ABOUT ME

About me: My husband Chuck, our six-year-old Junior, our three-year-old Everette and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Who are the perverts in your neighborhood...in your neighborhood...in your neigh-bor-hood hey!

After reading that my mother gave Chuck and me edible body chocolate, hundreds—okay, two—of you said you couldn't imagine your mother giving you such a lurid gift. That's fair. But you have to understand something: My mother is very, very pretty, and after a lifetime of being chased for sex, the woman's got it on the brain.

Seriously. If you'd been ogled and propositioned nonstop for 60 years by men (and some women), you'd have to absorb some of that eventually. It's Newton's third law. To every action—in this case, a large group of perverts heckling one person— there is always opposed an equal reaction—in this case, the transformation of said person into one ginormous pervert.

It's science, baby.

But enough about her. I want to talk about me, and what it's been like to live with a beautiful, blonde, buxom, oversexed mother.

Picture it: 2002. Or 2003. I don't fricken remember. Chuck and I were on hiatus. I was renting an apartment in an old Victorian house. The landlord was a 70-year-old man named Mr. Rogers. He wasn't a sprightly 70. He had a gray pallor, was skinny and had a jiggly turkey neck.

To say that Mr. Rogers was a packrat would be a gross understatement. My apartment was at the very top of the house, and I often had to climb over refrigerators, velvet chairs, boxes, newspapers and mattresses to get to it. Sometimes I had to climb over Mr. and Mrs. Rogers (they drank a lot of Wild Turkey).

It wasn't a dirty house—they had a maid—it was just incredibly cluttered. And a little Munsters-ish.

Why am I telling you all this? Because even though Mr. Rogers looked like he was at Death's door, he somehow managed to scale his mounds of mess to get to my apartment on the nights my mother stopped by.

My mother and I would be sitting there, and we'd hear a soft knock. I'd get up and open the door and there he'd be in a red silk bathrobe and khaki pants, holding a glass of bourbon. He'd tell me he needed to talk to me about something, like the gas bill or the new parking "situation" and while he was talking he'd float closer and closer to my mother.

One night, he was so intoxicated by her (ok, and Wild Turkey) that as he was leaning against the wall staring at her, he started sliding down the wall in his silk robe! Just imagine Frank Perdue dressed like Hugh Hefner in your living room. And knowing he wants to bone your mom.

I...

I...

Wait, what the hell was my point?

Oversexed mom...perverted landlord...traumatized daughter...

Oh hell, you caught me. I just wanted to tell the Mr. Rogers story.

23 comments:

Dugout Daisy said...

Hahaha! Great story!
My mom iis pretty hot but she never had a man come after her in a robe, hah! I love it!

:)

Julia said...

Glad to not have to report that problem...would be a wee bit uncomfortable for me to witness that one. But maybe I would just laugh my ass off instead. My gross out factor and laugh factor fighting inside would be an interesting combo.

Stacy (Random Cool Chick) said...

ROTFLMAO! Mr. Rogers, Wild Turkey and your mother...Priceless! ;)

kyooty said...

this totally falls under OMGGGGGGGGG

Dto3 said...

Hmmmm, I'm guessing you didn't get the "TALK" from your Mom when you were in middle school, eh?

Sassypants Wifey said...

Hehehehe, bummer deal. If I had a dime for everytime my mom got checked out... She's 4'11" and people constantly think shes my sister, my little sister. Nice. Something about that tiny little woman just drives the male market customers wild. Makes me giggle.

Nicole said...

Ummm... Okay, that Mr. Rogers story is a total keeper! Riot! You are the best storyteller :)

FoN said...

Hmmm...that's funny. And disgusting, all at the same time. Good job!

kel said...

That's so funny and creepy! I wanna see a pic of your sexpot momma!

Suzi said...

Great story. I had a good laugh out of that. Thanks for starting my morning off on a good note.

Kate said...

Nothing like starting your morning out with thoughts of an old, wrinkled, and very likely semi-erect penis! Good times.

On The Verge said...

Wow! The visions you just gave me...eww!! LMAO!!

Leanne said...

Hee hee hee. That was great and uh, sort of disturbing too. :)

Keely said...

lol! Some stories just need to be told.

Twisted Serenity said...

*lol* Great story!

Joanie said...

Hahahaha!!!! Oh that is too too funny! And sorta creepy at the same time. The mental picture of Frank Perdue as Hugh Hefner just boggles the mind! LOL

Heather said...

The Frank Perdue/Hugh Hefner vision wasn't pleasant. My mum was pretty hot too lets say she had all the right curves and I can remember her getting whistles as we walked down the street.

Belle said...

Poor girl. It probably explains a lot.

Carol @SheLives said...

Ewwww....Creepers! Wild Turkey creepers, no less.

Won't you be my neighbor?

mrsbear said...

Disturbing, yet hilarious. My kind of story. The silk robe sliding down the wall just really put it over the top. Like Heff isn't gross enough, a Perdue chicken man Playboy, is just too much.

Eric Barclay said...

What a way to end the week! Very funny stuff here. Thanks so much for your visit on my blog and your kind comments!

Anne said...

You had the opportunity to make that work for you. Your mom should have had him lower the rent, fix the heat, whatever you needed at that moment. You need to work it baby.

Mrs. V said...

As I'm reading through your blog, I'm laughing hysterically. Thanks for all the giggles this morning. It is working better than the coffee. :D