Scratch That! Scatterbrained Musings! Bitch Parents! And Others!

Okay, I started working on the description of my damn novel, and I was like, "Um, no."

Hey, check this out: http://haplochant.livejournal.com/237559.html. The misogynist dude that she's talking about is The Owner of our Moe Joe's. I always knew he was a whore-- there had to be an explanation as to why every single barista we've encountered here is unspeakably beautiful. Bastard. Well, it's good for me, I guess. I love pretty women.

There was just this creepy dude standing outside staring at us. In my head I was like, "Go away, Creepo! Watcha doin'?" And he did. Haha. I have powers.

We decided that we're not going to go to Fike. I guess I can't bear to part with my boobs.

So, I wanted to start a blog for all of the people from our little group to post on together, telling tales of our lubed-up journeys. Great idea, right, right? Well, I was trying to get it together, but it was just too damn frustrating. I'm not in a very patient mood today. First, I spent a good 45 minutes trying to come up with a really cool title for this orgy, and I came up with "vagabond cove," which I thought was pretty awesome. When I told Craig about it I said humbly, "But you guys can change it if you don't like it."

"Good," said Craig. "We're not vagabonds."

I wept/moaned.

So then I was trying to format the shit, and I was having a very difficult time with it, given that I found that I had lost all of my good photos when my computer took ill, and also because I suck at formatting in general. After about an hour of that, I started spazzing out. I was twitching like Tyler when he's threatened with a violent butt-fucking. Carly kept on coming over and getting me to try her coffee shit, most of which was good except for this one which tasted like dentist toothpaste. It was a raspberry, white chocolate, mint latte... ew, right? But Carly loves sweet stuff. Of course. It tasted like her personality. Wait... that sounds bad. I like her personality. It just tastes bad.

Anyway, I told her that I didn't like it. She was all surprised, and then she left.

"Where's she going?" asked Craig.

Mark shrugged. Mark seemed dejected ever since the news came that the only reason he got hired was because he was a hot girl. I totally get that.

"Probably to get a shotgun," Craig mused.

"Oh," I said. "I figured she was going to commit suicide... drown herself in coffee or something."

"Hahahaha," commented Mark. He seemed to like that idea.

Then Carly stormed back in. "He's not even there!!!" she shrieked. Apparently she wanted to get some dude who worked at another store to stroke her ego, since I refused to gratify her desires. I don't feel bad. Let me tell you why (besides the fact that she wasn't even slightly dejected from my rejection... she made her concoction the winter special, designing a little sign that reads, "'Tis the season for Razzmint" and features an illustration of a confused-looking mullet man):

I have discovered The Perfect Latte. Pumkin Pie, White Chocolate, and Cinnamon, with whipped cream and cinnamon on top. Mmmmm. Yes. As I was ordering it today, Carly was all, "Wow! That sounds good!" And I was all, "Yeah, you think I don't know, bitch?" Then, later, when she and the new girl, Courtney, were having an orgy and creating new combos, they decided to hand me a latte.

"Thanks!" said I, beaming.

"You!re!! Wel!!co!me!!!!!" said Carly. Excited.

"What's in it?" I asked, as I sucked the suck-hole.

"White chocolate, pumpkin pie, and cinnamon!!!" exclaimed Carly.

"Wait... that's what I ordered earlier."

"Y!eah. We! did!t like i!!t," she smiled.

Biiitch. Haha.

So, what's been happening?

Well, Tyler's parents came a-callin'. That was a basket of kittens. Story time.

So, Johnathon and I were walking around campus, trading gossip about how dumb Tyler's parents are, and how much we dreaded their impending visit. Then, as we were journeying to Lee, to head off Tyler as he got out of his architecture class, who should we see but Tyler's parents? Hahaheeheehahaho. They were sitting at a table outside of the Fernow Street Cafe. Upon spotting Johnathon and me, they beckoned us over and began engaging us in a very awkward/annoying conversation.

Let me explain. They recently weaseled it out of Tyler that pretty much all of his male friends are gay. Tyler's mom is one of those fairly enthusiastic Catholics who are into the whole religion thing not because they are spiritual or seek a deep connection to God, but because it is the respectable thing to do, and because they don't want to go to hell. Tyler's dad is a fairly simple (for simple, read shallow) person who likes to make jokes at the expense of others and chuckle to himself and imagine that other people are laughing along. They both think that being normal is a virtue. They read that article in National Geographic about how archaeologists had discovered that there was, in fact, and 11th commandment that was edited out of all bibles and Torahs by homosexual/harry potter enthusiast terrorists, which read: "Thou shall adhere strictly to the cultural norm, with the exception of those cultural norms which dictate that thou should be a whore of any kind (unless thou dost use thy whorish ways to spread the word of god to infidels, and moan biblical verses during thy orgasms). If more than 10.143% of the people who thou dost encounter in thy lifetime think that thou art weird, thou shalt perish in eternal flame and be butt-fucked by demons with penises of flame. For being eternally gay is the worst fate one can suffer. Mwahaha!"

Yess. So I doubt they were really happy about the whole "All my friends are gay." In fact, when they found out that he was a member of the Gay-Strait Alliance, they compelled him to quit. "Think of your reputation," they said. As if it should be a blight on his reputation that he doesn't think that members of the GLBT community should be treated like second-class citizens. Tyler, showing a degree of spirit and defiance that makes my clitoris swell with love, refused. Go Tyler!

So, yes. The conversation was awkward.

They asked about how school was going, bemoaned the fact that we both had slightly better grades than Tyler, bitched about how much Tyler's mandatory semester abroad was going to cost, mused that maybe Tyler should spend his semester abroad in Charleston (I'm not even going to start about the many ways in which that statement is retarded), and sent passive-aggressive messages that they did not approve of our senses of humor.

I was forced to inform them that Tyler was not going to be able to cuddle in bed with them that night, because Tyler and I were going to a dance together. This got their attention, and they asked many paranoid questions. They got it out of us that the dance was a masquerade run by CGSA, and that Tyler was going to be wearing a pair of wings with his costume. This alarmed them greatly. They exchanged, "our son has fallen in with a bad lot, and is turning gay before our eyes" glances. Later on, they begged Johnathon to convince Tyler that wearing wings was a bad idea. Haha.

After Tyler showed up, we went back to the dorm, and they saw Tyler's Piss Yellow Sheet.

The Piss Yellow Sheet was this survey that our RA gave us, asking questions like, "What is your favorite color/ice cream flavor/soda/etc." It was printed on paper that was this obnoxious shade of yellow. Hence the name. We all had to write down our answers and post the sheets outside our doors, so all of our adoring fans, who clustered on our threshold waiting for News, had some juicy little tidbits about this sensitive information. Of course, everyone in our group wrote really rude answers. For example, my favorite color is seizure, my favorite sport masturbation, my favorite holiday World Aids Day. You get the idea.

Tyler, being Tyler, had written very boring answers. He wanted to "Bean Architect" when he graduated (we figured that he meant "be an architect," but since know space was included, it was hard to tell.) He liked chocolate. He didn't have a favorite sport. In fact, he had left an astounding number of spaces blank. Like the good girlfriend I am, I filled these in with answers much like my own when he wasn't looking. Tyler's parents weren't amused, though. Luckily, Tyler had the presence of mind to tell them that someone he didn't know must have done it without him noticing, as a joke. Otherwise, they probably would have shipped him off to live with the Amish, as a lesson. And killed me in the name of The Lord (Jesus, not Voldermort).

The next day, I went to a football game on their invitation, and received nasty stares when I wrote in my journal instead of watching the game. What can I say? Football sucks poop-caked ass.

Later, we embarked on a journey to Easley, which reminds me of a town that was run over by disease around the time they invented dirty factories, became a ghost town, and was recently reclaimed by a tribe of hicks who lost their homes when the trailer park burnt down due to the fact that a gay man dropped a match on their stores of alcohol. Yess. Craig and Khoa came with, eager to get away from Clemson and view the spectacle that is Tyler's parents. We were going so we could eat at some mysterious venue, which Janie called, "The Railroad Restaurant." Because it's near a railroad. Yeah. It turns out that it was a fuckin pizza place. I guess they didn't realize that there were 20 pizza places in Clemson, and that we probably weren't eager for MORE PIZZA. But, whatever, that wasn't really a big problem... it's just something I would have thought about if I had been in their position.

So, it was the kind of place where you ordered at the counter and then were served the food at your table. Just as we came in this huge party of people came in and got in line. Tyler's parents decided to stand by our table and wait for Tyler's uncle/spoiled kids to show up (the guy offered his six-year-old son a five dollar bill if he went over to shake my hand. Nice family). They also elected to not look at menus while they stood around. Craig and I decided that it was probably a good idea to get on line, because we were hungry and didn't want to wait even longer while other people got on at the end of the line. Tyler's dad watched us save their spot in line, and made no move to figure out what everyone else wanted to order. As we drew closer to the front of the line, I finally decided that they would have to be forced from their stupor. So Craig got them a menu and bid them to take a look at it. Then, as I was just about to reach the counter, they bid me to come back to the end of the line. They needed time to figure out what they wanted. You think?

Some snippets of conversation during our dinner:

Mark (Tyler's dad): Hey, there, Craigory. You goin' to the fountain area any time soon?

Craig: Whaa?

Mark: I noticed that you're running a little low on your iced tea there, Craigory.

Craig: Um, yeah.

Mark: (shaking his empty glass at Craig) I'll take diet Coke. Thanks, Meester Craigles. Har, har.

***

Melissa: I think that singing is fantanstic, and is to be encouraged in any situation.

Mark: (as if he thought he was being deeply challenging) Then sing. Heehee.

Melissa: (gesturing to her 1/4th eaten pizza, thinking that no one had figured out that she was quite hungry) I'm eating.

Mark: Ho, ho. Just do it. Sing.

Melissa: I'm eating. I'll do it in a couple of minutes.

Mark: Hee, hee. Won't do it here, will ya?

Melissa: (sings)

All Present Adults: (stare evilly)

***

Melissa: I like Charlotte because it's clean.

Khoa: Singapore is the cleanest city in the world. You should live there.

Melissa: I'm not that clean.

Khoa: Yeah, that's probably a bad idea. They caned this kid for graffiti-ing a wall.

Melissa: (sarcastically) Sounds like a great society.

Janie: It's a good deterrent.

Melissa: (again, sarcastically) That's the best way to keep kids in line, of course. Government sanctioned beatings! That's the perfect solution! Don't know why that went out of style here.

(silence all around)

***

Yeah. Like I said. Bucket. Of. Kittens.

Well, that's enough rants. One of these days I'll get back on topic. Until then, let's raise a glass to all those bitch parents out there-- without you, we would have never felt injustice and stupidity so keenly, and would never have been motivated to strive to avoid being like you at all costs. Thank you for all you've done.

I leave you with this:

BROS IN HOS.

Think about it.

All my people on the floor/ All my people wantin' more--

Let me see you dance,

Mei-Mei, Duchess of Dutchaka

PS: Hey, Britney-- you say you want to lose control? Come over here, I got somethin' to show ya. (Humps cane.) See, this is what canes should be used for: masturbation, not child beatings. (If you didn't understand anything I just said, watch this video and be enlightened)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P1UH1OO8DC4

Happy orgasms, kittens.