“I do not envy the headache you will have when you wake, but in the meantime rest well and dream of large women.”
– Westley says goodnight to the giant Fezzik
Ahhhh! The Princess Bride.
A Classic.
A favorite.
A movie that I can successfully quote while drunk and/or sober.
Amazing.
Love.
“There is a shortage of perfect breasts in this world, ‘twould be a pity to damage yours.”
So a good friend and I were texting back and forth this morning. We were talking about the only thing that seems to be interesting enough to take your time away from what you are supposed to be doing instead – gossip and relationships.
It has come to my attention that social media is gay and has definitely changed so much about how we communicate – even if we don’t want to hear about what you had for dinner, you will tell us anyway. You share that you are slightly gassy and that you will regret eating that cheese plate later but you don’t care because you will be alone tonight {oh so GLAM}, among other TMI things. In fact, you might even post about this blog… I’ll just wait here while you go post it up on your “facebook”/”twitter”/”instagram”/”the government knows when I take a shit”, account….
Shit like that should be kept confident, or at least in a private #anyman group or a blog which no one really reads {check} – even I have standards people.
Okay so, back to my conversation I was having with my friend. This is an actual conversation that I had with my friend, not like many other conversations that I mistake having with other people, but in fact, they were only with my alias, aka – myself. Shit gets complicated sometimes… I shall start towards the end, the good part, obviously.
Me: “They’re damn fools, you said it right.”
Friend: “Aye Carumba!” {i couldn’t believe she actually spelled it out, it’s one of those words that just shouldn’t be spelled, but said, ya know like “supercalafragalistic…..” ugh you get it} “All this drama makes me real grateful that I am boring and no one cares about what I do enough to take to social media about it. ha ha ha yeah! Three cheers to getting old and not being a hipster! AND saying ‘Jew’ if I damn well please” {that’s so jewish of her} “And eating carne asada fries….”
{yes, cheers to us, jewish crackers who have a slight obsession for driving to Jilbertos at 2am for Carne Asada fries. Must. Have.}
Me: “Oh man, I just spit my coffee out. hahaha. No one wants to air my dirty laundry out on social media either, are we really that boring?!” {besides myself, yes, I tell on myself all the time, but I guess it’s not social media crack… oh well, thank you blog} “What the hell, I think I might three cheers to not being a hipster”
Jewish Cracker Friend: “Or trendy, vegan, hippie, opposed to non-natural deodorant, politically correct, ethnically sensitive, or scared to say the word ‘gay’ in Hillcrest. Oh and just generally not giving a fuck so long as I make myself laugh. {cheers to that} But, really… why can’t you say the word ‘gay’ in Hillcrest??”
Not scared to say the word ‘gay’ in Hillcrest me: “Who the fuck knows! Aren’t they a gay community? Do they all of a sudden think that the word ‘gay’ is offensive? Is “Hillcrest” so gay that everyone should just know that they are gay therefore no reason to say ‘gay’ and if you do you obviously don’t like the ‘gays’? Ah shit, should we ask someone who is gay?”
Cracker Friend: “Well if we ask someone who is gay then they would obviously need to live in Hillcrest to properly answer our question.”
Questioning the gays me: “Well what if we ask someone in Hillcrest about this ‘don’t say gay’ question we have, will we be able to actually say the word ‘gay’ or will be offending them just by asking and saying the word gay?”
Don’t give a fuck friend: “Well fuck, yes, we should say the word ‘gay’. They can’t get offended if we are just referencing the ‘gay’ word to the gay word in a gay community.”
Ugh me: “Oh okay, well the next time we are in Hillcrest, we shall ask a gay person and tell them before hand that we are merely using the word gay as a reference to our gay question and to not get mad at us for using the word ‘gay’, if in fact, they are offended by us using and saying the word gay.”
Jewish white girl: “That is so gay.”
Gay me: ” I know right….”
Yes, I know what you are thinking but this is the type of conversations I have with my friends all the time, if I can remember them. You don’t have good girlfriends unless you can call each other “jewish crackers” and it’s totally normal shit talking fun, some may even call it love. Annnd to make myself clear, my friend, nor I, are Jewish or gay and that we love all sorts of people, unless you’re a dumbass, that is, frankly, where we draw the line. We say what we think, its diarrhea of the mouth {DOTM} and sometimes we get a few raised eyebrows for it {livin’ the dream}. We can’t help it. You should see us with a few shots of Whiskey… now… “Go sit on Santa’s lap Timmy….” HASH tag #hatersgonnahate aint that the truth, aint that the TRUTH.
Now, go hashtag #jewishcracker social media commands it!
GAY!
“Look Dad!” – I say, as I point to the rock wall next to me. “Look! It’s Rocky!”
With a swift sneaky-ness, he hurries over towards the rock wall.
“Where is he?” I point down and he spots Rocky…. “AWWWW look it’s Rock… wait a minute…”
Now, I already knew where he was going with this, but I thought I’d give him the benefit of the doubt, but I might have as well just landed on the $1.00 mark on the Big Wheel Spin.
“Nooooo, this isn’t Rocky” As he picks him up off the rock wall. “No, I remember, Rocky was black over here.” He points to the end of its tail. “So this couldn’t be Rocky, because I know what he looks like annnnd that isn’t him”.
“Ugh, Dad, you know Rocky is a Chameleon…..”
“Noooo that isn’t him..” He interrupts.
“annnnnnd duh, Chameleon’s CHANGE THEIR COLORS….. riiiiiight.” Hoping that he would be like “oh yeah April, you know, you are right, they DO change their colors and well THIS Chameleon is a male, same size horns, same size body and EVERYTHING it possibly COULD be Rocky….” But no. He insisted that this Chameleon was not Rocky.
Now, let me explain. About two weeks ago my dad was driving home when he spotted something in the road right in front of his truck. He didn’t want to run it over so he stopped the truck and got out. He discovered a male Chameleon that was trying to cross the road {you can imagine how long it would take those slow buggas to cross, he would have surely been hit by another car who wasn’t paying attention}. So he picked up the Chameleon and took him home, he named him “Rocky”. He kept him in a box with some fruit, sticks and leaves {yeah, not exactly the ideal home, but it was close} and kept him at his house. The next day {or the one after that, I can’t remember} he arrived at my house with Rocky in the box. He then took him out of the box and proceeded to put Rocky on his head on top of his hat. Now – all I could picture was that crazy bird lady in that Home Alone movie, with all those birds and bird poop on her head. So here my dad sat on the bench outside with Rocky on his hat. That poor Chameleon. He couldn’t get off and Dad would just walk around with him on his head… he was, for lack of a better word, “attached” to Rocky, I mean he did save him.
I, on the other hand, was trying to help Rocky escape while my dad wasn’t looking. I used my stealthy skills and slowly snuck up behind him with a stick to try to lure Rocky onto it. I failed as my dad moved. I tried again. This time Rocky was reaching up and trying to grab onto the stick… “Help me!! This crazy man took me captive and is holding me hostage on this weird planet of cloth and I don’t see any bugs anywhere!!!” – I’m guessing that is what he would have said, if he could talk.
A couple of hours went by and Rocky was still on my Dad’s head. I took some pictures but can’t find the camera I took them with…
“Daaaaad, poor Rocky, you need to put him in the trees and let him be free. He needs bugs to eat and needs to be in the wild and find a mate, it’s just natural!”
“Ohhh I guess you are right, I just wanted to wait for mom to get here so we could release him together…” {As if he rescued him from a birds mouth and nourished him back to life and it was his big day to go back into the wild…}
So my dad walked over to our Hibiscus bush, he sighed and placed him in the bush. He was genuinely sad. As if his dream was to always own a Chameleon and to be buddies forever. I don’t know. But, he wondered if Rocky would stay around our house and I assured him that he probably would.
So flash back to yesterday when I spotted, what I thought was, Rocky, on the rock wall in our yard. The denial from my father that THAT Chameleon was surely not Rocky confirmed to me that my father was slightly attached to Rocky, and letting him go was hard and he vowed to always believe that even though he might never see Rocky again that he could hope….But no plain Chameleon would ever be as good as Rocky was. {Hehe}
“Nooooo that’s not Rocky! Rocky had a black, dark spot on his tail. I know, I look at his picture everyday on my computer….” Obsessed much?
“Oh okay Dad….” I just let it go. Because I truly don’t think he knew how retarded he sounded. Chameleon’s change their colors everyday…. face it!
I love my Dad, though. He is a smart man, but sometimes I know where some of my “blonde moments” come from… 😉 hehehe….
_________________________________________________________________________
Update: My dad sent me this picture today of Rocky to prove to me he had a black spot in every picture he took.
Again, hilarious!
You have to move a Chameleon to a different location for it to change…. just saying. 😉
“This is Rocky…not that fraud you tried to pawn off on me…”
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