Monthly Archives: October 2013

NSFW: The Woopie Cushion and the Bumblebee

My Saturday night started out with a bummer. I didn’t realize that all of the Halloween festivities were happening already and my costume was still awaiting some finishing touches that were en route somewhere near Salt Lake City. I was feeling sorry for myself so I went to bed wicked early and watched weird documentaries on Netflix all night. I assume I fell asleep somewhere in the middle of “The Smallest Girl in the World” because I woke with a start to what sounded like an air raid. Once I was completely conscious I realized it was loud, angry knocking. Knocking that was shaking the whole house and was obviously the work of a rapist or the S.W.A.T. team. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with either, so I chose to ignore it and hoped that whichever roommate came in last had locked the door. My ignoring worked and the knocking stopped. For about twenty minutes. Then it started again with renewed vigor and almost made me pee my pants. I wasn’t about to go check, because…duh. I have a large chest and the minute I go flouncing down those stairs in my PJs, my part in the movie is over. I’m not new. Ariel decided to be brave, however, and headed down the stairs to check out the situation. I couldn’t leave her all alone with the rapist/S.W.A.T. team (and I was really curious by that point) so I followed her down the stairs…slowly and at least ten feet behind in case it really was a rapist or murderer.

As the door opened, it revealed two girls, one dressed as a woopie cushion and the other a bumblebee. Both ridiculously drunk. They had been pounding on the neighbor’s door, not ours. I can only imagine how loud it was next door. The girls looked in our general direction (not sure they could focus on anything specific at that point) and said, “can you get your neighborsh to let ush in?” as they barged past us into the house. They begged us to let them stay in the living room until they could get a hold of someone next door and we obliged. The bumblebee was wearing next to nothing and it was very cold outside. We left them in the living room with two blankets and some words of warning to be quiet and went back to bed.

About five minutes after laying down again I started to hear more subtle banging and the beginnings of what sounded like drunk-girl-groans. Until they manifested into groans of uh…enjoyment. Ariel texted me from her bedroom to confirm what we were hearing and we met in the hallway in mutual shock and disgust. Woopie cushion and bumblebee appeared to be getting busy in the living room. It had only been FIVE MINUTES since we left them downstairs. We quickly conferred and decided to turn on the hall light, to possibly spook them into stopping whatever it was they were doing and be quiet. It didn’t work. We slowly walked down the stairs, hoping to give them time to be presentable. They hadn’t moved. What we encountered was a woopie cushion, nude from the waist up and a bumblebee, nude from the waist down. I half expected a “Brazzers” logo to come out of nowhere and situate itself in the corner of the room. I don’t want to get too graphic because frankly, seeing it once in real life was enough, but I will say that they were engaging in…uh…Australian kissing. Yeah. Australian.

Like this, only more predatory and smug

Like this, only more predatory and smug

We were angry. You can’t just make yourself…at home…in a stranger’s living room at 3:30 in the morning. Rude to the max. We told them to get out and stood guard as they gathered their strewn-about belongings. Before they left, however, bumblebee begged to use the bathroom. She stood over me, hiccuping and slurring through every word while she attempted to tell me that she was a Christian, and that I didn’t have to worry. I was worried. I was worried that she was going to vomit all over my head since she stood somewhere north of 6 feet tall and was swaying as if a strong breeze was waltzing with her. She had fairy eyelashes half-attached to one eye and enough smudged eyeliner to make Ozzy jealous. I let her go up to use the bathroom because I was afraid of where else she might squat if I didn’t. Woopie cushion remained standing inside the door to wait for bumblebee and had a self-satisfied smirk on her face the whole time. It was all I could do not to smack it into submission but I was afraid she might like it. Both tried to introduce themselves to us on many occasions, but we weren’t interested in knowing them as humans. They would remain woopie cushion and bumblebee.

They left and continued to bang on the neighbor’s door for several minutes. Ariel and I both unsuccessfully tried calling and texting a couple of the girls next door while Jasmine slept soundly in her room. Unaware of the shenanigans below. A few minutes after we dared lay back down and go to sleep, the costumed hookers rang our doorbell. We both went down again as they begged us to let them stay. Ariel offered to drive them somewhere else if they had anywhere nearby and they told us they didn’t. They lived three hours away. We contemplated calling the police and letting them get sapphic in the drunk tank, but thought better of it and let them crash on the couch again, after they promised to stay out of each other’s naughty areas.

Like this, only 6 feet tall and super dumb.

Like this, only 6 feet tall and super dumb.

We left them downstairs again, and tentatively returned to our rooms to try and salvage a couple of hours of sleep. I was awoken again, to the sounds of pleasure, and got up to scream obscenities and hurl insults down the stairs. They quieted down and I went back to sleep. I was woken again by the sounds of pleasure sometime around 7:30 am and couldn’t even muster the energy to do something about it. I was saving it all up to accompany the sun in the morning. I prefer to scare sober people, after all, but I was certainly angry. What kind of drunk people have the energy for THREE TIMES between 3am and 7am?! Just pass out, you’re drunk! You’re doing drunk wrong!

Once 9am rolled around, Ariel and I begrudgingly went downstairs to see if they had left as promised. Of course they had not. They had strewn their things all over our living room, though. All over the rug that had previously housed a bare bum and who knows what else. They had the audacity to get annoyed when bumblebee couldn’t find her phone, and woopie cushion made Ariel bend down to pick up her coat, still maintaining that smirk. The neighbors had woken up and come to retrieve the costumed girls. They wouldn’t hear the whole story until we filled them in later, when they brought over some apology cupcakes.

One of the neighbors drove bumblebee home that morning, and had to listen to bumble say, “I think I made out with woopie cushion last night”. Oh, honey.

Snuggle-House of Horror

I was listening to the radio this morning and heard the most horrific piece of news since Kris and Bruce’s separation. Brace yourselves. There are places that exist to provide snuggles at a per-hour rate. SNUGGLES. I can’t even begin to explain my feelings toward this. No wait, yes I can. 

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I’m not a snuggler. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again if that’s what it takes to keep people from spooning me. There are very few situations that I feel warrant full body-to-body contact and those situations usually end in a walk of shame. If we’re going to “hook up”, as the youths say, then fine. Let’s get to it. I don’t need you to embrace me tenderly for half an hour. That’s only going to make my mind wander to terribly unsexy things like how often you wash your hair or whether or not you’ve ever shaved your arms. If we’re done getting sexy and it’s time to sleep, then great. Let’s sleep. On our respective sides of the bed without touching any parts of our bodies. Even in the dead of winter, it’s too hot to smush your skin up against another person all night. Especially when that person sweats like it’s their job to re-hydrate the bed, the planet and all the people on it. Ick. 

I understand that there are people who really like to snuggle. Watching a movie? Snuggle. Reading the Hunger Games? Canoodle time. Sleepover? Spoon-city. Most of these people in question are women, admittedly. It must be that intimacy thing in which I’m forever lacking understanding. The entire Lesbian Legion holds snuggling in such high esteem that they’re genuinely horrified to learn that I’d rather not be touched. Platonically. I’m someone who really enjoys my personal bubble and only a select few people are allowed inside it. The bubble, that is. Of course, those rules all go out the window if I’ve been drinking. If I’ve had a few, I’m up for hugs, swing dancing, couples-skating…whatever you want. As long as I’m good and socially lubricated. Otherwise there’s all that awkward friction.

Since I have such a lack of understanding of the allure of snuggling, you can imagine my confusion at the need for a place of business that provides snuggling for a fee. It stands to reason that the people paying for an hour of snuggling with a stranger can’t stand living in a spoon-free world and simply must get some platonic body-to-body contact. In my world, these people are all women. I can not for the life of me think of a man who will spend $60 to go embrace a pajama-clad woman for an hour and not then touch her naughty bits. It seems to me like this man in question would just spend the $60 on a street corner instead. Or Craigslist…wherever it is prostitutes hang out these days. It sure beats the shame of letting the credit card company see a charge for “Snuggle House” on your statement and knowing they all spent a full hour laughing at you and pontificating about your sad existence. Yes, I said that visiting a prostitute for sex beats the shame of going to a “Snuggle House” and paying to lay next to a woman. I said it. 

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It would make more sense to me if this place was staffed only by slightly chubby, hilarious men with great facial hair. Those guys are just asking for a good, hard snuggle and since women typically like snuggling more…wouldn’t it make sense to cater to their sad, pathetic needs? I don’t understand the idea behind having only young women (and apparently one long-haired man who looks a lot like Michael Bolton) on the snuggle-staff. Are there criteria for patrons? Can they turn someone away if they have excessive body odor, a scratchy beard or an erection? I mean, really?! I need to know everything about these so called “Snuggle Houses” and I’d really like to get a look at that business plan. What did the loan officer say when the idea of a brothel for cuddling came up? Did they even need a small business loan? So many unanswered questions!

In closing, I’m really skeeved out by the idea of a place where people pay a stranger $60 an hour to embrace them intimately in a publicly shared bed. But if you’re in the market for some crippling shame or perhaps a bout of scabies, there’s evidently a “Snuggle House” in Madison, Wisconsin. 

Wisconsin would.

I’ve hinted at moments of hysteria before, but other than using them as a vehicle to make snarky remarks about how I’m uncomfortable dealing with emotion, I haven’t revealed too much about my own vulnerability. Not that I’m going to in this post, but it’s probably the closest we’ll ever get together so enjoy every shallow moment. Also, it’s about a cat.

On Friday, as is usually the case at the end of the week, I wanted nothing more than to settle into some unflattering pajamas and crawl in bed with a tumbler of wine and Degrassi streaming on Amazon. Unfortunately, the evening took a blotchy, swollen turn for the worse.

I was home for at least three hours and It hadn’t occurred to me that I hadn’t yet seen Cee Lo. Adele had come downstairs to greet me and stare at my food expectantly, but Cee Lo remained at large. I only realized this when I saw him for the first time that evening laying on my bed and purring like a sweetheart. I ruffled his glistening black fur and was about to leave again when I saw something sticking out of his mouth. I wasn’t thrown off, as I have often had to pull strings or bobby pins out of his mouth. He’s special. I chuckled, rubbed his head and yanked what I assumed was a piece of thread. But it didn’t budge. What the what? Was he trying to pull out a baby tooth by rigging up a door-slam leverage system? No, that’s pretty sophisticated and I don’t think he has the dexterity for knots.

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I turned on the light to take a better look and at first I thought he was using a sewing needle to pick his teeth, but again…that would require too much forethought on the part of a cat. Upon further investigation I realized that he had a fish hook embedded in his lip. And the hook still had several feet of fishing line attached to it. I was horrified. He was just laying there calmly, rolling on his back for a belly rub as if he didn’t have barbed metal shoved an inch into his lower gums. I was so flummoxed that it took me a few minutes to even realize where the hell a fish hook came from. I thought at first he had come across it in the basement amid the jumble of Disney Mermaid clutter left from previous tenants and the landlord. But then I remembered that I’m basically a hoarder and hadn’t unpacked my bedroom at all, including the box containing a child’s Barbie fishing pole I purchased last spring. Which I guess still had a hook on it. And lured my cat to his curious demise. Get it? Lured.

Even though I knew that hooks have barbs on them to prevent them from easily sliding out, I still tried to pull on it. Cee Lo preferred I didn’t try to tug out a giant chunk of his gums and lip and resisted. My instinct was to call my mom and cry to her on the phone until she came up with a solution. You see, going to the emergency vet may seem like the logical choice but not when you have less than zero monies. People tend to want compensation for their emergency services and I am Sallie Mae-broke. This reality only compounded the dire circumstances and I had a full on freakout. I was hyperventilating, sobbing and begging my confused mom to help me from 30 miles away. She offered up a range of solutions including asking a neighbor (stranger) for some pliers, all of which I dramatically shot down through bursts of tears. There was only one thing I wanted to hear and that was, “I’ll be right there to make it all better”. She didn’t say that, because what could she do that I hadn’t already? Luckily, one of my roommates came home and upon finding me pacing the hallway and crying like a lunatic, she offered to help me try to get the hook out of my sweet kitty’s face.

Hipster Kitty

Hipster Kitty

I wrapped him in a towel so he couldn’t destroy us with his razor claws and she did her best to figure out which way the hook was facing without traumatizing Cee Cee for life. It didn’t work. She didn’t want him to hate her for disfiguring his face and the hook just plain wasn’t coming out. She suggested waiting until the next day and offered to call her surgeon father to help, but I couldn’t bear to let my little soul singer (Cee Lo Green…) stay pierced overnight. Even if it was a little cute that we were twinsies. So I sucked it up and asked my roomie to drive me to the emergency vet. They were very accommodating, even offering to give him a shot of pain medication for free after I sobbed my financial status in response to the original quote for anesthesia. After about an hour, we were informed that they had pushed the hook all the way through, cut off the barbs and it pretty much fell right out. The lollipop kid posing as a vet tech told me that Cee Lo handled it all like the chill dude he is and I handed over my life savings in exchange for the cat carrier.

I can’t help but wonder if he understands the irony of getting snagged by something made to catch his natural, stupider prey. I assume that’s why he was trying to act like nothing was wrong. He embarrasses easily. Cee Lo has a fat lip and hasn’t left my side since Friday night when he literally slept on my face, but it was all worth it to hear them say, “Patient Cee Lo has been checked in. Repeat, patient Cee Lo has been checked in” over the intercom.

Back to his normal, lounging self.

Back to his normal, lounging self.

Cee Lo Was Catfished…Sort Of