Nooooo! South is kicking me out! I can’t believe it. Now I’m glad I ate that nice, big piece of birthday cake I saved for him.
I’m disappointed my time was so short, though. I was gonna call Mom South and have her come down to teach me how to tease my flat Northern hair into big Southern hair. She already bought the four cans of Aqua Net, damn it! It was going to be a real bonding experience. Sigh. When South asks me to write, I never want to do it, but once I do, I never want to give the site back to him. I always think, “Let him get his own damn site!”
I was supposed to stay longer, but then it happened. I got the call in the middle of the night. Those three little words I dread hearing, “Get out. I’m coming home.” I just know he’s booting me out because I threatened to write that review of Southern Magnolias. Oh come on. Who really thought I would sit through that? What’s next? Me watching Confederate Cuties? BWAHAHAHAHA. As if.
Fine, Mike. Be that way. I don’t need you. I just ordered Carlton Sheets “No Down Payment,” and in a few short weeks I’m going to be filthy, stinking rich! I’m going to be rolling in money and I’ll pretend I don’t even know YOU. Ummmm, btw, that charge might show up on your Master Card. Speaking of which, kudos on hiding that credit card. It took me three whole days (and nights) to find it. Why if I hadn’t gotten all excited when Greg emailed me to tell me he liked my posts, and spilled that YooHoo on your computer desk, I might never have found that card, duct taped to the bottom of a bottle of Mr. Clean. Clever. You knew I’d never willingly look in your cleaning supply cabinet.
I did manage to get a good look at the files on South’s desktop today. My favorite folder was the one marked, “Every IM Conversation I’ve Ever Had With Adella.” HA! Schure she’s groovin’ on the fact that he’s charming now, but she’ll find out what he’s really like. The first (couple hundred) time(s) they argue and she mutters the immortal words, “I never said that,” the real South will come out. He’ll start copying and pasting shit you never even remembered uttering. And he won’t let up because he’s merciless. He’s like a rabid dog. No. A rabid dog in heat. You mark my words, sister! You heard it here first.
I’ve had the best time here and sending South my entire post in capital letters and funky colored fonts only made it better. The rules and regulations list didn’t thrill me, but once I learned to ignore everything Mike said, and did what I damn well pleased, I had fun. One thing I’m really going to miss when I leave today is South’s DSL. I’m addicted. I mean schure, I’m gonna miss wearing his contact lenses and sleeping in his boxers, but the DSL is in a class all it’s own. When you’re downloading, dial-up downloading time is a lot like football time. They tell you “it’ll just take a minute,” but it really takes forty-five minutes. With DSL, by the time the phrase “it’ll just take a minute” flashes on your screen, it’s finished downloading. Sigh. Now it’s back to dial up. Everybody sing, “….on a cold and gray Chicago mornin’ a poor little baby child is born in the internet ghetto”
Oh well, all good things must come to an end….as South will soon discover when he realizes I’ve stolen most of his huge hard back book collection. Apparently he’s never heard of these newfangled things called “paperbacks.” Luckily for him, I left all the Stephen King crap behind. (Keeping my fingers crossed that Stephen King doesn’t read mikesouth.com crap…)
One hard thing to deal with when going home is Mr. G’s raging jealousy. Wow. The last time I stayed here it was really bad when I got home. He is so jealous of South. I assured him South was gone before I arrived and he wasn’t home before I left. Excuse me, he wasn’t home in the “24 hours in which I had to vacate the premises.” Oh, Mr. G says he’s not really jealous of South at all. He says he’s angry because of all the truck drivers who call here asking to talk to the blonde woman driving the Kia with the bumper sticker that reads, “How’s my tits? Phone1-800-Tell-Goddess.” Oh schure that’s what he says, but I know better. I mean, puhleeze, that could be anybody.
Since Mike left me a message on the fridge, I shall leave one for him. [Of course he’ll go right to the fridge, Little Grasshoppers, if for no other reason than to see if I managed to break the lock.] I wrote:
Thanks ever so much for letting me stay at Casa de South. I had such a great time. I got a much-needed break from screaming kids, screaming ex-husbands and fixing flat tires on my trailer. I feel much more relaxed, and able to deal with life.
I want you to know that I respected your privacy and didn’t touch any of your things. I didn’t go into your bedroom, I didn’t eat a single Moon Pie while I was updating on your computer, and I certainly didn’t slide a pamphlet under your neighbor’s door that reads “Drugs Kill, but Jesus Saves. Call me. We’ll talk” with your phone number on it. Because that would be so very wrong. Hysterically funny, but so very wrong. I am proud of me and my good behavior.
BTW, you had a phone call from some chick while you were away. Her name was something like Sharon….or Sheryl….or Sherrita? Does any of that ring a bell? Oh yeah now I remember. It was Lisa. Anyway, I may have inadvertently, sorta, kinda given Lisa the impression that you didn’t want to see her again unless Hell freezes over.
Do me a favor before I come back next time, Mike–oh, and I WILL be back–get yourself an electric toothbrush will ya? I got tired of having to move my head while making that humming noise every time I used your toothbrush. Spinbrush from Crest. It’ll cost ya a whole $5, rich boy.
Hugs & kisses,
P.S. I can’t seem to find my Moon Pies. I may have left them
in your bedroom next to the computer. Oh! and I ACCIDENTALLY peedonyourcouchbrokeyourlazyboyandtoldyourneighboryouwantedakiloofcrack. Have a nice day!
And I am outta here…