Well, That’s a Bunch of Horsesh!t…
I joke about procrastination, but am pretty good about getting things done when I set my mind to it. I had all kinds of home improvement projects planned for this weekend, and one by one they have been getting postponed until next weekend. Do I feel guilty? Not at all. They call them “days off” for a reason. My sloth has been rejuvenating. The planned housecleaning and remodeling has yet to begin, but I managed to ditch chores in exchange for some fun… Read the rest of this entry »
The Cornholio Corncob
“I am Cornholio! Do not make my bunghole angly!”
I never tire of hearing Beavis say that. Or was it Butthead?
Yes, sometimes I’m twelve.
When I walked into work yesterday, this thing was sitting on the counter. Immediate juvenile laughter. Pan said, “You enjoy your job too much.”
“Are we selling these?” I played with it, squeezed it.
“Yep, $2.39,” said Dr T. “Sometimes I wonder if the boss knows what we’re getting when he orders. First Juggalo juice, now we’re selling all these phallic objects.” He pointed to a lava lamp-shaped bottle of energy water, advertised to promote better orgasms.
“I once saw a vibrator shaped like a corncob. Ouch!” I was squeezing the tip, sizing it up, when a comely lass approached the counter and asked for a pack of Camel Lights. Her smirk of disapproval brought me back to reality. I couldn’t resist. “Where do you put the batteries?”
It was still on the counter when Rumpole came to work nine hours later. His typical laugh is a harrumph; the Cornholio Corncob earned a full-on guffaw. “Who’s this for? Grinder?”
I counted out, headed for the door. I couldn’t resist one last touch. I picked it up and wiggled it at Stuttering Richard. “Are we sure that’s caramel?…”
“Eww…” He skittered out the door, off in search of fresh half-smoked cigarette discards.
Rumpole was thoughtful. “For $2.39, it should have nuts. Like Crunch and Munch!”
I held it by the tip and stroked its base. “There’s plenty of room for nuts. Right here…”
That earned the harrumph I was waiting for.
Hate in a Can…
…sent with love.
It’s been a tough week for the family and I. Last weekend was a blast. Saturday was Freewheelin’s fiftieth (that’s 50) birthday. He rode by on the hawg, introduced me to his new girlfriend and pet pitbull puppy. (They were gone before I could get a picture of the three of them on the bike.) We hung out for an hour or so, then as they left another friendly face appeared at my door.
Clairissa!
She was making the rounds doing haircut-delivery and was nearby, so she popped in to say hello. After shaving my neck, taming my Yoda-ears, and reducing my eyebrows from caterpillar status to inchworm levels, she took a straight razor to my monobrow. (It dawned on me that I should probably shut up while she was waving sharp objects so close to vital organs. No trust issues here!) She scooped me on the latest dirt in her life, we shared a hug and a cuddle before she headed on to the next stop.
In all, it made for a spectacular Saturday. I had big plans to write it all up. All the laughs, as much gossip as I can get away with, etc… I crawled out of bed at 6:30 AM, grabbed a pint of ice cream from the freezer to soften while I checked e-mail/formed my thoughts.
Hmm. A 6 AM e-mail from my niece in California, titled Sad News. It has become my experience that when an e-mail is entitled Sad News, it usually is.
“My dad died this morning. He was hiking in Australia, got tired, sat down on a rock, and keeled over dead. Don’t know more than that, will let you know when I do.”
Her Dad = My Older Brother.
Damn. Hell. Phooey!
I returned the ice cream to the freezer. Joe would have wanted it that way.
The health nut, the man with the Mormon lifestyle, the big brother old enough to be my dad, has moved on to the great gig in the sky.
I’m still processing it all, which is why I’ve been quiet. I have a lot of things to say, but not sure I’m ready to say them yet. I wanted to get the white elephant out of the room; the venting will follow.
My co-workers have been great. After hearing the news, Dr T made another can of yams appear at my work station. “In case you need an impromptu gavel, or want to drop someone with a tight spiral.” I love it when he quotes my blog.
My buddy Alx, no stranger to my hate of raisins, brought me a Voodoo Doughnut and posed the rhetorical question: “Are raisins supposed to have wings?”
My response? “Maybe that’s why raisins taste like dogshit.”
Not to be outdone, Art East went a step further, doing a spectacular job of creating everything I hate in a can. Condensed Cream of Irritation and Nausea anyone?
Thanks to everyone who has been so thoughtful and supportive. I’d especially like to thank Clairissa, who has been checking up on me and keeping my nipples perky with text-messages of support. Set your phone to vibrate, put it in your front pants pocket and I’ll return the favor, hon. 😉
Before heading back to bed, I fetched the ice cream. It’s not the type of pint I usually hoist in honor of a loved one, but I’m sure he’d rather have me hoisting Haagen-Daaz than Heineken.
Good night big brother, wherever you are…
Tallboy Down!
I tolerate a lot of nonsense at work. (Grinder says I also create a lot of nonsense at work.) Putting up with the public is part of the fun of my job. I deal with all cross-sections of life, from the filthy rich to the just plain filthy. I give directions to tourists, recommend wines that I’ve not tasted, and provide advice on which downtown streets are safe and which to avoid. All the while keeping one eye on the merchandise. Believe it or not, there are some unsavory types that will steal from you. Some are very good at it. Sometimes we get the stuff back, sometimes we don’t.
Sometimes we get something better… Read the rest of this entry »
Eye of the Tiger’s Last Ride
Now I understand why people spend more than $20 on sunglasses.
Being a night worker, I’m used to dim surroundings, but I’m not a vampire. I go out during daylight hours. Unless it’s pouring down rain, I have a tendency to wear sunglasses. If I carry sunglasses and an umbrella? I’m covered for most of Oregon’s weather. I’ve been carrying the same umbrella for four years now. I pilfered it from Grinder, who claimed it as roadkill at the store. (He found a bigger one, so I took his.) While my track record with this umbrella is great, I’ve been through more than a few pairs of sunglasses. Read the rest of this entry »
The Impending French Invasion
Rockin’ good news!
Someone’s coming home for a visit, and I’m dancing an Irish jig.
She’s baaaack… Read the rest of this entry »
Dingleberry Gazette 