SUBSURDITY: Episode I – Of MILFs and Men

Well well wellwellwell look who decided to show up today? Lil ol me! It’s been an interesting summer so far, chock full of Iron Man and Superman and Star Trek with a couple slices of The Boy and His Girlfriend (yep, he has one), DMFRH karma, and suburban nonsense.

I’m supposed to be talking about the Super Friends…I mean the Justice League…or is it the Justice League of America? Dammit—you know who I mean—the group with Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, and the Martian dude (some DC lover is screaming “Martian Manhunter! Martian Manhunter! I know: I’m just being difficult). And I will. Promise. But given that it’s the 4th of July week, I have to tell you a 4th of July story. 2 years ago (and at the start of this lovely blog), I damn near broke my ankle playing badminton with a 9-year-old. Last year was…different. I think you deserve that story. So, without further adieu, I present the first installment of my new series Surbsurdity: Suburban Absurdity.

And you’re gonna love it!

But first, I gotta give you my Law & Order disclaimer: the story you’re about to read is true. And wholly inappropriate for work. And small children. And contains some graphic language and content of a semi-sexual nature that will elicit some “Ewww…for real?” exclamations. You’ve been warned.

If you in live in the suburbs, you know this already, but if you haven’t, suffice it to say there is a reason Desperate Housewives was the #1 show for years. I’m still learning the ins and outs of this but suburban people are NUTS! You are not judged on the content of your character or even the color of skin: you are evaluated on the depth of your involvement in mindless PTA bullshit (and how well you gossip with those bit—er, ladies), how early you get up to mow the fucking grass on Saturday, and who your child plays with. Oh yeah, and what your husband does. And what you drive. And if you drink Starbucks or slum it at the bikini coffee huts. By the way, the currency of the suburbs is WINE. Seriously.

Anyway, I have this neighbor a couple houses down from me. Single mom with a daughter a couple years younger than the Honey Badger. Has an on again, off again boyfriend who is in the process of getting a divorce or thinking about a divorce or just doesn’t like his wife or some shit. Her parents are heavily involved in her life (read: they pay for EVERYTHING). And the child seriously needs some guidance and discipline (read ass whoopin!). Let’s call this neighbor Schmancy…because that’s really how she says it (see the wine comment above).

I work from home. What that means is, on most days, I am able to look up from my office window and see the tick tacky houses that all look the same (my Weeds fans will get this reference). One day I see this little girl riding her bike in an incessant circle that starts at her house—2 houses down—and ends at mine. I only see her out the corner of my eye an it bothers the shit outta me. I say to the Honey Badger, “Do you know that girl?” “Yes,” says HB. “Will you go outside with your bike and offer to ride with her ANYWHERE ELSE?” Such is the start of a beautiful friendship.

The girls hang over the course of a week or two and I get a reprieve from the circle ride. Eventually somebody wants to have a sleepover so we meet the parents. Schmancy starts out nice enough: invites us down for flank steak (she REALLY loves her flank steak) and to watch the fireworks. The boyfriend is cool enough to me.  Schmancy and The Wife are getting along really well and it seems like they good have a pretty decent relationship. Things seem good though I notice 2 things: Schmancy is always having a “beverage” or just finishing one AND I catch a couple sidelong glances from her to me. You know the ones I’m talking about. But I chalk it up to my imagination and the fact that, even at 40 years old, I still can’t tell when a woman is throwing me play.

Anyway, the Saturday after the 4th, the girls spend the night at our house. Free from the encumbrance of her child, Schmancy and her boyfriend go out for a night of HEAVY drinking. Hey, I don’t judge: I even made up a song about when my kids are spending the night at someone’s house. It’s called “Getting Rid Of My Kids.” That Sunday though, things got interesting. My wife gets a call from a liquidated Schmancy to come down to Applebee’s and have a drink. Here’s what I hear on my wife’s end of that call: “Your daughter is at my house. No, I’m not having a drink with you. And it’s 11 o’clock. On Sunday. No.”

What the hell?

My wife tells me the invitation was for both of us but, with the kids, we both can’t leave. She also says, “I’m going to go see because I think they’re fucked up.” Wonderful. She leaves and texts me about 20 minutes later. That text simply says, “Hot Mess!” I guess they’d been drinking for a while. Now some people, when they get drunk, get happy. Some get sad. Me, I get funny. Schmancy, though, gets horny. Real horny. From the moment my wife walked into the restaurant until they left, Schmancy is trying to get her, and me, into their bed. She’s talking about what she wants to lick, that she’s never been with a Black guy before, how big things are, how big she hopes things are…and she’s doing it loudly. In Applebees! You know Applebees is like a family restaurant, right? It’s Sunday. People are there after church.

The next time I see my wife, she pulls up and Schmancy is in the car with her. Apparently the boyfriend, who listened to the whole sordid conversation with nothing to offer but a grin, decided to bring his car home and then would come get his girlfriend. Well, he must have driven over God’s green earth cuz it took him forever to get to my house. Schmancy stumbles into my house and she is FUCKED UP! Like slurring words, stumbling, sloppy drunk. Remember, her daughter is at my house. So while my wife goes to find her daughter and get the Honey Badger to keep her at the park, I’m stuck with Schmancy’s drunk, handsy ass. Yay me!

She says to me, “I think your wife is mad at me.”

Like a dumbass, I say, “Why?”

“Because I got all drunk.” And then, “I’m a bad girl.”

Drunk people have always been funny to me and this is no exception. I play along. “You’re a bad girl?” I say.

“Yep!” And up comes her dress and down goes her panties. In my kitchen. With my son upstairs. With my wife outside. And our daughters somewhere with her. I have no idea what else she said.

Now, she’s not a bad-looking woman. And in under different circumstances, it could have been fun. But this? Nah, this was nothing but trouble. I back out the kitchen with my hands up like the police are behind me. “No no nonono! You gotta pull your pants up! Pull your pants up!”

My wife comes in and I’m like 20 feet from this woman. I instantly cop to whatever just happened. “I didn’t do ANYTHING! Here’s what I said; here’s what she said. And then her panties came down!” But my wife is just pissed. She puts the woman on porch (she said she wanted to smoke) and then proceeds to tell me all the nonsense at Applebees (which I relayed above). Her boyfriend is supposed to come get her but his ass is nowhere to be found so I have to help walk Schmancy home. She opens the door and all I hear is, “Why are you on the ground?” And then, “Are you on fire?”

This chick was on fire and she is not Alicia Keys. Have you ever seen a drunk person try and light a cigarette? We put her hair out (because it’s burning) and while I try to get Schmancy off the porch, where she’s laid smooth out, the Wife goes to get the worthless ass boyfriend. Just a note here: drunk people are heavy. Really heavy. I’m trying to get her to her feet and keep my hands free of all the goodies that are falling out of her sundress. This woman says to me, “Are you mad? Cuz you seem like you’re mad.” Using my Intervention voice, “I just want you to get up. You can’t be passed out on my porch.” “But are you mad?” she says. “Cuz you seem like you’re mad.”

The boyfriend NEVER comes (he’s only 2 houses down, remember?) so me and the Wife drag this chick back to her own house. We get her in the door, in front of her boyfriend (whose ass could not leave the couch) and Schmancy says, “They’re gonna fuck us!” He starts getting happy, “For real?” In perfect unison, we say “No!” We tell him to make sure she’s on her side so she doesn’t choke on her own vomit and leave.

She did eventually come back, hours later, and apologize for her behavior but it was little hard for me to take seriously since she was STILL DRUNK. I haven’t seen too much of Schmancy since then. Last time I saw her, I was trying to walk the puppy to mailbox, which is past her house. She caught me outside, loved on my dog and looked at my crotch. In front of her boyfriend. I felt a little dirty when she said, “I just want to make sure everything is cool between us” and gave me a full body hug. I ran home and took a shower.

I can’t wait to see what happens this year.

Happy 4th of July everybody!

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