Like kitty litter through the scoopy thing, these are the convos of my life

What do 'normal' conversations sound like anyway?  I think I've had them before but they never seem 'normal' to me.  They are strained, sometimes insincere or superficial.  Usually I'm having what I consider to be a normal conversation with the more traditionally conservative-ish (redundant term?) friends of my highly educated, world-traveled, faithful-church-attending, Democrat, youthful-senior-citizen in-laws.

Not a bad thing but awkward chats with family acquaintances never go much beyond weather or that lovely rendition of (insert name of dreary boring well-known hymn) that Missus Ethel Mae Blickerman played with her double-harp last week during a fundraiser luncheon to send the Bridge club on their annual Branson bus tour.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz  ~_~

According to the Chinese calendar, rabbits are the luckiest of all signs.  I happen to have been born in the Year of the Hare.  I'm also left-handed which some believe is a lucky charm.  Plus I'm an only child.  We're literally born into good fortune.  Siblings are cool and all.  More than once I have wished for a sister or a gay brother.  Buuut we 'onlys' just tend to be super lucky.  Well, we arrre.  =P

Piece from "Garden of Earthly Delights"
By Hieronymus Bosch.

Talks with Mr. Buffie often serve as reminders of my luck.  He hates harps too!  Like me, he thinks they look scary...  Medieval torture devices used by the henchmen of evil emperors that coincidentally could serve as a musical instrument.  Never trust a harp.  They're sneaky.

He does frequently wonder about the weather.  *eye roll*  But it's only because he's all uppity about driving Sir Hiss in the rain.  No one is perfect.

This evening Mr. Buffie was in the laundry room taking clothes out of the dryer when he found a band aid stuck to one of his fake ShamWows.  He picked it up and said something to the effect of 'oh this is very interesting and I would like to know more please, what are the origins of this band aid, is it name brand, who lost it, are they looking for it' instead of how the rest of the world reacts when they find a used band aid in the clean laundry.  "URH MAH GAAAAAHHHHDDDD that's one degree away from finding a severed fingerrrr! urmahgahhhdddduh  SICK!  Sick sick sick!  Throw it in the nearest object that will function as a temporary biohazard receptacle which can be burned in the fireplace!  Stat!"

This is the same Mr. Buffie who insisted I smell the bottom of his shoe a few days ago and pushed it toward my face so the discovery of a mysterious laundry band aid is an archaeological score in his mind.  For the sake of fairness, I begrudgingly admit shared guilt when it comes to fixations on things other people find completely unappealing.  For example...

Banged-up beloved pink

Tweezerman classic slant tip tweezers.

(Smudges are where the
Tweezerman lightning bolt used to be.)

"Look at my tweezers, my tweezers are amazing!  But NOT as amazing as the little removable plastic tip.  By some PsOV, that tiny nubbin is worthless.  To me, it is every bit as important as the expensive tweezers.  And I have to own 7 pairs of ridiculous $20 tweezers because I need a set in every room you know.  Tweezers are the Buffinese version of a Swiss Army knife.  They're a garden tool, a bookmark, a price-tag remover, a kitchen utensil (after thorough sanitizing of course) and obviously an implement of makeup application and personal grooming (also after thorough sanitizing... of course)."  ~  Buffie circa two hours ago.

Tweezer Nubbin

Hey, it's justified.  The piece of plastic protects those tweezers and kind of holds my life together.  Is this a haiku?  (O hai ADHDeee  Weee!)


While we are almost always civil to each other considering we've been married a bazillion years (in 21st Century terms, we've been married a bazillion years, I calculated) we still have our uhm... moments.

Mr. Buffie brought home dinner tonight because I didn't get home until almost 8 and I also brought work home and I still need to put dishes away from last night sooo... yeah.  It was either bring home hot food or enjoy your Triscuits and squeez cheez.

Looks gnarly but I promise it's delicious.

He opted for actual cooked meat and vegetables, imagine that.  As a favor for me, he also brought this weird concoction I like from Pancho's.  It's seasoned steak fries similar to the kind you'd get at a 54th Street restaurant type place.  Then they're covered half-and-half with sour cream on one side and guacamole (seasoned avocado puree style) on the other.  Shredded cheese is melted on top along with a couple fistfuls of chopped fajita steak.  A funky Mexican food in Kansas City version of poutine.  They're SUPER good, cost about $8 and I can eat on them for a good 2 or 3 meals because the box is giant and I have no qualms about reheating them in the oven even though the guacamole and sour cream strangely absorb into the fries the next day.

Anyway, the mister got a meal from Culver's and I spy shrimp on his plate.  Y'all know how I feel about shrimp.  They're my forbidden fruit.  *heart flutter*

So I ask him very sweetly if I can has a scrimp.  He just looks at me while he's putting 'buttery spread' on a sweet roll and doesn't say a word.  Now I'm all offended and tell him I CANNOT BELIEVE he isn't sharing at least one frickin' shrimp with me.


Buffie: "It's ONE shrimp!  You have at least 9 or 10 there.  Hook a sister up.  What is WRONG with you?  I asked nicely.  Why won't you share just one shr..."


Mr. Buffie:  "Because this is fishhh."

Buffie:  "You should have ordered the shrimp."