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sleep deprivation, birds, and ninja masks

21 Feb

I have one thing to say before bedtime.

I think Hitchcock would agree.

That is all.

Nighty Night Bloggers.

 

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The curious case of an orthodontist, Kid-Ginger, and fungus

20 Feb

Puberty is rough.  Orthodontists are scam artists.  My mother is a sadist.

In 1996 these three truths collided to create the perfect storm.

At 14, I looked like this:

Simultaneously, my 10 year old bro looked like this:

The cool kids on the block, we were not.

What we lacked in trend-setting however, we made up for in mediocrity.

Naturally, neither of us ever wore our headgear.

And yes Mom, I know you are reading this and already getting irritated that you lost that battle, but I ask you to look at those two faces and feel pride.

Can’t do it, can you?

Anyway, let’s get back to the story.

As a result of never wearing our headgear, neither of our overbites were improving.  I was in the onset of my teenage rebellious hayday so this did not bother me.

Kid-Ginger however, had other problems.

At only 10, he was still anxious to please my parents and all figures of authority.  Every month on the night before our visit to the orthodontist, he’d strap the shiny apparatus into place and hope against all odds that one night of donning the robotic creation would fix his face.

Deep down however, he knew this wouldn’t work and so he’d get nervous.  Pacing around his room, he was always trying to think of ways to alleviate the oncoming argument between himself, the orthodontist, and our parents.

Nothing ever worked.  Every month, the morning would arrive, and we’d troop into the appointment like lambs to the slaughter.

Not one for privacy, this particular orthodontist had one giant room with several dental chairs in a row.  It was a Fordistic haven for the humiliation of  American youth and their teeth.

Kid-Ginger and I were usually seated next to one another.

It was during one such morning while I waited for the assistant to come and hook my head up to the Matrix and disassemble my mouth; that I chose to glance over at what was happening on my little bro’s end.

The orthodontist was just leaning over to take a look in Kid-Ginger’s open mouth.  Sweat gathering on the little guys forehead, he looked up in fear as Dr. Iago’s face twisted into pure disgust and he backed several steps away from my brother’s chair.

His eyes scanning his assistants in fear, he loudly announced:

“Someone get me the manual, we’ve got a situation here.”

Then, cautiously re-approaching the redhead’s chair he took another repulsed glance and said:

“Son, is that hurting you?  How long has THAT been growing in your mouth?”

Kid-Ginger’s cheeks now the color of beets, he shook his head nervously and asked:

“how long has what, is this about the headgear, I don’t know, I wear it, well I try to wear it, what is happening in my mouth?!”

My dental chair at this point had gone from seat of doom to the best seat in the house as I watched this melodrama unfold.

“Kid, your tongue is black.  Did you eat licorice for breakfast?  Do you brush your teeth? Where is that darn manual Peggy!!!”

(Peggy was the assistant I had been awaiting, so her scramble to locate the manual containing all mouth diseases did not bother me in the slightest)

Kid-Ginger, rapidly approaching black-out mode shook his feet and insisted he had not eaten anything for breakfast because he had been too nervous.

By this point all of the assistants were peering into my brother’s mouth in order to identify the problem.

Each of them looked horrified.

Booming over the intercom I suddenly heard the words:

“Would the father of Kid-Ginger please come into the workroom immediately please.  The father of Kid-Ginger.”

Enter in one sarcastic lawyer of a father.  My father.

“Sir, we need to show you the situation that is your son’s mouth.  I’m afraid we can’t work on him today.  Until we identify the fungus, we can’t associate our tools with it.  As of right now, it appears to be something called Black Hairy Tongue.”

I watched unblinkingly as my father glanced into his youngest offspring’s mouth.  His own jaw fell open, he stopped breathing, and he demanded of my brother:

“What in Gods name have you been eating?  Good lord do you ever brush your teeth?  Son, your tongue is absolutely black.  How long has it been like that?!?! What do you mean you haven’t noticed?  How on Earth can you possibly not have noticed?!?!? How many times do I have to tell you to USE YOUR HEAD?!?!”

The room went silent.

All eyes fixed on Kid-Ginger as he stared at my father like a deer in headlights.

Silence.

Slight ruffle of pages as the various assistants found new diseases in the manual and peered nervously into the gaping hole in my brother’s face. Shaking their heads no, the shuffling of pages continued.

More silence.

Finally, my father ordered the two of us to the car.  On the ride home, he continued to question my silently shaking brother.  Staring out the window in sheer terror, it appeared Kid-Ginger had gone mute.

Ten minutes passed.  Tension in the vehicle was high.

Then finally, the trembling voice of one 10 year old redhead announced:

“Well, I did drink a lot of Pepto Bismol last night, I was so nervous about today”

My father turned his head and stared at his son in disbelief.

“You were so nervous about the appointment you drank that stuff?  You hate that stuff.”

“I know Dad, but I didn’t know what else to do”

Later that evening it was discovered via prehistoric internet searching that Pepto Bismol can turn your tongue black if drunk in excess.

Turns out Kid-Ginger never had a fungus after all.  By dinnertime, he was fine.

My stomach was not so great though.

Having laughed so hard through the entire ordeal, my tummy ached for days.

sugar cookies, damn holiday poems, and my bowl full of jelly

16 Dec

Twas two weeks before Christmas, and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

good mouse, good mouse...

The stockings were hung, by the chimney with care

In hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there

subtlety is not my strong suit

Lil Zilla was nestled, all snug in her bed

While visions of sandwiches danced in her head

tuna melts, clubs, BLT's.....

Hot water bottle heated, onto my lap

I’d just settled my brain for a long midnight nap

cozy = best time ever

When out in the night there arose such a clatter

I sprang to my window to see what was the matter

obvious cause for alarm

Away to the window I flew like a flash

Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash

lesser-known mythical creature

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the luster of mid-day to the objects below

wayfarers required

When, what to my wondering eyes did form

But a tiny sleigh, and eight cookies-still warm

jovial, heated, caring little buddies

When a cranky old driver, yelled out several ‘Fucks’

I recognized instantly, that Star of the Bucks

cranky, bitter little creature

More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name

cookies are hard of hearing

“Now Evil, Now Delicious, Now Fatty, Now Vixen!

Now Obese, Now Muffin-Top, Now Blubber, Now Blitzen!”

clearly, these cookies were well-fed

‘To her mouth! To her butt, and don’t you dare fall!

Fatten up, fatten up, fatten up all!!’

confused by Star's commands I froze

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly

When they meet with an obtsacle, mount to the sky

leaves + hurricane = skymount

Up to my mouth, my ass, and my hips they flew

With bags full of lard, Star tagged along too

mwhahahahahahaha

And then, in a twinkling, I caught a scent

Of nutmeg and spices-I knew what that meant

detecting deliciousness.....

As I drew in my head, and was turning around

Down the chimney Mr. Bucks came with a bound

insert Jaws soundtrack...

The cookies they followed, onto the log

Each bearing in fist, a cup of egg nog

the lard had turned into eggnog!!! My kryptonite!!!

The drinks were pushed higher into the air

Cookies and eggnog-this was so not fair!

sooo tempting......

Their eyes how they twinkled!  Their dimples so merry!

Their cheeks were like roses.  Noses like a cherry!

second only to button in cute-nose description

Their droll little mouths drawn up like a bow

The sprinkle on their chins as white as the snow

often both are found in epic movies (battle scenes and sex scenes)

I picked up a cookie with all of my might

Downed the egg nog, bit his face, and laughed in delight!

beginning stages of cookie slaughter '10

I had a mean look, and a round little belly

That shook when I laughed, like a bowl full of jelly

complete with unidentifiable squares you don't wanna eat

I drank all the egg nog and ate all the cookie men

Finished, I turned and saw Bucks holding a pen

writing utensil of preference for many

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread

twinkle in eye visible here

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work

Filling out spreadsheets, that crazed little jerk

my strengths, lets be honest

And laying his finger aside of his nose

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose

peace out Star of the Bucks. Peace.Out.

He left me there alone in the dark

My round belly the last mark

ssslllllluuuuuuuuggggggggggiiiiirrrrrrlllllll

And I heard him say as he hopped up and away

“Get your ass to the gym, you really need it today”

important gym attire

And so dear bloggers if you’re worried about me

Blame Starbucks for their eggnog and coffee

satan's friend. bringer of fat, deliciousness, and gore.

I’ll be back tomorrow, to sit at this sill

As my ass recovers, from that fucking treadmill.

Farewell, there is only one thing left to write:

happy presents friends

Christmas shopping, store front window of the Gods, and a hungry Menace

10 Dec

When I go Christmas shopping, I tend to get distracted.

I have a list.

I have a mission.

A plan, if you will.

I walk down the street.

One store front pops out.

Begging for attention.

Plastered to the window I ponder.

Is this the right choice?

Is it perfect?

Is it the right style?

Who made it?

Is it popular?

Is it worth it.

And today.

Today the answer was most definitely:

yes.

Italian with melted mozza, salami, pepperoni, lettuce, tomato, onion....

Delicious.

Happy Friday Bloggers.

Hope your holiday shopping is going as successfully as mine.

Mutinous reindeer, spiked egg nog, and bedazzled antlers

9 Dec

Please be seated.

I’m sorry to call you all in so early, but there are several issues which have been brought to my attention.  They need addressing and I’ve been informed that without this meeting, stable mutiny is inevitable.

Normally I like to keep out of reindeer affairs, but when Vixen went rogue a few weeks ago his departure sparked this downward spiral into anarchy.

Enough is enough.

Vixen is gone.

No matter how long you run around in those sweatbands and cut off t-shirts with the ripped V, he is not coming back.  Comet, I am told you’ve been spreading secret hoofshakes in the fields.

This will not bring him back.

I know you think he went out in a blaze of freedom, but I have it on good authority he’s lounging on a beach in the tropics, sipping pina coladas, happy to be out of the snow.  I suggest you rid yourselves of all Vixen related paraphernalia.

Moving on.

Dasher and Donner there will be no more initiation into Fight Club after dark.  Don’t shake your heads at me, I know very well what the rules are and I wish to God I’d never bought you that damn DVD in the first place.  Last week Cupid broke an antler, and I don’t need to remind you what THAT will do to our marketing team.

We’re still trying to recover from the great sled crash of ’06 when one of you thought it would be hilarious to spike Rudolf’s egg nog.  As you will recall, Santa’s knee never did recover and the insurance policy had to be modified just to detangle most of you from those plastic snowmen.  Blitzen smelled like electrified fur for months after that little adventure of yours.

That’s right Dancer, look away.  I know I could never prove it, but when you claimed ‘medical reasons’ for needing that hip flask, I pieced it together.

Finally, Prancer I’ve reviewed your request.  You cannot possibly convince me that bedazzling everyone’s antlers will bring a sense of unity to this crowd.   If Dasher and Donner got their hoofs on you after that, I’d need to hire a whole new staff.

I’d like you all to wear the standard red vests this season.

Nothing fancy.  Nothing flashy.

Just. Red.

We start the interview process for the newest member tomorrow, and I’d like you all to be on your best behavior.

Thank you.

-Head Stable Elf

why not to change themes in the middle of the night

9 Dec

Sleepy sleepy Z......

Because snoozing is better than most things.

Except sandwiches.

But even right now, I’m too tired to eat one of those.  So I am going to leave my poor blog tattered, and fix it in the morning.

I might change the color.  I might change the layout again.

I might add burritos and waffles and puppies and tornadoes and buttons and drawings and sticky-hands (how awesome were those by the way?) and clear pepsi and smores and bacon and shoes and fanny packs and whistles to the border.

I’m just not sure yet.  The possibilities are endless.

Mwhahahahahahaha.

I need to sleep.

Nighty night bloggers.  Rawr.  Yawn.  Stretch.  Snore.