DMFT: A True Story

My tender, fluffy little cotton-tailed kittens--

Your ol' Sweet Tea been sparse around these parts. I was on such a roll there for a while, wasn't I? Boy, those were the days.

You all know me, so you know why things came to a screeching halt. I've talked about it with (probably) everyone reading this, but I've never mentioned it on this blog. But here goes: my dad got sick. Four months later, he died. But that alone isn't why I stopped blogging. I didn't stop blogging because I didn't have time or because I no longer found vanity plates or mammograms funny...I stopped blogging because I hated being able to enjoy anything--to laugh at anything--when I was watching helplessly as my father suffered.

That's why you don't see too many blog posts here, and when you do, the posts are about weather or my adventures around the house.

Well. I saw some dear friends recently who said they missed the blog (tragic, isn't it?). And I told them about how it's more than just a life change, I told them about the guilt of laughing while someone you love is dying. And they listened. And they were wonderful. And then they told me to get back to writin'.

So here you go. I tried to publish this thing nearly a year ago, but it was just too funny. Too rich. Too much of a good story to believe it really happened. But it did.

SO THERE I WAS. At a Bastille Day celebration in St. Louis. 2012.

There were things for sale, like these here whistles:

There were cute kids, like this here ALF who walked right up to me and gave me the ol' "pick me up or I'll scream" face:

ALFs: Adorable Little Fuckers

There was an auction for a wheelbarrow-o-booze:

There was even a Louis/Marie Anoinette "execution":

And you just KNOW there were some hotties there:

This hot, loincloth-wearing piece wouldn't pose with me until I allowed him to throw a pelt over my shoulders. Truth.

And then...there was THIS. His name was Dennis, and he...uh...introduced himself to me as I was leaving. There was a concert in the park, but Dennis was too classy of a guy to sit with all the other commoners in the park. Dennis pulled his truck up to the park, cracked a cold one, and enjoyed the show.

As I was walking along, I heard a "HEY!" Like a good girl, I ignored it. Surely someone wasn't speaking to me that-a-way. But then I heard it again: "HEEEEYYYY! In the green dress!"

I stopped. I turned and stared at him. "Where you goin' in such a hurry? Come on up here and keep me company."

I told him that, as much as I surely wanted to, I was sad to see that there was no place for me to sit. He patted the top of his cooler emphatically and said, "Come on up."

He asked me my name. I told him it was Sweet Tea. (Actually, I gave him my sister's name. Don't judge. Melissa, you're just now learning this--I'm sorry.) I asked him his name, and I swear to you that he said, "It's Dennis. Dennis Mutha Fucken Thompson."

"Real nice," I said. "Dennis Mutha Fucken Thompson. Cute."

"It's true," he said. "Look here at my tit."

Check out those above-left-nipple initials: D.M.F.T.

Believe me when I tell you I was surprised. I said, "That's not what that means. Seriously?"

"Everybody calls me that," he insisted. "People get so used to saying it that they'd have to be careful when you couldn't cuss. Like, when I used to work at Hobby Lobby, they'd page me on the intercom and they'd say, 'Dennis Muth...uh...Dennis, can you come to Returns & Exchanges.'"

"You worked at Hobby Lobby?" I asked.

"Yeah. And I brought my lunch to work every day in a lunchbox that said D.M.F.T. on it. When some new guy asked me what it stood for and I told him, he didn't believe me, so I had to show him my tit."

How To Get Over It

Tender kittens--

Have you ever been pissed at someone close to you? I have. And have you ever moved past the argument, but you just weren't ready to hug it out yet and be all happy and huggy? Me too. Happened just the other night.

Me and Ol' Boy had a little spat. Nothing big, really, and I was over the argument itself, but I wasn't exactly in the makin'-up frame of mind, if I ain't bein' too subtle.

We had tickets to a ball game later that evening, and I told him to just go by himself. I said that I could do with a little alone time. He said he didn't want to go without me--if I wasn't going, then he wasn't going. Sheesh! I hate wasted money, so I said I'd go. But believe me when I tell you I was not warm and fuzzy.

So there we were. In the car. Making the 10-minute drive to the ballpark.

And then I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye. It was friggen hilarious. Any other time, I'd have said, "Pull over! Get out your phone! [I still have my cheap, crappy, mostly useless phone, you see.] We have a winner!" And we would've laughed together over the ridiculousness of this MAGICAL THING.

You can't see this and stay pissed. I tried.

But I was busy being a stone cold be-yatch, so I stared straight ahead as we sat there at a stoplight.

And then...I felt his elbow nudge my elbow. "Hey. You gotta see this. Look over there." I couldn't not smile anymore. He saw it. I saw it. And it was funny. We laughed. I had planned to stay pissed all night and teach him a lesson, but there it was...the FUNG SHWAY STYLES. Not only does it--apparently--bring style that merges Heaven and Earth to St. Louis, but it also builds bridges between people.

Anyway, we're Kool & The Gang now, all thanks to FUNG SHWAY STYLES.

So there's my Kryptonite: if you ever say "Fung Shway Styles" to me, I'm helpless.

For the record, I also cannot resist, "Rocket science is when the scientists find out things about outer space":

Shih Tzus Don't Dry Well

My patient little poodles--

You won't believe what you're about to read. It's a word-for-word transcription of a voicemail, and it's just too rich, too random, too friggen perfect to believe. But it's real.

Here: let me earn your trust.

FACT 1: By an incredibly fortunate stroke of good luck, some dear friends--Bob and Sally (names changed to protect the innocent--are moving to St. Louis. They are the cutest couple you've ever seen. Witness:

See? Couple o' cutie pies. You can believe me when I tell you stuff.

FACT 2: When Bob and Sally came on a househunting trip to St. Louis, they had to leave the two most adorable Shih Tzu pups you've ever seen--Oscar and Coots--in the care of their realtor (they are selling their house out east). Witness:

See? The cute factor is off the charts in their household. You can believe me when I tell you stuff.

So believe me when I tell you this. While Bob and Sally were in St. Louis, their realtor/doggy sitter went over to their house to walk the dogs before showing their house to an interested party. When she called Bob and Sally to give them an update...she left this message. Believe me, every word of it's true (this is unedited, but I've separated it here and there to help you follow...you're welcome):

Hey, Sally...it's me...it’s uh…too much info to text...

Showing went very well ..it’s...uh...pourin' down rain...got there quarter to six...ummm...took the dogs for a walk...went around the corner and ummm...

One of your neighbors...elderly people...ran a car into the front of the house through the siding..out through the neighbors'...fire trucks,  police officers, blah blah blah...

So all the neighbors are out, uh, talking to this couple, and one neighbor says, “Oh, I’m getting ready to sell my house on Palace Landing but I have an asshole agent and my asshole agent happens to be  my brother-in-law.” Then she asked, “Which office are you with?” and I said, “Well, I’m with the Springfield office,” and she said, “Well, the bitch there stole my husband and he left me for her and…" blah blah blah…

Needless to say…the dogs were soaking wet...I went upstairs, got a towel, probably spent...I don’t know? 15 minutes? Drying them off...‘cause Shih-Tzus don’t dry well...and they looooove to be rubbed down…so that was all good. 

The, uh, guy that saw the house tonight is gonna bring his wife back tomorrow at 7:30, so I’ll go back to the house at 9:15...turn all the lights on and get everything ready from there. 

So...pretty eventful...we were there for quite a while, and I hope you found something there and you like St. Louis…your dogs are hysterical and I got kisses from both of them. BOTH OF THEM!

*Click*

If you don't find that amusing, then--forgive me, but--you don't deserve to laugh. You probably won't think this is funny, either:

Until next time.