Tony: Nine years of you not listening to me.
Tony: Nine years of you not listening to me.
Squeaky, jumpy bi-folding pantry door.
“Maybe I should wax it. Do we have any old candles?”
“What? No, why don’t you use grease?”
“cause grease is messy.”
“Who uses wax?”
“Skateboarders…it’s perfect for this.”
“Why don’t you do these dishes instead?”
“cause I want to fix our house.”
“Do the dishes.”
“Fine, I’ll do the dishes, you go out in the garage and look on the shelf for candles.”
“What?! We do not have candles in the garage!”
“You memorized and cataloged the contents of the shelves in the garage?”
“No, but I have never bought candles, and I wouldn’t store them in the garage.”
“You’re the only person that lives in this house?”
“You have never bought candles.”
“This house was completely empty when we bought it?”
“Do the dishes.”
“Look for the candles.”
“Then You do the dishes, I’m looking for candles.”
Return from garage 20 seconds later with huge candle, one of six, left by previous owner.
“Kiss my feet.”
Wax squeaky, jumpy bi-folding pantry door. Works like a charm. Door slides smooth and is no longer squeaky.
“Kiss my feet!”
“I’m going to post about this!”
Today marks an anniversary. 10 years ago I pinched a girl for not wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day. My motivations weren’t solely about the enforcement of old-timey dress codes, there were ulterior motives.
This girl happened to be an ex-girlfriend. I didn’t mean her any real harm, but it was one of those high school “you’re my ex-girlfriend so I have to antagonize you a little more than other girls” kind of thing. The intimacy gained from having dated this girl, in my mind, gave me some form of permission to use less social caution around her than I would any other girl. I grew up with 2 older sisters, so annoying girls is sorta in my blood.
So I pinched this girl. I pinched her on her upper arm, a fairly sensitive part of the body. I pinched her too hard. What I saw as slightly over doing it, her body saw as a good reason to bruise.
The day went on, classes came and went, long bus ride home…
My father approaches me and says he needs to talk to me in the living room. Mind you, the living room, while not a “this couch is not for sitting” style living room, was pretty much empty all year except for Christmas morning. A talk in the living room wasn’t something to scoff at.
“We need to talk. It’s about your friend Teresa”
Two things: First, my pubescent, away from school mind had completely forgotten about the day’s events. School is at school, home is at home. They stay in separate parts of my brain. Second, my father delivered this line in a very “there’s been an accident” tone of voice.
“What!? What’s wrong?”
The concern in my voice is noticeable. I’m preparing myself to hear that something terrible has happened.
“Her father called me today…”
This isn’t helping any. Who else but her father would deliver the call to all the ex-boyfriends after a girl has died?
“…he says that you left a bruise on Teresa. That you pinched her.”
I’m not mocking the situation, but to go from “your friend is dead” to “you’re in trouble for pinching a girl” is quite a swing.
My father is taken aback. It’s either surprise, or unhappiness that I’m not responding the way he probably imagined.
I try to explain to him how the last couple minutes had sounded, and he seemed to appreciate it, but didn’t waiver far from his original intent: to give me a talking to about pinching girls. We tried to salvage the conversation, and I assured him that I meant no harm, that I’m not a bully and that I understand the gravity of giving a girl a bruise.
The next day I show up to school and Teresa is afraid to talk to me. Apparently she was very mad at her dad for calling mine. While she didn’t like being pinched until bruising, I don’t think she was ready for what she would see as the embarrassment of getting me in trouble.
I certainly understand her father’s point of view. If any punk kid had left a mark on my daughter, I’d be making some calls too. Imagine his surprise if someone had told him that in a year or so his daughter would bring that same boy home, bright pink hair and all, calling him her boyfriend. Worse still, in a few more she’d bring a ring home and tell her parents she was engaged.
I don’t know if my father-in-law has ever heard this side of the story. It makes me wonder if Noah will ever cause some poor girl’s parents this much drama. Or if I’ll ever flub up a few words and make him think his friends are dead.
Hmm…I should probably try that at least once.
tonight i watched “super size me.” you may have heard of this movie/documentary a few months ago when it first came out in theatres. soon after followed the onslaught of “we’re gonna get you healthy” advertising from mcdonalds. well, i must say that you should give it a gander. while i know better than to take it all as truth, cause as we’ve seen lately, documentaries can be a whole bunch of poo, and even when it is all real, compacting it all in an hour and half creates the idea that it’s a bigger part of life than it really is. and while i don’t want to say that i’m a changed man, cause i’m kinda the king of broken resolutions, it’s certianly changed the way i think about eating. i think my biggest problem is i really like what i call “hearty” meals. things that you can take big bites out of, and have to chew, and you can feel it hit your stomach. things that when you’re done, you know you’ve eaten. the problem comes with the fact that when i visualize these foods, it’s all burgers, or hot dogs, or breakfast skillets made of nothing but onions, hashbrowns, and three kinds of dead pig. that’s right…three. cause two kinds of dead pig is for pansies.
my month on the blockbuster “we can beat netflix” deal is over, and yeah, we’re quiting, and signing up for netflix. plain and simple, one month, and we’ve watched most of the movies we want to see, and havn’t gotten to rent many that we wanted to see. (so to you, the guy who’s had “day of the dead” for a month…you suck) and here you see one of the things that comes with being married. i now sound all pretentious, like i’m refering to myself in the third person when i say “we.” but no, i am referring to the entity that is “the bullards.” so don’t think that this website has gone to my head, cause i gaurentee you, one glance at the stats, and my self-worth takes a nice dive. something that only a sweet kiss some my sexy co-host can cure. so anyways, you should all rent this movie, and watch the extras, simply to know that after we all die from all the nuclear bombs the 80’s action movies told us about, the only things to survive will be cockroachs. and they will feed entirely on mcdonalds french fires.