So, the fiancé had her bridal shower this past weekend. I guess I wasn't super-duper excited or anything, because her sisters were coming to spend the weekend at our place, but I wasn't exactly put out either. It was going to give me a day or so of peace and quiet, not to mention the presents.

Contrary to what one might assume, the haul she pulled in was pretty good too. Some new glassware, a nice skillet, and a handful of various other kitchen implements. I'm a big fan of food and cooking, so I was happy. Of course, there was an ulterior motive. You see, I'm an unabashed fan of throwing things away. The opposite of a pack rat, but I don't know the term. At any rate, receiving new things means I get to divest myself of old things.

Now, lets be clear here. I don't just go around throwing crap away at random. But if it hasn't been used in a year, and I'm not party to some contract to keep it; it's going bye-bye. And, of course, with our current living space being steadily usurped by a pile of wedding paraphernalia that seems to have it's own agenda of Manifest Destiny; I'm primed for some serious purging. So when the old lady shows up with three armloads full of loot, I'm already filling boxes with old shit and setting them by the door.
"What are you doing?" she demands.
"Oh, just putting this stuff aside. Since we got all that new junk, I'm just going to get rid of our old stuff."
"But you can't just throw that away." She begins to gesture towards the pile of old shit. "People could use that."
"Ok, well, we'll take it down to goodwill." Then inspiration hits me; I am a genius. "Hey, didn't your sisters need some of this stuff? They're still in college, we should let them have their pick."
"We have to wait until the wedding though."
"But they're here now. Why don't we just let them take it back home with them?"
"Because dear, we're going to need our old stuff until the wedding."
"Yeah, I know. I'm not getting rid of everything, just the stuff we can replace with the items you received today."
"That doesn't matter, because we're not going to use the stuff we got today until after the wedding."
My head starts to hurt here, so you'll have to forgive me if the dialogue gets blurry.
"But. You already opened the gifts at the bridal shower. They were... bridal shower gifts. They're yours now. People don-"
"No! They're for the wedding, and what happens if we don't get married?"
"People don't give you a gift, let you unwrap it, and assume you won't use it. That why people who mail Christmas gifts put little tags on them that say 'Do not open until Christmas.'"
"That's different."
"No, this would be like someone giving you a birthday gift a few weeks before your birthday, letting you unwrap it, and then demanding that you not use it on your birthday. Bridal showers are different events from weddings, and the gifts received are different."
"No."
At this point I'm beside myself. My house is filling up with shit. It's in the guest bedroom, it's in my bedroom, my kitchen is filled with a bunch of old shit that needs to be gotten rid of, there were people here this weekend who were eagerly volunteering to carry the clutter away, and she still says no. I'm completely vexed. I mean, I've tried logic, I've even had discussions with the old lady and other females in which (might I add that I neither coached, goaded, or signaled to the female third party) the other females actually agreed that said unwrapped presents were now fair game. I just never get to do anything I want anymore. I'm convinced that she hates me, and derives some form of pleasure from my complete consternation. And I say 'form of pleasure' because I'm not quite sure that something so evil ever experiences what mere mortals describe as pleasure.

Posted by: shank at 05:25 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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So IÂ’ve got this wedding invitation. IÂ’ve never met the bride or the groom in person, but you could say weÂ’ve been corresponding for some time. Because the groom is fucking Shank. Our Shank. The Shank that blogs right here on this wonderful, mostly bio-rhythmic site. Most people donÂ’t realize that Shank and I go way back.

IÂ’m torn, really. The guest list is very tight, so itÂ’s certainly an honor. LetÂ’s weigh the pros and cons.

Cons:

Not much face time with shank. LetÂ’s face it, itÂ’s his wedding day, and even an asshole like me realizes that itÂ’s full of family obligations. IÂ’d have to pay for plane tickets for myself and my wife, though I could just fuck them on a gift and call it even. I wouldnÂ’t know anyone at the wedding, including the groom.

Pros:

I could fuck with people big time. Shank himself suggested I go around telling people IÂ’m his astrologer. If heÂ’s got no objection to that IÂ’m sure I could push it a lot further, implying illegal activities, homosexuality, owed money and plenty of other good stuff.

I could go around saying that I’m, “Here to get what’s coming to me,” and simply walk away.

IÂ’ve been known to have business cards printed up for all kinds of wacky shit before, including Private Investigator, Commode Salesman, etc. The possibilities are really endless. And IÂ’ll be drunk and inciting others to get slammed as well. I could casually insult old people, stand up and make incredulous toasts and use excessively foul language.

I could slap people on the back obnoxiously and tell them about my third testicle. I could goose the old broads. I could rent and wear a ridiculous white tie and tails outfit. I could wet my crotch with water and walk around looking as if I’ve leaked pee on myself. I could “cut in” when old people are dancing.

Think of the material I could get at an affair like this.

I think IÂ’m going to check my schedule.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 11:25 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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