Heinous Fuckery Most Foul

Lately, there have been many things that leave me shaking my head. For instance:

In these tough economic times it’s not uncommon for families to look for ways to save money at the market. We’re no exception. Donny is quick to buy no-name brand stuff. Me? Not so much. Well, I’ll buy some things generic, but I’m very picky about it. I try to tell Donny there are some things you just can’t skimp on. My cheese has to be Kraft. My mayo has to be Hellmann’s. My ketchup has to be Heinz. It’s how I roll.

I’m also not a fan of ready meals. I like to thaw my meat and cook it and then cook some kind of veggie/starch to go with it. I’m not down with ripping open packages of powdered whateverthefuck, mixing it with water, and tossing it with meat. Which, as you can probably guess, that means I’m not one to buy Hamburger Helper.

Those noodles look radioactive.

Again, unlike me, Donny’s not so picky. Hamburger, Tuna, Chicken, Donny will take some assistance from that talking glove.

The other day we were grocery shopping and I noticed they have all these far-out flavors now like Taco and Philly Cheesesteak. We’d picked up a few packages of ground beef so I gave in and grabbed two boxes. Then I noticed a bigger box of the stuff that read, “Just Add Water.” I looked closer and read, “Meat included.”

“Donny. How is the meat included?”

And my husband, who will really eat just about anything replied, “That’s nasty. Put that down.”

Then…

We were driving through a predominantly black area a few weeks ago and I pulled up behind this car with an NPR bumper sticker. We were at a red light so I pulled up next to the car and tried to get the driver’s – a white woman – attention. She wouldn’t look over.

“Donny, you’re right next to her. Wave.”

“She’s probably scared.”

“I know, but you’re white. She won’t be scared of you.”

So Donny starts waving his arms like a madman and she looks over. I ask her where on the dial I can find NPR and she tells me and then I ask, “AM or FM?” Which, in retrospect, was a stupid fucking question. She laughs and says, “FM.” Because, apparently, she also realized what a stupid fucking question it was. And, to alleviate any doubt I might have over the ridiculousness of my question, Donny laughs as the light turns green and says, “That was a stupid fucking question.”

A short while later…

We’re at another red light and I look over at this really cheesy motel.

“I wouldn’t stay there if you paid me.”

“That’s not a motel, that’s a fucktel.”

“Donny, I wouldn’t stay there if it came with a night of sex with Brad Pitt.”

“But Nina, they have micro-fridges.”

“What’s a micro-fridge?”

“Like, a little fridge.”

“Ooooh, for some reason I was thinking of like, a fridge that’s also a microwave.”

“You are retarded.”

Then…

We’re headed up to bed with the kids. I’m carrying Jack and I pause to make sure the front door is locked. Donny is walking up the stairs ahead of me, Kali behind, when she says, “I know what a redneck is.”

“How do you know that?”

“My teacher told me.”

“Well, what’s a redneck?”

“A redneck is someone who didn’t think slaves should be freed.”

I almost dropped Jack down the stairs.

And finally…

I’ve been doing some mystery shopping and merchandising on the side to make extra money now that Christmas is upon us. Most of it has been a lot of fun. I’ve been paid to sit in a theater and gauge the audience reaction to movie trailers, restock maps at FedEx Kinkos, secret shop restaurants, gas stations, fast food joints, and clothing stores, and take pics of promotional materials in movie theaters.

One night, Donny tagged along with me to three theaters where I had to take pics of posters for the movie Precious. By the time we left the second theater we were starving and Donny suggested we stop at Krystal’s. Krystal’s is like White Castle – square-shaped shit burgers. We get two orders of the Cheesinator: 5 cheese Krystals with chili-cheese fries.

We’re eating and heading to the next theater (20mins away from our house via back roads) when I realize that I’m not feeling so well.

“Oooh, Donny, I feel like I’m going into labor all over again.”

“I’m just sleepy.” Donny said. Donny had been up since 2:30 a.m. and it was now after 7pm.

I had this really bad lower back pain and it was hot. I felt like the back of my jeans were two seconds away from looking like the mudflaps on a semi. Thankfully, the bubble guts passed almost as quickly as they began. Then…

We’re almost to the theater when I’m suddenly overcome with the giggles. Like, everything is funny. EVERYTHING.

“Oh my God. Look at those trees. They’re SO funny!”

Donny was feeling kind of kooky too. So, we get to the theater and I run in to take the pictures and run back out. Donny is asleep. I wake him up ’cause I’m feeling really wired and I’m starting to worry.

“What if they drugged us at Krystal’s?”

“Why would they do that?”

“Why does anyone do anything crazy? ‘Cause they’re crazy! I feel like they slipped us some… some… some of that drug that makes you sleepy and giggly.”

“They slipped us pot?”

“No. I think it was stronger than that. If we don’t remember this tomorrow, we’ll know we’ve been drugged.”

“Well, if we don’t remember, then we won’t remember that we thought we were drugged.”

“Shut up.”

We start the trip home (and I’m rushing cause it’s a Wednesday and Glee is on) and realize that we both have really bad cotton mouth. Of course, the fast food place gave us mounds of ice with very little beverage so we’re driving along with two cups of ice. I make a last minute decision to whip into the parking lot of a convenience store/gas station.

“What are you doing?” Donny asked as I pulled into a parking space.

“I’m thirsty.”

And then we just sit there looking at each other like, “Well, go ahead.”

Donny ain’t budging so I get out of the car and run inside. You know how people get super paranoid when they’re really high or drunk? And any attempt to not act high or drunk just makes it worse?

I’m wandering around the store and the two Indian guys behind the counter are looking at me like I already stole something. I settle on a two-liter grape soda and refuse a bag. I tuck it in my sweater like a stolen baby and trot back to the car.

“Donny. We’ve been roofed.”

“What?”

“Roofies. The date-rape drug. The people at Krystal’s roofed us.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Nuh-uh. I’m right. It’s a heinous fuckery most foul.”