Miscellany

Whenever I get carded, which is sorta frequently, I think, "Hooray! The eye cream is working!"

Whenever someone thinks I was a teenage mother, I rue the eye cream mercilessly.

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Freak came to visit yesterday all the way from Colorado. We had a fabulous time, running around Portland, buying books at Powell's, eating pizza, then driving back to my house to hang out and play pool with Friend R. He brought me gifts: a book by Temple Grandin and The Postman Always Rings Twice on DVD, which we watched later. We had a great time.

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On the way to pick up Freak at the airport, Friend One and I talked on the phone. The entire two hour trip. My ear hurts.

Also, I miss her intensely.

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I am highly allergic to wasps. As in, I nearly died from multiple wasp stings a few years ago (although it is not known if I would have such a dramatic response to one sting. Maybe not?). Anyway, being the irresponsible clod that I am, I don't carry an EpiPen (Thing One has one, but it's kid-sized, for her peanut-allergy. Yes, I know. We are genetic freaks). And two weeks ago, not one, but two wasps' nest appeared on the eaves under the handrails of my back porch. And wasps kept getting caught in my laundry room. Since I am afraid to attempt to kill them and jack it up, thereby infuriating them and causing all kinds of stingingness* I have had to make the decision between stinky clothes and potential death a few times a week. So I bought some wasp-killer spray, a spray which shoots up to 22 feet, and attempted to get every one of my friends here to do the deed.

Friend Two, as the resident metrosexual, said, "Well, if you can't find anyone else I...I guess I could...I just really hate wasps, TM."

Friend R, the resident sweetheart said, "What? Oh. Well, I uhh...I'm going out to A's house to watch her chickens for...the next few weeks. But, you know, maybe when I get back."

Comic Hero (previously named Future Boy) said "I can, I suppose, but I hate wasps. I mean, if you can't find anyone else."

Might I mention that I could potentially die here? Not to wax dramatic, but really. Really.

Finally, last night, Freak said, "Oh, you have wasps. Here, give me the spray and go inside." The he killed them dead, and nary a sound was heard from them again.

So, basically, I had to get someone to fly in from Colorado to fix my wasp problem because my local boys were all a-scared of the wasps. Pfft!

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Upon playing pool, I had to hear all about handjobs for the umpteenth time this week. Listen people, handjobs are not that difficult to do. Well even. Take it from someone who knows.

Pool, on the other hand, infinitely hard.

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Every time I read cnn.com, my religious upbringing kicks in and I remember all the Apocolypse talk. I went to a very scary, dogmatic church when I was kid, and there was much fire and brimstone thrown around.

I was always a thorn in the Sunday school teacher's side, asking her why, for example, in Corinthians, Paul said that women couldn't be in church, but in Ephesians, he said it was fine**.

I was finally kicked out of Sunday school, and forced to attend the adult service, at the grand old age of 7. I would like to say that this is because I posed some unanswerable philosophical question but that would be false. What happened is that we were asked to draw a picture from "The End Times." Everyone took their cue accordingly and all drew some version of Jesus flying from clouds, doing some hand jive to raise the dead, etc.

I drew a picture of a city with a big mushroom cloud over it. There were people screaming and running, this I remember. When the teacher asked me why I drew such a scene, I replied, "Well, this is what you said would happen."

Even then I was a bit of an instigator.

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I get really annoyed at people who say Ken Lay escaped justice. Okay people, he died. Not actually a great escape plan, okay? HE DIED! I know, he should have suffered, been convicted, all that, but can we just be a little more precise with language here? Please?

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a real entry soon, I promise.

*tm

*Yes, it's a word when I use it.

**I don't know if this is exactly right with the books of the bible, but I am almost sure it is.

Comments

[That One Guy]

Its not like you ever asked me to kill them. Humph. They are totally my nemesisesesesesesesesesesesssss. I owe them big time for that week with limited eye sight! May they suffer pain... sweet pain.

[friend omega]

handjobs difficult? maybe not. to do well? hmmm...

see, the thing with receiving a handjob from someone else is that it's moronic. when the recipient at one of these lame, sophomoric attempts at intimacy, i generally look down (literally and proverbially) with pity and sadness in my eyes.

sometimes, i remark that "baby, you're dealing with the master." trust me... i can do that quicker, better, and much more efficiently on my own. you're just embarrassing yourself. like emeril's mom insisting on making turkey at thanksgiving and it comes out all dry and gross and BAM! mom just let me BAM! make the BAM! turkey next BAM! next BAM! next year.

i think emeril has tourette's.

[Terrible Mother]

That One Guy, you would have done that for me? Really? If I asked? Crikey.

It's just like you to leave me with nothing to say, Omega.

[Paul]

I really feel like handjobs are getting the short end of the stick in this discussion. Ahem. Moving on. Granted, they are clumsy, maybe, but I think that like anything they can be elevated quite a bit above the bad rap they're getting here. This should be a call to arms, people. Or hands. Whatever.

[Terrible Mother]

Sure, sure, Paul. A call to arms.

Notice that none of my female readership has responded. Probably because they are rolling their eyes at you.

[Paul]

As they should be. C'mon, if I can't play devil's advocate then the terrorists have truly won. ;)

[Terrible Mother]

Terrorists? Pfft! You just want to talk about handjobs.

[badfreak]

There's something I'd like to post, but it would get edited by the management of this ego burb, so I'll leave that portion of the response to the respective imaginations of TM and R.

I will say this. Terrible mother though she may be, she's a most excellent host. I had a wonderful time, and enjoyed the fine company. Though intially disapointed by his absence, I now think it's better Friend 2 made himself conveniently unavailable. He might've ruined everything.

You may regret all of this, TM, for now you're doomed to a return visit of greater length (two nights!). And next time it will be "This Gun for Hire," and "Double Indemnity." I won't stop until we can converse fluently in nothing but B-moviease (if you get to make up words, we all get to make up words).

As for the wasps, so long as you remember me as your freak in shining armor, then facing down those beasts (approximately 1/3200 of my size) armed only with enough insecticide to kill ten of their colonies will certainly have been worth it.

LYMI

freak

[Friend R]

Just a few notes:

1) When you asked me to deal with your wasp problem, you offered me a stick. I suggested the wasp-killer spray, and you apparently purchased it, but only after I'd already gone to deal with chickens. Granted, I'm man enough to take on a wasp nest armed with nothing but a stick, but I'm not stupid enough to do so.

2) If you give handjobs like you hold a pool cue, then I'm glad I'm gay. Not that you're offering or anything.

[Friend2]

I need to clarify about the wasps, too, TM, despite whatever strain it might put onto your self-conscious self-presentation:

When I was over and we were barbecuing, and Thing Three kept tugging with grubby hands at my shirt and saying, "Crazy Mikey, kill the wasps!" I realized that I had been invited over into the middle of an awful and devious plot: I was there to cook the meat, nominally, but actually you'd trained the Things to force me into other forms of forced and unpleasant labor.

Also, when I offered all the same, even knowing I was being set up, you said I shouldn't because you didn't know how it could be done without risking mass swarming and death by stinger.

And, as an aside: I think it might have been for the best I missed the pool game. Too many people holding pool cues between thumb and forefinger and speaking of foreskin with male-oriented affection I simply don't hold.

:-)

m