Saturday, December 31, 2011

A Happy New Year Blog Post

Happy New Year, I hope you're all enjoying the number one holiday that is supposed to be much more fun than it actually turns out to be. Although, I did end up enjoying some fireworks to the theme of Star Wars. God Bless America.

Here's a Quimsical Conversation treat to welcome the new year. I should point out for reference that the names Katherine and George will be used in this post, neither of which are our actual names.

"I'm eating pecan pie. Yuuumaaay."

"I could have pecan pie."

"I could have your soul."

"You already do George."

"Oh Katherine...Why'dya have to do these things to me?"

"Because you destroy me!"

"Oh cut your dramatics...your behavior is positively VILE!"

"You torture me George."

"Your very essence tortures me."

"Why must you be so cruel."

"Oh Katherine...Remember the days you would bring me lunch at the library..."

"Because I was a good friend! And now you drag my name through the mud and call me vile."

"You chased me around a house with a gun..." (This actually happened - Nerf gun)

"Only because you did it first! And you shot me! You shot me at least thrice!" (Also happened).

"You beat me to the ground with a candlestick in a small bathroom!" (Happened). "Speechless I see."

"I am sorry it came to blows but YOU GAVE ME NO CHOICE!"

"AS IF YOU COULD OUTRUN ME!!"

"I can't George, and that's why I hide."

"You hide because you're...a pussy."

"I have one, but is it fair to call me one?"


**Later in the conversation:

"Katy Perry got divored."

"From that psycho Russell Brand?"

"You don't know him, how do you know he's a psycho?"

"Ugh, we dated once. Anywho, I'm going to bed before you come up with another plan to get us killed, or worse, expelled."

"That's my line you asshole."

"It's actually Hermione Granger's or JK Rowling's so..."

"Hey. Fuck you."

"Sweet dreams you lousy fuck."

"I will have bizarre dreams, and you will be jealous of them."

"Will I, Mitchell?"

"Yes."

Friday, December 30, 2011

Goodbye Extensions

Friends, Romans, Blogger followers, lend me your ears (Shakespeare no?). I bring to thee a scenario that some may know well: that goodbye with a good friend that lasts a while longer than any goodbye ever has before it.

Example. This evening I was supposed to leave a rather Quimsical person's home at around six-thirty. I actually departed at eight-thirty. Now we didn't spend all that time goodbying, but I would say we spent a good fifteen minutes. And we did it in accent I thank you.

You see accents are a key component of a long goodbye because in order to extend the goodbye to its full potential you must pretend to be someone else. Someone who leads a much more dramatic life than you do. Someone who has much more at stake when they say goodbye.

Confused? Want to know how to extend your own goodbyes so you leave a full fifteen minutes to half hour later than you're supposed to? I'll give you some tips... because I''m just that generous.

1) Begin in a ridiculous dramatic pose on your car. I like to lay on top of mine with a melodramatic facial expression.

2) Never get in your car and never allow the other person to get in their's. Getting in the car is 75% of the leaving.

3) As said earlier, speak in accent. My accent this evening was a sudo-Catherine Hepburn. These accents should not be spot on either, they're your own personal creation.

4) The goodbye leaves the real world, the reason for your goodbye is no longer the actual reason for your goodbye. Remember, much more dramatic than your actual life.

Just as a disclaimer, other people will probably see you do this, but fret not. You will inevitably see yourself from afar, running about and flinging yourself dramatically on cars, but just know that what you're doing isn't normal but it is fun :)

Happy New Year

Monday, December 26, 2011

A Normal Christmas Conversation

In the post-Christmas spirit, let's play a game of He said, She said. A conversation between none other than the Quimsical Audecdotes pair. To give context, it occured while one of us was watching the cinematic masterpiece of comfort, Julie & Julia. That also may explain why there are some harsh words spoken about Julie Powell, a fellow blogger who we know nothing about besides what we see in Amy Adams' portrayal of her in the film.

This conversation also may serve as an indicator about how easily one can go from talking about a lovely movie to shitting. No? Just us? That's fine...I guess.

Via Text Message. Edited in MLA format, I thank you.

"Oh and I guess Julie [Powell] and her husband are still married."

"Pure bullshite. He is better off without her gingery cunny."

"Maybe he needs a bitch in his life."

"She is the controller of the bedroom."

***

"Meryl Streep is superb."

"A real goddess."

"She deserves all the Oscars in the world."

"And a pat on the back."

"Yes."

"And a stiff cock."

"I'm UP!"

***

"Such. A. Large. Shit. I just had. I think I lost weight."

"Oh god, extreme girth?"

Oh yeah, and length. Its like an anaconda."

"Oh sweet myeeryy." (For reference, this should be pronounced how Jimi Hendrix pronounces Mary in his classic song, "The Wind Cries Mary").

"Green."

"Oh."

"I am...alarmed."

"Did you even need to wipe or was it a messy wipe..."

"It was messy. That's how I found out it was green."

-End of conversation-

Thursday, December 22, 2011

A Terrible Terror

One of my worst fears is someone breaking into my home. That being said, I invite you into my own personal nightmare.

It began innocently enough, my friend and fellow Quimsical Audecdote writer and I getting some Taco Bell to fill our rumbling bellies...actually we might not have even been that hungry we probably just wanted Taco Bell. That trip in it of itself was an ordeal. Me, never quite able to master getting close enough to the drive-through window to get my food comfortably thing. I had parked far too far away and had to get out of the car in order to pay and get my food. A humiliation. It was made worse by the trucker behind me, I remember him as southern for some reason. "Been there," he shouted at me with a breathy hickish laughed. I was-chagrinned.

We arrive at my grandmother's dwelling, we were in her neck of the woods after all, and we hadn't wanted to eat in the car. My grandmother wasn't living at the house anymore, she had already moved into an assisted living community where she was (is) doing quite well I thank you. Now I should have known upon pulling into the driveway that eating at my grandmother's was not in the cards. Having snowed a lot in the past few weeks, my car got stuck in the driveway as I pulled in. No one had been shoveling her driveway it seemed. An omen.

Parked safely on the street outside her home, my companion and I made our way to the backdoor of the house where I had the key. The key I found however, would not be necessary. The backdoor was open. We recoiled, terrified instantly. No one had been at the house in weeks. Sprinting back to the car, I dialed the number to my home, choosing to call my parents before the police.

"Mom!" I said, my voice colored with panic.
"What's wrong?"
"The backdoor to grandma's house is open!"
"Why are you at your grandmother's house."
Embarrassed, "Quin and I wanted to eat our Taco Bell there..." This was an insignificant detail. Who cared what me and my Cheesy Guardita Crunch were doing at Grandma's house? There was an assailant afoot!

Eventually she put my father on the phone. "Get your ass in the house," he told me.

"WHAT! I'm not going in there! There could be someone in there!"
"Then beat their ass! Protect your grandmother's home!"

Feeling like Braveheart, my friend and I walked back to the backdoor as I remained on the phone with my father.
"Should I get a shovel?" Asked my quick witted companion
"Good idea."

We approached the backdoor.
"Do you want me to go first since I have the shovel?"
"Yeah you go first, you have the shovel."
"Jesus Christ," I hear my father say.

We entered the house where I attempted to turn on the lamps. The lamps did not turn on, my thought: "Oh my god! THEY STOLE THE LIGHTBULBS!"

"Check to see if all the silver and appliances are there," my father instructed me. My shovel clad companion and I tiptoed through the house, surveying it for anything missing. There wasn't, but I still had an image of some vagrant/hoodlum descending the staircase mid-break in/squatting session.

The coast was clear it seemed, however did that mean that my companion and I were able to enjoy our Taco Bell in the comfort of my grandmother's home? Definitely not. We sat in my car which was parked directly outside my grandmother's house, our hearts pounding from the perilous danger we had just faced.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Orch(id)asm

Today, I am finally coming home from college. Having had a very rough week of finals and not a lot of sleep last night, I'm groggy around this time. I honestly believe that naptime should be resurrected from its pre-school sepulchre. Anyway, as the passenger on a not-so-long carride, I begin to get sleepy. My head droops forward as the warm air from the vents caresses me like gentle tendrils. The orchid that is snug and secure, nestled in my crotch, points its flowerless stalks at my face. As my head slowly descends, something magical happens: one aye-aye finger-like orchid stalk runs its bony self through my hair. I am in ecstasy. It's better than a wiry head massager, because it's organic.. But seriously. I continue this delicate dance between man and plant, caressing my face with its waxy stalks. The chills I get are unreal. I have the look of someone who was just given a healthy dose of morphine.

When I finally do open my eyes, I'm brought to the reality that there are cars next to ours and I have been rubbing my face against an orchid for the past 5 minutes. Keeping my pride, I put the orchid back between my legs and act as if nothing has happened.. but I'm longing for its sweet touch once more. It is nice to get closer to nature.


Friday, December 16, 2011

Finals Week

Hello all! If you're a college student, then I'll pose this question to you: How did your finals week start?
Really? Cool. Mine started with a car accident. I don't even know if more needs to be said on that but as you can imagine it sucked. I was the driver. Of someone else's car. I didn't have my license with me. A recipe for disaster one might muse. Nah, not too much disaster just a lot of guilt for crashing the bf's car.

Moving on. A hypothetical situation, of course: You know when you're assigned a paper probably over a week from when it is due? You've been doing the assigned readings for class of the hearty novel Atonement (excellent novel, that Briony is a real cunnilingus though), so, naturally, you expect the essay to be on said novel. You've even been putting tiny yellow post-its in the parts that count because, from past experience, you know it is a real bitch to go back in a book to find the necessary quotes to make a strong paper. All is well in the land.

You finish the novel, feeling a bit depressed, confused and victorious - for you've just killed Briony Tallis by flipping the last page (reaaaally did not like her). Ah, time to get this essay done early, you say, giving yourself a solid two days. You whip out the essay topics, an action that you perform with the utmost distaste. You slowly and superciliously cast your eyes down to the paper once you deem it worthy of your glance. What topic can throw me? you wonder, since, you are a master of Atonement at this point. Hell, you feel like you're the one who got between Cecilia's legs. And then it happens.

What. The. Fack.

Your eyes instantly widen, your mouth slightly agape and nostrils at full flare. You even feel a subtle sheen of sweat begin to condense on your unwavering forehead like water drops on a glass of iced tea that has been left on some old woman's porch for far too long. Unsweetened. You cringe at the thought and slap yourself back into reality. Defining the identity of woman and what it means to be woman during the Great War (WWI - obviously it was not called WWI before WWII). Not the plan... You purse your lips in confused disappointment, set the paper down (still looking at it), walk into the kitchen.. and warm up a s'mores Pop-Tart. It's the only thing that seemed to salvage the situation aside from telling the professor you had somehow lost both of your hands and would not be able to write the essay. The Pop-Tart seemed less dramatic. Of course, this is all hypothetical... -_-

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Luxuriously Linguistic: Don't Fuck With My Brita

Okay. So, this was written last semester around finals week.. I realize now how violent it sounds.. that's my disclaimer. So, don't think I'm a crazy person, please. This is one more post written in the same style as the first Luxuriously Linguistic post. Enjoy.

I violently jostle my key into the ill-fitting lock and twist the door handle with rage. Only the sound of the door slamming open carries through the air as I stare at the back of my roommates’s abhorred, kinky Jew-fro.

My Brita, drier than the savannah, the garbage, more overflowed than weeping eyes.

In one quick second, I snap. Chin in full bottom jut, eyes full of fire and blinded by rage, I “EEEHH” like one who has just had a stiletto driven through his foot, and my roommate jumps in terrified response. He squints and covers his face as I scream my most uncensored insults and simultaneously screech like an eagle, and make the face of the fat girl on Glee when she pretends to be a vampire.

Like lightning, my arms are shot at his head and my clawed and bloody hands dig into his scalp, ripping out sand-dry, frizzy curls as they clench. He screams like that of a girl without a parpouse (Irish accent) and stands up to make an attempted escape.

My hands still in his hair as he tries to run, he immediately falls down and his head is jerked back violently. Instantly, I am upon him. His face is simply disgusting. With one last EEHH I slam his head into the wall. He let’s out a freakish grunt like a wild boar and his head recoils from the wall, bouncing off it in a nasty whiplash.

His unconscious body is limp as a whet noodle. Frothing from my mouth I throw his stale cheerios and almonds on his face and jump out of my first floor window, glass shattering in an icy tail of escape.