It has been quite a while since I have shared any conversations with my geriatric boyfriend Mr. OB. Since I can now type again, I can’t think of a better way to get back into the swing of posting than to give you some more disturbing pictures of his character. If you don’t know who Mr. OB is (short for Mr. Outback), I’ll tell you now, you won’t ever get an accurate bio of him. Here or anywhere for that matter. But you can infer what you will about him from my series of stories here and by reading the rest of this post.
Look closely, this is the most you will ever see of Mr. OB
I had the pleasure of another long overdue dinner and visitation with Mr. OB a few nights ago. It is yet to be determined if he was or was not stoned. Not that that serves as a logical reason that the following conversation occurred, but he seemed bit… paranoid.
We said our hellos first:
Mr. OB: “What’s wrong with you?”
Mr. OB: “Oh, you look funny”
Me: Well my arm was swallowed by a first aid kit, but other than that…
On topics of medical experiences, needles, and the like.
Me: “Wait, so you think if you put a needle in your leg that you will accidentally pull back on the syringe and suck out your insides?”
Mr. OB: “Well yeah, I don’t know what is in there!”
Me: “You mean, in your body?”
Mr. OB: “Yeah! And I don’t want to know.”
Me: “You know, I don’t think needles work like plungers and turkey basters. Wait, why are you stabbing yourself with needles in the first place?”
Mr. OB: Mumbles something about bees and tractors running into trees
Mr. OB: “When that thing comes on at Outback, I am ducking behind the register. The blade is coming out of that thing and it’s flying across the bar and straight into my neck.” making dramatic throat slicing motion
Me: “Because that blender blade has had it out for you since it found out you only drink wine, right?”
Mr. OB: “I’ve seen it happen.”
Me: Well I am sure a lot of people “see” things that would never happen. Ever heard of intrusive thoughts? Hallucinations? Paranoia?
Mr. OB: “You just wait. I’m telling you. It’s gonna happen. I just hope it won’t be me. But it will probably be me.”
Me: to the bartender “Can I get a frozen margarita? Well blended please?”
Check out my latest vlog in the sidebar on the most obvious topic of all. The internet. ———————————————————————————->
[When you meet the right store, you just know. It means never having to ask, “Where is the Bounty?”.]
One of the main reasons I moved in to the apartment I currently live in, was because of the central location to my favorite grocery store, gas stations, and the blessing that is CVS. CVS always has treated me kindly. It has my favorite wines at a decent price. They have not only one but two actually functioning Redbox machines. You’ve got to love movie vending machines. Add a slot for dispensing popcorn and M&M’s and it’s on (but only if mixed together). Also, it is much more convenient than weaving through the grocery store when all I need is a little lion food and tiger litter. I will dodge the grocery store every time if possible, unless I have a guided list and more than ten items for which to hunt.
The first few trips to my new haven were just as delightful as I imagined. As things were going so well already, I quickly found myself envisioning a lifelong future developing for CVS and I. The perfect consumer-retailer union. That’s when, as it usually plays out in relationships (mine at least), the true identity of my beloved store began to slip through the cracks of its sleek ruby exterior. We had a problem. My CVS had been concealing a Mr. Hyde. The cashier. Read the rest of this entry