What We Were Doing: 5/1/11

“Did you by chance let Chooch put this in the DVD player?” Henry asked in his standard accusatory manner when Devil began to skip and ultimately freeze last night. It was already our second night in a row trying to get to the end of it. I just don’t have the attention span for movies like I used to, and usually something better comes up, for example: things that involve listening to Dance Gavin Dance on repeat and role-playing.

Henry squatted in front of the TV and began the OH SO STRENUOUS task of wiping finger prints from the disc while I sat on the couch eating carrots.

“It smells like cat pee over here,” Henry complained, starting a mild argument in which I reminded him that my cats never used to do such dastardly deeds until he forced me to take in his mom’s cat for two years, a stray who taught my upper crust cats a host of bad habits and I will never forgive Henry for letting that happen.

Somewhere between Henry threatening to kick out the cats and me wishing they’d piss on his fucking mustache, we began arguing over whether our entertainment center is in fact an entertainment center.

Henry said yes.

I said no.

(For the record: it is not. I should know—I’m the one who bought it based on aesthetics, not functionality. But for whatever reason, Henry thinks it’s more than just a white-washed table which accidentally fell into the role of holding a fleet of electronics instead of a Precious Moments platoon, wicker baskets holding sewing sundry and milk-glass vases filled with potpourri and silk flowers. You know, as I had originally intended.)

Henry, determined to turn this fucking heap of synthetic Swedish timber into the catalyst for our inevitable demise (you know one of us is getting jail time when that happens), continued to blabber on and on about it well after I dipped on out of the conversation, choosing instead to stimulate myself by checking in on Twitter, see if everyone else was having as annoying of a Sunday night as I was.

And that is what was going on in my house when we found out Osama bin Laden was dead, which is decidedly less interesting than the Revolutionary War porn I was reenacting when JFK died.

No, we did not finish watching the movie.