Just a few quick things to recount here, the majority of them instances of unintentional stupidity that came out of my mouth. For example: Audrey and I were lounging upon the couch, discussing gosh knows what (she was surely teasing me mercilessly about something or other) when she apparently said something so offensive that I felt a need to deliver a withering retort. Unfortunately, the one that came to the forefront of my mind was incomplete, so I simply said what I could remember with confidence and menace and then made the rest up on the spot. This was the result:
"AUDREY! I am going to slit you from navel...[long, searching pause] to BELLYBUTTON!" I was triumphant at the end, momentarily sure that I had come up with something appropriately dastardly.
Nope. Audge doubled over in laughter as I soon realized my mistake. (And I'm not even sure what the real end to that statement is, now a few days later. Nose? Or would it be nose to navel? Or can one slit another person lower than the navel? And is that crude to discuss? Even as a threat? These things I do not know.) And now Audrey has proceeded to tell everyone she comes in contact with of my stupid mistake. So much for a withering retort. (But isn't "withering retort" SUCH a good phrase? Say it with me now. Withering. Retort. See?)
Second example of stupidity: Audrey and I were, once again, lounging on the couch (at the playground is where Will Smith spent most of his days; Audrey and I spend ours on the couch) and watching television. A particularly frightening commercial came on for some scary movie in which the titular female evil character proclaims in a creepy voice that she needs blood to live. As soon as the commercial was over, Audrey turned to me and barked: "Rachel, do you need blood to live?"
Startled, and sure that she meant to compare me unfavorably to the creepster character, I stammeringly replied, "N-no..."
Audrey grinned triumphantly. "Trick question. Yes. You do. You need blood to live."
Dumb. So dumb. (She is, I mean.)
And finally. My roommates and I have discovered the most wonderful of activities: air-mattress diving. Kay's friend, Tracena, came to stay with us a week ago, and so we kept one of our blow-up mattresses in the living room for her to sleep in. After she left, none of us bothered to deflate the mattress, and so there it remained. Audrey had the BRILLIANT idea to fling herself up on it dramatically one evening, apropos of nothing; amazingly, her body rebounded nicely. Naturally, the next course of action for the two of us was to take turns flinging ourselves onto the air mattress and then quickly rebound to a standing position. I soon took the game to the next level by starting from the kitchen entrance and running a good twenty-five feet before jumping from a juicy demi-plie onto the mattress. The added momentum worked nicely. Audrey had created a glorious swan-dive sort of move, with arms extended in an airplane stance and feet together, toes carefully pointed.
The next step was, of course, music. I have always been fond of musical cues in dance, so I quickly ordered Audrey to play "Carmina Burana" on her itunes so that I could have appropriate accompaniment to my mattress dives. The key was flinging oneself onto the mattress at the precise moment of musical climax; a crash of the cymbals or pound of the drums required necessary dramatics.
We were showing this fantastic activity to Kayla and Allie the following night when Audrey had an inspired move: after completely exhausting myself solely for the entertainment of Kay and Allie, I lay unmoving on the mattress after my final Carmina Burana dive, intermittently panting attractively and moaning softly. Audrey surprised me by selecting to play the 1812 Overture from her itunes, and I immediately found renewed strength. I hurled myself off the mattress and readied my stance in the kitchen doorway. Audrey was right behind me, yelling at me that we'd be taking turns this time around. Allie soon joined us, as well, once she saw how orgasmically the combination musical cannons and mattress swan dives meshed. Kayla quietly videotaped us.
I thought that this, surely, was the pinnacle of the night: what could be more perfect than the 1812 overture? Audrey had one more surprise up her sleeve, however. The William Tell Overture. COMPLETE AND UTTER PERFECTION. I added a new element of difficulty by placing a kitchen chair at the foot of the mattress, where one could easily mount it enroute to the mattress and gain extra heighth. (Good job to me.) My final swan dive--to the final crash of the music--gave me a feeling of such complete happiness that I could've died, right then and there. This was actually a possibility, considering how ridiculously out of breath and energy I was at that point. Audrey, who had given up about three-fourths into the last song, actually did die. She used only her arm to punctuate the music for the final fourth.
Oh, but it was excellent. A grand idea, indeed.
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