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His Face Must’ve Been So Ro-Joe

, , , , , , | Romantic | August 13, 2021

My mother-in-law is VERY into ceramics. Each year for Christmas, as a family tradition, she makes several ceramics ranging from Christmas ornaments to Santa and snowman statues and decor. It’s my first Christmas with my in-laws, and we are painting said ceramics. I finish mine, but my husband has not yet finished and we will have to come back so he can finish painting his Santa statue.

Husband: “I’m just gonna write the color I’m using on the bottom of my ceramic so I don’t forget which one it is when we come back.”

He picks up the bottle and reads the color.

Husband: “Red… rooj… ro-joe… That’s a weird color name!”

Me: “Babe… you do realize that’s just ‘red’ in three different languages, right? English, French, and Spanish? Red, rouge, and rojo.”

He still hasn’t lived it down to this day.

The Art Of Being A Complete A**hole

, , , , , | Right | CREDIT: thisanonissocool | July 12, 2021

I just launched my art page on Facebook, and this was my first random message.

Stranger: “Hello.”

Me: “Hello! Are you interested in a commission?”

Stranger: “Do you do meditation sessions or know anyone that does? I have really bad anxiety.”

I don’t immediately respond.

Stranger: “F*** you, then. I hope you get [health crisis illness] and die a slow miserable death.”

Me: “Wow. I was trying to get a link for my friend’s meditation page. Thanks again for messaging. Have a wonderful day.”

Stranger: “F*** you. You’re full of s***. You lying f***er. Otherwise, you would’ve sent it by now. You’re a f****** lying scumbag. I really hope you do get it. I hope your life gets destroyed by it like thousands of other people. *Spits on you.* F*** you, and block me. I don’t wanna see garbage on my newsfeed.”

Me: “I’m sorry for not being able to help within ten minutes. I’m not a crisis line; please don’t treat me as such. I am an artist that does art commissions.”

Stranger: “Yeah, I know, you f****** idiot.”

Me: “Am I really an idiot, though? You messaged an ART page looking for guided meditation.”

Stranger: “Yeah, doesn’t hurt to ask. Someone could know anyone, or not, and that’s okay. You don’t have to be a f****** rude f****** p***y chicken s*** p***y a**hole and ignore my question.”

And then they blocked me.

I’ll Keep Doodling; You Keep Projecting

, , , , , , | Working | June 1, 2021

I like to draw. I’m not very good but I enjoy doodling, mostly landscapes. If the weather is miserable, sometimes I take my break at my desk and draw.

Out of the blue, my boss and another manager approach my desk. They don’t look happy.

Boss: “Can we see your book?”

Me: “Err, no. It’s my property.”

Other Manager: *Sternly* “Come with us.”

They march me into an office. My boss motions for me to sit down. The other manager seems to be trying to be intimidating, but it’s not really working.

Boss: “A coworker has made a complaint about your drawing; they say you have been making fun of them.”

Other Manager: “That counts as bullying and we won’t stand for it.”

Me: “I just doodle; I don’t draw people.”

Boss: “Okay, but we cannot prove that without your book. We can’t force you to show it, but we might need to investigate, and that might mean suspension.”

Me: “Fine, whatever. Here, take the book.”

They search the book and find nothing, of course.

Other Manager: “He might have ripped out the page.”

Me: “Count them if you like; there should be 300 pages.”

They look at me, I guess to see if I’m being serious.

Me: “Go on. I haven’t taken any pages out; you can check.”

Other Manager: “I need to take this.”

Me: “No, that’s my personal property. If you want to count the pages, you can, but you do it in front of me.”

Boss: “I told you [My Name] wouldn’t do it. You can count the pages if you like but I’m getting a coffee. [My Name], you want one?”

I drink a coffee with my boss while the other manager sits and counts the pages. He finally finishes.

Other Manager: “Okay, 300. He was telling the truth.”

Me: “Look, I don’t know who complained, but it could have gotten me suspended. What are you going to do to them?”

Other Manager: “I guess I can have a chat with them.”

Boss: “No, you wanted to interrogate [My Name], so we do the same to them. After all, [My Name] might want to make a complaint, too.”

Other Manager: “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. We can do it now.”

I had a good idea who complained anyway, but it was confirmed when they took the office busybody away into a room. I couldn’t hear what was said, but it looked like a loud conversation.

We Can Only Draw One Conclusion: SHE’S A WITCH!

, , , , , , | Learning | April 21, 2021

My two best friends and I are in sixth grade — age twelve — and have a mandatory art class. We are spending a week drawing houses. Our first assignment is to draw our own house.

[Friend #1] draws her house, but she forgets to draw one of her parents’ bedroom windows. That night, it storms very badly, and a tree falls in such a way that the window she forgot to draw is broken by a tree branch crashing through it.

The next day, we are supposed to draw a house that exists and that we wished we lived in. [Friend #1] draws [Friend #2]’s house, but she forgets to draw the garage. The previous night’s storm had affected the soil of the hill beside that house, and [Friend #2] comes home to find that a tree has fallen on the (empty!) garage. 

The next day, we are supposed to draw the house of a friend. 

Friend #1: “I guess I’ll draw your house, [My Name].”

Me: “Nope! Not allowed! No, thank you, please! I like my house perfectly intact and how it is, thank you very much!”

Friend #1: “But I already drew [Friend #2’s] house!”

Friend #2: “Yeah, and look what happened to it! And what happened to your house! If you forget to draw anything at [My Name’s] house, we won’t be able to go to her sleepover this weekend.”

Me: “Hey, weren’t you friends with [Former Classmate] before she moved?”

Friend #1: “Yeah, why?”

Me: “My mom’s coworker bought it, and Mom said they’re tearing it down so they can build their dream house! So if you mess it up with your weird drawing power, it won’t matter!”

Friend #1: “I don’t think I had anything to do with the garage or the windows, but fine, whatever.”

[Friend #1] draws [Former Classmate]’s house, forgetting to draw the sizable front deck. That house is on a very busy road, right across from a T-intersection. As my mom picks me up from school, she tells me we are taking a different way home than usual.

Mom: “Yeah, it’s a good thing [Former Classmate] moved! Someone crashed into her house and destroyed the deck.”

I call [Friend #1] when I get home and relay the information. 

Friend #1: “Okay, you know what? Fine. I thought you and [Friend #2] were just being weird about all this, but I guess I have to believe you. I’m drawing made-up houses the rest of the week.”

It’s A Dragon! It’s A Kangaroo! No, It’s… Actually, It IS A Dragon!

, , , , , | Learning | April 17, 2021

My Japanese teacher, who I’ll call Sensei, quite likes origami. I have a tendency to start speaking in English during speaking tasks due to nerves. She helps me overcome this by building up my confidence, and she gifts me with a pack of origami paper the first time I succeed.

During a lesson, a friend and I are chatting, and I offhandedly mention the origami prank I played earlier. Sensei jokingly interjects.

Sensei: “I hope I won’t find rabbits all over my desk, [My Name]!”

I laugh and we move to another topic.  

When I get home, I examine the pack of origami paper I was given and realize just how many pieces of paper there are in the pack. That’s when I get ideas.  

I carefully extricate one piece of each color and fold them all into dragons. I spend the next few days with a pocket full of paper dragons, waiting for an opportunity where I can get to Sensei’s desk.

A week or so later, that opportunity comes. I dash right in and get to work placing the dragons. Once I am done, I run back outside to find Sensei.

Me: “Sensei, Sensei, come quick! There’s an army of miniature dragons invading your desk!” 

Sensei: “Miniature dragons?”

Me: “Yeah, miniature dragons!” 

We walked back to the staffroom where her desk was located. As soon as she opened the door and spotted her desk, she started laughing.  

True to my word, there were eight miniature dragons in various comical positions on her desk. There was one tapping at her keyboard curiously, one climbing up the side of her desktop monitor, one on top of her monitor entirely, one swinging from the cord for the vertical blinds by its forelimbs and holding on for dear life, one running on her tape roll mounted in the desktop tape dispenser, and three more sitting around on her desk, watching the show.  

Judging by how the eight origami dragons are now carefully lined up on her desk, I think this prank counts as a success.