The Dinner

Now, The Dinner. I really don't have much to tell. There was no blood shed with which I can regale you. Despite the fact that one of Kay's birthday presents was a wooden baseball bat that could be used to crack some skulls (there was in fact a threat or two of skull cracking with both a bat and some chocolate pudding, which, in hindsight, was a bit kinky, and makes me feel dirty).

Yes, I gave her the bat. It might be because she received a threat from a client and had absolute shit in way of things to defend herself with; or, it might be because some random boy was coming to live with her for ten days. Whatever my motivation, I can tell you that I received a guarantee from three sales people, one random stranger, and my husband, that yes, this bat, if swung at someone's person will incapacitate, if not permanently splatter, them. Thank you Louisville Slugger.

So, The Boy, The Beau, KY (which is a geographical reference and not due to anything I know about his sex life because I know NOTHING of that and don't want to know. Not listening!). Now he reads this here blog, so he can correct me if I am wrong, but facts thus far show: 1) he does not practice voodoo; 2) he does not smell; 3) he wears his socks in pairs, though they are not matched and may not be from the same pair; and, 4) he is willing to take some shizzle from a group of obnoxious women (or um me, the lone obnoxious woman, surrounded by other less obnoxious ones).

Overall The Dinner was a nice time. I ended up winning a dollar because Cheapy McCheap did try to cheap out on dinner. Talk about shooting ducks in a barrel. That was the easiest bet ever. Also, there was one silence that may not have been awkward until I started rocking, saying, "Awkward silence! Awkward silence! This is an awkward silence and I might say something stupid about bodily functions. Stop talking! Must stop talking now! Awkward silence!" Yah, I am a class act.

KY showed no unusual twitches or psychotic traits. Well except for one minor pervy incident in the rest room. But really, is that all that odd? Who doesn't get a little pervy in the bathroom? Especially a public one. It seems that there was a chalk board on the wall behind the urinal. KY was quite excited by this. So he took a picture of it (not because I asked and was like, "Oh yah, yah take a picture!" To which someone replied "but first put 'for a good time call SPR' with her number"), and the obscenely large chalk. Chalk so big that, "this is the kind of chalk that gives guys complexes"*. He initially said he took the picture while someone was whizzing. But then he said he was kidding, no whizzing strangers. And I could find no whizzers in my camera.

So, now that you've seen the boy and realize that he doesn't look like a serial killer - though neither did Ted Bundy (good thing Kay's got a bat) - let me show you the real highlight of dinner:



That was my dinner. Yummy as hell macaroni and cheese that some poor schmuck had to make by sticking each noodle in the bowl one at a time. You know at one point the pile started to tumble and the macaroni and cheese maker vehemently cursed the jerks that ordered the mac and cheese as he had to start again. But I don't care. He could have worked his fingers to the bone. It was totally worth it to me! As a side note, KY had some type of burger. I believe bacon might have been involved. This gives me pause as 1) bacon = gross and 2)is this reflecting a predilection for cannibalism? I'll have to check in the handy dandy pocket DSM-IV at our next SnB.


*Speaking of obscenely large, or in my case, the opposite, obscenely short, do you know that sixteen inches in teeniney for knitting needles. I was all excited about ordering KnitPicks size zero needles and didn't really think it through, or think at all. It turns out that I chose sixteen inch ones which are ridiculously short. I mean, my hands take up the whole area when I knit. I feel like I am using toothpicks, very short toothpicks. Or I have huge man hands. But I don't think so. My hands seem mostly normal to me. I do have a freckle on my middle finger. That is weird. But not a sign of manlyness. I think these are needles for kids or dwarves (which according to Blogger's spell check is really dwarfs ... how can this be?).