Yesterday was B's birthday. Happy birthday, B! And to celebrate the birth of the man of my dreams I got him the king of all home beer brewing kits. I've only seen B that excited a few times. I'm talking borderline pee your pants excited. So I'm pretty sure I hit the present jackpot.
Neither of us realized exactly how much goes into brewing your own beer, and after a quick perusal through the manual, I'm partially convinced that B's first batch could quite possibly poison us both.
Speaking of vomiting, B's mom got him a Snuggie. As it is, I have an inexplicable aversion to fleece blankets. This thing is a fleece blanket WITH SLEEVES. That's just offensive. And now B's mom is going to be all what are you TALKING about? because B's family lives in Massachusetts which is pretty much the same thing is Antarctica so I can see why something like a Snuggie might be a useful evil up there. But even worse, she got me one too, and I pretty much fainted when I opened the package because I totally thought it was going to be filled with cookies. What kind of a SADIST is this woman? I might throw up in my mouth every time I see B shuffling around the apartment with this thing limply hanging from his body.
B, of course, loves it. Touche, B's mom, touche. I'm still waiting for the cookies. And don't even talk to me about Lent.
In other news, the other night B and I discovered Mantracker, which is pretty much the greatest show ever of all those shows that have people running around in the wilderness and, um, making their own fires and stuff. Essentially, two people are released into the wild with a few bare necessities and a head start, and they have about a day to cross the finish line on foot before Mantracker, who by the way, is on a horse, tracks them down and captures them. And Mantracker is pretty much the most bad ass old dude cowboy ever, who usually doesn't have a problem rounding up these flounders. Technically all he has to do is get close enough to them that he probably could trample them with his horse, but if I were a producer on this show, I would totally give Mantracker a large fishing net or some kind of lasso to capture these people with and then he'd have to hog time them and drag them the rest of the way to the finish line in his net of failure.
And after watching one episode, I have decided that I would KICK ASS on this show. Not because I have any particular wilderness skills, per say, but I can run for a long time and also I'm really good at squirming. And each time Mantracker started to close in on these girls I got all giggly and nervous, just like I would when I was a kid playing a game of Free Ya'll whenever someone was closing in to tag me. If I knew I was going to get caught I would be overcome with fits of nervous giggles and I'd eventually have to stop running because I was laughing too hard, which is no way to be taken to jail, let me tell you.
And the other night as Mantracker and his Native American guide were closing in on these two chicks, one of them pulled out a can of pepper spray. PEPPER SPRAY? What are you gonna do? Spray the horse? Good one, chick. You deserved to be captured. When I'm on this show, I'm going to be way more prepared than that. I'm bringing my rape horn. I don't actually have a rape horn, but I would totally get one for Mantracker. And every time he closed in on me, I'd whip out my rape horn and blast him one because you know old people don't do well with startling loud noises and also it would probably spook the horse and then by the time he recovered, I'd be gone. Like a ghost. And you know what I won't be bringing? My Snuggie.
UPDATE: The Snuggie is pretty much a wall of static cling. After wearing it for a full five minutes last night, B was covered with every piece of dog hair that Rooney had ever shed in our entire apartment.
UPDATE: It only took five seconds, however, for me to decide that my libido had quite possibly been irreversibly damaged.
UPDATE: I can't stop looking at that picture of the chick reading the book in her Snuggie. It's kind of like a car accident. Also, if I was an aspiring model, the Snuggie is probably the last thing I'd ever wear for a camera, no matter how strapped for cash I was. I'd sooner wear nothing. I'd be a nudie model. And before you know it I'd be shooting porn because it's probably only inevitable in the nudie biz. And then things would get REALLY ugly around here. All because of the Snuggie.