I probably can't go back to Goodwill anymore...

I had a pretty delightful weekend last week. Lots of the three Rs were enjoyed at Casa de Biff/Amanda: Rest, relaxation, and really shitty movies.

We meet again, you frightening, frightening bastard. Oh, and you have an alien, now? That's cool, I guess.

Yes, it was a great weekend indeed. At one point on Sunday afternoon, I decided that daytime was bullshit and closed all the curtains and windows, and sat via candle/computer light for the duration of my "day." Awesome, right? It was kind of like camping, except there was no tent and no goddamn s'mores, and also no excuse, because I'm almost 27 years old. It also might be called something other than "camping" at this point, like "depression" or "quarter-life crisis," but I can't be sure just yet.

Anyway, you know what else it was, in retrospect? Kinda creepy. And the sad part about that, is that it wasn't even the creepiest thing I did last weekend! Which brings me to the title of the post:

It all started with sushi.

For those who don't know, I'm a gal who loves her sushi. I mean, I really, really, really love it, in unnatural and possibly sexual ways. If I could roll myself inside a delightful California roll and just live there for the rest of my life, guess who you'd never fucking see again?

Stranger danger. STRANGER DANGER.

Yeah, I was too lazy to Photoshop my face into sushi. But it'd look something like that. Out of context, I suppose that saying, "Guess who you'll never see again! Buahaha!" then posting a picture of a small child is probably not okay... but I digress.....

Anyway, sushi. I love it. I ate it last weekend. All was right with the world. And then...

Stomach: Blurgalfrag
Me: I beg your pardon?
Stomach: You're going to poop soon.
Me: Ah. I see.

Considering what a fabulous job the waitress and the sushi Chef did preparing a delicious lunch for me, I felt it would be ungrateful to burden them with my twosie.

What? Are you laughing? Have you never really thought to yourself, "I don't want to poop here. I don't want them to know my shame." I'll bet you have. And if you haven't, you should. There is a time and a place for dookie.

Example of neither

I walked out to my car, which was filled with bags for Goodwill. Since I had to go to there anyway, and since Goodwill always makes me feel surrounded by grossness and dust and forgotten dreams, I decided I should take the Browns to their Super Bowl instead. Alas, I parked, dashed inside, and wouldn't you know, the ladies room was occupied.

You know why? Because the ladies room is always fucking occupied. Why bitches feel the need to check themselves out for 10 minutes every single time they see a mirror, or even a reflection, is beyond me.

Do these earrings make my teeth look like big, stupid donkey teeth? 

But this time, this mirror obsession (or whatever it was) was interfering at a very, very dire time. On a scale of one to ten, one being freshly flushed and ten being imminent volcanic eruption, let's just say the K in Amanda K pretty much stood for Krakatoa.

Then, a tricky, conflicted ray of light shone upon my poor asshole:

The men's room was not occupied.

There was no other alternative. Time had run out. I knew I risked embarrassment and judgement and ridicule should anyone else need the facilities after me, but considering the people of Goodwill are usually only a half step up from the People of Walmart, I decided it was worth the risk.

And, of course, no sooner had I felt the warm embrace of relief, when Tommy Dipshit, Child Wonder, decides to start pounding on the door.

Tommy Dipshit: *knock knock*  Merrrrrrm, I need to gooooooo..... *bang bang*
Bad mother: I know, Tommy Dipshit, I know. Just keep banging on the door. It will make that horrible man's sphincter slam shut more quickly for you. Brb, I'm going to see if they have a noose.
Tommy Dipshit: Okay, mom. *BANG BANG BANG BANG FOREVER*

I held my ground for a couple minutes, hoping he might wander off or get abducted or something, but no such luck was to be had. My embarrassment took a back seat to my annoyance, though. This kid was on my last fucking nerve. And since there was no chance of escaping this situation with any shred of dignity, I decided to go balls-out crazy-pants on this kid.

How Not to Make Friends With a Small Child

 at Goodwill. 

Step One:  Use the wrong restroom. (check)
Step Two: Drop a big, stinky, sushi dook. (double check.)
Step Three: Before opening the door to leave, switch the lights off. (checkity check)
Step Four: With wide, horrifying eyes, slowly emerge from the darkness, staring unblinkingly at the small child. (Aaaand, Yahtzee.) 

I can only assume that what is unnecessarily creepy and wrong by adult standards, can only be amplified through the eyes of a child. That said, I'll bet you think that was the end of it. But it wasn't. My creepy ass didn't stop there. 

Or there. 

Tommy Dipshit looked at me with a mixture of sadness, confusion, and fear, the likes of which I've not encountered since I called my mom a jizz trough several years ago. (She deserved it.) With tones of youthful skepticism and arrogance, he put his hands on his hips and asked "Aren't..... aren't you a girl?"

I probably should have just walked on. Instead, my reflexes took over, and I may or may not have just started laughing at the little tyke. Still laughing, I began to walk away, and managed an "Uh, YEAH" to him sarcastically, which of course, made me guffaw even more. By this point, a couple of the senior citizens who inhabit every furniture section of every Goodwill on the planet were watching as well. They were about as concerned as you'd expect them to be. 

Somehow, despite the fact that I was now being watched by several people, every fiber of self-consciousness was completely gone by this point. So much so, that I even turned back around, to continue laughing at the child, as he slowly shut the door, eyeing me with much-deserved suspicion, almost as if he expected me to come running back at him or something. That probably would have been hilarious, but I've come this far without a criminal record. No need to make waves now.

As I approached the front door, I was laughing so hard that I ran out, for fear someone might actually think I was insane. I mean, I am, but I'm talking dangerous insane, not Gary Busey insane. And in this rush... I sped from the parking lot, car still full of Goodwill donations.

I did finally return a couple days later to give them my wares, but by then, my invincible creepiness was long gone. I was so concerned someone might recognize me that I just kind of left them outside the drop-off door, despite several employees being clearly visible just inside. So instead being some crazy lady who used the wrong bathroom, and borderline harassed a child, and was recognized, I was, instead, the crazy lady who used the wrong bathroom, and borderline harassed a child, and returned several days later, with several ominous black bags, which I dumped suspiciously before promptly speeding away once again. I think it was the lesser of two evils.

And that's why I probably can't go back to Goodwill anymore.

Oh well. It was worth it. That sushi was delicious!

Have a great Memorial Day weekend, everyone!








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Hypocritical Douche-Canoe

Today, I interacted with a hypocritical douche-canoe. Upon making this fact known, I was asked for the definition of "hypocritical douche-canoe," and subsequently, have decided to illustrate the definition for clarification's sake.

Before you ask me why the hypocritical douche-canoe has been depicted wearing a bowler hat, you should as yourselves why he wouldn't be.

Case closed.

(And yes, I'm working on an actual post still. But I've decided that, in the meantime, maybe one-panel shticks are better than month long sabbaticals. Maybe. Right?)










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I see you.

 

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