Well I seem to have turned into a bit of a blog slacker. (Blacker, if you will) I used to try to update every other day, but now it’s stretched into a few days between posts and if I don’t pick up the pace, how can I expect anyone to read?
Which brings me, naturally, to the COTW. (Crisis of the Week) There haven’t been enough funny or embarrassing anecdotes in my life because I’ve been home working, working, working during the day and watching, watching, watching TV in the evenings.
I went to sleep last night fretting about my blog. Ideas were churning in my head . . .
Oh! I could tell about cookie training night when John answered the door in his skull-head tee-shirt from college and the mom at the door, who had never met him, promptly said “Is your mom home?” to which he cracked up and said “No, but my wife is.”
Or how about when I took my new van to the grocery store and was showing off to myself? I strolled along with a cart full of groceries and then, still a few cars away; I hit the button to raise the back hatch automatically. I loaded my groceries, hooking the plastic bag handles over the built-in hooks (so your groceries don’t flop around! Those engineers at Chrysler . . . mwah!) and then happily returned my cart to the cart corral, dare I say skipping a bit? I turned around, Buzz Lightyear crouch-style, and pressed the button to close the hatch. It was right then that I noticed the clueless gentleman sauntering right underneath my open hatch! I sprang up out of my geek stance and yelled; “Move! I don’t want it to hit you!” as the three warning bells bonged a premonition of his approaching head injury. He shot me a quizzical smile as, luckily, his head just cleared the hatch and it closed right behind him. He didn’t even realize what had happened and probably just thought I was, you know, “special”. But at least my hatch wasn’t marred by blood or anything. There’s that! I’ll take a crazy diagnosis (heck, I call myself crazy most of the time) if it means that my van upholstery doesn’t attract C.S.I.’s with their fancy hair and flashlights.
Or I could tell about how John came home from work the other day with little plastic promotional gizmos for the kids. There was a Health Fair at his office and he got two keychain flashlight/whistles for the kids. Yes, as a matter of fact, I did say whistles. WHISTLES!!! That was a headache-inducing evening, let me tell you! So as the kids ran all over the house, merrily whistling, splitting our eardrums, and blinding us with penlights, John told me about the Health Fair. He had good numbers for body fat and all that, and they even gave massages. The massage therapists were students at a nearby college who would be graduating soon. So here is how John tells the story:
“I asked the girl giving me the massage if she knew where she would be working, because she was good and I figured, you know, that I could go back to her if it was close to my office.”
“Was she pretty?” I interjected, dryly.
“Yeah!” he replied, obviously very proud of his story. “So then she said ‘Oh, I’m not sure where I’ll be working yet, but let me give you my number’ and then she gave me the digits!”
Yep. That’s just how he said it “She gave me the digits”. He’s pretty fly for a white guy.
I think he expected me to congratulate him on getting her phone number! It was like that scene in Desperate Housewives where Tom tells Lynette that all the ladies in the neighborhood secretly dig him.
I made a good show of seeming bothered and jealous, since he obviously wanted to gloat some more. “Was your RING visible during this massage?” I asked him.
“In plain view, baybee. That doesn’t detract the ladies. They can’t resist this!” he replied, doing the double-thumb self-point. Again . . . so fly, so fly.
“You know, if the situations were reversed, you wouldn’t be too happy about me getting some dude’s phone number!” I pointed out. (Logic, so good at the logic!)
“Not true! I didn’t object when you shamelessly flirted with the cable guy!”
“That was on the PHONE!” I reminded him. I mean, please. Just because I was bantering (techno-geek style) with the dreamy-sounding cable guy about Moxie not letting us order Pay-Per-View – is that the same thing as some perky co-ed massaging my hubby and dropping digits?! Nay! Nay, I say!
So anyway, those were the stories that I considered posting on my blog as I fretted, tossed and turned last night and eventually fell into a fitful blumber. (Blumber = blog+slumber)
I have weird dreams.
I mean REALLY weird dreams!
I shall change to italics to visually convey that we are switching to dream-land. These events DID NOT really happen, okay? Just dreaming. Weird, creepy, commit-me-if-you-must dreaming.
I was at my Dad’s house, although it was a different house than the one he actually lives in. (In dreams, things don’t have to make sense) I went into the bathroom to use it and noticed that there was a play castle on the floor, one of those Fisher Price type of deals. As I looked at it, a hamster stuck its head out of the castle window and scared me half to death! Recovering from the shock, I watched, amused, as the hamster ran around the castle. I thought to myself; how nice a little house it must be for him! Suddenly, the bathroom door burst open and my Dad and step-mom came in to catch the hamster. Apparently he had gotten out of his cage. The hamster, not my dad. (Note to readers – they don’t actually own a hamster, but, again, dreamland) I protested loudly, saying “Get out! I’m in here!” and Dad replied “We just have to catch the hamster, honey, he’s been loose for too long.” They caught the hamster and left the room, but didn’t bother to close the door! Just as I was calling out “Hey! Close the door!” a whole houseful of relatives arrived for whatever family gathering we were having, and since the bathroom in Dad’s fictitious house was right by the front door, they all saw me and started laughing and pointing at me. You would think that I would be mortified, and normally I would, but in my dream, a calming peace rushed over me at that moment and I said to myself “Finally! Something blog-worthy!”
How sick is that?! I woke up this morning not sure if I should be troubled, amused or saddened. I also had a dream about the creepy jump-from-the-stage-to-the-judges-table American Idol guy who was, in my dream, staying at my Mom’s house and building an intricate toy train track all over the house. Did I mention that I have weird dreams?
The one thing I will say about the bathroom dream, though, is that there is an element of truth to it. No, not about being walked in on in the bathroom, although there really is something alarming about that concept, no? I mean, have you ever been in a public restroom where the latch is broken and you have to hold the door closed? Talk about Fear Factor! No, I mean the concept of not taking events in life too seriously. I’ve always been pretty good at laughing at myself, but even more so since it results in such good blog material.
I think blogging should be prescribed by doctors for stress-related disorders, don’t you?
TPBQOTD (As you wish!)