February 7, 2018

Go Fuck Yourself, Now With Variable Speed Dial!

On Feb 6th. 2018, FedEx helped some as yet unknown individual tell me to definitively go fuck myself.

I didn’t see the box sitting on my stoop when I drove up.  Since it was later than I usually get home and snowing, the steps to the front of the house were covered in snow, and no longer sunlit with afternoon sun.  I brought it in when I got my mail, and set it on my dining room table.  I wasn’t expecting anything, but figured it belonged to my boyfriend.  Having been out of town for an extended period, it made sense for him to have something shipped to my house rather than trust it to sit on his doorstep until he returned. 

After looking through my regular mail, loading the dishwasher, and starting on dinner for the night, I got curious.  The box had my name and phone number on it, so I got to wondering if I had ordered something and just forgotten about it.  I have a little bit of a wish.com addiction, so it’s entirely possible.  

I cut the packing tape off the top and peeked in.  I saw black metal and industrial hardware.  Nothing resembling anything I might still be waiting on, and nothing that I had on any sort of wish list anywhere.  So, without disturbing the contents any more, I closed the box back up and set it aside for the boyfriend as he was making his way to my house later that evening.  I was more concerned about saving or finding an alternative to the sodden, tarry mess that the red rice I had planned on having with dinner.

Fast forward about an hour, and ¾ of a bottle of wine and I’m sitting on the couch with the boyfriend, sharing the results of my blowing up the kitchen by using every pot, pan, bowl, and utensil I own.  I mentioned, between bites, that there was a package of what I assume to be car parts for him in the other room.  He gets up, having finished his bowl, and goes to open it, confused as I was as he didn’t remember ordering anything either. 

From the other room, I hear, “Um, this isn’t car parts.”

Footsteps.  I hear footsteps coming around the corner into the living room.  Bear in mind, I’m most of a bottle of wine in at this point.

I look over, and I see the boyfriend holding what appears to be a pneumatic device with a plastic wrapped dildo attached to it.  Well, that’s what I figured it to be after the double take. 

I believe the term is howling with laughter.  That's the best way to describe my reaction.Though truthfully, it was more screaming than laughing, accompanied by pearl clutching and staring incredulously at the dildo that looks like it needs its own hoist to set up.  



Can I just say how glad I am that I’m not living in an apartment anymore.  I’d have some serious explaining to do to my neighbors.  Or, maybe not if the last building I lived in is any indication. 

Meanwhile, curiosity has proven to be too great a thing to resist, and loverboy has set this beast up on my coffee table, found and outlet, and cranked this thing up to it’s wobbly highest setting.  Thoughts going through my mind in the moment I see this thing flailing about in my living room:

  •     If I didn’t order it, and the boyfriend says he didn’t order it. . . .
  •     Reality distortion field, go!
  •     My kidneys are going to complain something fierce if that’s what it does on a lower setting.
  •     Looks like I’ve got a head start on turning the spare bedroom into a playroom.
  •     . . . Was I so drunk that I actually added something like this to a publicly viewable wish list?!
  •     For that matter, is my “recently viewed” history public?!
  •     OK, who won the lottery and is making good on their promises?
  •     I’m potentially never leaving the house again.
  •     I’m potentially never walking again.
Here it is, a good 18 hours later and I’m still responding to messages on social media, fielding denials at having made the purchase, but requests to see it in use, and marveling at just exactly how weird life has been, is, and has the potential to be.  I am merely the host of a reality distortion field, it uses me as it sees fit.  I’m looking forward to the mischief it gets me into for years to come.

PS - I have discovered the following:

  •     The mount for this thing uses what appears to be an XLR connection.   I tested this theory and it looks like a small tank or a Dahlek handmaiden.
  •     I will never be able to refer to power tools in any context ever again without someone giving me the raised eyebrow.  I am not ashamed of this.

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