Dude: Anything else I should get at the grocery store?
Me: Apples, romaine lettuce, smooth peanut butter. (Some jerk accidentally bought chunky peanut butter a few weeks ago.)
Dude: I love chunky peanut butter.
Me: Good News! There is a tubby coyote butt in the kitchen.
Me: Tub of chunky peanut butter in the kitchen. No coyote parts. My phone is in a surrealist phase.
Dude: I can't IMAGINE where it gets that from.
Selina: YO HOMOS.
Me: Shut up, Selina.
Selina: WHAT YOU'RE DOING IS AGAINST GOD.
Me: Cat, what's your problem?
Selina: IT'S ADAM AND EVE, NOT ADAM AND DUDE.
Me: You're the worst.
Dude: I don't think you know what she's saying.
Selina: YOU CONSISTENTLY DATE LOSERS, YOU KNOW THAT?
Me: Wow. You are Awful tonight.
Dude: What did she call me?
Me: Butt pirate.
Dude: I was defending you, you little Shit Ostrich.
Selina: MRRRRRRRRREOWR MREOWWWWWWWWWWWWR. MREOWR.
Dude: You didn't tell me she was homophobic.
Selina: MREEEEOWR MROWR MREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOWR.
Dude: You. Are. A. Monster.
Dude: Why is your cat so homophobic, anyway?
Me: She's an evanjellicle.
Dude: "I know two things about sloths. And one of them is a lie. Either, their metabolism is so slow that they only poop between once a week and once a month, and when they do, its the time they are most vulnerable to predators. Or, their brains move so slowly that they sometimes mistake their arms for a tree branch."
Me: "So the fastest a sloth ever moves is when it's plunging to its death?"
Dude: "I'm pretty sure the metabolism thing is the truth."
Me: "Yea. The tree branch one is a Douglas Adams joke."
Dude: "Why do you know that?"
Me: "I know one thing about sloths, and it's that Douglas Adams is a jerk."
Nosey Guy Who Always Comes In And Expects Me To Give Him A Free Therapy Session Because He Is Lonely And I Am Trapped In A Store: "I have a date tonight."
NG: "It's tough you know."
NG: "Are you married?"
NG: "Ever been in a relationship?"
NG: "I hear you. Do you ever want to be married?"
NG: "A lot of guys don't realize they need relationships."
NG: "You know what I mean?"
NG: "You seem to have it all figured it out."
Dude Via Text: "What are we doing for dinner?"
I start to type.
NG: "I've been dating a long time. I could tell you some stories."
DvT, before I can text a reply: "Wait, you're going out tonight, right?"
Me via Text: "Yep. But I should still be home moderately early. Be aware, I'm going to have an entire bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling cider. I hope you're prepared for the consequences."
NG: "Sure do have a lot of stories."
Me: "Anything I can help you find?"
NG: "I kind of want to go over there."
He points to the section that I have blocked off.
Me: "Sorry. It's closed today."
NG: "Like your heart."
Me: "Like my patience."
He leaves without buying anything.
Me via Text: "Are you hanging out with the dust mops."
DvT: "No. Shit Ostrich is lazy on the bookcase, Goose is lazy on the floor. I'm lazy on the bed. We are all unimpressed with Monday."
MvT: "Same. You should hang out with Shit Ostrich. You seem to be a good influence on her."
DvT: "On the bookcase? That seems dangerous."
MvT: "Got it. Sturdier bookcases."
DvT: "Sure? I wouldn't make that a priority."
Like I've ever had any sense of priority.
Me: I'm too tired to cook. Should we order in?
Dude: I'm not in the mood for Chinese. Something with fruit?
I send him links to Playa Bowls, and recommend some other healthy places that serve fruit like things.
Dude: I am terrible at making decisions tonight.
Me: Does pineapple on a chicken pizza count as fruit?
Dude: Wait, was that part of your Tinder bio? I feel like that's why I swept right for you. Yes to pineapple chicken pizza. And to not ever having to argue about how pineapple belongs on a pizza.
During a discussion about how being half-assed is only acceptable if it results in a zonkey:
Dude: Mules don't cut it.
Me: Mules are the ostriches of horses.
Dude: Or Canada Geese.
Me: Canada Geese are The Worst. If we're going to be a country of racists who build a border wall, it should be to keep out Canada Geese.
Dude: That would have to be a very tall wall, and I doubt we could get the geese to pay for it.
Me: Tax. The. Swans
Me: I don't want to jinx us, but ever since you showed up, my cat has stopped being annoying.
Dude: I'm sorry. Are we dating? Or am I your tawdry cat whisperer?
There are scratching sounds from my drawer.
Dude: Which one is that?
Me: Curse word bird with a weird neck.
Dude: Shit Ostrich?
Me: That is definitely her name from now on.
Selina: MY NAME IS NOT SHIT OSTRICH!
Me & Dude: SHUT UP SHIT OSTRICH!
Shit Ostrich has been quiet ever since.
Selina: GOOD MORNING!
Me: Ugh. What do you want?
Selina: GOOD MORNING!
Me: What do you want?
Selina: GOOD MORNING! GOOD MORNING! GOOD MORNING! GOOD MORNING!
Me: MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW.
Person Standing Outside Window: There is something seriously wrong with that cat. It sounds awful today.
Other Person Standing Outside Window: That wasn't a cat, Phil. That was a person yelling at a cat.
Phil: Who yells meow at a cat?
The Other Person answered, but they were walking away from the window so I couldn't hear them. But I know The Answer.
Someone abandoned this book about recovering from abandonment and addiction on The Little Debbie shelf. I hope they're okay.
At some point last night, I woke up to Selina doing her "HEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!! BALLLLLLLL!!!!!" routine, and I threw a sock in her general direction and went back to sleep. A bit later, I woke up, and she was curled up next to me, purring.
When I woke up this morning, my side felt slightly irritated, like I had rolled over on top of a pen in my sleep. It could happen. I do frequently have pens near or on my bed. But it wasn't a pen. It was a screwdriver.
I do not, ever, ever ever, really ever, at any given time, keep a screwdriver near my bed. When not in a drawer, a screwdriver might find itself on a bookshelf, which is the last place I remember putting the tiny screwdriver that I used to assemble a small shelf.
SOMEONE picked up a screwdriver in their mouths, hopped onto my bed, and curled up next to me with a flipping screwdriver, and then left it there, as some sort of weird offering.
My list of suspects is quite small.
Coworker: You said that Baron (Von Poopypants) called yesterday. What did he want?
Me: He wanted to know if "perchance" we had the next book of the Amazing Spider-Man by Nick Spencer trade.
Cw: He said "perchance"?
Me: Yea. But when I told him the price, he told me that I'd "put a damper" on his day. At least he didn't mention "role playing" this time.
Cw: Now, I feel guilty about using the word "perchance" and "damper".
Me: Don't. You actually shower, don't smell like you smoke cigarettes that you found in a sewer, or talk like you're a cartoon character being choked.
Cw: Ha. OH NO. Stupid brain. Stupid brain.
Cw:: Now I can't stop thinking of role playing sex stuff. SCROOGE MCDUCK. SCROOGE MCDUCK.
Cw: It was the first thing I saw.
They point to a Scrooge McDuck book.
Me: I just appreciate that that was your buffer safe word for not thinking about sex, and not ... your inspiration.