The Sound of Silence

I just saw a commercial for a silent ringtone.

One more time. A silent ringtone. For your cell phone. That no one can hear.

I'm beyond perplexed. Can someone explain this to me? Am I on an episode of Punk'd right now and Ashton is just waiting to bust in on my lame ass when I call to actually order one of these silent ringtones?

Maybe I'm getting old. Which is kind of why JennyJenny8675309 and I are throwing a party in a couple of weeks. You should come.

We're just in need of a good throwdown, for no good reason. I wanted to give myself a "Welcome to the Neighborhood" party, but JennyJenny8675309 wanted to celebrate autumn instead of me. After I checked my ego, I decided it was a good idea, too.

The E-vite is out, and it makes a lot of mention about leaves and pumpkins and Pilgrims, but if I have my way, we'll forego apple bobbing and mulled cider for endless games of Spin the Bottle and 7 Minutes in Heaven.

Why did we stop playing those games just because we got older? I would much rather spend the night making out with people than playing Asshole or Jenga. Actually, I like Jenga, but if there was some way to play Jenga while Frenching attractive people, that would be ideal, though it's hard to keep your balance when someone's trying to unhook your bra.

That's what I've heard, anyway. Not that I would know for sure. Alright. I might have a small idea how hard it is. Don't judge. You don't know me.

Speaking of kissing, I had a lovely exchange with one of the readers of a newsletter I help edit. I also answer readers' questions, and today I had a reader write to me, "Thank you for your help. Kisses and hugs to you."

Now, our demographic is largely older, white men, so anytime I get something like this, I cherish it because now I've got a notion of a retiree named Ralph sitting on his lawn chair in Boca Raton blowing kisses to me as his support hose for varicose veins slowly inch down his pasty legs. That brightens my day.

Anyhoo, JennyJenny8675309's folks took off today and took their little rat dog named Hilda. I called her A-Hilda the Hunn. She peed on my bed. That's gross, right?

Wanna know something else gross? When we were 10 or so, I had a silky, lavender bedspread. Megan Jane and I were having a tickle fight as we were apt to do back then. (I'll give you gents and any of you lesbians out there time to visualize that if you'd like.) I tickled Megan Jane so hard she peed on me and my bedspread.

After that, a little dog piss doesn't seem like such a big deal. Don't worry-it's been washed, 'cause that would be gross. But, I'm just saying, it puts it all in perspective.

Megan Jane went home to the Ohio town where we lived this weekend and met up with another friend of ours from childhood who was also probably present during The Lavender Bedspread Incident of 1990. This friend of ours, coincidentally, is named Autumn, though she was born in January. August featured her Dad's favorite Playmate that year, and her Mom compromised. Autumn is dating a guy who's been on The Iron Chef. (American version, Flay vs. Bayliss, bison battle, he's a soux-chef. Still way cooler to me than it probably should be.)

I feel I should point out that JennyJenny8675309 is making me watch The Bachelor Rome as I write. That accounts for the herky-jerky manner of this evening's post. Well, trash T.V. and Wonder Dog Bean's deadly farts. Pew. Silent but deadly, they are.

Full circle, kids: The Smell of Silence.

In the Comments section, seriously, help me understand this silent ringtone deal. I don't get it. The winner gets to play "Jenga" with me.

Oh! Oh! One more thing. Grampa is the winner of the Guest Post. Ya'll are so awesome that I pretty much just drew names out of hat because, well, who am I to judge anyone or anything? There will be upcoming contests for guest posts, so stay tuned. But, definitely look for some of Grampa's thoughts in an upcoming entry.