I had a conversation with my local radio DJ yesterday afternoon. Well... technically, I was talking to my radio, but I like to pretend.
DJ: "Here's a really easy trivia question for people who want to win tickets to cool shit."
Me: "I want to win tickets to cool shit."
DJ: "It's really easy and I'm pretty sure only one guy is even listening to the station right now, which is why I don't even mind saying 'shit' on the air."
Me: "That's me. I'm the one guy."
DJ: "Call me with the answer and win the tickets."
Me: "What's your phone number?"
DJ: "Why isn't my phone ringing?"
Me: "What's your phone number?"
DJ: "This question is very easy and these tickets are to shit that's really cool."
Me: "What's your phone number? Who memorizes radio station phone numbers? Say your phone number!"
DJ: "I can't believe this."
Me: "What's your phone number?!"
DJ: "Here's a song nobody likes anymore! Yay!"
That conversation didn't go well.
It, however, went slightly better than a conversation I had with my 3 year old daughter a few days earlier while driving to the store.
Her: "My vagina's name is Heezer."
Me: "Wait... what?"
Her: "His name is Heezer. He's very nice."
Hang on. Let me pause for a second. I want to make it clear that this really happened. She named her vagina, considers it a man, and talked to me about it while I simultaneously attempted to not careen the car off the road into a ravine and to avoid giving her a vagina stigma by throwing up all over myself.
Me: "Well, that's cool."
Her: "When we get to the store, can Heezer come out and play?"
Also worth noting... my daughter isn't a hooker. She means all of this literally.
Me: "Not in the store. Keep Heezer where he is."
Her: "But Heezer wants to talk to you. Can you say hi to Heezer?"
Me: "Legally? I don't think so."
Her: "Heezer's just shy. But you can talk to him."
Me: "If Heezer is shy and feels like being shy for the rest of his life... let's not rock the boat, okay? Maybe Heezer likes being shy and not coming out to talk to people ever. Ever. Ever."
Her: "You make it sound like Heezer's gross or something. Just be nice to him."
Me: "Urgh.... er.... okay... um, hello, Heezer."
And that's how I ended up talking to my daughter's vagina. Fun, right? Please don't tell the police, if you can avoid it.
And if it wasn't for that, I'd say that the conversation I had with my doctor today was the most painful conversation I'd had in the last week. He was running a battery of "hey, you just turned 30" tests and decided that one test had to go a little further, so he needed to get his "anuscopic device."
And at that moment, I learned something. Nothing can be both good and "anuscopic." Like you can't have an "anuscopic" anything and expect it to be pleasant. Even things that are universally loved become terrible when you add "anuscopic" to the mix.
Friend: "Say man... you want a slice of this anuscopic pizza?"
Me: "I .. don't think we have that kind of relationship, do we?"
Friend: "Well... how about this anuscopic wad of cash?"
Me: "Well... how about go fuck yourself?"
Friend: "Would you like to come with me so we can go win the anuscopic NBA championship?"
Me: "I don't think we should hang out anymore. You've changed."
So, that's how my day has been going.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
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8 comments:
You gotta teach that kid to work in some Scarface dialogue. "Say hello to my little friend. His name is Heezer."
Are you sure it's not your car with the CNTPRTY plates? :)
This is all awesomeness. Not that you didn't already know it, but I thought I'd point it out.
I do not, however, know what "anuscopic" means, and I don't wanna. ::shudders::
Orange,
I'd rather get her to stop introducing people to her vagina. For at least another 18 years.
B.,
Stop this. There is no party in my daughter's pants. Stop this now. I need a drink.
Faith,
Anuscopic. Part anus. Part scope. You do the math. It wasn't a very good day.
So anuscopic conversation is out of the question...got it.
I kind of have a similar response whenever someone suggest trying this wonderful artisanal chocolate.
I could have won tickets to see John Lovitz but no one would answer the fucking phone at the radio station.
Cocktease sons of bitches.
For the record, I feel slightly dirty after knowing the name of your daughter's vajay.
I won tickets from the radio station to go see Chelsea lately. I completely exaggerated a story to win, but still, of all the stories mine was the best. I don't feel guilty because the other women could've come up with something better. Right? Non-imaginative bitches!
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