This and That
Mike is home and he smells like Hugo Boss. I still fondly remember the scent from my days of being the perfume girl at Dillards. I loved that job, but only because I knew I was quitting in three months. I would have hated the stress of meeting sales goals if I had to do it long term, but since I knew I was outta there, I didn’t give a rat’s ass if I made my quota. I just flirted with boys who needed cologne and had my make-up done by the Lancome lady every day. What could be more fun?
I sold a $300 bottle of the rankest, foulest concoction to some old man. I almost felt guilty, but he really seemed to like it.
Anyway, I have no idea why he smells like Hugo Boss. My mother, the Lifetime television fanatic, is making googly eyes about it. She has weird thoughts. Erik’s regular karate teacher was gone for two days and she was convinced he was murdered by ninjas. Apparently in her day sickness was no excuse to skip work.
My mother is also making plans to kidnap one of my friends. She has suggested I invite my friend to Oregon.
Oh.
My.
God.
My friend is from an upper class New York City family. Her husband went to the same school Obama’s children go to. She’s a sassy black woman. My dad still says the n word on occasion. I can not even imagine bringing her to my home. Some of my closet friends have met my family and it has been mortifying, but I know their stories and they know my story and we can all just agree that my family is insane and I’m not like that. To bring someone from this life into that life? So so so not happening.
As if she would ever want to go visit my family.
I’m writing this entry because I went to sit in my chair and found The World Series of Poker on the TV. How is that a show? Even after all these years, I still don’t understand. At least the old Celebraty Poker shows were semi-entertaining (in a comatose sort of way). Mike actually records these games. Like. . . he had to figure out how to use the DVR and make an effort to specifically make the TV record them. I fundamentally do not understand.
I probably should get up there because I hear a very unhappy Elsa. My poor little sweetie-pie.
Do we have time for an Erik story?
We were at Sears and Erik decided he wanted to buy my mom a cheap, fake diamond ring. We get up to the cashier and he starts chatting with him (Erik with the cashier, not vice-versa).
“I’m going to buy my grandma a ring because I’m going to marry her and she’s going to be my wife.” The cashier looks slightly amused.
“Oh wait. I can’t marry my grandma. She’ll be dead when I’m old.”
The cashier looks horrified. “Uhhhh. . . that’s not very positive thinking.”