Sunday Scribblings: The era of BB

I'd like to paint a picture for you today. It won't be pretty so the faint of heart amongst you must take this opportunity to excuse yourselves. We won't talk about you while you are gone. Really. And we will be right back here next time you drop by, with fresh tales of flying hoohoos, reminders to feel up your boobies, giant weiners doing tricks and all kinds of fun stuff.

Now. Everybody comfortable? I think those candy asses are all gone now.

Oh mah gawd. Did you SEE that girl's hair?

No, really. Today's post is going to be an exercise suggested by Sunday Scribblings (sorry guys, I'm still link deficient, and no one seems to be TAKING THE HINT and sending me the instructions in little bitty words so that I can link to your posts when I reference you). I am posting it a little early so I can take tomorrow off. This week, we are supposed to think about which era in history we would choose to live in if we had to choose another. The Innocent Bystander and I talked it over, and we decided jointly that we would choose to live in Renaissance Italy when the great masters were creating the beautiful art that we love so much. And then I got to thinking that, no-part of the reason I love those paintings and frescos and such so much is because of how old they are and I like to think of how many eyes have seen them and imagine who those people were and things like that. No. I'd REALLY like to live in the era just slightly before this happened...

It was a day like any other. I was out with the Juevo at the mall trying to figure out new and creative ways to waste the Innocent Bystander's money. We had been shopping hard. HARD, I tell you. I visited every shoe in the mall, and the old plastic was practically melting I'd swiped it so many times. Which makes a girl very hungry.

I may have mentioned before my obsession with all foods chinese. I love it all, and I am willing to give any chinese restaurant at least one chance. But this was not a day I had to experiment with an unknown. This day we were eating at one of my favorites. They had been in this mall since it opened over twenty years earlier, and had evolved from a take out rice or noodles and two other choices kinda place to a huge buffet in a sit down restaurant. And they made what I considered to be the best crabmeat wontons on the coast. You could watch the waitresses make them individually by hand when they were not waiting tables. Cream cheese, crabmeat, and just the right amount of green onion, fried crispy and glistening. Mmmm.

Juevo and I ate in worshipful silence for awhile. And then I had to pee.

Now, I am one of those people who have trouble holding my pee in when I get within ten feet of a toilet when I don't have to go. (And yes. I Kegel.) So I was really struggling to get my pants down as I entered the stall. I got them down to about midthigh and relaxed a little and let go. As my eyes surveyed my surroundings, I thought "Oh, how interesting. Textured wallpaper." My hand started reaching to touch it and then something told me to stop and look closer. Just a little. I recoiled in horror as I realized what I was looking at. This was no textured wallpaper. It was a veritable WALL O' BOOGERS.

Now this was no ordinary wall o' boogers, my friends. This was a fucking work of art. A virtual Taj Mahal of boogers, if you will. This thing had to have taken years-nay DECADES-to craft, each booger placed lovingly and strategically like some Van Gogh's Starry Night from Hell. Layers and layers, I tell you. Boogers as far as they eye can see. Much attention to detail. Mostly greens and yellows, but some with that brownish look that tells you they bled-you knew they had to dig really deep for those.

There. Have I squicked you out enough yet? Ok. Now your mind wander back to those crabmeat wontons that I loved so much. And now that I think about it, which one of them was the freaking Picaso among the bunch? Or was this a family project? Were they ALL in on it?

Yes, I think I would choose the Before Boogers era. I'd sure sleep a lot better.