My Husband is a Strange and Awesome Being From Planet Tool
So last night Lar and I were hanging with his business partner, Dack Smackler, and his adorable wife, Dusky Monroe, having a few beers, some munchies (oh, my God, you must try Cape Cod Potato Chips! Divine!), and we were having a grand time laughing, talking, just goofing on one another and enjoying every adult‘s favorite party game, Age Regression, a.k.a., Insult Your Significant Other. It was apparent early on in the evening that Dusky and I would win the most points in the Goof Off, much to the chagrin of our husbands, which is a beautiful, beautiful thing, let me tell you. Were I ever to lose face in a name-calling contest, I might just end it all right then and there. Anyway.
We were having a great time, a relaxing, stupid, much-needed evening of idiotic banter and lovely refreshments -- that is, until Lar, who is not known for his witty comebacks, put a damper on the party by confusing all involved with this little gem: “Oh, yeah, Lori? Well, you…You’re a…You…You’re a CORN-HATING WHITE WOMAN!”
The silence at the table was deafening.
Dusky, obviously embarrassed for my husband, managed a weak smile, a small twitter, then politely averted her eyes and focused intently on her cocktail. Dack slithered from the room on the pretense of checking on the kids. Me, I just stared at Lar, my feelings wildly fluctuating from humiliation, empathy, and disgust to sorrow, pity, and finally, hatred.
Good Lord, what have I married?
ADDENDUM: My friend, the fabulous Ms. Jordan Rosenfeld, is looking for “overheards,” as in amusing snippets of conversations that you or someone you know overheard -- if you‘ve something to share, visit Jordan's blog for details.
Now, I suppose I could use the quiz results as fodder for a long political rant on global warming, and how if Big Sweet Daddy Honey Pie (my pet name for Clinton) were president right now, my attic office wouldn’t be 5,000-plus degrees, nor would I be having nightmares about Laura Bush’s creepy serial killer eyes, but I think my left breast just burst into flames.
Well, well, it’s that time again, folks. What time, you ask? Why, it’s MOVIE TIME AT MS. LORI’S, of course! Next flick up will be Anchor Bay Entertainment’s “The Tooth Fairy,” and from what I hear, this one’s a doozy -- weird old lady who steals teeth (for god knows what reason) then murders the unwilling donors with an ax. Hell yeah!
Love me some lowbrow cinema, especially if there’s beer involved.
From the press release:
Remember the innocence of putting a tooth under a pillow at night and finding it mysteriously transformed into a reward the next morning? My, how times have changed…Anchor Bay Entertainment, an IDT Entertainment Company, extracts the dark side of a beloved childhood ritual with The Tooth Fairy! Co-written and produced by legendary producer Stephen J. Cannell (“The A Team,” “Hunter,” “Profit,” “21 Jump Street”) and featuring such horror alums as P.J. Soles ( Halloween, The Devil's Rejects ) and Jesse Hutch ( Freddy Vs. Jason ), The Tooth Fairy turns the innocent fairy tale into the ultimate nightmare! Presented uncut with never-before-seen footage, The Tooth Fairy also offers bonus features, including an audio commentary and behind-the-scenes interviews, that viewers can really sink their teeth into!
Come one, come all, BYOB, and leave your sensibilities at home -- I’ll provide chicken wings and witty commentary throughout the show.
See you there!
(Not work-safe! Well, unless your boss doesn’t mind flying penises careening across the company computer screens.)
Once again, Lar and I are watching our middle daughter’s friend for a few days while her parents are away at a conference, and it’s always a pleasure to have her here. This is a bright, adorable kid who has a wonderful sense of humor, a kind heart (she’s always nice to the boy, includes him in games, much to the irritation of his sisters), and a fascinating life story. She was born in Bombay, adopted by her parents there -- mom is Indian, dad is American, both brilliant professors at RIT -- and has visited more countries than I’ll probably ever see in my lifetime. She delights in introducing my daughter to Indian culture, the special celebrations, beautiful clothing, the delicious foods, and she even occasionally brings treats for me, which may be why she happens to be my favorite friend of Sarah’s. Bring me treats, your score rises ten points each time. (I added that last bit in case my oldest daughter’s boyfriend reads this).
So last night, the girl arrived packed and ready for her stay here, duffle bag filled to the brim with snacks and bathing suits, toothbrush and GameBoy, games, books -- and a treat for me! And not just any treat -- Indian cinema! What a sweetheart, that girl, to remember our last conversation wherein we discussed Indian cinema, Bollywood, such as it may be, and how interested I was in foreign films, especially Asian and East Indian.
Darling, precious, sweet, thoughtful girl.
The smile on her face was heart-melting as she reached into her bag and produced -- proudly, I might add -- the film. I anxiously ripped it away from her tender hand and inspected the cover. “Everyone who’s seen this has loved it,” she said with that lovely, proud smile.
I hurriedly flipped the DVD over and read the synopsis. “My mom and dad really like this one.”
My throat dry, my stomach lurching a bit, I flipped the case over again and stared at the dark-haired beauties that graced the cover, stared at their half-closed eyes, their luscious lips barely connecting. “Um. Honey? Have you seen this?”
“No, I haven’t. I think it’s for big people. But everyone says it’s a great film.”
I continued staring at the case, read the words “BANNED IN INDIA!” over and over again, my mouth quivering, tried to compose myself as wild laughter bubbled within my chest as I read the words “LESBIANS!" and “HOT!”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have…” I managed, my face, I’m sure, as red as the DVD cover.
“No problem!” she said cheerfully. “Enjoy!” Then she skipped out of the room to go play, oh, I dunno, dolls or something.
I immediately ran outside and told Lar about what had just happened, and he laughed, as expected, but what I didn’t expect was that he then jumped up from his chair like his ass was on fire, ran into the house, and finally -- finally -- hooked up the DVD player that’d been growing dust in our bedroom.
Yay for lesbians!
Addendum: Poor Lar. Turns out the flick is a beautifully made and intellectual character study, not a porno.
Courtesy of my favorite neighbors, The Squirrel-Slinging Firefighter and his lovely wife Bambi-Jo, I present to you…
Ms. Lori and her lovely albeit sunburned husband Lar!
(click to enlarge my breasts)
You may be able to detect that Lar and I hit the libations that day (this was taken in late April during a party at the home of The Squirrel-Slinging Firefighter and his lovely wife Bambi-Jo), but what you probably can’t detect is that only moments before the picture was snapped, Lar, A.K.A. Banjo Boy, indulged in a bit of nipple fondling.
Stay tuned, as there will be more pictures to come, a few of which depict me, a miniskirt, Lar, and a big cigar. Hot!
Quick post today -- office is still hotter than Satan’s ballsack, so I’ll keep this short and sweet before I get to the point where my hair melts and my frontal lobe liquefies, and my mouth turns down into a hideous, permanent grimace, etc., etc...
I dreamt last night that I was meeting some friends at a local bar, and while entering the establishment, I was startled by a large, perfectly manicured hand that had appeared out of nowhere and clasped onto my own as I pushed the door handle. I spun around and found myself staring into the eyes of none other than Ashton Kutcher, famed paramour-now-husband of Demi Moore.
My first thought was, “Heavens to Betsy! Isn’t he a lovely young man!” and my second, immediately after he pulled me into his arms and slung me over his shoulder was, “Not my type, but lordylordGOD, please don’t let the kids wake me now.”
Ashton and I moved through the crowd, me cradled against his chest as he whispered sweet nothings in my ear (“Your pasta sauce makes my tongue tremble,” and “Gosh, your potato salad totally rocks”), and I was so overcome with lust, I began sucking on his chin, much to the delight of onlookers. Now, I don’t quite get why I would suck on the man’s chin rather than his luscious lippage, but suffice to say, it was an incredibly pleasurable experience.
Anyway, we finally found my friends, all of them hooting and hollering as we neared their table, and I suddenly got the urge to yell “Look, ladies! I got me a Kutcher!”
I woke, unfortunately, to the sounds of my son slurping a Jolly Rancher lollipop, which he then accidentally dropped into my hair. Not sure which one of us was more upset, really.
If there were more preachers like the lovely Ms. Alecia, I might just attend church more.
I think what I enjoy most about Pastor Alecia’s sermon, in addition to the awesome psychedelic effects, is the constant expression of embarrassment on her face. She has that Muppet-like, I-feel-good-but-also-kind-of-stupid inverted lip thing going on -- you know what I’m talking about, right? The ol’ self-conscious lip-tuck- and-stretch thing that invariably happens to all of us when we first get up to dance at a club or wedding?
Oh, don’t lie. If you’re human, and you’re not a professional dancer, you certainly have experienced the lip-tuck, even if only for a moment (whenever this happens to me, I immediately spin away from the crowd and unfreeze my face by mentally slapping myself with, “Ms. Lori, your face looks really stupid right now, and everyone can see that you feel good but also a bit embarrassed,” and voila! Problem solved.
Noooo, not waxing Lar’s back…Good try, though. One more guess.
Again, wrong. You should know Ms. Lori well enough by now to realize she abhors anything even slightly farm-related.
All right, one last try, because I love you…
GAH! Are you out of your freaking mind? What would make you believe there was even a remote possibility I’d be interested in that? Sick is what it is. Sick and twisted, and…Actually, it’s not a bad idea, but I’d have to really work on Lar to get him to agree to that one, and I gag easily, which makes for unpleasant work, if you know what I‘m saying…Nah, forget it.
Okay, I’ll tell you what I’ll be doing on August 5th, because frankly, I‘m tired of your ignorance.
On August 5th, I will be going on a…
***awkward drum roll***
That’s right, my terrified little ass will be lurking about Rolling Hills here in Western New York, a famously haunted estate that was featured last year on the SciFi Channel’s Ghost Hunters, armed to the gills with flashlight, camera, sage (to ensure no hitchhiking spirits), and plenty of beer, all in the hopes of capturing some ghostly activity. Should I be fortunate enough to do so, I can’t promise that I won’t poop my pants, so I’ll be sure to include a change of underwear in my arsenal as well.
EDIT: Ghost hunt date changed to September 30. Mommy!