."
Yes, you know what happened then .... she put her head down on her arms on the back of my chair, and there's a muffled "HAHAHAHAHAHA owwww, you bitch!"
She's not completely off her rocker yet, so I'd say my work here isn't quite done. Check back for updates.
Monday, August 11, 2003
I heard a strange noise, much like someone digging (yes, like with a shovel) coming from roomie's end of the house, I called out to ask what it was and someone turned the sound down on something. I mentioned it again later. Roomie started comparing the possibilities, did it sound like serious, rhythmic digging, like a gravedigger? Yes, I thought it sounded very much like that, it wasn't the random sound of the cat using his litterbox - the cat was right next to me at the time. She said it was her music. I asked why there's digging sounds on a U2 album. She said there aren't any. Grave robbing sounds? What would grave robbing sound like anyway?
"I don't want to touch the dead guy, you touch the dead guy."
"I don't want to touch the dead guy."
"Oh my god! They've buried Mick Jagger alive!"
me: "How can you tell?"
"He just moved! No, wait, that was just the worms."
me: "Well, that explains Keith Richards then."
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (thump/rip) shit! My jeans! You bitch!"
Roomie can take off on this subject, since she thinks old rockers are funny, and so many sing as if they're going down on the microphone - their expressions would make you think they're gagging on it. Mick Jagger and Steve Tyler being two of her favorites to pick on.
"Can you imagine when Mick Jagger finally croaks, his jaw will drop open and they'll find 6 or 7 mics ..."
me: "And Jimmy Hoffa."
From the floor where she had already fallen: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (snort/cough/choke/gag)"
Don't worry, I'll buy her some more jeans on Friday.
Sunday, August 24, 03
Driving in the car tonight, roomie complains of having a song stuck in her mind. I'm all "That doesn't have to be a bad thing, depends on the song."
"Mary Lou, but with my words."
Me: "Your words? What's your words?"
"It's "Mary Sue" ... you know, like bad fan-fic stories."
Me: "How's that go?"
(singing) "Hello Mary Sue, goodbye art, sweet Mary Sue you're so easy to write. I knew, Mary Sue, we'd never part, because I'm the lead character, and this ain't art."
I made a generic mean comment and she turned on the radio, but there was a "loud, annoying Beatles song" on (she doesn't like the Beatles) so she turned it off again.
I was having fun, and said "You poor, tortured soul."
"My soul - nothing, it's my brain that hurts!"
So I asked, "Don't you have a soul?"
"It's around, I know I left it somewhere."
Sunday, November 9, 03 Updated Tue. November 11 when more of the conversation was filled in.
I've skipped over a few things, they were either very mild or too much like other things already posted.
Today, something different. I picked up the roomie from an out-of-town visit because her car isn't running, and we swapped tales of the weekend's doings. Also in the car were the hellspawn manchild, my best buddy, and the dog.
A little about my buddy, he's a funny looking man. Roomie says he looks like a messed up cabbage patch doll. Tattoos, hair kind of messed up from too many punk dye jobs, a little soft in the body, but acceptable, not gross. 5 o'clock shadow on the reddish side. Those who remember, or are observant enough to notice the recent rerelease, might think of the spoof 'Garbage Pail Kids' trading cards. I'd trust him with my life, he has the purest soul I've ever known a human to have, he just looks odd.
I spent some time reminding myself of that on Saturday when buddy and husband got so stinking drunk they were both floored and at my mercy. Their only request was that it not become public knowledge (I'm nice, see, I leave names out to protect the guilty!)
While roomie and I talked, my buddy was horsing around a bit with the boy. They were poking at each other with one of those nice wooden swords you can pick up at renaissance faires. Somehow, my son had managed to get the shearing guard completely off, but the blade & grip were a single piece so it was ok to play with.
Once the horsing around got a bit crazy, I reminded the kid not to break the car windows or to hit anyone with the sword. Buddy grabs the end of it and says "It's ok, I've got it."
"No! You're my friend, you shouldn't be grabbing my son's wood!"
It went downhill from there, since everyone present (except possibly the dog) has a very warped sense of humor.
"He's got it in both hands." "Wouldn't think he'd need both hands for that." "Stop yanking on it!"
We got tired of wood puns after a bit and buddy sat playing with a leftover half of glow-stick necklace (the other half was already damaged when he opened the package.) He still made a circle, maybe five inches across, from the remaining piece. He threw it to the front of the car, it was tossed back, etc. He put it on his head for a bit and claimed to be an angel.
It fell, predictably, to his lap.
Another round of jokes about toys, glowing things and the like began, all we'd needed was a new topic.
Finally, he held it a little lower and started to speak, but stopped (not knowing how much to say in front of the housemate and the hellspawn manchild.) I said it for him:
"If you need a cock-ring that big I don't want to ... no, wait a minute, maybe I do want to know, I could sell you to a freak show!"
More jokes, he pretended to be embarassed, people told me to behave. My parting shot?
"This is going on my blog."
If there were crickets in the car, you'd have heard them chirping. But just for a moment, then:
And here it is.
Technically, I suppose it's good news that I am now employed and have less time to mess with people's minds. There goes my main hobby, and, unfortunately, the largest motive for this blog.
Since just before Christmas: I started training for a tech-support job. The training wasn't difficult, it's mostly just the hardware which could be done by trained monkeys, it is my first time working at an inbound call center though. The fun part is that I work for a company who's outlook is "if they want to pay for upgraded support, we'll support everything in or connected to that box or die trying!" ...
Yes, I'm in the "upgraded" support. You need your hand held while you reload the o/s you hosed, I get to hold your hand, you want to connect to a 'webex' session (that's nice words for "go to this website and give a total stranger total access to your box! Muahahaha!") and let someone else share a folder, map a printer, or click on "create archive" in Outlook for you, I do that too. Fortunately, I also get the people who know what it's like to have to log things 15 different ways, because they have to answer to people who're just as anal as major-corporation type middle managers and IT depts. Sure it's all recorded, I don't care, they don't seem to either.
That's the job.
- - - - - - - -
Other news, the best buddy has become a member of the household, although only temporarily. He called, on my birthday yet, to describe his emergency housing situation and to ask if he could stay for just 4 months.
The sudden emergency situation had been predictable enough to anyone with an ounce of forethought. A friend's brother had two houses, was living in one and sought renters for the other. Best buddy and two other idiots, also friends, had rented it. Since it was an informal arrangement, there were no contracts, nothing that could be used by either party keep the other in line. The jerk they were renting from suddenly decided that he and his girfriend would marry and live happily ever after in the house rented to buddy and idiots, and he would sell the house he'd been in, because he just didn't like it as much.
Rather than pay another half-month rent (and argue over how much that was and who had to pay what how much of what utility for those two weeks,) he called to ask if he could be moved in by March 1st. I said yes, everyone else in the house had already discussed it behind his back, chosen 'his' room, and made plans for the move.
Once he got over the shock of being told 'yes' it took a grand total of 3.5 days to relocate boxes, computer hardware and two large desks and get him moved in, hours ahead of deadline. We even cleared some shelves in the closet and a shelf on a bookcase so that he wouldn't have to keep all his stuff in cardboard boxes and his trunk (cool trunk, with punk & ska & anime stickers.) I also made several runs for carloads of his stuff, we just had to get someone with a larger vehicle to get the bed here.
When the dust settled and he got around to "wow, can't believe we did it!" I looked him in the face and said "I can't believe you called me to ask such a huge favor, and didn't even say 'happy birthday' to me."
He turned funny colors.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
T'other day, male-best-buddy/new-housemate asked if I'd mind if he stayed another month. July will be a 3-paycheck month for him, making it economically easier for him to afford the move. He had to ask while I was on Lortabs between tooth breakage and upcoming dental work. I said yes again, soon I'll tease him about waiting til I was on drugs to ask.
I'm gonna miss his freaky-tattooed-cabbage-patch li'l self when he's gone away to SoCal after July.
That's all the updates for May 18, 2005, but who knows? There's a firedrill coming up at work, I should be able to have some fun with this, even though they've already told us no smoking or going to our vehicles during.
I wonder if tomorrow would be enough notice to get with the more mischievous type bigwigs and pull some sanctioned crap the middle managers aren't expecting?