Today when I got our mail, I found a Bridal Guide magazine. I was all, huh, and figured we got someone else’s mail by mistake, something that is known to happen in our neighborhood (if we get mail for a legit address, I’ll usually walk it over there and put it in the mailbox and hope this isn’t a federal offense of some sort). I checked the address label and saw that it was sent to Benjamine Lastname. “Benjamine” made me LOL. That’s the best misuse of my husband’s name since someone at Argonaut entered it into their computer system as “Georgian Benjamin Lastname,” which lives on whenever we go there and use our Argonaut card (this gives you free alcohol after you buy a sufficient amount of alcohol), something that is known to happen.
Ben was all WTF when I showed him the magazine, but damn if I didn’t think it was the funniest thing to happen all day (to be fair, this was a low bar because nothing really funny happened today). I was laughing a lot, which Soren understood to mean Bridal Guide magazine is goddamn hilarious. So then this happened.
[Sorry, video deleted.]
I hope I’ve sufficiently instilled in him a general disdain for the wedding industrial complex.
One day, I’ll have to tell you about the time I had a big elaborate wedding.
During my college years, I was a big proponent of sending shit to people. Do you remember how in the early 90s, you could find mail inserts that allowed you to order polyester pants by mail? Maybe these things still exist. One time, my BFF and I ordered polyester pants in the largest size available and sent them to a guy we knew (this was the same guy who was known to — and I shit you not — have orgies in his basement after industrial night at Vito’s and Buddha as my witness I was always at the parties but never participated, because, ew). The joke was on us, though, when one time he showed up wearing the pants and was all OMG how awesome are these. He must have used an elaborate belt system of some sort because truth be told, he wasn’t large enough for the largest pants of all time.
One time, the same BFF and I ordered, like, everything you can order and sent it to some guy she knew somehow and I don’t even remember what the gripe was. We sat in the dorm lobby and watched everyone show up: pizzas, shwarmas, cabs to the airport. Back then, the delivery people would come into the lobby and use one of the phones to call up to your room, and you’d go down to the lobby to meet them. So we saw the procession: enter, phone, see dude come down all flustered to send them away, etc. I wish I could go back in time and tip those guys and pay for that shit because that was rude.
Prank phone calls were big back then, too, in the days before caller ID. The dorms all had free three-way calling and people used to get these random calls where someone called two other people and then just sat there and listened while the other two people tried to figure out why this person called her and why this other person thinks she called him. In high school, the big thing was ordering one large, onion pizza for the hooch across the street who was a total bitch and dating some dude my friend liked. For the record, she totally filled my gas tank with sugar once and we were mortal enemies for years and to this day I look her up on Facebook and LOL at how many self-portraits she paints and posts.
So yeah, in terms of having-random-shit-sent-to-you karma, I’m totally due. And that’s cool.