"Is this thing clean?" he was bent over, about to pull the dishwasher drawer out.
"I don't know." I responded distractedly glancing over my shoulder at him from the computer.
"No." he slid the drawer back in the clearly full dishwasher, shut the door and started to walk away.
"You're not going to start it?" I asked him incredulously.
"No. What? I mean…" he floundered while I stared at him resentfully. "Well you didn't start it when you filled it so…."
"When I finished it? Who says I finished it?" I asked.
I dare you to say it couldn't have been you.
I dare you to admit you never put your dirty dishes in there.
I dare you to remind me I clean up after dinner every night.
I dare you to ask me what I do all day.
I dare you to find out how close to the edge I am.
I dare you to see the truth.
"Fine." he made a big show of retrieving a soap package, placing it in the little compartment and starting the wash cycle.
"Fine." I went back to my search on google.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Are You Twins?
"Why do people always think that?" she wailed complainingly. We were walking back to my house after a trip to the store where the cashier had excitedly asked us if we were twins. "Sure, we look similar; I can totally see why people know we're related but we do not look like twins." She was right. It happened a lot more than seemed reasonable, and we had been hearing the question "are you twins?" as long as we could remember. It's harder on her to look like us because I did it first and she had to wear all the outfits twice, first in purple than in pink as they were handed down.
"It's kinda lame that it bothers you so much." I stated mischievously. "Obviously you think I'm ugly and don't want people to think you look like me."
"Nooooo!" she denied it. We stood at the crosswalk and waited for all the cars to drive on by (ignoring us standing there) before we made our way across the street.
"Yep. You think I'm hideous. If you thought I was extremely good looking you would be flattered to even be compared to me let alone told you were identical to me."
"No! That's not it. You're hot! We're both hot, of course." she gave me the comical serious face and we both grinned. "We're not identical, that's all." We shuffled along a little further, relaxed and silly in the light of the setting sun after a long hot day. "It's not like we're even dressed alike!" she added, still pissed off.
Our swift pace slowed as we eyed one another up and down, taking note of our clothing. We each had flip-flops on; mine brown and hers black. We were each wearing green fatigue style capris with a wife beater shaped tank top in two shades of dark colors and both of us had our hair pulled back in a loose knot pony tail.
"ahaahhahahahahaahahahahahah! We are dressed alike!" She howled. We were having difficulty walking at all by this time, we were so overcome with the hilarity of our alikeness. "Quit doing that!" we told each other as we unintentionally mimicked one another's movements.
"Remember when we tried to make an outgoing message on the answering machine," I gasped and squeaked, trying to talk around my hysterical laughing. "and when we played it back it sounded like the same person saying the entire message? Ahahaah like some crazy person trying to pretend to be two people!"
"ha ha ha, yes!" she hooted appreciatively. "And what about when mom called you thinking you were me and then complained about you - to you!?"
"Oh gawd that's too funny. Stop, I can't breath!" I begged her, as I bent over grabbing my stomach. "I'm serious! My face hurts!" I reprimanded, sending her into another tizzy. This instant access to childhood buttons is what "only" children miss out on. Finally we settled down. "You know…. We should really take advantage of this."
"What do you mean?" she asked, immediately skeptical. Just like me.
"I say the next time anyone says anything about us looking like twins we leave the room and then come back in pretending we're trying to get away with switching places." I spoke with excitement.
"You mean switch clothes?" she asked already snickering a bit.
"Yes! But MORE! We switch clothes and try to act like each other, call each other by the others' name… the whole thing! They'll see how ridiculous it is and oh man will they feel stupid!"
"Yeah," she said sarcastically "They'll feel stupid…"
"What?! They will!!! We'll say 'see, see how stupid you are!'?" I chortled for awhile, satisfied with the upcoming fun we would have. "Oh man, I can't wait 'til someone says it again. What are we wearing tomorrow?"
"It's kinda lame that it bothers you so much." I stated mischievously. "Obviously you think I'm ugly and don't want people to think you look like me."
"Nooooo!" she denied it. We stood at the crosswalk and waited for all the cars to drive on by (ignoring us standing there) before we made our way across the street.
"Yep. You think I'm hideous. If you thought I was extremely good looking you would be flattered to even be compared to me let alone told you were identical to me."
"No! That's not it. You're hot! We're both hot, of course." she gave me the comical serious face and we both grinned. "We're not identical, that's all." We shuffled along a little further, relaxed and silly in the light of the setting sun after a long hot day. "It's not like we're even dressed alike!" she added, still pissed off.
Our swift pace slowed as we eyed one another up and down, taking note of our clothing. We each had flip-flops on; mine brown and hers black. We were each wearing green fatigue style capris with a wife beater shaped tank top in two shades of dark colors and both of us had our hair pulled back in a loose knot pony tail.
"ahaahhahahahahaahahahahahah! We are dressed alike!" She howled. We were having difficulty walking at all by this time, we were so overcome with the hilarity of our alikeness. "Quit doing that!" we told each other as we unintentionally mimicked one another's movements.
"Remember when we tried to make an outgoing message on the answering machine," I gasped and squeaked, trying to talk around my hysterical laughing. "and when we played it back it sounded like the same person saying the entire message? Ahahaah like some crazy person trying to pretend to be two people!"
"ha ha ha, yes!" she hooted appreciatively. "And what about when mom called you thinking you were me and then complained about you - to you!?"
"Oh gawd that's too funny. Stop, I can't breath!" I begged her, as I bent over grabbing my stomach. "I'm serious! My face hurts!" I reprimanded, sending her into another tizzy. This instant access to childhood buttons is what "only" children miss out on. Finally we settled down. "You know…. We should really take advantage of this."
"What do you mean?" she asked, immediately skeptical. Just like me.
"I say the next time anyone says anything about us looking like twins we leave the room and then come back in pretending we're trying to get away with switching places." I spoke with excitement.
"You mean switch clothes?" she asked already snickering a bit.
"Yes! But MORE! We switch clothes and try to act like each other, call each other by the others' name… the whole thing! They'll see how ridiculous it is and oh man will they feel stupid!"
"Yeah," she said sarcastically "They'll feel stupid…"
"What?! They will!!! We'll say 'see, see how stupid you are!'?" I chortled for awhile, satisfied with the upcoming fun we would have. "Oh man, I can't wait 'til someone says it again. What are we wearing tomorrow?"
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Longing for the Next Rain
After awhile I can sink into the routine. I can get up in the morning without slamming the snooze button fifty times, though I continue to feel reluctant to crawl out of your dreamed embrace. The tasks ahead of me become stars in the inky dark your absence leaves me in and I can busy myself creating more and more of them until I hardly see the empty spaces in between.
Until I hardly see you.
Then all at once you sneak up on me, a lightning bolt sliding through the gray solace to stick me hard, fast, deep, and I remember you fully. The glide of your hand on my skin, the slick of your tongue sliding in my mouth, the melancholy echo of hurt transparent in your eyes.
It's then, always and now that I know you're mine the way the water belongs to the sea and is only borrowed by the sky. It's how we can be solid, vapor and wet all at once together. It's why the ocean rolls; it's longing for the next rain.
Until I hardly see you.
Then all at once you sneak up on me, a lightning bolt sliding through the gray solace to stick me hard, fast, deep, and I remember you fully. The glide of your hand on my skin, the slick of your tongue sliding in my mouth, the melancholy echo of hurt transparent in your eyes.
It's then, always and now that I know you're mine the way the water belongs to the sea and is only borrowed by the sky. It's how we can be solid, vapor and wet all at once together. It's why the ocean rolls; it's longing for the next rain.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Heeeeey Heart Attack
It must be a mind trick but when the phone rings at one am it feels as though your stomach dropped out just before the shrill sound arrived. This was the case about a week ago, for me.
"Hello?" I answered.
"I think I'm having a heart attack." she said
"what? It's one am, are you nuts?" I asked her.
"So, it's not like you were sleeping."
"I was….. I could have been! Plus everyone else in the house is! You're not having a heart attack!" of course I couldn't know that for sure. It just seemed the most likely outcome.
"I'm not well, Dew(ed). First with the numb left arm for three days and I've just had this impending sense of dread. I looked it up online and I have all the symptoms!"
"Did you have them all before you read them or after?"
"This isn't funny! My heart hurts! I'm having chest pain, I've never felt this before! Can't you just come over?" her voice was tired and scared.
"Okay," I sighed audibly "I'm on my way."
I was relieved to see no one was using her parking space at her apartments. She doesn't drive so it's always a crap shoot whether I will have to park three units away. She answered the door looking pretty much normal…for people who don't sleep.
"So you really think you're having a heart attack?" I asked her when I walked in her always super hot apartment. The bunny cage was open and empty. "Ahh! The bunny is out?" I hopped onto her couch, tucking my legs under me and scanned the room to spot the evil basketball size ball of fluff. The bunny loves to chew shoes.
"I was feeling so crummy I looked it up online at work. I wish we had your computer here so I could show you. I have all the symptoms!" she was clutching her chest.
"Did you also look up anxiety attack?" I asked her. "The symptoms can be the same." duh. Hasn't she ever watched a sitcom?
"Really? All the symptoms?"
"Or indigestion."
"It's not indigestion!" she responded hotly. No one ever wants to be told it's something they ate. "It can't be that, I haven't been able to eat!"
"Not eating can cause indigestion… stomach acid coming up you know." We sat in silence for a long time. I started flipping through channels with her remote. Just because I could. We don't have a remote at my house. I knew she was mad that I didn't believe her. It wasn't really that I didn't. Just didn't seem likely is all.
"My heart is just racing!" she exclaimed. "Can't you just sleep on my couch? Then I could go to urgent care."
"What!? You're going to walk by yourself? No! Get your stuff and I'll bring you guys down to our house and we'll decide from there. If you want to go in I'll take you." I didn't think people having heart attacks suggested walking anywhere.
"I don't want to wake her up. I should just go in. People don't go in, you know. That's the problem."
"You just need sleep. I think you're just over-tired and you're freaking yourself out. It's anxiety."
"Well. How do you stop anxiety?"
"I don't know. You wait it out. You get some sleep." Of course I knew this suggestion was ridiculous sounding to a person experiencing anxiety but someone had to stay sane.
"I'm afraid I won't wake up!" She leaned back in the chair and another cheesy late night re-run of a sitcom passed. I was pretty sure she was sleeping when she said. "Just go home. You can go."
"I can't go now! Come sleep at my house."
"No…. just go home."
"well, it is three am. Whatever we're going to do we should do it already."
"Just go."
"You'll sleep with your phone in your bedroom?" I asked her. With the phone right next to her it was practically like I would be there.
"yes."
"Call me if you need to, okay?"
"I will." With those assurances I went home, the baby was awake and calling for me when I arrived.
***** next morning*****
"I've already called her three times, there's no answer!" I told The Man in panicked tones. "I'm going to go over there." We were interrupted by the phone ringing. It was her.
"Hello?"
"Hiiii" she sounded sheepish.
"Where are you?" I could tell she wasn't home for some reason.
"We went ahead and went camping." she admitted. "It was so early when we left I didn't want to call and wake you up." I was pissed.
"Weeeelll, so glad you're not dead!" I said. (Hey! I had a late night!) "Call me when you get home." We hung up.
***** all the days since *****
"Hey Heart Attack!" The Man says when she arrives at our door.
"You think it's so funny I almost DIED!?!" she asks him.
"Well, you're not dead yet!" he answers.
"Hello?" I answered.
"I think I'm having a heart attack." she said
"what? It's one am, are you nuts?" I asked her.
"So, it's not like you were sleeping."
"I was….. I could have been! Plus everyone else in the house is! You're not having a heart attack!" of course I couldn't know that for sure. It just seemed the most likely outcome.
"I'm not well, Dew(ed). First with the numb left arm for three days and I've just had this impending sense of dread. I looked it up online and I have all the symptoms!"
"Did you have them all before you read them or after?"
"This isn't funny! My heart hurts! I'm having chest pain, I've never felt this before! Can't you just come over?" her voice was tired and scared.
"Okay," I sighed audibly "I'm on my way."
I was relieved to see no one was using her parking space at her apartments. She doesn't drive so it's always a crap shoot whether I will have to park three units away. She answered the door looking pretty much normal…for people who don't sleep.
"So you really think you're having a heart attack?" I asked her when I walked in her always super hot apartment. The bunny cage was open and empty. "Ahh! The bunny is out?" I hopped onto her couch, tucking my legs under me and scanned the room to spot the evil basketball size ball of fluff. The bunny loves to chew shoes.
"I was feeling so crummy I looked it up online at work. I wish we had your computer here so I could show you. I have all the symptoms!" she was clutching her chest.
"Did you also look up anxiety attack?" I asked her. "The symptoms can be the same." duh. Hasn't she ever watched a sitcom?
"Really? All the symptoms?"
"Or indigestion."
"It's not indigestion!" she responded hotly. No one ever wants to be told it's something they ate. "It can't be that, I haven't been able to eat!"
"Not eating can cause indigestion… stomach acid coming up you know." We sat in silence for a long time. I started flipping through channels with her remote. Just because I could. We don't have a remote at my house. I knew she was mad that I didn't believe her. It wasn't really that I didn't. Just didn't seem likely is all.
"My heart is just racing!" she exclaimed. "Can't you just sleep on my couch? Then I could go to urgent care."
"What!? You're going to walk by yourself? No! Get your stuff and I'll bring you guys down to our house and we'll decide from there. If you want to go in I'll take you." I didn't think people having heart attacks suggested walking anywhere.
"I don't want to wake her up. I should just go in. People don't go in, you know. That's the problem."
"You just need sleep. I think you're just over-tired and you're freaking yourself out. It's anxiety."
"Well. How do you stop anxiety?"
"I don't know. You wait it out. You get some sleep." Of course I knew this suggestion was ridiculous sounding to a person experiencing anxiety but someone had to stay sane.
"I'm afraid I won't wake up!" She leaned back in the chair and another cheesy late night re-run of a sitcom passed. I was pretty sure she was sleeping when she said. "Just go home. You can go."
"I can't go now! Come sleep at my house."
"No…. just go home."
"well, it is three am. Whatever we're going to do we should do it already."
"Just go."
"You'll sleep with your phone in your bedroom?" I asked her. With the phone right next to her it was practically like I would be there.
"yes."
"Call me if you need to, okay?"
"I will." With those assurances I went home, the baby was awake and calling for me when I arrived.
***** next morning*****
"I've already called her three times, there's no answer!" I told The Man in panicked tones. "I'm going to go over there." We were interrupted by the phone ringing. It was her.
"Hello?"
"Hiiii" she sounded sheepish.
"Where are you?" I could tell she wasn't home for some reason.
"We went ahead and went camping." she admitted. "It was so early when we left I didn't want to call and wake you up." I was pissed.
"Weeeelll, so glad you're not dead!" I said. (Hey! I had a late night!) "Call me when you get home." We hung up.
***** all the days since *****
"Hey Heart Attack!" The Man says when she arrives at our door.
"You think it's so funny I almost DIED!?!" she asks him.
"Well, you're not dead yet!" he answers.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Tough Guy
You know when you first walk up to the counter at a fast food place? The bright colors meant to stimulate hunger, the dizzying array of dollar choices, the intoxicating odor of grease? The Man gets overwhelmed. Add to that the excitement of noticing they're out of already cooked fries and serious problems develop. See you're probably like I was, completely oblivious to what that means. Well allow me to inform you! If they've just run out of fries that means they have fresh hot fries in the grease RIGHT NOW and the next people to order fries are going to get those special, fresh hot fries. *clapping hands and squealing* I'm not kidding, he LOVES that shit.
So, swept up in the heat of that moment he forgets to say "No Mayo." This is at least two out of three times, people. And he HATES mayo. (Incidentally, I find that completely sane and don't eat mayo either.) So finally, after waiting for those brand new fresh hot fries to cook (takes forEVER) and sitting down to eat he's starving. This is because The Man can't remember to feed himself. I can understand that, I forget to eat all the time. The thing is if I forget to eat… nothing happens. When HE forgets to eat he transforms into The Hulk. So he's sitting there, giant, angry, hungry and green around the edges, pissed off that his soggy stack of meat and whatnot is slathered in mayonnaise. (aka fuck sauce)
Say this happens to me. Know what I would do about it? Nothing. Not a word. I would absolutely NEVER take it back. They could serve me a fucking filthy bowling shoe and there wouldn't be a peep out of me. Actually I was once served a salad topped with a bread twist tie and he and I argued about whether a complaint would be made all the way through desert. Because The Man takes shit from NO ONE… *snicker* by gawd he will not eat mayo he said no mayo and holy bajeazus he will tear the place down unless he gets a mayo free sandwich asap. Perhaps surprisingly I've only walked out of places on him a handful of times because he mostly quit throwing tantrums after The Giant Fight/Break-up of 2002.. 3? I wanna say 2.
Actually he doesn't even NEED to throw tantrums because people just do what he wants anyway. I've studied it closely cause clearly, I should have that power. Even though I think I've totally figured it out I still can't master it though. This is why I've settled for having HIM do what I want. Since there's only one of him I'll tell you guys the secret and maybe you can do it. He doesn't ask people. He tells them. Sounds simple but it's not. Like say I want a loan. I would need to talk to a loan officer and I would say "Hi, I'm interested in getting a loan…. If that's okay with you… I mean I don't want to trouble you… you know what? You look busy, I'll come back another time." HE would say "The is The Man McPeterman, tell me about the loan you're going to give me." I KNOW, so rude! But it works. As soon as I get rid of the invisible "please fuck with me" aura around me I'm going to be invincible!
And by the way, I don't take food back because there's no point. The absolute best outcome is another disgusting something from their combo menu and it's far more likely to be slathered in some sort of body fluid way worse than mayo. Plus I just don't take it personally, I know it's just some idiot teenager flipping the burgers back there. The Man secretly believes that the entire world is out to get him and that any day now everything good in his life will be ripped out from underneath him because he doesn't deserve it and the only way to keep a hold of anything is to fight for everything like it's your last stolen breath. But don't tell him that, he thinks it's just because he's tough.
So, swept up in the heat of that moment he forgets to say "No Mayo." This is at least two out of three times, people. And he HATES mayo. (Incidentally, I find that completely sane and don't eat mayo either.) So finally, after waiting for those brand new fresh hot fries to cook (takes forEVER) and sitting down to eat he's starving. This is because The Man can't remember to feed himself. I can understand that, I forget to eat all the time. The thing is if I forget to eat… nothing happens. When HE forgets to eat he transforms into The Hulk. So he's sitting there, giant, angry, hungry and green around the edges, pissed off that his soggy stack of meat and whatnot is slathered in mayonnaise. (aka fuck sauce)
Say this happens to me. Know what I would do about it? Nothing. Not a word. I would absolutely NEVER take it back. They could serve me a fucking filthy bowling shoe and there wouldn't be a peep out of me. Actually I was once served a salad topped with a bread twist tie and he and I argued about whether a complaint would be made all the way through desert. Because The Man takes shit from NO ONE… *snicker* by gawd he will not eat mayo he said no mayo and holy bajeazus he will tear the place down unless he gets a mayo free sandwich asap. Perhaps surprisingly I've only walked out of places on him a handful of times because he mostly quit throwing tantrums after The Giant Fight/Break-up of 2002.. 3? I wanna say 2.
Actually he doesn't even NEED to throw tantrums because people just do what he wants anyway. I've studied it closely cause clearly, I should have that power. Even though I think I've totally figured it out I still can't master it though. This is why I've settled for having HIM do what I want. Since there's only one of him I'll tell you guys the secret and maybe you can do it. He doesn't ask people. He tells them. Sounds simple but it's not. Like say I want a loan. I would need to talk to a loan officer and I would say "Hi, I'm interested in getting a loan…. If that's okay with you… I mean I don't want to trouble you… you know what? You look busy, I'll come back another time." HE would say "The is The Man McPeterman, tell me about the loan you're going to give me." I KNOW, so rude! But it works. As soon as I get rid of the invisible "please fuck with me" aura around me I'm going to be invincible!
And by the way, I don't take food back because there's no point. The absolute best outcome is another disgusting something from their combo menu and it's far more likely to be slathered in some sort of body fluid way worse than mayo. Plus I just don't take it personally, I know it's just some idiot teenager flipping the burgers back there. The Man secretly believes that the entire world is out to get him and that any day now everything good in his life will be ripped out from underneath him because he doesn't deserve it and the only way to keep a hold of anything is to fight for everything like it's your last stolen breath. But don't tell him that, he thinks it's just because he's tough.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Monkey Madness
The Man works in the construction field, started at the bottom and worked his way to the upper middle (hey we're still youngin's) He and his Big Brother, Crispy are "erection specialists" (that's no joke it was printed on their t-shirts) that's code for guys who build scaffolding. It's hard labor, and often way closer to the sky than it is to the ground. There's pressure to perform, competition, grunting and man talk but above and through it all, there's pranking. Male bonding at it's finest gleams like monkey madness.
Back when they were still foremen running crews sweaty the practical jokes ranged from nailing people's tools to the bed of the truck, spray painting their shit hot pink, nailing the tail end of a roll of caution tape to the rear of a driver's truck so that it trails behind them three hundred feet, all the way to removing the tires from some poor fucks car. One idiot apparently revealed his morbid fear of rodents to them, serious stupidity on his part. A week or more later they gave him a call ten minutes after he left the shop to let him know they'd released mice in his vehicle and he promptly pulled over, leaping from the interior hissing and screaming like a little girl. Another time they sent a young apprentice into a male bath house to demand payment for erecting scaffolding and told him "don't take no for an answer". Of course, now that they work out of the office and the stress level has increased it's only become worse.
There was a guy The Man calls Festerdonkey, a real idiot who made The Man miserable around the office in more ways then you're interesting in hearing here. I know I was tired as hell of hearing about it at home. For him, The Man even purchased supplies and constructed an elaborate trigger invention in order to prank him. There were drawings! And all so he could attach an air horn to this assholes chair rigging it to blast him as soon as he sat down. The entire office laughed their asses off at that one. Don't worry, Festerdonkey couldn't hear anything for a few days let alone worry about the secretaries twittering about his "I just shit my pants" face.
Another guy who hasn't earned a nickname yet takes a bunch of small shit from The Man. Like say The Man's printer runs out of ink. Instead of going all the way down to the supply closet he just exchanges his cartridges with this dude and snickers when the guy complains "son of a bitch this printer runs out of ink like there's no tomorrow!" Other times he hacks in and re-directs where the guys stuff will print out and barely contains himself as the guy clicks and clicks wondering why the printer isn't working. Or if he's really needing entertainment he puts tape over the mouth part of the guys phone. When he gets a call he can hear them but they can't hear him…. They eventually hang up and call the main line again, complaining to the secretary who keeps trying to put them through until she finally marches upstairs to chew the guy a new asshole and discovers what the problem is for him.
I suppose it's obvious you're best to stay on The Mans good side as he tends to funnel his antics toward people he dislikes but that's not always a safe guard. He used to prank our friends the Pringles too. Like phone books; we have no use for them and they didn't used to take them in our recycle bins so he would put them on their porch…. It was a LONG time before they knew it was us. Actually just today I was saying we should mail them some kind of care package and The Man got all excited about mailing them the next phone books the telephone company leaves on our doorstep. Alright, so I'm excited too. That's the kind of practical joke I can get behind, senseless as well as harmless.
When Crispy pranks it appears to mostly be random and all-sweeping. There's isn't necessarily a particular target. For example, a few weeks ago he purchased a bunch of sponges and chocolate and used a paint brush to construct Brownies to bring into the office. He told The Man he took supreme pleasure every moment of making them, imagining the reactions of everyone as they gratefully chose the best of the bunch brownie and brought it up to their drooling mouths only to sink their teeth into bitter sponge. On the other hand, no one is safe. Crispy even pranks his own son, one Friday night he sowed his pant legs shut half-way down and then woke the poor kid early on a Saturday to get ready for school, even shouting "hurry up, we're going to be late, get your pants on!"
The first time The Man and I were going to be hanging out with Chicken and Crispy he had a special warning for us. "Hey, ummm Chicken thinks I can tap dance. I mean really really tap dance like I could have gone pro or something. So ummm if that comes up just go along with it 'cause I'm not ready to tell her I'm not yet."
"Why would she think you tap dance?" we snorted.
"I don't know it was just something to say, I pretended I was all shy about it but then she believed me and it was too funny to stop and now I found out she told her whole family."
"ahahahahaah! They're going to ask you to perform, you know!" I pointed out between chokes and gasps. The thought of her family trying to be open minded and accepting of this new boyfriend who used to be a pro-tap dancer yet looks NOTHING like you would think of that… ahh man it STILL cracks me up. That Chicken put up with a lot, now that I'm writing it all down. Ahem.
The Man's favorite prank story of all time is one that pre-dates me so we'll see if I've got this right. Apparently they started to have it in for these kids that were playing basketball in a school. They would run over and pound on the double doors that led to the gym only to run away leaving the kids inside to stand there panting and swearing and looking for them. Finally they found a dead possum body and attached a sting to it so that when they next pounded on the door, and the kid inside ran to shove the doors wide open the string was pulled making the dead rodent jump up and swing at them. Horrifying for sure.
The kind of prank I hate the most is The Man's favorite; scaring people. When we lived across the street we had one of those mail slots from back when Mail carriers got out of their trucks and he loved waiting for people to come to the door so he could thrust his hands out through the metal flaps and scare the bajeezus out of them. As you read in the last blog, I do not approve of these shenanigans, most especially if they're toward me. That's why, one night long ago when we were watching The Ring with Crispy and Chicken he tried to warn me of what he was about to do, but I couldn't hear him because I was too wrapped up in the scary as hell film AND because I detest movie talkers (when it's a movie I'm actually trying to watch) so I shushed his hot breath out of my ear. The three of us didn't notice he got up and wandered off at all. I was left on the long couch and Crispy had Chicken on his lap in the over-size matching chair. Soon enough The Man had sneaked out the back door, circled all the way around the house and was banging on the window behind their chair. Crispy threw Chicken off his lap, ran out the front door barefoot and leapt over the railing around his front porch on top of The Man. There was a brief scuffle until Crispy realized the hysterical laughing man under him was The Man and then we were all laughing at ourselves and our reactions. I have to say, it's nice to know they're crazy as all fuck. You know, just in case someday the madman pounding on the window outside ISN'T The Man.
Back when they were still foremen running crews sweaty the practical jokes ranged from nailing people's tools to the bed of the truck, spray painting their shit hot pink, nailing the tail end of a roll of caution tape to the rear of a driver's truck so that it trails behind them three hundred feet, all the way to removing the tires from some poor fucks car. One idiot apparently revealed his morbid fear of rodents to them, serious stupidity on his part. A week or more later they gave him a call ten minutes after he left the shop to let him know they'd released mice in his vehicle and he promptly pulled over, leaping from the interior hissing and screaming like a little girl. Another time they sent a young apprentice into a male bath house to demand payment for erecting scaffolding and told him "don't take no for an answer". Of course, now that they work out of the office and the stress level has increased it's only become worse.
There was a guy The Man calls Festerdonkey, a real idiot who made The Man miserable around the office in more ways then you're interesting in hearing here. I know I was tired as hell of hearing about it at home. For him, The Man even purchased supplies and constructed an elaborate trigger invention in order to prank him. There were drawings! And all so he could attach an air horn to this assholes chair rigging it to blast him as soon as he sat down. The entire office laughed their asses off at that one. Don't worry, Festerdonkey couldn't hear anything for a few days let alone worry about the secretaries twittering about his "I just shit my pants" face.
Another guy who hasn't earned a nickname yet takes a bunch of small shit from The Man. Like say The Man's printer runs out of ink. Instead of going all the way down to the supply closet he just exchanges his cartridges with this dude and snickers when the guy complains "son of a bitch this printer runs out of ink like there's no tomorrow!" Other times he hacks in and re-directs where the guys stuff will print out and barely contains himself as the guy clicks and clicks wondering why the printer isn't working. Or if he's really needing entertainment he puts tape over the mouth part of the guys phone. When he gets a call he can hear them but they can't hear him…. They eventually hang up and call the main line again, complaining to the secretary who keeps trying to put them through until she finally marches upstairs to chew the guy a new asshole and discovers what the problem is for him.
I suppose it's obvious you're best to stay on The Mans good side as he tends to funnel his antics toward people he dislikes but that's not always a safe guard. He used to prank our friends the Pringles too. Like phone books; we have no use for them and they didn't used to take them in our recycle bins so he would put them on their porch…. It was a LONG time before they knew it was us. Actually just today I was saying we should mail them some kind of care package and The Man got all excited about mailing them the next phone books the telephone company leaves on our doorstep. Alright, so I'm excited too. That's the kind of practical joke I can get behind, senseless as well as harmless.
When Crispy pranks it appears to mostly be random and all-sweeping. There's isn't necessarily a particular target. For example, a few weeks ago he purchased a bunch of sponges and chocolate and used a paint brush to construct Brownies to bring into the office. He told The Man he took supreme pleasure every moment of making them, imagining the reactions of everyone as they gratefully chose the best of the bunch brownie and brought it up to their drooling mouths only to sink their teeth into bitter sponge. On the other hand, no one is safe. Crispy even pranks his own son, one Friday night he sowed his pant legs shut half-way down and then woke the poor kid early on a Saturday to get ready for school, even shouting "hurry up, we're going to be late, get your pants on!"
The first time The Man and I were going to be hanging out with Chicken and Crispy he had a special warning for us. "Hey, ummm Chicken thinks I can tap dance. I mean really really tap dance like I could have gone pro or something. So ummm if that comes up just go along with it 'cause I'm not ready to tell her I'm not yet."
"Why would she think you tap dance?" we snorted.
"I don't know it was just something to say, I pretended I was all shy about it but then she believed me and it was too funny to stop and now I found out she told her whole family."
"ahahahahaah! They're going to ask you to perform, you know!" I pointed out between chokes and gasps. The thought of her family trying to be open minded and accepting of this new boyfriend who used to be a pro-tap dancer yet looks NOTHING like you would think of that… ahh man it STILL cracks me up. That Chicken put up with a lot, now that I'm writing it all down. Ahem.
The Man's favorite prank story of all time is one that pre-dates me so we'll see if I've got this right. Apparently they started to have it in for these kids that were playing basketball in a school. They would run over and pound on the double doors that led to the gym only to run away leaving the kids inside to stand there panting and swearing and looking for them. Finally they found a dead possum body and attached a sting to it so that when they next pounded on the door, and the kid inside ran to shove the doors wide open the string was pulled making the dead rodent jump up and swing at them. Horrifying for sure.
The kind of prank I hate the most is The Man's favorite; scaring people. When we lived across the street we had one of those mail slots from back when Mail carriers got out of their trucks and he loved waiting for people to come to the door so he could thrust his hands out through the metal flaps and scare the bajeezus out of them. As you read in the last blog, I do not approve of these shenanigans, most especially if they're toward me. That's why, one night long ago when we were watching The Ring with Crispy and Chicken he tried to warn me of what he was about to do, but I couldn't hear him because I was too wrapped up in the scary as hell film AND because I detest movie talkers (when it's a movie I'm actually trying to watch) so I shushed his hot breath out of my ear. The three of us didn't notice he got up and wandered off at all. I was left on the long couch and Crispy had Chicken on his lap in the over-size matching chair. Soon enough The Man had sneaked out the back door, circled all the way around the house and was banging on the window behind their chair. Crispy threw Chicken off his lap, ran out the front door barefoot and leapt over the railing around his front porch on top of The Man. There was a brief scuffle until Crispy realized the hysterical laughing man under him was The Man and then we were all laughing at ourselves and our reactions. I have to say, it's nice to know they're crazy as all fuck. You know, just in case someday the madman pounding on the window outside ISN'T The Man.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
The Most Likely Suspect
It may not be fair to place the blame for The Man's prankster ways on his big brother but since he IS the older of the two he surely has to take some extra responsibility for it. Besides, he's the best at telling the stories. If you want a clever prank, something that might take hours, days even weeks to reach fruition, something that maybe only you being in on the secret will ever truly enjoy the sort of thing that wriggles and tickles your insides to the point of giddy laughter, Big Brother is your man. If you want to scare the shit out of someone you go for The Man. Putting them both together isn't recommended for amateurs.
Really, it's a shame that you can't hear about this stuff while sitting around the campfire pit in Big Brother's back yard, as he's a master story teller. The pair of them, brothers the way they mean when they say "like brothers", become sparkly-eyed school boys and The Man can even be brought to tears when Big Brother gets a really good story going. Sometimes furniture must be moved around in the telling and you never ever want him to stop. But, you can't hear it from him. You're stuck with me so make do.
I began to get an inkling of their devilish ways when The Man and I were first seeing one another. He lived with Big Brother and I would often hear the horror stories from one or the other of them. It became obvious that if I didn't make myself clear I could easily become wrapped up in their endless cycle of merriment.
The Man came scurrying back to bed one night snorting and guffawing loudly. "What? What's so funny?" I asked him, already laughing.
"I," he gasped and giggled "I put anbesol on Big Brother's toothbrush!" he grinned naughtily.
"Why would you DO that?" I asked him in amazement, my laughter gone.
"It's funny. He'll be brushing his teeth and then his whole mouth will go numb and he'll blubber toothpaste everywhere!"
"Won't he be angry? What if he gets really sick from it?"
"Nah, we get each other all the time. It's harmless." he assured me.
"Just so you know, I am not a good sport about stuff like that."
"Oh you're not, huh?"
"No. You know how I hate it that you sneak up on me all the time."
"ahahahaahah!" he laughed "yeah, you always freak out but it takes you so long to jump! You look right at me, see who I am and THEN you jump three feet in the air."
"It's NOT FUNNY, I can't help it! I swear to you, if you pull that prank shit on me I will be seriously pissed off." I gave him my most serious of all serious faces and slowly he sobered up. "And quit sneaking up on me!"
"Most of the time I'm not even trying to sneak up on you, you know."
"HA! Your giant lumbering self just suddenly becomes silent ninja man, eh? And what the fuck does that mean: "Most of the time"?"
"My "giant lumbering self"?" he was laughing again.
***** APPROXIMATELY ONE WEEK LATER*****
Big Brother, The Man and I are sitting out on the deck while I smoke and they drink beer when Big Brother randomly says "Hey, you never put anbesol on my toothbrush, did you?" The man turned red with laughter right away, nodding and tearing up.
"Yeah, man. That was me." he finally managed to say. I sat stiff in my lawn chair, positive that the shit was about to hit the fan.
"Really, it was you?" he calmly and wonderingly asked The Man again.
"Who else would it be?" I asked, unsure where this was going.
"I thought it was Chicken." he was referring to his doll-faced spring chicken of a girlfriend. "So I anbesolled HER toothbrush. Man oh man was she pissed." The Man and I were nearly falling out of our lawn chairs we were laughing so hard. The thought of poor unsuspecting Chicken going in the bathroom to brush her teeth one morning and having her mouth go numb was the most hysterical thing that could have come from The Mans seemingly simple practical joke.
"Why would you think it was Chicken? I can't believe you did that to her! Of course it was The Man!" I added between hoots and hollers "Isn't The Man the most likely suspect?"
"I don't know. She was mad at me, so I figured she did it" he was laughing too. "She just wouldn't admit she'd done it so I had to teach her a lesson."
Really, it's a shame that you can't hear about this stuff while sitting around the campfire pit in Big Brother's back yard, as he's a master story teller. The pair of them, brothers the way they mean when they say "like brothers", become sparkly-eyed school boys and The Man can even be brought to tears when Big Brother gets a really good story going. Sometimes furniture must be moved around in the telling and you never ever want him to stop. But, you can't hear it from him. You're stuck with me so make do.
I began to get an inkling of their devilish ways when The Man and I were first seeing one another. He lived with Big Brother and I would often hear the horror stories from one or the other of them. It became obvious that if I didn't make myself clear I could easily become wrapped up in their endless cycle of merriment.
The Man came scurrying back to bed one night snorting and guffawing loudly. "What? What's so funny?" I asked him, already laughing.
"I," he gasped and giggled "I put anbesol on Big Brother's toothbrush!" he grinned naughtily.
"Why would you DO that?" I asked him in amazement, my laughter gone.
"It's funny. He'll be brushing his teeth and then his whole mouth will go numb and he'll blubber toothpaste everywhere!"
"Won't he be angry? What if he gets really sick from it?"
"Nah, we get each other all the time. It's harmless." he assured me.
"Just so you know, I am not a good sport about stuff like that."
"Oh you're not, huh?"
"No. You know how I hate it that you sneak up on me all the time."
"ahahahaahah!" he laughed "yeah, you always freak out but it takes you so long to jump! You look right at me, see who I am and THEN you jump three feet in the air."
"It's NOT FUNNY, I can't help it! I swear to you, if you pull that prank shit on me I will be seriously pissed off." I gave him my most serious of all serious faces and slowly he sobered up. "And quit sneaking up on me!"
"Most of the time I'm not even trying to sneak up on you, you know."
"HA! Your giant lumbering self just suddenly becomes silent ninja man, eh? And what the fuck does that mean: "Most of the time"?"
"My "giant lumbering self"?" he was laughing again.
***** APPROXIMATELY ONE WEEK LATER*****
Big Brother, The Man and I are sitting out on the deck while I smoke and they drink beer when Big Brother randomly says "Hey, you never put anbesol on my toothbrush, did you?" The man turned red with laughter right away, nodding and tearing up.
"Yeah, man. That was me." he finally managed to say. I sat stiff in my lawn chair, positive that the shit was about to hit the fan.
"Really, it was you?" he calmly and wonderingly asked The Man again.
"Who else would it be?" I asked, unsure where this was going.
"I thought it was Chicken." he was referring to his doll-faced spring chicken of a girlfriend. "So I anbesolled HER toothbrush. Man oh man was she pissed." The Man and I were nearly falling out of our lawn chairs we were laughing so hard. The thought of poor unsuspecting Chicken going in the bathroom to brush her teeth one morning and having her mouth go numb was the most hysterical thing that could have come from The Mans seemingly simple practical joke.
"Why would you think it was Chicken? I can't believe you did that to her! Of course it was The Man!" I added between hoots and hollers "Isn't The Man the most likely suspect?"
"I don't know. She was mad at me, so I figured she did it" he was laughing too. "She just wouldn't admit she'd done it so I had to teach her a lesson."
Monday, July 21, 2008
My Merry Prankster
"So I shit on her front porch." he finished simply.
"You did what?" I asked, sure I had misunderstood.
"I laid a big nasty turd on her front porch." he explained.
"Wait, how old were you, again?" I still couldn't believe it.
"Oh I don't know… young because we still lived here so I think maybe seven or eight." his tone was matter of fact, I could tell from it that he not only didn't find this tale unusual, he also still felt sure that she had only gotten what was coming to her.
"You shit on the neighbors front porch." I reiterated his narrative, putting a heavy emphasis on the word shit.
"Yup."
"That's all you have to say about it? I mean, you just say that like kids will be kids.. Can you even imagine Lil Dew shitting on someone's porch? Can you imagine some neighborhood kid shitting on OUR front porch?"
"Ahahahaha, no I guess not." He admitted.
"and then what? You ran away? Did anyone ever know it was you? Were you in big trouble?"
"Oh I'm sure she knew it was me, we pulled shit on her all the time." he began to chuckle remembering boyhood joys.
"Like what?" I hoped the log cabin he had constructed outside her front door was the worst of it.
"Oh you know… we used to climb up on the roof of the garage and moon her. We'd sneak in her yard and rearrange her garden gnomes so the plastic deer were doing 'em in the butt. Oh! And we would pop the top off all her flowers so it would just be stems all lined up…. and" overcome with snickers he paused a moment, "We would climb up in her apple tree and eat the apples but leave them hanging from the core!"
"You guys were truly terrible kids! Is this the old lady neighbor you're always saying was so rotten and mean and hated you guys?"
"Well, yeah." it was obvious he could see where I was going with this.
"Was that before or after you guys began terrorizing her?"
"I don't know." there wasn't any way for him to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up just thinking about all the fun they'd had at her expense but he added soberly "my mom had a way of starting wars with people."
"I suppose she could, with an army like you and your siblings."
"It was mostly Big Brother and I."
"I bet." I nodded knowingly "and you're both still up to no good, with all those pranks you play at work."
"ahahah… good times" he tried to breath between fits of silent laughter.
"Why doesn't anyone ever prank you back?" I asked him admiringly.
"I don't know," he shrugged "Guess they're scared."
"Tell me about all the pranks, will you?"
"Sure."
"Good. I want to write them all down."
"You did what?" I asked, sure I had misunderstood.
"I laid a big nasty turd on her front porch." he explained.
"Wait, how old were you, again?" I still couldn't believe it.
"Oh I don't know… young because we still lived here so I think maybe seven or eight." his tone was matter of fact, I could tell from it that he not only didn't find this tale unusual, he also still felt sure that she had only gotten what was coming to her.
"You shit on the neighbors front porch." I reiterated his narrative, putting a heavy emphasis on the word shit.
"Yup."
"That's all you have to say about it? I mean, you just say that like kids will be kids.. Can you even imagine Lil Dew shitting on someone's porch? Can you imagine some neighborhood kid shitting on OUR front porch?"
"Ahahahaha, no I guess not." He admitted.
"and then what? You ran away? Did anyone ever know it was you? Were you in big trouble?"
"Oh I'm sure she knew it was me, we pulled shit on her all the time." he began to chuckle remembering boyhood joys.
"Like what?" I hoped the log cabin he had constructed outside her front door was the worst of it.
"Oh you know… we used to climb up on the roof of the garage and moon her. We'd sneak in her yard and rearrange her garden gnomes so the plastic deer were doing 'em in the butt. Oh! And we would pop the top off all her flowers so it would just be stems all lined up…. and" overcome with snickers he paused a moment, "We would climb up in her apple tree and eat the apples but leave them hanging from the core!"
"You guys were truly terrible kids! Is this the old lady neighbor you're always saying was so rotten and mean and hated you guys?"
"Well, yeah." it was obvious he could see where I was going with this.
"Was that before or after you guys began terrorizing her?"
"I don't know." there wasn't any way for him to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up just thinking about all the fun they'd had at her expense but he added soberly "my mom had a way of starting wars with people."
"I suppose she could, with an army like you and your siblings."
"It was mostly Big Brother and I."
"I bet." I nodded knowingly "and you're both still up to no good, with all those pranks you play at work."
"ahahah… good times" he tried to breath between fits of silent laughter.
"Why doesn't anyone ever prank you back?" I asked him admiringly.
"I don't know," he shrugged "Guess they're scared."
"Tell me about all the pranks, will you?"
"Sure."
"Good. I want to write them all down."
Friday, July 18, 2008
Precious Naptime
Standing there in my bikini in the cool dark of the garage I watched him draw lines with his pencil on the blue prints laid out in front him. On days when the office is too hot, or too crowded he does some of his work from home. "Lil Dew went to the BBQ with D." I mentioned pointedly and added "Little Man's napping."
"That's nice." he remarked distractedly. "See, right here? That's the roof… they need scaffolding here, but it's slanted so it will need to go here… and I will need these here…" his voice trailed off when he could see I was less than interested in the details of his work. "Look you have goose bumps." he noticed and ran his hand softly along the side of my abdomen.
"It's cold in here. I've been floating in the pool soaking up the sun." I explained. He turned in his chair and made movements suggesting he needed to get back to work and I moved toward the door. "Are you thirsty?" I asked.
"Nah…" he waived me off. Back in the kitchen I filled my glass with Dew and sipped some. I wandered outside onto the deck and smoked a cigarette. The stillness in and around the house was irritating some hidden lonely place in me. It was impossible to think he actually wanted to miss this opportunity. I found myself standing in the garage again.
"Hi." I said lamely but he barely glanced up. My fingers played with the ribbons on the side of my bikini bottom idly then went up behind me and tugged the strings on the back of the top. It slid to the floor nearly soundlessly. I watched as he brushed away eraser bits and furrowed his brow in concentration, fighting the urge to cross my arms. My hands had to be doing something and they made their way back to the strings on each hip tugging slowly until the top and bottom joined and became bikini again, a silky green puddle on the floor under me.
Finally his phone rang, breaking his concentration and jolting my entire body. His eyes were on me when he answered "Hello, this is The Man with The Company." A grin was on his face, playful sparkles in his eyes until the conversation became serious, it was an actual customer wanting scaffolding. I debated crawling into his lap anyway but knew it wouldn't change anything, like it or not I would wait until he was done. The walk to the bedroom was long, hearing him speaking in business tones most of the way, but the sheets felt smooth and cool on my still hot skin. After half an hour I was nearly asleep.
"Hey, what are you doing?" he asked, bringing me aware of him in the bed next to me.
"Just relaxing." I said and added with a grin, "Naked."
"Oh I know that." He held my bikini in one hand, the jumble of strings dangling from his fingers. "You dropped something in the garage." I inched my way closer to him while he was talking, sliding my body next to his just in time to respond to him with a kiss. The kiss had to say everything, had to wake him up, had to be the magic we needed. And it might have. Anything is possible.
But his phone rang again. He didn't immediately run to answer it, he did struggle with the choice. It was three rings before he pulled away and four before he was sprinting down the hall. "I'll just answer this one and then put it on vibrate he explained on his way out of our bed." I nodded but I was already untangling my swim suit to tie it back on. If I hurried I might be able to swim and sunbathe another half an hour or even forty-five minutes until Little Man would wake up wanting a snack. I understood, nap time is precious.
"That's nice." he remarked distractedly. "See, right here? That's the roof… they need scaffolding here, but it's slanted so it will need to go here… and I will need these here…" his voice trailed off when he could see I was less than interested in the details of his work. "Look you have goose bumps." he noticed and ran his hand softly along the side of my abdomen.
"It's cold in here. I've been floating in the pool soaking up the sun." I explained. He turned in his chair and made movements suggesting he needed to get back to work and I moved toward the door. "Are you thirsty?" I asked.
"Nah…" he waived me off. Back in the kitchen I filled my glass with Dew and sipped some. I wandered outside onto the deck and smoked a cigarette. The stillness in and around the house was irritating some hidden lonely place in me. It was impossible to think he actually wanted to miss this opportunity. I found myself standing in the garage again.
"Hi." I said lamely but he barely glanced up. My fingers played with the ribbons on the side of my bikini bottom idly then went up behind me and tugged the strings on the back of the top. It slid to the floor nearly soundlessly. I watched as he brushed away eraser bits and furrowed his brow in concentration, fighting the urge to cross my arms. My hands had to be doing something and they made their way back to the strings on each hip tugging slowly until the top and bottom joined and became bikini again, a silky green puddle on the floor under me.
Finally his phone rang, breaking his concentration and jolting my entire body. His eyes were on me when he answered "Hello, this is The Man with The Company." A grin was on his face, playful sparkles in his eyes until the conversation became serious, it was an actual customer wanting scaffolding. I debated crawling into his lap anyway but knew it wouldn't change anything, like it or not I would wait until he was done. The walk to the bedroom was long, hearing him speaking in business tones most of the way, but the sheets felt smooth and cool on my still hot skin. After half an hour I was nearly asleep.
"Hey, what are you doing?" he asked, bringing me aware of him in the bed next to me.
"Just relaxing." I said and added with a grin, "Naked."
"Oh I know that." He held my bikini in one hand, the jumble of strings dangling from his fingers. "You dropped something in the garage." I inched my way closer to him while he was talking, sliding my body next to his just in time to respond to him with a kiss. The kiss had to say everything, had to wake him up, had to be the magic we needed. And it might have. Anything is possible.
But his phone rang again. He didn't immediately run to answer it, he did struggle with the choice. It was three rings before he pulled away and four before he was sprinting down the hall. "I'll just answer this one and then put it on vibrate he explained on his way out of our bed." I nodded but I was already untangling my swim suit to tie it back on. If I hurried I might be able to swim and sunbathe another half an hour or even forty-five minutes until Little Man would wake up wanting a snack. I understood, nap time is precious.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
I Don't Feel Like...
Scrubbing the windows. It's normally a pet peeve of mine to have sparkling clear windows. Now there are actual body prints made from sun screened bodies smudging the back door. It was so bad the other day that The Man even scrubbed it off. Not even five minutes later we turned to find our Little Man's face smashed flat on the other side of the glass, the way only tiny people who haven't developed cartilage yet can manage. He looked at me like, "Oh." and I just shrugged. I did finally spray the bird poop off the living room window when I was
watering my clematis but only because it was hot as heck outside and so any reason to hold the hose was worth the effort.
Sweeping and mopping the floors. It's ridiculous. I think I'd like to go old school and have actual dirt floors. Think of it, they're absorbent and they're ALREADY dirty. It's right in the name. It would be awesome, when people come over I could wait for them to look in surprise at the filthy floor and inform them proudly, "It's a dirt floor" and then they would nod knowingly, and pretend they knew what I was talking about in order to avoid seeming out of the loop in green living.
Doing the dishes. I used to empty the dishwasher fast. I thought that if I got all the clean dishes put away right away then everyone would just put the dirty ones straight in the dishwasher. I mean… isn't that obvious? Who the fuck wants to do something twice? They take the dish all the way TO the dishwasher, and even rinse their bowl or plate and then they just leave it sitting there ON TOP of the counter over the dishwasher! What the fuck IS that? I can NOT understand it. So now my plan is to just eventually run out of clean dishes. End of problem. I hope everyone likes tortillas. That's a lie. I don't care.
Feeding people. If my appetite is minimal in winter than it is positively non-existent in the summer. Now if the feeding of the people was just once a day I think I could bear it, but it's NOT! It's at least four times a day, usually closer to six. And it starts right away. I've barely crawled out of bed before Little Man is chanting "I hungy. Hunny! Hunny! I hungry Mama!" And so it begins. Rustling in the cupboards for nutritional but appealing foods. Preparing them, serving them and then cleaning up after them.
Two hours later Little Man pipes up with "I need a nack! I hunny, Mama!" while pointing and hopping in the kitchen. I pour something crunchy or chewy on his tray to tide him over til lunch. Whatever it is; he usually gets tired of chewing it and spits it or throws it somewhere in the "great room". By the way, in case you don't know "great room" is code for "food all over your house".
The lunch fiasco begins approximately an hour later when one or the other of the girls starts hinting about how ready they are for it. "When's lunch?" or "Do you already know what you're making for lunch?" or "We're not having sandwiches again are we?" or my favorite sly little comment "I think I might be starting to get HUNGRY!" I put them off for half an hour or more… I've found if I give in and feed them lunch at eleven they don't actually eat much and then there are two snacks in the afternoon. Then I finally give in and begin to prepare lunch (while they surround me tantruming and lamenting about their incredible hunger pains) which one or more of them will hate and refuse to eat on the grounds that they "don't like it.". It makes no difference that it was their favorite two weeks prior. The only good thing about lunch time is that it is followed by naptime. But then…
As soon as Little Man's little eyes open again it's time for snack. The girls will have been pestering me about snack time for forty-five minutes by that time and I'm usually either relieved to have the chance to serve them (eyes rolling) or so fed up I nearly throw their peanut butter covered apple wedges at them. Don't worry, they think it's funny.
Next comes dinner… the big main meal. There are usually six people to feed, one of whom is vegetarian. Everyone except The Man is picky. By the time we're eating dinner I nearly always say "This is dinner!" to The Girl. Of course what I mean is "By god you better eat that or you're just going to have to starve because I will be damned if I'm going to make you something else because you "don't like" what we're having."
watering my clematis but only because it was hot as heck outside and so any reason to hold the hose was worth the effort.
Sweeping and mopping the floors. It's ridiculous. I think I'd like to go old school and have actual dirt floors. Think of it, they're absorbent and they're ALREADY dirty. It's right in the name. It would be awesome, when people come over I could wait for them to look in surprise at the filthy floor and inform them proudly, "It's a dirt floor" and then they would nod knowingly, and pretend they knew what I was talking about in order to avoid seeming out of the loop in green living.
Doing the dishes. I used to empty the dishwasher fast. I thought that if I got all the clean dishes put away right away then everyone would just put the dirty ones straight in the dishwasher. I mean… isn't that obvious? Who the fuck wants to do something twice? They take the dish all the way TO the dishwasher, and even rinse their bowl or plate and then they just leave it sitting there ON TOP of the counter over the dishwasher! What the fuck IS that? I can NOT understand it. So now my plan is to just eventually run out of clean dishes. End of problem. I hope everyone likes tortillas. That's a lie. I don't care.
Feeding people. If my appetite is minimal in winter than it is positively non-existent in the summer. Now if the feeding of the people was just once a day I think I could bear it, but it's NOT! It's at least four times a day, usually closer to six. And it starts right away. I've barely crawled out of bed before Little Man is chanting "I hungy. Hunny! Hunny! I hungry Mama!" And so it begins. Rustling in the cupboards for nutritional but appealing foods. Preparing them, serving them and then cleaning up after them.
Two hours later Little Man pipes up with "I need a nack! I hunny, Mama!" while pointing and hopping in the kitchen. I pour something crunchy or chewy on his tray to tide him over til lunch. Whatever it is; he usually gets tired of chewing it and spits it or throws it somewhere in the "great room". By the way, in case you don't know "great room" is code for "food all over your house".
The lunch fiasco begins approximately an hour later when one or the other of the girls starts hinting about how ready they are for it. "When's lunch?" or "Do you already know what you're making for lunch?" or "We're not having sandwiches again are we?" or my favorite sly little comment "I think I might be starting to get HUNGRY!" I put them off for half an hour or more… I've found if I give in and feed them lunch at eleven they don't actually eat much and then there are two snacks in the afternoon. Then I finally give in and begin to prepare lunch (while they surround me tantruming and lamenting about their incredible hunger pains) which one or more of them will hate and refuse to eat on the grounds that they "don't like it.". It makes no difference that it was their favorite two weeks prior. The only good thing about lunch time is that it is followed by naptime. But then…
As soon as Little Man's little eyes open again it's time for snack. The girls will have been pestering me about snack time for forty-five minutes by that time and I'm usually either relieved to have the chance to serve them (eyes rolling) or so fed up I nearly throw their peanut butter covered apple wedges at them. Don't worry, they think it's funny.
Next comes dinner… the big main meal. There are usually six people to feed, one of whom is vegetarian. Everyone except The Man is picky. By the time we're eating dinner I nearly always say "This is dinner!" to The Girl. Of course what I mean is "By god you better eat that or you're just going to have to starve because I will be damned if I'm going to make you something else because you "don't like" what we're having."
Monday, July 7, 2008
Dancing With Myself
At some point I noticed I was dancing alone. Three Lemon Drops ago my sandals had been killing me but now it was just the thump of bass, the slight sheen of sweat, the swish of my pony tail across my back and the energy coming off the dancers around me. I tried to tip toe up even higher than the four inch wedge on my heel already allowed me, in order to see our table but it was impossible to distinguish the blonde head of my friend over the swelling, swilling, crowd at McFaddens on a Saturday night.
"Need a boost?" a deep male voice questioned me directly in my ear. I twirled around to size him up. He was taller than most of the frat boy polo shirt muscle types filling the wood booths around us, and older too. His hair was shorn very close and his eyes were friendly, with faint laugh lines at the corners. His summer tan played up his smile and pale blue eyes.
"Now that's a pick-up line." I grinned at him. "Thanks anyway, I was just trying to spot my friend." We were both speaking loudly, using all the pantomimed gestures necessary in such a loud setting.
"What are you doing, dancing by yourself, anyway?" He asked teasingly, as if I was a bit off the wall for his taste but he might tolerate it for his amusement.
"Look who's talking, you're not dancing at all." I responded easily and pulled the elastic band out of my hair. It came down big and wild.
"Don't get me wrong, you were doing just fine…" he winked and his eyes sparkled at me from behind indecently long eyelashes.
"Wait shut-up" I interrupted him.
"Huh?" he laughed over my mad silencing gestures.
"Do you hear that?" My head was tilted toward the dj's booth.
"Hear what?" he placed his hand on the small of my back as though it might bring him understanding.
"It's Closer." I hurriedly pulled my hair back and nodded in confirmation.
"Get closer?" he grinned and raised his eyebrow charmingly with a half step into my comfort zone.
The djs mixing it badly with something but it's there; it's dancing time." I was already backing away from him, and his arm dropped off my back but he managed to grasp at my fingers as I tried sliding back into the noisy throng casually. I had to read his lips to understand him when he responded.
"Anybody can dance alone, you know. It takes real skill to freestyle with a partner." I stopped short and he grinned, knowing I was fighting my better judgment at taking such a dare. In that moment of indecision he pulled me toward him with my own hand and swiveled it around until our eyes met over the glare of my engagement ring just as the force of his tug brought our lower bodies together. "Just a friendly dance." he added pointedly; though there wasn't anything particularly friendly in the hum buzzing between us.
"Sure," I stomped the last of my misgivings and decided to ride this out. "Long as it's just friendly." I untangled our hands and backed up, leaving a foot between us before letting my body meld with the thump of the music, my hips easily finding the rhythm of the familiar song threaded through the background. He started out swaying a bit and then hip-hopped his feet around in a shuffle, surprising me with his popping, locking prowess. I grinned and mirrored him as much as I could without my sneakers, raising him with a twirl and a move I swiped from someone earlier that night; I bent at the waist, appearing to slam my head into my knees before I flipped my elbows and knees out and popped back up before popping my chest twice and exaggeratedly blowing on my finger nails.
"Oh, it's like that, is it?" He copied my moves; then raised the bar, bending his knees and moving his hips with cheesy Swayze style, making me laugh at his dirty dancing version of the Mamba. I pulled out the Michael Jackson crotch grab followed by the patented Dew Drop; falling backwards down in a half crab, with pelvic thrusting. He reached out and took my free hand, pulling me upright and easing one of his thighs between mine. Our eyes locked, our breathing slightly heavy he spoke in a low growl in my ear, "Now we dance together." I nodded and our knees bent, we found each other in the beat, twisting and throbbing as one entity. It was as if we were both driving the same rental, taking the corners tight and enjoying the bottom dropping sensation of the curves, toying with the go pedal without any intention of buying the car.
The dancers around us had backed away, giving us the room such a thing requires, and it seemed we were prepared to perform until closing, feeding off one another's energy and ideas; we teased and fulfilled one another until finally he gripped my hips tightly as we grinded against one another and I rolled backward until I could see the dancers behind me foolishly dancing upside down. He pulled me up slowly, until our faces were close enough that my tongue licked my lips reflexively and I allowed myself to hover there breathing him in as the piano notes of the song faded into something else techno. Finally I stepped back and he dropped his arms to his sides and we looked around. I felt I had just arrived, disoriented about what direction I came from.
"Hey, there's my friend!" I said, spotting her trapped in a corner talking to some guy. I stepped out of his embrace awkwardly. "So, ummm… thanks for the friendly dance."
"No, thank YOU." he said smiling.
"Alright, then. Uhhh….. Bye now." I slipped off into the crowd thinking wryly "Well there goes dancing alone. Asshole."
"Need a boost?" a deep male voice questioned me directly in my ear. I twirled around to size him up. He was taller than most of the frat boy polo shirt muscle types filling the wood booths around us, and older too. His hair was shorn very close and his eyes were friendly, with faint laugh lines at the corners. His summer tan played up his smile and pale blue eyes.
"Now that's a pick-up line." I grinned at him. "Thanks anyway, I was just trying to spot my friend." We were both speaking loudly, using all the pantomimed gestures necessary in such a loud setting.
"What are you doing, dancing by yourself, anyway?" He asked teasingly, as if I was a bit off the wall for his taste but he might tolerate it for his amusement.
"Look who's talking, you're not dancing at all." I responded easily and pulled the elastic band out of my hair. It came down big and wild.
"Don't get me wrong, you were doing just fine…" he winked and his eyes sparkled at me from behind indecently long eyelashes.
"Wait shut-up" I interrupted him.
"Huh?" he laughed over my mad silencing gestures.
"Do you hear that?" My head was tilted toward the dj's booth.
"Hear what?" he placed his hand on the small of my back as though it might bring him understanding.
"It's Closer." I hurriedly pulled my hair back and nodded in confirmation.
"Get closer?" he grinned and raised his eyebrow charmingly with a half step into my comfort zone.
The djs mixing it badly with something but it's there; it's dancing time." I was already backing away from him, and his arm dropped off my back but he managed to grasp at my fingers as I tried sliding back into the noisy throng casually. I had to read his lips to understand him when he responded.
"Anybody can dance alone, you know. It takes real skill to freestyle with a partner." I stopped short and he grinned, knowing I was fighting my better judgment at taking such a dare. In that moment of indecision he pulled me toward him with my own hand and swiveled it around until our eyes met over the glare of my engagement ring just as the force of his tug brought our lower bodies together. "Just a friendly dance." he added pointedly; though there wasn't anything particularly friendly in the hum buzzing between us.
"Sure," I stomped the last of my misgivings and decided to ride this out. "Long as it's just friendly." I untangled our hands and backed up, leaving a foot between us before letting my body meld with the thump of the music, my hips easily finding the rhythm of the familiar song threaded through the background. He started out swaying a bit and then hip-hopped his feet around in a shuffle, surprising me with his popping, locking prowess. I grinned and mirrored him as much as I could without my sneakers, raising him with a twirl and a move I swiped from someone earlier that night; I bent at the waist, appearing to slam my head into my knees before I flipped my elbows and knees out and popped back up before popping my chest twice and exaggeratedly blowing on my finger nails.
"Oh, it's like that, is it?" He copied my moves; then raised the bar, bending his knees and moving his hips with cheesy Swayze style, making me laugh at his dirty dancing version of the Mamba. I pulled out the Michael Jackson crotch grab followed by the patented Dew Drop; falling backwards down in a half crab, with pelvic thrusting. He reached out and took my free hand, pulling me upright and easing one of his thighs between mine. Our eyes locked, our breathing slightly heavy he spoke in a low growl in my ear, "Now we dance together." I nodded and our knees bent, we found each other in the beat, twisting and throbbing as one entity. It was as if we were both driving the same rental, taking the corners tight and enjoying the bottom dropping sensation of the curves, toying with the go pedal without any intention of buying the car.
The dancers around us had backed away, giving us the room such a thing requires, and it seemed we were prepared to perform until closing, feeding off one another's energy and ideas; we teased and fulfilled one another until finally he gripped my hips tightly as we grinded against one another and I rolled backward until I could see the dancers behind me foolishly dancing upside down. He pulled me up slowly, until our faces were close enough that my tongue licked my lips reflexively and I allowed myself to hover there breathing him in as the piano notes of the song faded into something else techno. Finally I stepped back and he dropped his arms to his sides and we looked around. I felt I had just arrived, disoriented about what direction I came from.
"Hey, there's my friend!" I said, spotting her trapped in a corner talking to some guy. I stepped out of his embrace awkwardly. "So, ummm… thanks for the friendly dance."
"No, thank YOU." he said smiling.
"Alright, then. Uhhh….. Bye now." I slipped off into the crowd thinking wryly "Well there goes dancing alone. Asshole."
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
The Rise and Fall of Hope
He pulls up to drop her off thirty minutes late. Since I've been pacing around near the window with the best view of the front drive I'm out on the porch before the door on the ever changing vehicle he drives can open and spill her out. She bolts from the car, anxious to avoid a goodbye scene and dashes around me to get in the house leaving me standing awkwardly waiting for him to retrieve her car seat from the back seat.
I dawdle, avoiding moments we might have to fill with conversation; moments he might decide to pick a fight; moments I might ask why in almost eight years it has never occurred to him to purchase a goddamn car seat. He passes it over casually and makes a remark about her running off; he wants to make sure I understand she's not running from him. I smile and ease his concerns, saying something about kids being kids. The injustice of it, of me reassuring him, is sour in my guts., but I'm rung out and unwilling to spill any of it on our feet.
That's when I see her, the girl in the passenger seat. I lift my arm to wave, thinking it's one of his older daughters. But it's not, and the wave wilts, leaving my fingers the flaky brown petals of a dead flower. It's a stranger. She smiles at me. The smile of a girl who wants her boyfriend's baby mama to like her.
My eyes swing back to his and he actually smirks. His eyes dare me to say something about her age, his prowess, his audacity. I don't. My lips slam shut and stay that way, tight and unmoved. A part of me would like to go ask her to unroll her window and warn her about the path she's on but who other than I knows better, knows it would only give flesh to the things he's told her about me. I know the way lies can blend with truth until it's impossible to see anymore. I remembered the way he used to speak of his ex-wife and then later hearing her side of their history after it mirrored my own. Of course, it was too late anyway. I know now she was already pregnant with his fifth child; already Baby Mama 4.
This last week there was a new girlfriend in the car. It's just a matter of time. It will start with the Disney Dad routine. Suddenly there will be trips to the zoo, movies, and ice skating. My baby girl will scamper in dragging a balloon behind her in a week or two and it will hover in her bedroom; bright with artificial color and puffed full of hope. The remains of the balloon will last longer then this relationship; a wrinkled reminder tied to her bedpost.
I dawdle, avoiding moments we might have to fill with conversation; moments he might decide to pick a fight; moments I might ask why in almost eight years it has never occurred to him to purchase a goddamn car seat. He passes it over casually and makes a remark about her running off; he wants to make sure I understand she's not running from him. I smile and ease his concerns, saying something about kids being kids. The injustice of it, of me reassuring him, is sour in my guts., but I'm rung out and unwilling to spill any of it on our feet.
That's when I see her, the girl in the passenger seat. I lift my arm to wave, thinking it's one of his older daughters. But it's not, and the wave wilts, leaving my fingers the flaky brown petals of a dead flower. It's a stranger. She smiles at me. The smile of a girl who wants her boyfriend's baby mama to like her.
My eyes swing back to his and he actually smirks. His eyes dare me to say something about her age, his prowess, his audacity. I don't. My lips slam shut and stay that way, tight and unmoved. A part of me would like to go ask her to unroll her window and warn her about the path she's on but who other than I knows better, knows it would only give flesh to the things he's told her about me. I know the way lies can blend with truth until it's impossible to see anymore. I remembered the way he used to speak of his ex-wife and then later hearing her side of their history after it mirrored my own. Of course, it was too late anyway. I know now she was already pregnant with his fifth child; already Baby Mama 4.
This last week there was a new girlfriend in the car. It's just a matter of time. It will start with the Disney Dad routine. Suddenly there will be trips to the zoo, movies, and ice skating. My baby girl will scamper in dragging a balloon behind her in a week or two and it will hover in her bedroom; bright with artificial color and puffed full of hope. The remains of the balloon will last longer then this relationship; a wrinkled reminder tied to her bedpost.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Hair: Here, There, Everywhere
What is it about hair that the minute it's no longer attached to our head it's repulsive?
Hair on head: beautiful.
Hair on food: retch-worthy.
People need to make up their damn minds one way or another on hair.
The hair on my head is like a foot in length yet if there's a hair on my leg half a centimeter long we all recoil. Don't even THINK of it under a female arm. Oh the horror. *snort*
I noticed the other day that when Tim has been shoveling for a few hours and stops for a moment the hair in his arm pit pulses with his heart. I meant to check and see if that happens when we're fucking but I got distracted. Hey, I can be very single minded.
Tim loves to put his hands through the hair on my head. Could even be a fetish, were it allowed to blossom. He would brush it every night if I'd let him. Gives me a bit of the creeps. Now a tug now and again is alright, assuming it's timed appropriately. My point is, the man loves my hair long…. Until it's in his mouth. Like say I allow some cuddling time and he's the rear spoon…. Lord help us all if my hair's in his face, and his face is the only place for it to go.. I'm not going to brush it FORWARD for craps sake. Then it would be in my face! *shiver*
So he does that tongue lip sound "phb pb hb pbh" trying to get it out of his mouth and I generously offer to retreat to my portion of the acreage that is our bed but he grabs at me desperately, willing to put up with the hair for a little skin on skin time. Come to think of it he liked my hair short, too. Mostly cause my neck is one of my weak spots and it had no hair shield.
Back to hair. Did you notice how demanding skin can be, right there? Trying to distract me again! It's ridiculous how hard a time I'm having staying on topic lately. I'm getting to be a dippy dew.
Another thing about Tim's armpit hair, Thatcher discovered it. He was staring at it in revulsion, (confession: I was not actually witness to this so the revulsion may or may not have been present, only staring was actually mentioned when Tim told me about it.) So when Tim noticed Thatch staring at the puffs of gravity defying hair hovering in his daddy's armpits defying all manner of reason (seriously, armpit hair is really weird, isn't it?), he asked him "tell me." and Tim told him it was a kitty cat. (sweet jesus we're freaks, I'm just realizing what all this might sound like to you people) So Thatch started petting the kitty cat, making meowing sounds, surprising poor Tim with his tenderness. And tickling him inadvertently, which sent Tim into the closest thing to hysteria he ever gets. He was feeling so sweet and giggly about it that he was actually offended when I remarked that he was teaching our son to love petting pussy a little early. As if I had somehow dirtied their special moment.
So yeah I'm totally not out of hair stories. Sorry.
Isabelle's hair is close to half her height and blonde. Well, not now. It's greenish 'cause the blue hasn't entirely washed out yet. My point is that it's clearly identifiable. Except to her. She is adamant that no hair ever leaves her head. It's not her hair in her brush, it's not her hair all wrapped around the vacuum cleaner thingy, and it's most certainly not her hair in any of our mouths. Her hair wouldn't have the audacity to leave her head. Oh! Exception! It's always her hair in Thatcher's fists. Hee hee! He's tall enough to reach it now.
Thatcher's the only one who will take hair any way he can get it. Either he has a hair fetish just like Daddy or at some point that's going to change. I'm watching for it. In the interest of humanity, I want to know the age when the hair conundrum occurs, when suddenly hair is only okay on a head. Don't worry; I'll let you know.
Hair on head: beautiful.
Hair on food: retch-worthy.
People need to make up their damn minds one way or another on hair.
The hair on my head is like a foot in length yet if there's a hair on my leg half a centimeter long we all recoil. Don't even THINK of it under a female arm. Oh the horror. *snort*
I noticed the other day that when Tim has been shoveling for a few hours and stops for a moment the hair in his arm pit pulses with his heart. I meant to check and see if that happens when we're fucking but I got distracted. Hey, I can be very single minded.
Tim loves to put his hands through the hair on my head. Could even be a fetish, were it allowed to blossom. He would brush it every night if I'd let him. Gives me a bit of the creeps. Now a tug now and again is alright, assuming it's timed appropriately. My point is, the man loves my hair long…. Until it's in his mouth. Like say I allow some cuddling time and he's the rear spoon…. Lord help us all if my hair's in his face, and his face is the only place for it to go.. I'm not going to brush it FORWARD for craps sake. Then it would be in my face! *shiver*
So he does that tongue lip sound "phb pb hb pbh" trying to get it out of his mouth and I generously offer to retreat to my portion of the acreage that is our bed but he grabs at me desperately, willing to put up with the hair for a little skin on skin time. Come to think of it he liked my hair short, too. Mostly cause my neck is one of my weak spots and it had no hair shield.
Back to hair. Did you notice how demanding skin can be, right there? Trying to distract me again! It's ridiculous how hard a time I'm having staying on topic lately. I'm getting to be a dippy dew.
Another thing about Tim's armpit hair, Thatcher discovered it. He was staring at it in revulsion, (confession: I was not actually witness to this so the revulsion may or may not have been present, only staring was actually mentioned when Tim told me about it.) So when Tim noticed Thatch staring at the puffs of gravity defying hair hovering in his daddy's armpits defying all manner of reason (seriously, armpit hair is really weird, isn't it?), he asked him "tell me." and Tim told him it was a kitty cat. (sweet jesus we're freaks, I'm just realizing what all this might sound like to you people) So Thatch started petting the kitty cat, making meowing sounds, surprising poor Tim with his tenderness. And tickling him inadvertently, which sent Tim into the closest thing to hysteria he ever gets. He was feeling so sweet and giggly about it that he was actually offended when I remarked that he was teaching our son to love petting pussy a little early. As if I had somehow dirtied their special moment.
So yeah I'm totally not out of hair stories. Sorry.
Isabelle's hair is close to half her height and blonde. Well, not now. It's greenish 'cause the blue hasn't entirely washed out yet. My point is that it's clearly identifiable. Except to her. She is adamant that no hair ever leaves her head. It's not her hair in her brush, it's not her hair all wrapped around the vacuum cleaner thingy, and it's most certainly not her hair in any of our mouths. Her hair wouldn't have the audacity to leave her head. Oh! Exception! It's always her hair in Thatcher's fists. Hee hee! He's tall enough to reach it now.
Thatcher's the only one who will take hair any way he can get it. Either he has a hair fetish just like Daddy or at some point that's going to change. I'm watching for it. In the interest of humanity, I want to know the age when the hair conundrum occurs, when suddenly hair is only okay on a head. Don't worry; I'll let you know.
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