21 September 2011

There Will Be No Spelunking Here

My friend H? He knows me better than I know me sometimes. So, when I told him the other day that I was going to go back down to Southern Indiana to see those damn caves, his first question was:

"Why Krissy? What's up your ass?"

This loosely translates to What's the matter Krissy? Why are we running away?

It is a logical question if you know me, but this time, I just wanted to ride the bike. No running. No hiding.

"Nothing H. Why? Am I sitting funny?" I ask him as K and D walk in the door.

"Why would you be sitting funny Krissy?" D asks me.

"I don't know. H thinks there is something in my butt."

K giggles. "We are going... spelunking."

"What! No. No, K. We are absolutely not going spelunking. I don't want to go in the caves, just see the caves. I am not big on underground."

D laughs as well. "No. Not the caves Krissy. We are going to go spelunking and see what it is in your ass."

This does not sound appealing to me, but it paints a hell of a mental image in my head. 

I say nothing. They say lots.

"We will have to get gear." D says as H walks away.

"Yeah, we should probably leave bread crumbs in case we get lost." K says so matter of factly that I get caught up in the conversation despite myself. 

"Ahem. There are no breadcrumbs silly. They would get eaten by animals or covered in guapo or something. Probably just have to run a cord to the entrance." Because, for an instant I have forgotten that we are talking about my ass. 

D and K snicker and M joins in. " Holy shit, you have bats in your ass?" M asked right as H walked around the corner. H looks puzzled and turns around without speaking a word.

"See what you started H?" I yell after him, "Now they think they are going to go spelunking in my ass. Which is preposterous really. I mean, I don't even have an ass. They are not going to fit. Plus, they want to take a canary in with them, something about deadly gases. I do not want a canary in my asscave."

"We have to take a canary with us. Otherwise? We might die." D does not want to die in my ass.

"Oh right, I remember now. Like that one time... when they had to send a rescue mission in to K's asscave... thought that was a collapse though."

D is smart. D can switch directions without stumbling at all. "Nope." He says, all kinds of serious. "They didn't have a canary, remember?"

I laugh. K crinkles his forehead up.

"Hey, Krissy. What the hell? How did we go from your ass to my ass."

I shrug and smile and extract myself from the conversation while D goes on and on about the Chinese miners that are maybe dead in K's asscave. 

16 September 2011

Lighting Fires and Running Amok

 My friends came to see me at the bar the other night. They were probably already a bit intoxicated. Okay, two of them were hammered. One of them was semi-sober.

"Hey, Man." Said a random stranger, "Is that hotel across the street as nasty as I think it is?"

D considered for a moment, then worked up an astonished expression. "Holy shit Man! Did you just proposition me?"

Random Stranger stammers and slurs a little. He has quite obviously been to another bar as well. 

"Uh. No. I. Just. I was wondering if it is nasty."

And D is off and running.

He bats his eyes a tiny bit, not overtly, but I notice so I am guessing RS notices as well.

"Well. How nasty do you want it to be?" His voice is all husky and shit. 

Holy shit.
If I'd have been drinking I would have shot it out of my nose.

RS finishes his beer and consults his smartphone for more detailed reviews of the roach motel. I go about my work, pretending I do not know D, M or T.

T is out of it. Probably not drunk, but definitely not too sober. He has also been awake for way too long. T is a stripper. Strippers do not sleep. They practice sleep deprivation as a hobby, I think.

M is very quiet. She feels the need to behave herself in public today. I'm not sure why.
She may have even blushed when the subject of her sniffing armpits was discussed.

"Well hell, I do not just like to smell anyone's armpits. I just like the way that deodorant smells on some people."

"T. What ever you do, walk with your arms at your sides at all times." D tells T.

M is offended. Or pretends to be."Ahem. I would not smell T's armpits uninvited. I would smell your's though. Because you obviously have slutty armpits."


The armpits were asking for it. They said no... but really they wanted to be sniffed. I wonder if M could be prosecuted for assault or something. 

At the slutty armpit remark, T speaks for the first time that evening. "Holy. Shit." It does not seem profound, but it encompassed every emotion that he has ever had. I think. It is hard to tell sometimes with that guy.

Either he said "Holy shit" with conviction, or he smelled something really bad, or his beer was warm. Something like that.

Anyhow, after a few moments of unnatural silence, D pops in with" Sooo, now what?"

"Now? Now we are going to light shit on fire D." I tell him. When I say this to people, most of them understand right away that I am not talking about real fires. I am mostly talking about metaphorical fires.

"K. Where are the fire extinguishers then?" D asks while M tries to nonchalantly sniff T's deodorant. She waves her hand, attempting to waft in the smell of T's armpits.

"D. I though you understood that to mean metaphorical fires."

D sighs. I think he is maybe having a bad day. " Normally, yes. Today, I am thinking real fires. So, lets collect the fire extinguishers."

I say nothing, because sometimes I am not sure whether D is joking or not, and I don't really want to be an accessory to arson.

 Finally, M asks why the fire extinguishers need to be collected. She has probably missed part of the conversation while enraptured with the scent of Gillette solid. 

"Because, duh. If we are going to light some fires in here, I'll be damned if anyone is going to come along and just put them out and ruin all of our hard work."

T sort of laughs. Again, it's hard to tell; he could have been growling. M could have been tickling his armpits with her nose. 

"We are running... Amok. Amok. Amok. Amok." T says, grinning. 

I love these guys.

They make me feel so normal.

12 September 2011

Flying Monkeys, Homosexual Scarf Wearing Dogs, and Firearms

There is a apparently, a cartoon in which a dog comes home wearing a pink handkerchief around it's neck. I believe it is Southpark. M and T have seen this. I have not. So when T asks, "Where do you keep getting that damn scarf?" to no one in particular, I look perplexed. I wonder if he is talking to me.

They finally tire of my totally lost expression and explain the scarf to me. In the show, the dog comes home wearing a pink scarf - because the dog is gay M explained - and the owner continually takes the scarf off the dog and throws it on the ground, only to ask the dog the same question minutes later in the show. 

Hmm. "Well, obviously, T, that is ridiculous. The dog? Does not have thumbs. How would the dog tie the scarf on itself. Thumbs are essential in knot tying."

T blinks. 
M blinks. 
K snickers.

"Krissy? It's a freaking cartoon. It doesn't have to be realistic. That's like asking how the hell a monkey could fly a space rocket from the ocean to the moon..."

"T? Monkeys can fly spaceships. Know why? Because monkeys have thumbs. Obviously. And they are smart. In fact, they are pretty damn creepy. Not the real ones so much as the stuffed ones. Especially the ones with cymbals and also the see-no-hear-no-speak-no-evil ones." 

"Monkeys are not all that creepy." K throws in from the peanut gallery.

"Monkeys are creepy. Especially the flying ones in the Wizard of Oz movie." 

M agrees. "Know what really bothers me about those monkeys? They wear clothes. And also the stupid hats. I mean, if I were a flying monkey, my hat would be all blown around on my head. Those hats though, just stay right on top of the monkey heads. It's... odd. I would not dress my flying monkeys up in stupid hats and creepy uniforms."

T wonders out loud why the monkeys are creepier to us than the green woman on the broom.  I explain that we can quite obviously relate to the green bitchy lady. 

He then wonders out loud how one would go about teaching a monkey to fly.

"Probably, you would just have to do it like when you teach a kid to swim. Just throw it off a seven story building."

 T has fucking issues.

We are silent for a moment.

"And then you just hope there is a pond or something under the building to catch the kid." Says K.

"No," says T. "We throw the monkeys off of the building, to see if they can fly. If they can't? Then I would have to go back down at get another monkey, and another one..."

"Well, I would personally just take all of the monkeys up at one time, so as not to make so many trips up the seven story building." M says.

We are all kinds of serious. "I agree, but then, you know, we think ahead like that T. It is probably just part of being girls. We are all logical and shit."

T ignores our superb planning skills. "Then I think I would have to keep going to the flying monkey store and buying more monkeys. There is possibly a limit to how many flying monkeys one can purchase."

I roll my eyes at T. "You can not buy a flying monkey T. Obviously, they do not exist, so there would have to  be some genetic engineering going on. You would have to build a laboratory and then start engineering genes. Which is scary. They would be hybrids. Hybrids? Can not breed."

T thinks I am taking the fun out of things. 

At this point, for some reason, K is sitting on the couch, one arm held high over his head. I realize suddenly that no one seems to have shared with K the fact that M is crazy about armpits. So, I scream of course. I am saving his life, and also probably his innocence. 

"For the love of God K, put your arm down... M has this thing for armpits. She could maybe possibly molest you if you allow her to catch the scent of your armpits."

K promises to lock his door when he goes to bed. He says he will sleep with an eye open. He does not seem to be overly concerned that he may be molested in his sleep now that M has noticed the appeal of his deodorant.

T? Glances at us, visibly disturbed by this turn in the conversation.

"Bro? Sleep with a fucking handgun tonight." 

This coming from the crazed flying monkey murderer.

06 September 2011

Anal Raping Mud Bugs

T and I were in a very involved conversation. For once, there were no jokes, no funny things. For something like four hours.

Outside, at the campfire, M and D were having their own very involved surreal conversation about mud daubers. 

As T and I walked from the back door toward the fire, we heard only, "I don't know what a 'mud dauber' is, but I am pretty sure it was an anal raping mud bug."

T stopped for a second.

I stopped for a second.

Then of course, there was really no option but to continue on toward the fire. D was explaining to the four or five people gathered at the fire that the bug had broken down his door and came straight for him, in what was obviously an attempt of man-rape. I have not been drinking, so I can not really fathom where this conversation could have possibly originated. 

"Anal raping mud bug D? Truly?"

D is not joking. He does not smile. He tells me that the bug's penis was quite obviously pointing at him. He tells me that the three of them, D, B and some midget looking dude were in the camper, getting something or another ready for some reason, and the mud dauber had flown in through the open door. 

They saw it, the three of them. Apparently, even though midget dude claims to have seen one before and knows what it is, he is scrunched up in a corner... quivering and rocking back and forth. He may have also been sobbing.

B? He is apparently the smartest of the three. He darts around the flying penis bug and runs. Just hightails it out of the vicinity, leaving D to fight the bug alone. 

"Hey! I thought we were supposed to be bros Man!" D screams through the open door while flailing at the bug wildly. I have heard a rumor that he screamed like a girl, and tried to run away. 

At this point in the story, my skeptisism must be easily read in my expression, because D tries to justify his terror.

"Krissy. It had a gun. It tried to rape me. I feel violated."

Midget Guy throws his two cents in, "Haven't you ever heard of a mud dauber?" Oddly, he says nothing about the mud daubers propensity for anal rape.

D goes on to claim that the mud bug was wearing armor, quite possibly a bat suit. He assures me that they are  indestructible and therefore must be intent on anal rape. A logical conclusion, I think.


Someone should do something about this I think. There should probably be a study conducted.  So in the interest of protecting my friends, I have armed myself with information obtained from google.com.

Mud daubers are freaking scary looking. Their ass ends hand down while they are flying, which I am assuming is what the guys took to be the penis.

There is no information or statistics available regarding sexual deviance in this species of wasp.

01 September 2011

Meeting New People

I have quite a few little phrases that I pass out to random people on a regular basis. Sometimes, though, after a certain amount of alcohol has entered my system? I proceed to run all of my phrases together in a not so logical monologue. To strangers. Because they are way more fun to mess with than people that already know me. Also, I tend to talk way too fast and forget to breathe during this speech. 

"Hi! How are ya? I'm Krissy, by the way."

At which point said stranger generally asks me how I am doing.

"I am all kinds of awesome. And also modest. Ha! I love me. I love me. I'm the best I ever had! I learned that from my Daddy, you know. Which sounds pretty fucked up doesn't it? It wasn't though. It was mostly indirect. Because my brother actually learned it from my Daddy and then told  me about it. 

 I am not a bad girl you know? I still have the box that the cherry came in. I learned that one from my brother, who may have learned it from my daddy, but I am not for sure. Jeez that sounds fucked up too, huh? Maybe I should tell people that I learned these things from people that are not related to me. The cherry thing? I didn't even get that joke until just a few years ago. 


My cousin used to call me a two cent slut, which I also didn't get for the longest time. 

Know what that is? It's brain sucker. Know what it's doing? Ha! It's starving to death. That's from my daddy again. I didn't really get it until I was sixteen or so. Sorry. I should maybe not go around just squeezing people's heads. Especially people I don't even know. That's sort of rude, huh? I will do it from over here. See? Now, I am just squishing your head. Squishy head. Ha! Squishy is a funny word. Always makes me giggle. And also? The word waterhead makes me giggle. Its wrong and I am certainly going to go to hell for it. But really, it does. 

I know I shouldn't laugh, because water on the brain is very serious, nothing funny at all about it. But the term waterhead? Gets me every time. Also window-licker. Makes me laugh I mean. I certainly didn't mean that you are a window-licker. That would be even more rude than touching your head. 

I tried to binge drink one time. Which is, apparently, not something that one can just leap right into. You have to work your way up to binge drinking probably. And also? You should not eat while you are attempting binge drinking because it just makes you want to go to bed. Which makes you a quitter, and no one likes a quitter. 

Did I mention that I am probably going to be a cowboy when I grow up?Or possibly a ninja. I am still mostly undecided. Kind of a toss up. If I had a horse already? I would just run with the whole cowboy thing. But I don't. I would have to buy a horse. I should probably just be a ninja. Less start up cost that way, right? Plus, I would have to feed the horse, and to be honest, sometimes I forget to feed myself. And also I killed a cactus one time. Anyone that kills a cactus should probably not be allowed to have a live horse. Which is not to say that I would like a dead horse. Who would want a dead horse? Of course then I wouldn't have to worry about feeding it... something to think about I guess.

My friend H? He pokes me in the arm all the time, not like hard or anything. It' mostly a joke. But I think it would be a funnier joke if we go some other bar where we don't know anyone.. and poke random strangers. In the arm I mean, poke them in the arm like H does. Want to? 

Like right now, let's go to a bar and poke people. Not a strip club though, you are not supposed to touch the strippers I think. I do not have very much knowledge of strip clubs, but I am pretty sure you get thrown out for poking strippers. And possibly you even go to jail. That would be a stupid thing to go to jail for wouldn't it? I'd have to lie. I'd be all embarrassed to be in jail for poking people in the arm. Like, 'hey what are you in for Krissy?' Then I'd have to say manslaughter or something equally intimidating.

So...anyway? How is your day going?"