In this vain, there have been snippets of conversations that I’ve had with people that are worth sharing. Some will need pretext, and others… well, just listen.
This weekend my husband and I were spitting distance from the Canadian border; only in rural Merica’ will you find such places as Grampa Grunt’s Lodge. Don’t believe me?
We stumbled upon this after we’d driven down some backwoods, God-forsaken, rollercoaster washboard dirt road – albeit everything I just said, it was bizarrely well traveled. I was reminded of a friend who once told me, “I’m like mayo. I don’t travel well,” as my husband careened down said dirt road at about 35 mph.
Husband: It’s pretty up here, and I bet the land up here is well priced.
Me: It’s pretty where we live, and it better be well-priced. Who the fuck wants to live up here. It’s cows, corn, and Grampa Grunt.
Husband: Well, aren’t you a ball of cheer. (Indeed, these were his exact words)
Me: [(Chin to chest) bullfrog guttural belch to alleviate gas before vomiting from being car sick – if you don’t travel well, like me, you know exactly what I’m talking about here] I’m about to lose my breakfast in these glorious, well-priced woods if you don’t slow down.
Side note – he actually had the gall to ask me later in the same ride why I wasn’t being nice. I wanted to begin pukefest as my answer. I simply asked him to find pavement and not washboard, rollercoaster dirt roads. It was mostly a quiet ride for a variety of reasons.
Same trip on same dirt road:
Husband: Look honey, a shit truck. (note: it was the only time I laughed on this road)
If you don’t live in or around rural Merica’, you’re just missing out on the joys of Spring and Fall liquid shit season, as it’s better known round these parts. Yes, it’s when the farmers spray liquid manure on the fields as fertilizer, and yes, it will make your eyes tear up. Badly. Not to mention how quickly your gag reflex will kick in. And the truck we saw was nowhere near as clean as the one on the above left. It was covered in liquid poo from about mid-tank to the back; the license plate was not visible.
Jean and I love comfort food, and I was telling her about Paula Deen’s Krispy Kreme Bread Pudding; I mean, we love our butter, but this is absurd.. I was sharing the ingredient list with Jean, and her only comment was, “That makes me embarrassed about my Southern roots.”
A few weeks ago Jean and I were in the drive through line at Dunkin’ Donuts with her daughter in the back seat.
Me: Medium cold brew with cream & 2 Splenda.
Jean [to daughter]: What do you want?
Me: Oh, and a blueberry donut. No, wait. A lemon poppyseed muffin.
Jean: I’ll have a hot coffee with cream and Splenda.
Jean’s daughter: I’ll have a small cold brew with 2% milk and sugar.
Jean: Oh, and I’ll have a 4 iced munchkins. [to daughter] Do you want anything to eat?
Daughter: Um… [silence for several long seconds]
Jean: Omigod, we are such white bitches in the drive through. Hey, we can create a new hashtag #whitebitchesinthedrivethrough
Daughter: MOM! The person can hear you!
Jean: Well, it’s true.
The lady at the window laughed when we drove up.
Last week as Jean and I were coming out of a store:
Jean: Do you want to walk across the large parking lot or drive over there?
Me: We can walk. It’s a nice night.
Jean: We’ll drive. There was a huge drug bust last week; a guy was caught with 80 bags of heroine on him.
Me: First, why did you ask, if we were going to drive? Second, you do live right off a stretch called the Heroine Highway. It happens sometimes.
Jean drives across large parking lot and proceeds to park next to someone who looks shady enough to be involved in the next drug deal. Don’t judge us. You know exactly the type of person to which we refer here.
Me: Nice one, parking right next to the next drug bust, lady.
Jean: I’m sure he’s a lovely gentleman with his darting eyes, torn clothes, and eewww, Did you see those? Rancid teeth.
Me: Yep, methmouth.
Later in the same night at a Starbucks drive through:
Jean: Does your husband ever drive you crazy?
Me: This has got to be a rhetorical question.
Jean proceeds to tell a story that only she should tell about her husband that makes me cackle so loudly the people in the car ahead of us actually turned around to see what was making the sound.
Me [wiping tears from my face]: I think you’re funnier than I am.
Jean [cuts eyes towards me deadpan serious]: I’m fucking hysterical.
Me [digressing into hysterical cackling again] You should say that at your (suck in air) interview this week. Interviewer,”What is something we should know about you?” You, “I’m fucking hysterical.” See how that flies. [digressing into hysterical cackling again]
As a side note, Jean did use this in her interview, minus the f-bomb. The actual question asked was “What makes you smile during the day?” [We both had a WTF on that kinda question] Jean responded, “I’m hilarious.” The firing squad of 6 just looked at her. She went on, “No, seriously, I’m really funny. Even at the end of a bad day, I’m going to take those lemons and squeeze them into some vodka.” The women on the panel laughed with her. The men just stared at her. We’re still waiting to hear if she gets the job.
Jean at her birthday party trying to get the right channel for music:
[15 seconds of 80s Mercedes by Maren Morris] some people singing.
[30 seconds of Cradle of Love by Billy Idol] (the video cracks us up immensely) everyone singing.
[10 second of some 90s Justin Timberlake song] some people singing.
Me [shouting over music]: This is why you never made it as a DJ.
Jean [shouting over music]: What? Squirrel!
Jean and I at the drugstore:
Me: I never know what to buy for makeup products. That’s why I have you in my life; you help me pick out the things I need.
Jean [with massive grin]: I know, I should run a blog or something like that.
Me: I hate you right now. I’m going to throw all my beauty products at you.
She’s yet to write an actual post – she gives me fodder for tons of stuff to write about, but hasn’t made her 1st official post.