Thursday, June 7, 2007

Aunty Christ sweeps up the crumbs

Well, since my last baby post was so well received, no harm in writing something new about how ugly people-babies can be, right? Settle down, now. I said, “Can be.” They certainly don’t have to be ugly, lord knows. Take a note from the late Anna Nicole, people, and put those chubby babies on a diet! Speaking of which, here comes the li’l plastic surgery candidate now!


Now, I admit, I’m biased. Not only against the human babies in general, but against this particular atrocity’s father, whom I dated briefly in college, and who, being Christian, could accept my mouth around his penis, but was forbidden by holy scripture from doing much else. Oh, I know … I know! It was a long, long time ago, and, frankly, it was even before I really figured out how to enjoy myself in that way anyway, so what am I complaining about? What can I say? I like to complain, dammit.

Anyway, back to that picture. To me, that unholy creature looks like nothing so much as the tiny, unfeeling emperor of some planet of reptiles or some such thing. “Yessss, yesss,” it says, rubbing its scaly mitts together. “Onssssssce the humans accept Bill O’Reilly assss one of their own, we will implement sssssstep two of The Plan.” I know what you’re thinking, and yes, it is very mean of me to make fun of an innocent baby because of its hopeless, genetically inherited unattractiveness. Oh yes it is. But hey: At least I’m making fun of it here, and not to the father’s face. I mean, what could he do, anyway? Hit it with a shovel, before it sucks his brains out through his nostrils while he’s sleeping?

On to something a lot more fun, by which I mean looking for a rental property for two more-or-less unemployed or underemployed people, with seven months’ usable rental history between them, and their two thug dawgs to live in. Oh yeah, and we’re lazy. And we have a meth lab. Kidding! I’m so kidding about the meth lab! But does saying that I did and then saying that it was just a joke make the part about the not having a job and the destructive, unhousebroken thug dawgs sound a whole lot better? Because I’m thinking I could say that to a prospective landlord! Like, he’s all, You guys are the worst tenants to ever apply! And then I’d be all, Oh come on … we could be so much more undesirable!

Last week Rich Bachelor and I went to see a house that was perfect for us—and similarly perfect for every other couple, it seemed. We were lined up along the sidewalk, in fact: a whole J. Crew catalog’s worth of mid-20s to mid-30s hetero couples in dressed-down Sunday morning schlub. We were second in line and were invited in along with Couple Number One, comprised of a very young girl wearing both a dress and pants and a boy with a very expensive haircut and an even more expensive pair of jeans. “What about that apartment building across the street?” the boy asked the landlord, as we filled out applications in the kitchen. “Do you have any problems with them?” (They were black!) No, no, the landlord said. The tenants of that particular building are refugees from Sierra Leone. “That’s awesome!” enthused the girl. Yeah, said the landlord, they were brought to Saskatoon by a neighbor, who also had escaped the civil war. “No, yeah ... That’s really awesome,” Pants-Dress repeated.

Am I wrong to feel that any response to a civil war in which people’s arms and legs have been hacked off which contains the word “awesome” is, you know, a little crappy? A little, um, how you say, not really understanding the situation in whole?

What I did not have the balls to say, of course, was: “So your take on this situation where people had to flee from their native country because hundreds of thousands of people were killed, and thousands more were orphaned, rendered homeless, raped, or had their limbs amputated is that it’s … awesome?

And what she did not actually say (though I was expecting her to) was: “I think it’s really awesome that now they live in a country where they don’t have to decide between a dress and pants. They can totally make redundant clothing choices, and that’s, you know, awesome!”

So that was who ended up getting the house, in case you were wondering: The beautiful house with the fenced-in yard that was perfect for tha thugs. Oh well. I’m sure someone—someone really retarded probably, or perhaps blind or masochistic—is just dying to rent their beautiful house to a pair of no-accounts like us.

It’s worth mentioning that, after a week or so of living as if joined at the hip, one half of this no-account pair has absconded to Seattle for the day, leaving the other half lonely, yes, but moreover kinda looking forward to some alone time. My plans for the afternoon included:

Nap
Trip to dog park
Short jog along the bluff
Watch stupid rom-com
Eat dinner at Ethiopian restaurant

Most of these, it should be noted, are things that I either cannot do or will not do with Rich. He dislikes Ethiopian food, for example. Or, I’m sure that when he reads this, he’ll claim not to “dislike” it so much as prefer other kinds of foods to Ethiopian, which, he has explained on at least one occasion, has an uninteresting flavor palate, to which I say, We all are allowed our opinions, as mature adults, and phhhhhhhhllllllllllllllbbbbbbbbt. You are wrong! Ethiopian food is singularly delightful, as anyone knows. Go ahead, ask anyone. But then, he doesn’t drag me to pizza restaurants, so who am I to force him to eat food he does not enjoy so much? Even though, let’s face it, there can be no comparison between wat (yum!) and disgusting pizza.

The trip to the dog park isn’t something that Rich would dislike so much as it is something that would be done solely for my (and the thugs’) benefit, while the nap is something that Rich and I could both use, I’m sure, but that I find myself never getting around to as long as there’s someone in the room for me to yap at. “Oh, did you see that funny picture in the paper?” I’ll say, and continue muttering on and on. It’s one of my best qualities, I’m told. I’m a delight.

The rom-com in question—I know you think you know what I wanted to see, and it isn’t that one. Oh, I know we all, as thinking people, have to suck the cock of Judd Apatow and his irreverent comedy, but please. I cannot. I will not. In fact, instead of doing anything on the above list, I ended up taking Goofus and Gallant to get their nails trimmed and made some turkey burgers and drank almost an entire bottle of Pinot Gris and watched King of Queens (no Patton Oswalt—boo!) and So You Think You Can Dance? I am not a fan of King of Queens, but to everyone out there saying that Judd Apatow is a creative genius who has redefined romantic comedy to make way for the less-attractive man/more-attractive woman combo? I give you King of Queens. And According to Jim. And The Honeymooners. None of which also featured the most ridiculous contrivance to get two people together since the Virgin Mary sat Joseph down and said, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” Oh, I suppose it’s just me being all cranky again. I haven’t yet had the opportunity to trick some schlubby man into marrying me and caring for our child, so clearly I’m bitter. And have reason to be, I think!

I guess the point of all that, though, was (1) that I miss Rich Bachelor, even though he’s only been gone for a few hours, or (2) that I was glad to have some alone time today, even though I did not put it to very good use, or (3) that I am extremely lazy, and must be flogged into action immediately, or perhaps at some later date. Must we choose? All three options are pretty good.

Oh, back to the housing situation: I was thinking today that as a half-art project, half-means to an end, I could hide in the attic of above-referenced perfect house with the perfect yard, wearing a sheet and chains, rattling chains and making other spooky sounds. I don’t think it worked on The Brady Bunch, but that doesn’t mean the dress-over-pants girl wouldn’t buy it. She’d be all, “Oh, hey, about the ghost in your attic? It’s awesome! We can’t get any sleep and it scares us? Which is really awesome? But fuck this, we’re outta here, bye.” Which, when you think about it, would be totally awesome.

11 comments:

Junk Thief said...

Oh, I agree completely on your assessment of babies. I am concerned, Aunty, that you and Rich take precautions to not have one yourself, though I'm sure it would actually be a lovely little bugger.

Two questions: Can we still call Rich a Bachelor if he's now with you? Do you have plans to change your name to Aunty Bachelor?

Bryce Digdug said...

Yes, the pants/dress people. We have them in San Francisco now. They talk really fast. One was catercorner to me at Tartine. She described her entire European trip in foodie terms.

rich bachelor said...

Having already had a small squad of the damn things back when I was a Latter Day Saint, I'm over it. Weeping sores, all of them. WEEPING SORES, SIR!
Sorry. I've tried everything. Several "Super Big Gulp(s)" of Mountain Dew daily, whilst smoking Marihuana from a brass pipe...Nope. Sperm count's still as robust as E-Coli.

So I don't know. I guess I can only count on mah wo-mon having a parched and barren womb. Here's hoping!

Aunty Christ said...

Yay! And I do have a parched and barren womb, thanks to The Procedures. Thanks, Mom!

As for the Bachelor question, I do plan to keep my own name, being a modern woman and all. And is Rich still a Bachelor? Oh gosh, I dunno. As long as he doesn't try to hit on singles on My Space, dressed as a stuffed puppet, I guess we're good. Actually, everything in that sentence is something that Rich Bachelor, and perhaps all thinking people, would be right to stay away from: puppetry, My Space, hitting on girls...

Bryce: I'm sorry. That sounds rather horrible. Isn't it enough that someone's chosen to wear an offensive outfit? Must she be an entirely offensive person too?

David in DC said...

"...whom I dated briefly in college, and who, being Christian, could accept my mouth around his penis, but was forbidden by holy scripture from doing much else."

Effing hilarious. Thank you.

standing said...

Baby, mouth, penis, meth, j.crew, house, dog, civil war, pants, rom-com, one half attractive, lazy & in love.

Me too.

Salty Miss Jill said...

That baby looks like the Golem mated with Monty Burns. eeeeee....

David Rochester said...

The concept of an Ethiopian restaurant seems somehow counterintuitive to me.

But what I really want to know is how to pretend to be Christian, because oh man, I could use some of that action.

Aunty Christ said...

DiDC: Thanks!

Standing: Thanks for not taking my comment about your post the wrong way! In hindsight, I wasn't sure how that sounded. And thanks for feeling a kindred spirit! I think your fam is three-thirds beautiful, so I'm not sure what the half attractive part referred to, but anyway ...

Salty: I love it! That's it exactly. And thanks for adding me to your blogroll!

Mr. Rochester: Get yourself to the Blue Nile on Broadway, and get a vegetarian combo plate. And, oh, about the Christian thing, I think his deal was that he pretended to be interesting; the Christianity was more of a turn off than anything. I mean, obviously.

Salty Miss Jill said...

Salty Miss Jill loves all her Aunty. ;)

Bryce Digdug said...

Aunty - you MUST go to www.rustywarren.com