You remember the movie “Something About Mary”?
Allegedly, I’m Mary.
One of my male friends – the one who made the original comparison and also gave me the nickname “Magical Ass.” You Know Who You Are. And thanks for nothing. And sorry, Dad. – looooooooooves to say “there’s something about Vanessa!” in an all-too-chirpy and enthusiastic tone. He’s also mentioned that he “didn’t want to be in a relationship for about a decade… until I met you” and no, we are not in a relationship or romantically involved but yes, I guess he speaks from “something about Vanessa” experience.
I heart you, You Know Who You Are.
So anywho, this is not about me and my superpower of making people crush out.
This is more in line with “things I tell people who are crushing out to help them get a grip.”
Like how I have three cases of sardines on Amazon subscription order and regularly eat them for breakfast right out of the can.
And not the good ones I love because I’m cheap and a broke ass writer (thanks for the beer. AHEM. Not talking to you, Dad. You’re the tops. But the rest of you? You Know Who You Are.), but I deal because I’m a tough cookie and stoic in the face of mediocrity like that.
And how I think daily showers are overrated.
And that I don’t remember the last time I cleaned said shower.
And how two years in Hawaii has hardened me to the degree that I will KILL A COCKROACH WITH MY BARE HANDS.
Don’t even dare me. Don’t even look at me sideways. It’s gonna happen before your eyes can go all askance, let alone before the words are out of your mouth.
I ‘m a straight ninja roach killer.
And that’s disgusting.
What about how I’ve been known to pull entire, still-in-their-wrapper (bastard!) sticks of butter out of my dog’s throat (he morphs into a boa constrictor when he knows you’re coming for something he just stole)…and put it back in the fridge… and use it.
Like you wouldn’t.
Anywho, this tale will join the list of “Please stopping thinking you want to marry me. I’m seriously insane.” tall tales.
So the other night I ran my dishwasher and something I apparently didn’t properly pre-wash (have the dog lick shiny clean first) backed up in the whosit whatsit and the net result was that one side of my sink was filled with this dark gray (seriously. Bordering on black. It was wild. The Ganges wishes it could get its hands on the contents of my sink.) water.
I ran the garbage disposal and no love, so I did what any rational woman living alone and with no handyman skills whatsoever would do… and ignored it for three days.
And then it started to smell weird and I accidentally dropped a spoon in it which caused the fetid liquid to splash onto my Batman shirt in a most uncool and rancid manner, and I realized it was time I Google the problem.
Lo and behold, it turns out a plunger will fix this mess.
But I am a rational woman living alone and with no handyman skills whatsoever and who only takes petite, polite, smell-free dumps, so what would I need a plunger for?
Then I briefly thought about borrowing one from a local establishment (I know. Right? WTF is wrong with me?) but it turns out the two places I looked don’t have plungers for the borrowing – which I now thank my lucky stars for. What was I going to do? Tuck a poop-stained plunger in my shirt? And then repeat that when I returned it??? – so I ended up buying one at Wal-Mart last night.
Turns out a plunger only costs five dollah.
Even on Maui.
Land of the jacked up prices.
Well, probably where you are it costs a buck fiffy, but still.
Cheap plunger in hand I came home, ordered the pets to stand back, and proceeded to splash this vile, dry heave-inducing liquid all over the place (and the dog LICKED IT OFF THE COUNTERS AND CUPBOARDS. No lie.) and on my person, but I was like a dog with a cupboard covered in hideous, monstrous, toxic water with that situation and eventually I triumphed.
My sink now runs free as nature intended.
And, no, you do not want to marry me.
Or live with me.
Or smell the laundry currently in my hamper.
Or maybe even come over for dinner, because it’s very likely that whatever I cook you spent some time inside my dog’s non-discriminating and quite possibly disease-ridden mouth first.
Don’t say you weren’t warned.