The move has been a slow process; between Brad getting a second job (woot!!), me working my butt off, and just day to day living it has been a heck of a time just to try to get over there and get the stuff.
At the new place I am living with roommates, both of which are guys (Hi Akshal and Kaz, yep I am talking about you), and it has made me learn some things. Some very valuable things.
Things I have learned:
6. Boys are gross. I am not the most cleanly person myself (I hate folding clothes, and am the most comfortable in pajama pants), but boys are just a whole different breed of dirty.
5. On a related note, boys fart... They fart a lot...
4. Dishes are the worst. I do them (or Brad does them), I look away and BAM more dishes. I thought just 2 people making dirty dishes was bad, but with 4 of us... I think they (the dishes) are multiplying behind our backs. It is the only explanation.
3. My friends are nerds. We game 2 days out of the week (some of our friends game more), and the days we are not playing Brad and the guys are playing Magic the Gathering or we are all playing World of Warcraft.
2. I seriously don't want to have kids yet. With the pets our house is crowded enough, I don't want to add more things that cause smells and get underfoot.
1. Always look before you sit down on the toilet. Wet butt cheeks suck, 'nuff said.
Hopefully we will finish moving soon, because I miss my X-Box.
A critical hit to your brain's awesome lobe.
Showing posts with label Farts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Farts. Show all posts
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Monday, July 12, 2010
Queen of Farts
Somehow I have become queen of a little place I call Fartopia.
Fartopia's ruler is not happy, because all day she is surrounded by farts. Her king farts. Her royal subjects all fart (which let me tell you, cat and dog farts are the worst!). Her friends fart. All day long she sits on her smelly throne, surrounded by the smell of gas, wishing the malodorous stink lines would go away from above her head.
I am starting to think I need to change everyone's diet, because the gas problem at my house is getting insane. I'm pretty sure that, any day now, we are going to be reported to ONG as having a leak.
Brad is pretty bad about it. Last night he cut one, and then walked from our den to the living room. The stink followed him into the next room. It was like a horrible, horrible scent trail wafting between the rooms. He blamed it on a duck. I told him that the duck must have died long ago to work up that level of stench.
Brad and DT have farting contests. At least, I think they may be contests. They may also be some sort of super secret testing of smell as an offensive (very offensive) weapon for the government. It has gotten so bad between the two of them that I have literally gagged and had to step outside. I am super surprised that neither of them has gotten methane poisoning (that's a real thing right?).
The cats are not much better. Hime in particular. She has mastered the art of the sneak attack. She comes and lays down on you, usually right on your chest, and then lets one rip. One time I caught her doing it, yelled at her (not very loud, mind you) and I swear to God she started purring at me. Like she did it on purpose to punish me for something. Ugh.
Maddie (our dog) is the master of the crop duster. She will walk by us, neat as you please, all innocent-like. Then, a few seconds later...WHAM... dog farts. If you have never smelled dog farts you should thank whatever deity you pray to profusely. Dog farts are the Cthulhu of the world of gaseous anomalies. They will drive you into madness, and out the other side. On a scale of one to ten, Maddie farts are a *Blargh* (a unit of measure that is more than a ten but less than a googolplex).
What about me (meaning me, Megan, not you, who ever you are), you may ask. Well, I am a girl. Girls don't fart. We pass gas like a gentle breeze, and it always smells of fresh flowers and baking cookies. True story.
Fartopia's ruler is not happy, because all day she is surrounded by farts. Her king farts. Her royal subjects all fart (which let me tell you, cat and dog farts are the worst!). Her friends fart. All day long she sits on her smelly throne, surrounded by the smell of gas, wishing the malodorous stink lines would go away from above her head.
I am starting to think I need to change everyone's diet, because the gas problem at my house is getting insane. I'm pretty sure that, any day now, we are going to be reported to ONG as having a leak.
Brad is pretty bad about it. Last night he cut one, and then walked from our den to the living room. The stink followed him into the next room. It was like a horrible, horrible scent trail wafting between the rooms. He blamed it on a duck. I told him that the duck must have died long ago to work up that level of stench.
Brad and DT have farting contests. At least, I think they may be contests. They may also be some sort of super secret testing of smell as an offensive (very offensive) weapon for the government. It has gotten so bad between the two of them that I have literally gagged and had to step outside. I am super surprised that neither of them has gotten methane poisoning (that's a real thing right?).
The cats are not much better. Hime in particular. She has mastered the art of the sneak attack. She comes and lays down on you, usually right on your chest, and then lets one rip. One time I caught her doing it, yelled at her (not very loud, mind you) and I swear to God she started purring at me. Like she did it on purpose to punish me for something. Ugh.
Maddie (our dog) is the master of the crop duster. She will walk by us, neat as you please, all innocent-like. Then, a few seconds later...WHAM... dog farts. If you have never smelled dog farts you should thank whatever deity you pray to profusely. Dog farts are the Cthulhu of the world of gaseous anomalies. They will drive you into madness, and out the other side. On a scale of one to ten, Maddie farts are a *Blargh* (a unit of measure that is more than a ten but less than a googolplex).
What about me (meaning me, Megan, not you, who ever you are), you may ask. Well, I am a girl. Girls don't fart. We pass gas like a gentle breeze, and it always smells of fresh flowers and baking cookies. True story.
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