As I mentioned yesterday, I was eagerly anticipating a package from Duncan and Renni (and I TOTALLY spelled Renni’s name wrong yesterday because I am a LOSER, please forgive me, apparently I am adding random “e”‘s all over the place, I don’t know why) with my awesome present in it, and they did NOT DISAPPOINT.
Backstory first, though. It is always best to lead up to something awesome with a lot of teasing and such. Did I just give away my entire sexual strategy? Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.
OK, in case you haven’t been paying attention or you were busy with this thing they call a “life” or whatever, here’s the scoop. Late September, my father and I went to a swanky restaurant with the fanciest salt and pepper shakers I had ever seen on the tables and I really, really wanted to steal them, but he didn’t think that was a good idea because when is pilfering ever a good idea? Although one time when I was young and also kind of drunk a friend and I stole a shit-ton of dishes from a Red Lobster because the service was slow and it seemed like a really good idea at the time but for the life of me I don’t remember why now. Those margaritas are GIGANTIC, you guys. Like a SWIMMING POOL of margarita, and it’s ALL FOR ONE PERSON. I think I still have the crab claw cracker thingy around somewhere. Is there a statute of limitations on stealing from the Red Lobster? In case there isn’t, I’m not saying what town it was in. I can’t even imagine how hard I’d have to fight to regain my street cred if I was locked up for stealing crockery from a chain seafood restaurant.
So I talked about the salt and pepper shakers on here, wistfully, and how I only had a salt shaker from the dollar store and a plastic pepper shaker like the kind in cheap pizzerias. But even worse, that ran out in the meantime, and so I was using the tin I bought pepper in from Aldi as my pepper shaker. Here. I took photos.
So whatever, these are totally sad. Then Duncan, one of my commenters, said if I posted a PO box, he would MAIL ME A FANCY PAIR OF SALT AND PEPPER SHAKERS.
Listen, I could lie and tell you this was all part of my master plan when I started blogging. Like, first, get a lot of followers, then sell ad space, then get paying writing gigs, then people start mailing me shit, then WORLD DOMINATION. I could totally tell you that. It would be a complete LIE, but I could say it. I lie ALL THE TIME. Like, a lot more than the average person, to be completely frank. Sometimes I lie about things that don’t even NEED lies, just to lie about something. It’s a compulsion. It’s a curse.
But no! Truth be told, totally awesome swag was never even something I thought about. Because – and this is me being honest – I have very low expectations about things. This is a learned reaction to the world. Go through life with high expectations, and what do you get? Disappointed. Kicked in the teeth. Go through life with low expectations, and what do you get? What you expected to get, mostly. But also, once and a while, a shiny thing happens, and you are SO EXCITED about it.
FREE SALT AND PEPPER SHAKERS FROM SOMEONE WHO READ MY BLOG AND PAID ATTENTION. This is a very exciting thing. I know. You’re sitting there thinking, “Harrumph, who gives a single shit about salt and pepper shakers.” WELL. To YOU I say, did anyone send you anything FOR NO GOOD REASON AT ALL LATELY? You’ve totally just got a case of the green-eyed monster, my jealous friend, so bite me up one side and down the other, because I have AT LEAST ONE FAN and I have SWEET SWEET SWAG.
Anyway. Back to it.
So I don’t have a PO box, but the theater does. So Duncan, and his friend Renni (spelled right this time!) and some undetermined fourth party (I thought the other person would be the third party, but Renni assures me that I am the first party, which made me feel like A VERY BIG DEAL) conspired to send me a package there. At this point I am bouncing like Tigger because GIFTS GIFTS GIFTS! Also, I dropped the shitty dollar-store salt shaker on my foot, which was ouchy and also dented it. I don’t know either. Maybe I have a titanium foot.
I got an email the other day from the person who checks our PO box at the theater: “You got a strange package. It’s in the box office.” Yippee!
Went over last night to watch a critique performance of our upcoming show Faith Healer (which, if you live in the area? You need to do yourself a favor and get a ticket for. I mean, it’s not even expensive. It’s $15. Or 2/$15 with any state or government ID. Or $10 with a student ID. Or 2/$15 on Sundays with one of the coupons from the Entertainment Book. IT IS CHEAPER THAN A MOVIE AND IT’S LIVE EFFING THEATER PEOPLE. It’s amazing. I cried. CRIED! At the CRITIQUE! Actual tears, not just getting sniffly! Tears came out of my eyeholes! So exquisitely beautiful and such an important piece of work!) On my way in, ran into one of the other board members.
“There’s something for you in the box office,” he said.
“I know! So exciting!” I replied. Bounce, bounce, Tigger bounce.
“I think it’s wrong.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Feet? Something about feet?”
“What do you mean, feet?”
“What are you getting with feet?”
“I don’t KNOW, I haven’t SEEN it,” I said, and ran in.
It was addressed to the theater, with “Lucy’s Football” over the address. Feet. Ah. He’s older. Email sometimes befuddles him. I didn’t bother explaining.
One of the other people at the theater saw me grabby-handing it and asked about it.
“What did you get?”
“It’s a present.”
“A present? From who? Here?”
“Yes. Um, I don’t know who.”
“Oooh! A secret admirer?”
“Um. Well, I guess. Not really a secret. His name is Duncan.”
“And how do you KNOOOOW Duncan?”
“He reads my blog? And I guess is a fan?”
“You have a blog?”
“And people read that? People read your blog?”
“Like, how many people. A lot of people?”
“I don’t know how many. A lot.”
“HOW MANY PEOPLE???”
I am not 100% sure where this conversation is going but that’s how I am with most conversations because I don’t pick up on social cues so I just moved onto doing something else.
Because I wanted to take photos of the present, I waited until I got home to open it. I am the queen of delayed gratification. It’s sick, really.
And now…ladies and gentlemen and those pervs that keep coming here hoping I’ll talk about porn or whores again…without further delay…
THE TOTALLY FANCY AND ELITE SALT AND PEPPER SHAKERS I NOW OWN (a photo essay)
Duncan, Renni, unnamed fourth-party affiliated with Duncan and Renni, thank you so much for my present. I love them and will cherish them and will make every single effort in all the world not to drop them on my foot. Mostly because they are HEAVY and I think would break my foot. Unless it really is titanium. You are awesome, and this was really very unexpected and just so nice of you. Thank you so much. You all get the OPPOSITE of the Douche of the Week Award. You all get the UnicornRainbowKittenSparkles of the Week Award. Huzzah!
And, on a completely unrelated note, tomorrow is Kickass McGee‘s wedding day. Kickass McGee is trying to keep calm, so I don’t want to say anything that will freak her out at all. So instead of a wedding WARNING, I will tell her a VERY FUNNY STORY. True story, Kickass McGee: once upon a time, I was in a play with a guy with rage issues, and there was a baby doll in the play that was supposed to be the baby Jesus. (Not a nativity play. A very sacrilegious play about nuns.) Ragey McRage one day was going all stompy-stomp and noticed baby Jesus just sitting there so he picked up baby Jesus and started pulling on its head trying to pull it off. He started doing this at every rehearsal because that head was really stuck on there. One night, the director was late, so you had Ragey pulling on baby Jesus’s head, another actress smoking in the building, me kicking the snack machine trying to get it to let loose my hostage Reese’s peanut butter cups, another guy kind of rocking in the corner, and another guy pretending to play Russian roulette with a toy gun. The director came in, saw this shitshow, and started yelling at everyone. No one heard a word because it was SO LOUD in there until the very end, when somehow it got so quiet you could hear a pin drop; then she SCREAMED “AND I JUST TRIPPED OVER BABY JESUS’S HEAD. GOOD JOB JIM. YOU FINALLY DECAPITATED JESUS.” I’m pretty sure I pulled a muscle laughing at that and it still makes me laugh when I am stressed. Hope that helps, honey badger, you badass mammajamma.
(If you get the title and what it’s referring to, I’d like to push you. Push you real good.)