Back (we all hope)!

THAT’S WOMEN’S WORK

The church ladies in my neighborhood like to go door to door on Saturday mornings about once a month to recruit.  Despite my lack of religious upbringing or beliefs, I’m totally into it because the church ladies have phenomenal hats and I’m way into other people praying for me.  Because I certainly need it.

A couple Saturdays ago I was sitting on the front porch drinking my morning coffee checking out the neighborhood when Roommate A walked up to the house and started yelling at me, “WOMAN!  I thought I told you to mow the damn lawn*!” along with some other expletives.

I opened my mouth to respond in kind when I saw the two old biddies across the street, canes in hand, hats on head, clutching their church pamphlets to their chests and looking at us in horror.  Roommate A and I, both raised with a whole lot of “respect your elders” and a moderate amount of Catholic guilt, felt our eyes go wide and slight panic course through our bodies.

We both started to wave frantically, smiling as broadly as we could and yelling “we’re joking!  Totally joking!  Have a nice day!” before running back into the house to hide.  I doubt they’ll be inviting us to church anytime soon, but they’ll certainly be praying for the disrespectful white kids on 17th Street.

SPEAKING OF MY HOUSEHOLD

Does anyone want to move in?  We’re losing Roommate R at the end of the month to the Peace Corps.  The rent is cheap, the house is falling apart, there are sports posters on the wall, but our house is a home, damnit.  And it’s filled with love.  And football.  And Miller Light.  E-mail me at dointhegrownup@gmail.com if you’d like more details.

WEEKEND UPDATE

Welcome home, Jimmy Q!  T-Bone’s boyfriend returned home from London this past week and we welcomed him back to the great District of Columbia by allowing him to make us all dinner on Friday night.  With him came a whole bottle of Icelandic liquor, which was straight rye.  That LITERALLY will put hair on your chest.

There was an official welcome home party on Saturday evening that I never made it to.  I had spent the entire day at the Gay Pride Parade and then was fed the largest plate of spaghetti in the history of the world upon my return home by Roommate B.  I was laying on the couch in OMG-I’m-so-full misery when I got a text around 9PM asking when I was showing up to the party.

“I don’t know,” I responded, “I’m really full and Finding Nemo is on TV.”  I was going to head out once the movie finished around 10PM but Aladdin directly followed, so obvious I stayed home.  The hottest Saturday night of all time for the win.

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST

I’d like to state in a formal environment that Hilarity In Shoes is the coolest human on the face of this earth and certainly the most talented.

*I use the term “lawn” loosely.  It’s more a plot full of weeds.

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