Last night after we showered and got into bed, Luke turned off the lights and pulled me close to him and told me about his hairy, not so scary day. It involved an extremely quiet coworker tracking him down in the break room and talking to him about Buffy just because he witnessed the return of Andrea�s tapes. I thought that was cool. Boys say that they�re the ones responsible for all the cool stuff that girls end up doing, but that�s a lie. I�m the one who got Luke into Buffy. Take that, boys!

He also had a discussion with a fellow coworker about talking with the little old Russian lady who washes the dishes in the caf�. They have both come to the conclusion that talking with Rita requires that when doing so, you talk like Rita.

R: �You! Do this!�

L: �I do this!�

R: �No, this!�

L: �No! Rita! I do this!�

Et cetera.

I told Luke that when he gets around to writing his memoirs, he should call it Screaming With Rita and have a picture of her looking stern on the cover. He laughed at that and asked if I had ever even seen Rita. I said I hadn�t but I had a very distinctive mental picture of this little old Russian peasant woman, complete with big skirt, kerchief, and ruddy cheeks. He said that as long as I put in unnaturally dyed red hair and a B&N apron, I was spot on.

We then moved on to talk about whether I�d rather live in Wisconsin Rapids (aka Fart Town due to the paper mill) or in the same town as his father (D does actually live in Rapids, but this was hypothetical). I chose Fart Town over D Town because I�d far rather smell gastric disturbance any day rather than run the risk of seeing D at the corner store.

Discussions like this take up the majority of my conversation time with people. I don�t care as long as I�m laughing. Speaking of laughing, last night when I went to get Luke from work, I saw a three-car accident take place because people are too stupid to drive properly when it�s slippery. So, I�m tooling along on the Beltline in the opposite direction and I take note of two cars that have managed to land themselves in the ditch. There�s a plow truck pulled over on the side of the road and not a quarter of a mile down the road, I see two cars, hoods toward the opposite barrier, that have obviously hit each other. Along comes car number three which, instead of changing lanes tries to slow down and in doing so goes into a skid hitting the two cars it was slowing to avoid. I know. I�m the biggest sadist to ever live for laughing at the misfortune of others, but no one was hurt, they were still capable of driving, and the damage could have been far worse. Had it been a Jaws of Life situation, I�d have gone to help and thus have ended up a basket case because traumatic events can do that to someone. However, if it�s minor I�m going to snicker at you and you�re just going to have to deal with it. This is unless, of course, you don�t see me. Then you don�t know I�m snickering at you and no harm is done.

For some odd reason, when having strange conversations in public, I always find people amused by what I happen to be saying. A couple of years ago I was meandering about some home goods store with my dad when he came upon one of those giant one million candlepower flashlights. He threatened to take it home and cook hotdogs on it and when I prattled on about how he would do no such thing in my dry, sarcastic way, the guy across the aisle starting giggling. The exact same thing happened several moths ago in a video store with Luke and Andy. Andy was talking about renting some Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen shit and I started cursing up a storm, ranting about how his obsession with a pair of sixteen year-old twins was not healthy for a twenty one year old man. The man behind the counter just cracked the hell up. I mean, I know I have the capacity to be funny, but am I really funny enough in person for total strangers to laugh at me?

Tomorrow night will be The Trachtenberg Family Slide Show Players and New Orleans type food with the in-laws. As long as the dog and the younger brother are not in tow, all should be fine. No, it is not kosher to bring a pug to a nightclub, and C will be on his merry way to California, so I�m completely in the clear.