Friday afternoon I received an email from the wife of a guy Devoted Spouse and I both used to work with. In fact the four of us have been friends for a long time now and occasionally go out to eat. It’s been awhile since we last saw them; in fact, it’s been before my accident. She emailed me a few weeks ago and suggested dinner together and I explained I was still recuperating from the back surgery (which I had forgotten to tell them about) and could we wait a little while. So today I get this email that says “I know it’s late notice, but we’re thinking pizza tonight, do you want to join us”? (paraphrased). I thought it was a great idea — I felt good enough today to go out to a garage sale, I had my new painting of EmmaLou, the Golden Destroyer, and now our friends wanted us to go downtown for pizza.
Life just doesn’t get any better, ya know?
So we meet them at their house and they drive downtown to this pizza place we don’t know about – a family run restaurant in a “cool” section of town where the “cool” people hang out – not that our friends are pretentious in any way, don’t misunderstand me — but this is kind of a yuppie area of downtown. Turns out this place makes fabulous pizza. I mean it’s about some of the best pizza I have ever tried except the jalapenos about killed me, but that’s my own fault.
We sat at the booth, eating pizza, drinking beer, catching up on some hilarious stories from both families when in walks the last person I expected to see, not only that night, but ever. Who, you ask? One of our local weathermen. Yes, a local “celebrity” who forecasts (incorrectly more often than not) the local weather. Now I’m not mentioning names of people or television stations or giving out any identifying information because I don’t want to be handed a lawsuit of any type. Too many people in this town happen to occasionally read this blog and I’m not stupid enough to name names. But my reaction truly surprised our friends. I said something to the effect of , “Oh dear Gussie is that Elmer T. Shagnasty, the local Channel XYZ weatherman?” (and subliminally under my breath I added the word, D*ckwad). They about fell out of the booth laughing at me and yes, it was indeed, Elmer T. Shagnasty (D*ckwad) of our local news complete in his little white shirt and designer suit pants and he planted himself at the bar and began to be the center of attention (now I’m thinking Arrogant D*ckwad). You see, for some bizarre reason we always watch the channel he is on when we watch the local news and every time he shows his face I unconsciously utter the word D*ckwad under my breath. It’s gotten to be a joke at our house because I simply can’t help myself anymore. He’s arrogant, he has the most advanced weather forecasting technology available, he’s a bonafide meteorologist, and he rarely gets it right. D*ckwad.
Plain and simple. The solution to this is to change the channel. But for some bizarre reason I am now drawn to this person simply so I can get the pleasure out of saying to his face on the tv….D*ckwad. I know I’m going to hell for this, but I cannot stop myself. It is almost a sickness. I promise I won’t stalk him – please don’t worry this will get out of control – I only like to call him names while he is on the television for some perverse pleasure of mine that I (nor Devoted Spouse) will never understand.
Anyway we all had a good laugh at my nonsense, got ready to leave and made comments about asking for autographs or should I have my picture taken with him (I just happened to have my camera in my purse) or should I simply carry our cardboard box with the rest of our pizza by him and trip and drop the pizza on his bright white shirt on my way out? We opted to guide me far away from him and take me to Graeter’s for ice cream instead.
At least the episode at the pizza place gave us all a hearty laugh – and I know laughter (unfortunately at someone else’s expense this time) is good for you. I try not to make fun of others. I’m ashamed of this childish behavior of mine, but I don’t like this person and I’m never gonna change my mind and I simply am unable to stop calling him this bad name. I’m not always nice; but I’m always honest.
The evening ended up at Graeter’s which is a local ice cream shop that has awesome ice cream as evidenced by the below picture – as you can see Devoted Spouse (on the left in the Virginia Tech tee shirt) had plenty of room left after his pizza for a huge concoction while our friends and I opted (note empty space at table (mine) for a single scoop in a cup. Hey, someone had to take the picture, and you’ve seen enough pictures of me lately to last ya’ll a lifetime!
It’s funny how some people simply rub you the wrong way – I’m sure Mr. Weatherman is a very nice man with a nice family, but every time I see his face something inside of me just goes haywire and I want to slap him. I know – there’s something very wrong with me – don’t send me hate mail – I’ m not proud of this. I imagine there’s a 12-step program out there somewhere that deals with how to atone for the fact you think your weatherman is an arrogant d*ckwad (oops, I did it again.)