Tuesday, September 29, 2009
This was in my fortune cookie last night:
"You will win success in whatever you adopt."
At first I thought it translated to:
"Online translators give poor, literal translations."
But now I know my destiny is to adopt a gorilla named Humphrey and that one day I will teach Humphrey to play "Man, Gun, Gorilla" (like rock paper scissors but physical. You stand back to back, count to three and turn around holding up your arms for gorilla, making a gun for duh, gun, and standing with your arms down for man. Gorilla kills man, man holds the gun, gun shoots the gorilla.) And I will win at this game because Humphrey will have to be the gorilla every time.
Booo, ah ah ah!!!!
Do not be confused, Humphrey, by the gorilla holding the gun. It is a ruse, like paper beating rock (which has always been illogical and stupid, unlike Man, Gun, Gorilla.)
Sorry about your name, Humphrey. I tried to name you Hosiah, but Rob didn't like it. Blame him.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Firstly, he's named after Noam Chomsky but with a more dog-appropriate spelling. I talked Rob into getting a dog the same way I talked him into getting a cat: I cried and told him he could name it. Actually, this time I went one step further and agreed to buy a house to put it in.
That's him. Wouldn't you cry too?
Check him out here:
He looks so astute, doesn't he? Well, don't be deceived. Wait till you hear this.
This weekend I was in the backyard painting boards for shelving in the living room. Exciting, I know. I let ChompSki hang out in the back yard with me.
Our yard is not fenced. We'd like to fence it, but we're sorta out of money from buying the damned house in the first place. So far, it hasn't mattered. So far, the dog (who spent the last who-knows-how-long living in someone's backyard getting basically no attention) has been so excited to have people of his very own, that he hasn't let us out of his sight. Seriously, he whines if you're trying to pee where he can't see you. Its like living with a very slobbery toddler. Which really is like living with a toddler, I guess. I digress.
So I'm in the backyard where ChompSki normally runs the fence with the neighbor dog or just lays in the grass content to be within armslength, when I look up and notice: He's gone.
I call. I yell "CHOMPSKI!!!" I clap. I whistle. And normally if he's out of line of sight this brings him bounding forth, smiling, and FAST. I mean, really fast. This dog is FAST.
But he doesn't come.
So I gather my crutches. Yes, crutches. And go looking for him.
I walk into the front to the driveway and look. Again, I call. I yell "CHOMPSKI!!!" I clap. I whistle.
Now, I live on a busy street. Not like interstate-busy or four-lane busy, but busy. So, when I see the dog, down the road, bounding toward me, I quickly change my tune.
Now, from my crutches, I'm waving my arms and yelling "Nooo! NOOO. no."
I see the series of cars coming, and the dog, face aflapping, coming my way full-speed.
And there is nothing I can do but watch.
The car slams on its breaks. But the dog doesn't. He has eyes for only whoever yells his name. Which by the way he is smart enough to have learned in these mere 3 1/2 weeks. He's also learned "go to the bathroom" and "lie down" and to stay the fuck away from Meowmix.
He has not, however, learned not to run into a car with his FACE.
So the car slams on its breaks and ChompSki slams face first into the driverside door. He makes a yelplike noise, changes directions, (does not slow down an iota,) runs around the front of the car and straight to me. He then excitedly continues on to the back door and I speedily hobble after him.
The guy gets out of his car, yelling "IS YOUR DOG OK?"
"I think so," I say over my shoulder hobbling after him, "I have to check."
I chase the dog into the house, and feel him all over: shoulders, elbows, legs, face, paws, everywhere. He smiles and happily soaks up the attention. Not a scratch.
I look up to see the guy at my sliding glass door looking pale faced.
"Is he ok?"
"Yes. Stupid. But ok. Miraculously. I'm so sorry. Oh my god, I'm so sorry." I begin apologizing.
But the guy is somehow convinced this is all his fault. I keep telling him it couldn't have been his fault and that he didn't do anything wrong. I ask about his car. ChompSki's face dented his car. But he's not concerned about this. I ask if he needs anything from me. But he won't hear of it. He just keeps saying he's sorry he hurt my dog.
He's pathetic, but he's not hurt. (See above)
So after a few more awkward moments of me apologizing, the guy apologizing and us getting no where, I finally say, "I really appreciate you stopping to make sure he was ok. Not everyone would have done that."
To which the guy responds "Of course I stopped! Another Mexican might not have, but I'm not like that."
Um, ok? I didn't have a stereotype for that. Vietnamese and a dog, maybe, but Mexican?
So yeah, Mexicans DO stop when your dog hits THEM. And they're very nice about it. And you're welcome for the lesson on Mexican stereotypes.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
I was talking to Rob last night about my annoyance with my foot. (I just had a minor foot surgery that has made walking a right pain in the ass.) We'd been running errands in order to attempt to put up shelving in our living room and Target had been particularly grueling. Target is huge, especially so when you limp. I was passed on the way out by an ancient, white-haired woman with a cane. I'm not even making this up. She was all bent over and under 5 feet and everything. AND PASSED ME!
Sometimes I cheer myself up mid-bitch. So as I was complaining, I started problem solving.
"I think it'd be easier to bike than walk right now. I bet I could do it. Ooooh, maybe I could get a little tricycle and carry it around at work and everywhere and wouldn't that be fun?!"
My husband just gave me a look and made some comment about how only I would think of using a tricycle for transportation. Not a wheelchair, or crutches, but a trike.
Friday, September 11, 2009
I'm a hyper kid.
So instead, I want to talk about a story I heard bits and pieces of on NPR the other day. There was a dad who had a little girl with Down's Syndrome (or something- like I said bits and pieces.) He had written letters to politicians and the FCC and everyone he could think of to try and get "retard" put on the bad list in order to get the word bleeped.
He feels the word is offensive. Yup. We all do.
That's part of why its said to begin with.
The story also talked about the word "gay"and how its used to mean all things lame and stupid. As in, "that guy's chinos are so gay."
They didn't use the word "faggot" in this story but they could have. Or in my opinion an even more valid concern would be the word "girl." As in "Throw like a girl, cry like a girl, act like a girl."
I got in an argument with a friend about these phrases not long ago. His point was that when he says things like "She's acting like such a girl," that its ok because it doesn't really mean anything bad about girls. But I argued that's exactly what it means.
Girls = Bad
Bad at throwing, bad at emotions, bad at being.
And told him if I ever have girls and he says it around them, I'll knock the shit out of him.
Because the thing is, there are so many of those phrases. And the message in them is, girls are shit and you should try not to be what you fundamentally are which is shit.
The girl he was talking about was acting like a spoiled brat. Which has nothing to do with being a girl. It has everything to do with acting like a self-centered snot.
I initially started this post thinking I was going to talk about the futility of getting all in a huff about those words. I was going to say that if you stop calling people mentally retarded and call them intellectually handicapped that eventually the insult will be "IH," or something instead of retard. Language adapts like that. That some of the insult is based in the meaning. And that the other part is based in the word being fun to pronounce.
Like "fuck," and "fat," and "faggot." Or "Douchebag" or "twatwaffle" or "retard." Its about some words sitting in a particular place in your mouth where their exit is imminent and they can be spit particularly far.
But then maybe these folks who get offended about this word or that word have just as much right to their soap box as I do to mine.
Even if they're arguments are gay.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Cuz while watching Eddie Murphy's Delirious for the first time in like 20 years, I practically licked the screen. What the hell? In case you've forgotten Delirious, its standup with Eddie Murphy from 1983. This is what he's wearing
Tight. Red. Leather.
Gross, right? I thought so too. At a minimum, its tacky and silly and should NOT make any straight woman my age think of sex. Then he turned around and I totally wanted to maow on his butt. Did I mention he's 22 in this video? Not only am I gross, but I'm also a perv aparently.
And that's how you know: Sexual Peak. Welcome to 30.
P.S. You should netflix it if you haven't seen Delirious in a while, cuz its funny. Really, really.
Friday, September 4, 2009
"I have a friend who was born with an old school IUD sticking out of her head. I kid you not."
"J completed the quiz "Which movie romance do you fit into?" with the result Jack + Ennix." "Seriously??? Everyone else ends up as hot teenage vampires and I end up two gay cowboys??? I blame this on Texas!"
"I'd rather be a treehugger than a mean mugger"
"I always want a pile of cake. Although anything that sounded healthy... I left that off the plate. Tres Leches (three milks??) - waste of time (although, I tried it later and it was pretty good)."
"Its like having a surprise party but forgetting to invite the people."
"I'd like a cuckoo clock over my desk with a button I could push to make the little birdies come out and they'd twirp "Crack rock, Crack rock" real loud while people were talking to certain clients."
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Each Wednesday I post an example of a strange person, or group of people that I've encountered, been told about, or read about. Guest submissions are welcome and can be sent to firstname.lastname@example.org
There was a woman in the airport that had the most ridiculous outfit I've ever seen. She was built like Humpty Dumpty and had a sequined orange tent on with leggings and spray painted cinemon red hair. She was middle aged and I looked on anxiously awaiting her turning around. I expected full clown makeup because I was genuinely convinced she must've been a clown. But then she had a sullen annoyed face on with NO make up and that fucking crazy outfit. Unfortunately, my camera is still packed somewhere from moving so I got no picture. Its actually tragic. Cuz I wanted you all to see it.