If Marilyn Doesn't Kill Me, The Shots Will

I am in the process of decorating my new room. Everytime I think I have exhausted all my creativity regarding the color scheme and decor, I get a new and even more brilliant idea.

Hence, my black and white photograph of Marilyn Monroe. I had wanted one to hang above my bed but couldn't seem to find the right one till yesterday. I got so excited when I saw it on the rack that I actually dropped some of the stuff I was holding as I frantically tried to grab it before someone else did (there wasn't even anyone on that aisle with me, but there could have been).

The only downfall? This picture was HEAVY. I picked it up and dragged it to the checkout line and ignored the voice in the back of my mind that was telling me the picture was too heavy and that there was no way I'd have the patience to wait for my stepfather to come over and anchor it properly. I'm pretty sure I whistled all the way to my car and possibly skipped, too.

I ended up hanging Marilyn myself. I was too excited about her and I knew my stepdad would tell me where I could shove my picture if I called and demanded he come over right away and hang it. I'm quite proud that there are only a few chunks out of the wall (Marilyn is covering them) and that I had the good sense to measure and center where I hung her rather than just blindly hammering a couple nails in the wall and hoping for the best.

Marilyn is not as securely hung as I would have preferred. I truly believe that at some point in the near future she will come crashing down on my head while I sleep. But as you can see from the extremely dim picture I took, she LOOKS fabulous so who cares? In my mind, my untimely demise at the hands of Marilyn is going to be something like that awful hotel scene in Bride of Chucky when the mirrors break and fall from the ceiling in giant shards and slice the couple in the bed below into itty-bitty bloody pieces.

Except it'll just be me and possibly a cat or four and I'll probably have on stupid pajamas that don't match.

And if Marilyn doesn't kill me, the shots will.

I went out last night for the first time in about ten days. I had repeatedly told myself that I would NOT be imbibing shots, that I would stick to light beer and behave myself.

This went well for the first half hour or so. Pretty soon, though, as more people I knew showed up at the bar, I abandoned ship on the no shots pact I'd made with myself.

I was introduced to a wonderful shot that involves dragons and rum. It smelled like a perfume I own and love so I assumed it would be harmless to drink several of them.

Perhaps this is what lowered my awareness and defenses and allowed for the following conversation between myself and this lady stalker my new friend has (his name shall be left out as I fear he will soon have to enter the Witness Protection Program to escape her) to take place. I must set this up for you by explaining that she and I used to be married into the same family.

She appeared at my side out of nowhere and said, "Hey. Did [name of my ex-husband] have a big penis?"

I blinked at her. "Um. What?"

"Did [blank] have a big penis?"

There was no winning here. I didn't know her angle. If I said yes, maybe she'd try to go rape him then kill him and make a suit out of his skin or something. If I said no, I'd be insulting him. "Well... it wasn't, um, HUGE... it was just... uh... average?" I wanted to be anywhere but in that conversation, people. My brain was soaked in alcohol and just not producing the witty one liners I would've spouted out under normal circumstances. "It wasn't like, massive. It was just... normal."

She looked crestfallen. The next thing she said just blew my damn mind: "Oh. I was just curious because my ex had a small dick and that means there's probably no hope for [name omitted] to have a big one, then."

She was referring to her son. I stared at her for a second to see if she was serious.

She was.

What do you say to that? Should I have told her how sorry I was that her boy would never be hung like a donkey and that I could totally relate to why she'd be concerned with that, because I, too, hoped to someday have a son with a pecker the size of a jumbo rolling pin?

I'm pretty sure I just laughed in response while making slow movements towards someone, anyone else.

Or my pepper spray.

Or my car.

Or my mommy.

Yes, if Marilyn doesn't kill me, the shots will.