I was going to title this post "From Seventy to Snow" and bitch about the damn weather because we had another frickin' blizzard after a week of beautiful temperatures, clear Spring skies, and no snow to be seen anywhere, but then Jen and I had the best bedtime conversation ever last night:
"I wish you were more like the men on TV?"
"Which men do you mean? Like the boxer-brief models? Or maybe the guys from the beer commercials?"
"Ew, no! You know who I mean."
"No. What men? Like...George Lopez? I don't think I can be more Mexican. Though Dave did say I look like a Mexican drug lord, but that was when my hair was longer...and I'm already pretty funny, but I can try to be funnier. Listen, 'Whu-pah!' See, I can do that."
"No, not George Lopez! Gods, men are clueless!"
"What men, then? There's all sorts of men on TV. And since we're deciding we want the other person to be more like someone else, why can't you be more like Angelina Jolie?"
"Hey now! I didn't name anyone specific!"
"I know, and look at the confusion that caused. So I am."
"So you want me to be more like Angelina Jolie? There, are my lips big enough? You want me to wake up in the middle of the night when you try to cuddle me and kick your ass all Tomb Raider-style?"
"Oh, hell-yes! What a turn-on!"
"Getting your ass kicked when you're trying to snuggle is a turn-on? Getting thrown down on the floor and pummeled?"
"You know, it's that whole pleasure-pain thing, you don't know which is which, especially because it's Angelina Jolie on-top of you. I'd be all 'Oh baby. Angelina Jolie is straddling me. I have a woody!' so the pummeling wouldn't matter."
"Fine then, I want you to be more like...the Doctor!"
"Well, I already have the hair for it."
"Not quite. It needs to be a little longer."
"It'll grow. So I have the hair, and I'm clever, intelligent, and occasionally oblivious -- "
" -- Occasionally? -- "
" -- And I travel around time and space in a small blue box."
"You don't keep a sonic device in your pocket, and -- "
" -- Pff. I work at a radio station? Hello? Sound waves? -- "
" -- Is it bigger on the inside than the outside?"
"What? The sonic device? My pocket?"
"Yeah. Do you have a pocket that is bigger on the inside than the outside?"
"The Doctor has a pocket bigger on the inside than the outside? I've never heard that."
"It's true."
"Well, you can't believe everything you see on TV."
"Wrong accent."
"Casting concerns, you know -- you get the actors where you can. Besides, there was an American Doctor."
"No there wasn't!"
"There was too! He was only in one episode or special or something. But he was American. There was an American Doctor."
"That doesn't count."
"It's canon! One of the thirteen Doctors was American."
"Hah! There are only ten Doctors."
"I told you I was a Time Lord..."
"Yeah, you're the Doctor and I'm Angelina Jolie."
"That's good. Keep a positive attitude! It's important to have goals."
Then we screwed like rabbits.
(I'm just saying that to bother Amy. HAH! You read it and now you can't UN-read it!
(But we did. HAH!))
Autumn Winds
27 April 2008 @ 02:51 pm
Playing Doctor
6 comments | Leave a comment
25 March 2006 @ 01:10 am
The Angelina Jolie Factor
More Amusing Stories From Around the Daegmorgan Household:
So, my wife asked me, "I thought Brad Pitt didn't want any kids, and now he's having one with Angelina Jolie. What's with that?" To which I replied, "If I were dating Angelina Jolie, she'd be pregnant, too."
Of course, my wife knows how much I want another child (which is, to say, not at all...four really is enough thank-you-very-much-I'd-like-to-retain-s
To which I answered the obvious, "It's Angelina Jolie!"
That was apparently not enough information, so I had to explain, "Given how much sex we would be having the probability of my getting her pregnant would be inescapable! Even if I was sterile there's no possible way I could NOT get her pregnant, because we'd be having sex all the time, or more! You have to understand the sheer volume of sex involved seriously affects the probabilities here!"
My wife frowned, with that 'you are in hot water' look, and said, "You don't want to have sex all the time with me." And waited for an answer.
Thinking the logic was obvious, I said, "Yeah, but you're not Angelina Jolie. She's HAWT!" This was not the best reply in the world.
Imagine the eyes, gentlemen, imagine the eyes: large, black pools of blazing hellfire. Now, this is not a whining, griping, emotionally manipulative tone that comes from her mouth in answer. Nononono. This is the strong-woman pissed at her man and going to boil-him-in-oil tone if he digs himself any deeper, "What? So you don't find me attractive?"
I didn't care about the signs of my on-coming personal Apocalypse, because, damnit, I had a point, and a humorous one at that! And that, of course, took precedence. I was on a roll, veiled threats of nights sleeping alone on the couch (or possibly outside on the sidewalk) not withstanding! No weasley whining to dig myself out of a hole, this was full-on snappy-debate-mode you're-not-getting-it voice, "I didn't say that! I find you attractive, but you're not Angelina Jolie! She's HAWT! Angelina Jolie HAWT. See?"
Notably, my wife's best friend broke in here to agree with this assessment, and the logic of my approach to the situation. So you know, my wife's best friend is a female, but not a lesbian. That last bit is important because even she said she'd have to sleep with her because it was Angelina Jolie, and she's HAWT! Angelina Jolie hawt. She gets it.
My wife asks me calmly, and non-threateningly, "So, if Angelina Jolie showed up on our doorstep and said she was leaving Brad Pitt for you, would you go with her?"
"Hell yes," I said, "She's HAWT and famous and rich and travels the world and HAWT and a skilled actress and HAWT and HAWT!"
My wife's friend, laughing along with this, says, "You already said hawt, like three times." And I'm like, "I know! It's a very important point!"
The wife frowns and gives me 'the look'. Gentlemen, you know what I'm talking about: the look of doom, the look your high school teachers gave you when you answered them with something revealing you hadn't read the assigned chapter last night. The 'I have you by the nutsack' challenge, "You would leave me for Angelina Jolie. You would endanger our relationship of twelve years to go off with Angelina Jolie, and leave me."
Well, of course! But how to explain it to the wife that she would understand?
Open with a joke, not that the whole thing wasn't a joke, but we're going for broke here. So I say, "I could say, 'Angelina, you need to pay my wife one million dollars to sleep with me' and she could do it because she's loaded and really wants me. I mean, she left Brad Pitt for me, right? So obviously, you know, she's lovin' me. I'm like hot and all. Yeah."
She's all cool-snappy in response, "A million dollars is not going to comfort me; but I would take it and you wouldn't get any, because I would not take you back if you did that."
Well, sheesh, she doesn't get it. I calmly explain again, "You have to understand, I didn't say I'd leave you. I love you; this would only be about the sex. I'm not stupid: it's Angelina Jolie." I probably need to explain that bit of logic, too, "I know going in that I'd just be traded in for someone else within two years, so it's only about the sex."
Her friend interrupts with, "And you'd get to walk down the red carpet!"
"Oh yeeeah," I said, just like the Kool-Aid man, "Bonus! I'd be hanging on her arm, walkin' down the red carpet! And you know, I'd proudly wear a shirt that said 'Boytoy' in big letters across the front," swipe hand across chest with thumb and finger wide apart, "That'd be like a friggin' badge of honor. I'd be all like, 'I'm the boy toy! Angelina Jolie's boy toy! Yeah baby! See the shirt, you wanna be me. I'm having sex with Angelia Jolie all the time. Jealous!'"
My wife shakes her head and says, "I don't get why people want to sleep with celebrities. They're just normal people, too, and they have their own problems. They're not perfect."
I have the obvious answer, of course, "Well yeah, but it's not celebrities, it's Angelina Jolie. She's like on a seperate HAWTness level from everyone else."
My wife rolls her eyes and says in exasperation, "I'm your wife, I'm supposed to be as attractive to you as Angelina Jolie...or more! I'm supposed to be more hot to you than anyone else." Then she gives me the other look, which I'm sure, gentlemen, you know, the 'I am damn well prettier to you than she is, and you better say so or else' look.
Well, gentlemen, I wasn't falling for that one. We all know the only answer I could possibly give her was, "I find you attractive, don't get me wrong, I would not be with you if I did not...but it's Angelina Jolie. It's Angelina Jolie. She's HAWT! Like HAWT hawt. Angelina Jolie Hawt!"
About which my wife's best friend again agreed. In fact, she said she'd leave her husband -- if she were married -- to have sex with Angelina Jolie. And the reason I again mention this about my wife's best friend is to provide evidence that I am not a sexist pig. I'm just horny.
My wife throws up her hands, rolls her eyes and shakes her head, while her best friend, her best friend's sometimes boyfriend, and I laughed uproariously.
To finish the story, I must note to you I did get some later that night. Did, gentlemen, DID. And it was not apology sex or 'please love me sex', either, so HAH! (It was not, however, with Angelina Jolie -- sorry to disappoint you guys; I'm just great with it, though.)
So, my wife asked me, "I thought Brad Pitt didn't want any kids, and now he's having one with Angelina Jolie. What's with that?" To which I replied, "If I were dating Angelina Jolie, she'd be pregnant, too."
Of course, my wife knows how much I want another child (which is, to say, not at all...four really is enough thank-you-very-much-I'd-like-to-retain-s
To which I answered the obvious, "It's Angelina Jolie!"
That was apparently not enough information, so I had to explain, "Given how much sex we would be having the probability of my getting her pregnant would be inescapable! Even if I was sterile there's no possible way I could NOT get her pregnant, because we'd be having sex all the time, or more! You have to understand the sheer volume of sex involved seriously affects the probabilities here!"
My wife frowned, with that 'you are in hot water' look, and said, "You don't want to have sex all the time with me." And waited for an answer.
Thinking the logic was obvious, I said, "Yeah, but you're not Angelina Jolie. She's HAWT!" This was not the best reply in the world.
Imagine the eyes, gentlemen, imagine the eyes: large, black pools of blazing hellfire. Now, this is not a whining, griping, emotionally manipulative tone that comes from her mouth in answer. Nononono. This is the strong-woman pissed at her man and going to boil-him-in-oil tone if he digs himself any deeper, "What? So you don't find me attractive?"
I didn't care about the signs of my on-coming personal Apocalypse, because, damnit, I had a point, and a humorous one at that! And that, of course, took precedence. I was on a roll, veiled threats of nights sleeping alone on the couch (or possibly outside on the sidewalk) not withstanding! No weasley whining to dig myself out of a hole, this was full-on snappy-debate-mode you're-not-getting-it voice, "I didn't say that! I find you attractive, but you're not Angelina Jolie! She's HAWT! Angelina Jolie HAWT. See?"
Notably, my wife's best friend broke in here to agree with this assessment, and the logic of my approach to the situation. So you know, my wife's best friend is a female, but not a lesbian. That last bit is important because even she said she'd have to sleep with her because it was Angelina Jolie, and she's HAWT! Angelina Jolie hawt. She gets it.
My wife asks me calmly, and non-threateningly, "So, if Angelina Jolie showed up on our doorstep and said she was leaving Brad Pitt for you, would you go with her?"
"Hell yes," I said, "She's HAWT and famous and rich and travels the world and HAWT and a skilled actress and HAWT and HAWT!"
My wife's friend, laughing along with this, says, "You already said hawt, like three times." And I'm like, "I know! It's a very important point!"
The wife frowns and gives me 'the look'. Gentlemen, you know what I'm talking about: the look of doom, the look your high school teachers gave you when you answered them with something revealing you hadn't read the assigned chapter last night. The 'I have you by the nutsack' challenge, "You would leave me for Angelina Jolie. You would endanger our relationship of twelve years to go off with Angelina Jolie, and leave me."
Well, of course! But how to explain it to the wife that she would understand?
Open with a joke, not that the whole thing wasn't a joke, but we're going for broke here. So I say, "I could say, 'Angelina, you need to pay my wife one million dollars to sleep with me' and she could do it because she's loaded and really wants me. I mean, she left Brad Pitt for me, right? So obviously, you know, she's lovin' me. I'm like hot and all. Yeah."
She's all cool-snappy in response, "A million dollars is not going to comfort me; but I would take it and you wouldn't get any, because I would not take you back if you did that."
Well, sheesh, she doesn't get it. I calmly explain again, "You have to understand, I didn't say I'd leave you. I love you; this would only be about the sex. I'm not stupid: it's Angelina Jolie." I probably need to explain that bit of logic, too, "I know going in that I'd just be traded in for someone else within two years, so it's only about the sex."
Her friend interrupts with, "And you'd get to walk down the red carpet!"
"Oh yeeeah," I said, just like the Kool-Aid man, "Bonus! I'd be hanging on her arm, walkin' down the red carpet! And you know, I'd proudly wear a shirt that said 'Boytoy' in big letters across the front," swipe hand across chest with thumb and finger wide apart, "That'd be like a friggin' badge of honor. I'd be all like, 'I'm the boy toy! Angelina Jolie's boy toy! Yeah baby! See the shirt, you wanna be me. I'm having sex with Angelia Jolie all the time. Jealous!'"
My wife shakes her head and says, "I don't get why people want to sleep with celebrities. They're just normal people, too, and they have their own problems. They're not perfect."
I have the obvious answer, of course, "Well yeah, but it's not celebrities, it's Angelina Jolie. She's like on a seperate HAWTness level from everyone else."
My wife rolls her eyes and says in exasperation, "I'm your wife, I'm supposed to be as attractive to you as Angelina Jolie...or more! I'm supposed to be more hot to you than anyone else." Then she gives me the other look, which I'm sure, gentlemen, you know, the 'I am damn well prettier to you than she is, and you better say so or else' look.
Well, gentlemen, I wasn't falling for that one. We all know the only answer I could possibly give her was, "I find you attractive, don't get me wrong, I would not be with you if I did not...but it's Angelina Jolie. It's Angelina Jolie. She's HAWT! Like HAWT hawt. Angelina Jolie Hawt!"
About which my wife's best friend again agreed. In fact, she said she'd leave her husband -- if she were married -- to have sex with Angelina Jolie. And the reason I again mention this about my wife's best friend is to provide evidence that I am not a sexist pig. I'm just horny.
My wife throws up her hands, rolls her eyes and shakes her head, while her best friend, her best friend's sometimes boyfriend, and I laughed uproariously.
To finish the story, I must note to you I did get some later that night. Did, gentlemen, DID. And it was not apology sex or 'please love me sex', either, so HAH! (It was not, however, with Angelina Jolie -- sorry to disappoint you guys; I'm just great with it, though.)