I love John... I love that he wears the skirt, understands the unspoken rules about farting and bathroom secrecy, and is generally tidier than I am. Ew, boys.
I never understood why boys eat old food. Obviously this food is decomposing and dead and should be thrown away, but no! Throw in some sad, blank stares and shoulder shrugs for good measure and you've got yourself a guilt trip over "Y did j00 throws awayz muh buhlicious foodzz?" AJ (who now lives with us) recently ate some old meat he left out, and got sick from it. AJ is now the poster child for all of my "no eating old food" propaganda.
And jeebus. The great flesh prison. I often refer to John as a sleepy boa constrictor. Though my awake and conscious brain finds it endearing, I've heard I often yell at him about this in my sleep. And trying to leave bed for any reason means I will be grabbed by the nearest body part, held for interrogation and petted. This will often cause my brain to explode, particularly if I am leaving on reasons of bladder impulse.
Luckily for me, John has not yet used any of my nice wash cloths for cleaning up asploded head meats... yet. I imagine that day will probably be filled with burnination.
I thought I would be a lot more mad when it happened. But they seriously are like retarded man-children sometimes. They know what they did was dumb, but they give you dumb face and you've gotta be okay with it.
Only because they're adorable, those retarded man-children; otherwise you'd be devouring them through the hole in their neck where their head used to be. :P Aside from the here-and-there mishaps, living with someone you care about very much is one of the nicest things I can think of. At least I think so.
Anyway, don't feel bad about the oven thing. I did it twice, I think, both times before we moved and I have yet to live it down. We used to write reminders on our stove top in dry erase marker. I think my favorites were "Don't be a mo - turn off the oven, yo!" and "Bitches = ON! Oven = OFF!"
This is brilliant, Crick. Sums it all up beautifully. Mine doesn't come into the bathroom (unless I am showering...) and drinks soda (leaving THOSE caps everywhere) but otherwise, this is spot-on. I would totally buy this book if you wrote it.
The sleepy boa constrictor always makes me giggle... where do they think we are going?
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Besides, it makes for better research to have someone not at all like me :)
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And jeebus. The great flesh prison. I often refer to John as a sleepy boa constrictor. Though my awake and conscious brain finds it endearing, I've heard I often yell at him about this in my sleep. And trying to leave bed for any reason means I will be grabbed by the nearest body part, held for interrogation and petted. This will often cause my brain to explode, particularly if I am leaving on reasons of bladder impulse.
Luckily for me, John has not yet used any of my nice wash cloths for cleaning up asploded head meats... yet. I imagine that day will probably be filled with burnination.
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I thought I would be a lot more mad when it happened. But they seriously are like retarded man-children sometimes. They know what they did was dumb, but they give you dumb face and you've gotta be okay with it.
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Anyway, don't feel bad about the oven thing. I did it twice, I think, both times before we moved and I have yet to live it down. We used to write reminders on our stove top in dry erase marker. I think my favorites were "Don't be a mo - turn off the oven, yo!" and "Bitches = ON! Oven = OFF!"
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But more often than not I am finding pants, keys, drinks, cigarettes, and whatever else that isn't electronics that is misplaced. :)
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Hehe guess I've gotten old and house trained....
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But yeah, this is the first time living with a significant other for the both of us.
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Mine doesn't come into the bathroom (unless I am showering...) and drinks soda (leaving THOSE caps everywhere) but otherwise, this is spot-on.
I would totally buy this book if you wrote it.
The sleepy boa constrictor always makes me giggle... where do they think we are going?
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