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April 14, 2008
Meatball
My weekends have been very low-key lately, which is fine. I need to behave and concentrate solely on centering my chi, working out for judgment season, watching my caloric intake like a gay Gwenyth Paltrow man-boy, nourishing my mind with Logo documentaries and escorting. So I don't have any dirt to dish about the Margaret Cho show last Friday or who got felt up in the Saliva Pit on Saturday.
Instead, my domesticated weekends include exhilarating banter like this:
"Did you eat the meatball?"
"No, I did not eat the meatball."
"We had four meatballs left over from dinner last night and there are only three now."
"I did not eat the meatball. You must have eaten the meatball."
"No, you ate the meatball, because I didn't. You probably got up in the middle of the night and went sleep-eating."
"I did not sleep-eat! I would remember eating the meatball! Stop trying to use Jedi mind-tricks on me. I will not fall for it, again."
"I can't believe you ate the meatball."
"You ate the stupid meatball."
Seriously, I didn't eat the meatball -- which was a turkey meatball, btw...cuz I'm a gay Gwenyth.
We're always keeping our eyes open for a potential dog adoption on our weekends. Clyde's lovely owner asked us if we would be interested in meeting Clyde's 4-year-old niece, Blue, to consider. Blue is also an American Bulldog, but since she is a female, she is much smaller. We were also told she does not share Clyde's affection for murdering other dogs. Cool. We'll meet her.
Blue is a ball of nervous energy. Way too nervous. She also has incedibly large nipples that hang like udders. She has never had puppies so this is odd. I told the owner that we would probably change her name to Nips. She didn't laugh. I wasn't kidding. As trivial as it seemed, I knew the udders would create tension in the household and milk stains. And, as if the Baby Jesus was reading my mind, he intervined to poo-poo the situation. He must have whispered in her dog ear, cuz Blue took a dump on our living room floor. Aaaaaand we're done here. Thanks for your order, please drive through.
The weather is finally on the up and up around these parts. Supposed to be sunny all week, getting warmer each day. 77 on Friday! I may get some of my masc/musc meatballs together for some shirtless badminton this weekend.
Posted by durban bud at April 14, 2008 03:27 PM
Comments
You so ate that meatball. Clearly your inability to accept responsibility for your actions has grown to the point where you're trying to enlist the sympathies of your readership in a battle against your partner. For shame!
DB: I did not eat the meatball.
Posted by: TED at April 15, 2008 03:13 PM
I hate to say this DB, but . . uhm . . .
I think you ate the meatball.
I not only think you ate it, I think you liked it.
Savored it.
were titillated by it.
Not that I can blame you . . I would have had that meatball in a hot minute.
I can understand why your partner was upset about you eating it.
I'm just jealous
And maybe the puppy route just isn't for you . . .
You could always get a cat and make your own lolcatz.
Post one every day :)
Posted by: Leo at April 15, 2008 04:52 PM
Clearly, this is all Jimbo's fault. Had you been notified about the Margaret Cho show, the great meatball mystery wouldn't have taken such an UGLY turn. Hell, it may not have even happened!
I guess you are just not cool enough for Jimbo's clique. You probably lost mega coolness points for your teenage girl crush on Jason Wade. That's my guess.
Posted by: brettcajun at April 15, 2008 05:05 PM
totally funny!!
Posted by: J at April 15, 2008 05:54 PM
Clearly you both ate the meatball. Why? No one would want to admit they ate a turkey meatball, at least not in a country where there is pork and beef, so obviously the need for lies.
Posted by: copperred at April 15, 2008 07:50 PM
Ummm... where is the badminton court?? I need directions...
DD
Posted by: Dan at April 15, 2008 08:18 PM
1. You ate the meatball. Even I know you ate the meatball.
2. Sleep-eating! Damn! I should have known. That must be what is happening to my svelte self. Lord knows it's not from Pavone's Pizza three days a week.
3. Thanks for the big font!
Posted by: Long Story Longer at April 15, 2008 10:10 PM
I hope Brett doesn't poo on your floor when he comes for his visit.
Posted by: homer at April 16, 2008 01:16 AM
Oh, stop! You're makin' RC cola come out my nose!
Posted by: raybob at April 16, 2008 01:59 AM
A. You ate the meatball...you know you did...fess up....this could go easy or hard...your choice...don't make Rob get out the water board...he'll have you singing like a little girl in Sunday school in about 35 seconds. I know that's what my partner would do.
B. They still make RC Cola?!? It gives me such a weird 70s flashback...it's all my Dad would drink...obviously we're a very old white trash family...our people have been living in trailers since the 13 colonies and mostly drinking RC and shooting folks who get too near the "rumatiz medicine machine."
Posted by: Boomer at April 16, 2008 09:29 AM
Yeah. Just say no to teat... and sheet.
Posted by: cb at April 16, 2008 11:49 AM
RC cola? Hell yeah! DEluxe Moon Pies, too.
Posted by: Raybob at April 17, 2008 01:46 AM
Um, yeah. I'm ALL about the RC cola.
Posted by: tom at April 17, 2008 09:01 AM