Here is what is happening in my world as of late . . .

Tag Archive for: Update

[update #14]

FAVORITE FORK [I want to tell you about my favorite fork.]

Normally I like to keep personal matters really close to the vest – especially on this here forum where there could potentially be upwards of lots and lots of people to dissect every nuance of every word that is posted, Well chickens (which – believe me – is said in the most complementary of ways – go to W.C. Fields and his whole “My little Chick-a-dees” as your jumping off point – I sure did . . .) today is going to be a slight change as I am going to have to expose my true feelings and (verbally) run down the street with my emotions pinned right there on my sleeve for everyone to see.

Today, I laid my burrito on it’s plate and reached into the bag (from whence it came). And there it was . . . seriously – I had no idea what joy was really in store for me – and then I grabbed the best utensil ever. It wasn’t just some dumb plastic fork that you would throw away the first chance that you got. No – it was special.

I’ll be honest – I didn’t even notice the abnormality that made this fork slightly different from (really) any other fork that I had forked with in the past – and I probably wouldn’t have – right up until I tried to use the fork. It was utterly useless! But useless in a kind of way that a tray of doughnuts would be if they were sitting on a table in front of someone desperately trying to start a diet would be . . . Which (I think) means that I (obviously) had to try to use that fork – and probably also – you also know that those doughnuts are going to get eaten and eaten and eaten some more . . .

How was it “useless” you are asking?! Well although it was fashioned (probably by one of those traditional “fork masters” from over in the deep dark forests of Europa) using the best in clear sturdy plastics (none of that dinky bendy plastic around my way if you please) . . . At some point in the design process – someone decided that it would be best if this particular fork had it’s most “forky” parts neutered down to nubs. The tines were large and rounded in such a way that I wasn’t even able to stab into a (mushy) pinto bean. It was almost like trying to use a hotdog as a fork (except for the whole “clear plastic” thing, the handle part and also the fact that a hot dog isn’t really that much like a fork at all) . . .

Instead of continuing the farce – which would have only succeeded in pushing the fork further into spiral of depression – that it may never have recovered from. I decided to clean the fork off, befriend it and save it for an occasion where it’s “forky” heritage would really (really) be able to shine (brightly) through the fog of it’s unsure past.

Oh – and by the way – the doughnuts were super-scrumptious . . . and the diet will just have to start tomorrow . . .

[update #13]

Mister Guy On The Elevator

I was standing in front of an elevator day minding my bees-nass the other day. All kinds of anticipation growing as I watched the floor numbers ticking down down down as the elevator raced towards it’s eventual prize (me). Then all of a sudden as the door opens – and I go to make the first of my (maybe) two and a half steps to enter – Mister Dude goes all the way around me and cuts into the car.

Everything became a bit blurry at that point – because I almost stepped on the guy trying to get in . . . and then I was snapped back to clarity with a speedy quickness as he pulled the biggest moop move that I have seen in at least a hot minute or two.

As I stepped into the threshold – he first hits floor 16 (sixteen) and then he flippin’ pressed “Close Door.”

I mean . . . “Close Door?!?!?!” He totally had no choice but to see me . . . It’s not like he hadn’t just pushed past me to get into the elevator. The worst part was that there was one other person coming in the elevator . . . who was forced into a cockeyed landing when the door nailed her side as she tried to scoot past.

And all I could do was stare daggers at his “I have soup that is better than your soup – probably – if you can even afford soup – you pitiful little person who doesn’t deserve in any way to be riding in my elevator” back.

So official today – the new protocol for if this situation ever happens again – is to immediately press (and probably hold) the “Open Door” button until the other person twitches a bit. If that isn’t enough . . . then measures will be taken to ship Special Agent Socks (Irving to you) in and have him pull some of his “my tongue in you soup” maneuvers.

[update #12]

Today On The Train . . .

The four guys sitting on the train next to me today were all kinds of joshing around – acting wacky and just a little plain silly. I tried my darndest to maintain train rule of not giving them the “Hey you rapscallions . . . ixnay on all of that jazz and tom foolery . . . can’t you see that some of us are trying to get some shut-eye around here!” look – which is usually saved for babies that are screaming/crying into one of those “bleeck-bleeck” walkie-talkie cell phone thing situations that sometimes arise.

When all of a sudden . . . I noticed that the biggest one (who also happened to be sitting the closest – proximity wise – to me) was actually giving me – what I interpreted to be – a “Hey buddy . . . I know what you are thinking/writing over there – and it is becoming tremendously more possible the more that you think/write that me and my gaggle of miscreants are going to come over there and clean your coo-coo clock!”

The thing is – though – people can sometimes be really tough to read – so I guess it is possible that he was just looking at my “fabulously trans-fat-free-except-for-the-biscuit” 3 (three) strip meal from that Kentucky chicken place . . . and by “meal” I mean that it totally came with 2 (two) sides (potato wedges and backed beans) and a biscuit (which was depressingly unedible).

Or it is also possible that he just wasn’t into the “Sweetness and Tenderness” that was floating from “The Return Of The Rentals” in my computer machine to the stereo-phonic head-a-ma-phones that were resting ever so gingerly on my head . . . I didn’t want to muss up my coif – you know?!

Which brings me to the point of this whole thing . . . a few months ago – I got the chance to go and see “The Rentals” – it was the first time that I had seen a show in quite some time – and everything about it was such a good time (and no I am not counting the opening bands in this assessment – they just happened to be there – kind of like the 4 (four) moops that happen to be sitting really really close to me now – uhm . . .)

Shoot – I gotta go . . .

[update #11]

Who exactly is this anyway?! (Duck in shower)

In another stop on the tracks of the (seemingly) never ending train ride that taking a shower has become for me, a mysterious duck appears wearing a tiny blue hat.

I pulled the curtain back this morning (don’t even get me started on pulling the curtain back . . . it has become one of the constant battles of my “everyday” life (and yes – the fact that “everyday” is in quotes is directly linked to the possibility that there may not be enough time for a shower “everyday” . . . which is something that you will have to deal with as you read this duck story – because you should never lose track of the focus of the day . . . the focus of the today is all about the duck wearing a little blue hat that I found hanging out when I opened the curtain in the shower . . . uhm today.)).

Enough of the stupid asides and round about story telling – I apologize for putting you through that . . . when I should have been talking about ducks.

Imagine my surprise when I – thinking I was all alone in the bathroom – opened the curtain to the shower and had to take a stutter step to the side to avoid planting my foot directly on the little blue hat of this duck. It was quite disturbing . . . but I went about my business – trying to pretend that he wasn’t even there – when the ultimate of impositions occurred. The water had gotten just over the foot level [by the way – the whole sinking ship thing was totally thrown to the wind due to the duck visitor . . . I tend to only play “sinking ship” by myself . . . and his little blue hat was way too festive anyway(s)] – just over foot level – just over foot level – oh yeah – when that tiny yellow so and so decided to start floating all around the tub!!

Every time that I turned around he had moved somewhere else – with that same snug look on his orange billed face – and that little blue hat cocked every so slightly to one side. How in the world was I supposed to take my shower when all of that was going on?!

It was two different worlds intersecting – that I am of the opinion probably shouldn’t have. Maybe I should just get to take my shower – and try to keep an eye on the evil pink soap that is still lurking in it’s pink soap kingdom – planning who knows what kind of mischief – and maybe he should happily float around playing his dumb “duck swimming in a small fiberglass pond in the rain” game on his own time. I guess it is also possible that I am ever so jealous of both how happy he seems to be and the fact that he gets to wear a hat into the shower (a blue hat at that!).

If the duck decides to stick around . . . maybe he can help me to figure out the puzzle of the shower curtain – or – and this is a much more exciting proposition . . . he and I can team up to take out the scourge on all of shower culture that pink bar of soap has become . . . Who knows – maybe he’ll also help to fix the ship or use his blue hat powers against the scary hat up in the attic . . . yeah – after writing all of this out . . . maybe he is a good duck after all.

But only time will tell.

[update #10]

This is the day my hand grew HUGE!

My precious “little” cats (Spot Elliot & Peanut Lou) have transferred out of the unit for a mandatory taste of rest and relaxation at their Grandmother’s house in the wilds of North A-town – where the good times and food never ever ever stop rolling . . . this is the story of their trip.

The typical transport was in the shop – so Captain Avis had seen fit to outfit me with a replacement. Maybe it was the smell of the new vehicle that put me in the state of mind where I decided to allow the cats to ride sans carrier with me in the car – or maybe I was just feeling guilty for the long ride that they were about to endure – and their forced leave from the front lines. I’m honestly not sure . . . but one thing that I am sure of is that mistakes were made.

Lou was lying on the bed – and since he made such an easy target of himself – I decided that he would be the first to go into the car. I picked him up and was petting him and saying stupid soothing things as I opened the door and he immediately started a maneuver that I will refer to as “Me-yowling” which is a deeper and longer “Meow” with guttural fear and anger mixed in. Quick into the back seat of the car he went and then I shut the door to go and get Mister Fatty McFatterson himself.

Spot Elliot was also a pretty easy target – which lulled me into thinking that the entire project was going to go as smooth as . . . uhm . . . butter. But looking back it is possible that the cats were working together to give me that false impression – because as I opened the back door to the car to put Elliot in – Lou made a mad dash out.

The events all started moving very fast. I slammed my hand down on Lou to impede his running away style – but he managed to flip as I was about to grab him – and then oh my goodness graciousness did he destroy my hand with a level of ferocity that I had always assumed my tiny cat pal was nowhere near capable of achieving. Lou was then gruffly thrown back into the car – which was Elliot’s cue to make his mad dash. I was trying to deal with all of the blood and the ridiculous amount of pain in my already swollen and not moving very well hand – so my move to stop him was pitiful – at best.

After Elliot spun me around, Lou took off. It was in that moment that the hopelessness of the situation took hold – and I realized that I had more than likely lost my cats . . . not to mention that my hand was starting to hurt like the bejeezers. But then an odd stroke of luck finally came my way as the cats ran up the stairs to the front door – which was closed – and somehow managed to open it and run inside.

You have to understand that all of this was happening very quickly – and emotions were running fast – anger at the cat running, happiness for catching him on his way out of the car, a rush of adrenaline from the attack, annoyance at letting the other cat get out, confusion as both cats were running away together – which quickly dipped into a bleak depression that they were running away together, to even more confusion as the ran up opened the door and ran inside. And then, in looking back, the moment of comic relief that put me over the edge as the dog (Irving Brown Socks) bolted out of the front door and started running down the street.
I was so overloaded by the entire turn of events that I ended up letting out a primal scream with a smattering of shake my fist at the sky right before I ran up – shut the door – and collected the dog.

I’m not sure if I will ever know for sure either how all of the animals in my house decided to work together – or – how they managed to so seamlessly pull their plan off . . . but I do know that I will never underestimate them again . . . and probably next time that they get moved . . . I’ll immediately pull out the big guns . . . kitty carriers! [or perhaps tranquilizers]

EPILOGUE:

The story ends in a phenomenally gross and thoroughly embarrassing way. The cats were in their carriers on the front seat next to me doing pretty well . . . and then about 4 (four) miles from our destination one of them started making really strange noises – noises like I had never heard from a cat. The noises were just the beginning of the fun – which were soon followed by the (rented) car being filled with a foul foul odor. There was no way for me to figure out what was going on – I was almost almost to the end of the drive – and so I just kept going. When we were about to park . . . the smell was still very much intact – then the “my kitty sounds like a plunger” noises started up – and blammo . . . there we were. Elliot had indeed pooped himself in a very small (for him) enclosed space . . . which just a few minutes later had caused him to throw up – and which forced me to throw away his carrier . . . evidently he was hatching a new plan . . . and the ball was officially in my court.

Well played cat . . . very well indeed.