I made up this job once where this boss would always ask me to do weird tasks. One invented day in particular he asked me to go into each office and clean all the mouse balls. Which was odd, you know, because if an office has a mice infestation problem I think there’s a bigger picture to focus on other than making sure that their genitals are clean. And those suckers, I imagined, weren’t easy to catch. Personally, I don’t have balls, but if someone was giving out a free wash job I don’t think I’d scurry away. I’d line up, maybe go twice, once for each ball. There’s two of them right? I’m no expert with that general genital area. One time whilst making an anatomically correct snowman, I put the cheese-ball balls on top of the twig penis, I thought they started from above and sorta worked their way down. This was in college, I could have benefited from a book. Anyhoo, after I manifested a catching, a little bit of embarrassment was felt on my end when my “boss” came into the room where I made-believed that I had cornered and trapped the pretend vermin. There I would have been, had this actually happened, cotton swab in one hand and a gentle but firm grip on the little guy with the other. I have to say, the way I have the story going, the mouse did appear to be quite happy about his concocted circumstance, though I am not entirely sure about that one, again not an expert in that area. But he was much more hygienic than before I fantasy found him. And hygiene is important, that’s why I have a detachable shower head with multiple speed settings. Seriously a few clockwise clicks and strategic positioning, and you are well on your way to getting yourself very, very clean. Um, back to the mouse ball stuff, apparently the boss from this fiction meant the little rolly things on the computer mouse. I can’t be held responsible when words mean two different things. But on the serious, I have noticed that in New York there are a quite a bit of critters lurking about. The pigeons in the park and the rats in the subway are one thing, that’s the wilderness of New York City. But when they come into my personal space then I have some issues with the arrangement. Up here we’ve some big bugs; they look like an entrée from Fear Factor or something. Is that still on? (Better check my references.) Ooh, more apropos is that show with that guy who walks around with cameras following him while he eats the flesh of anything he finds, but I can’t remember the name of it, so Fear Factor is it. Oh but back to these giant bugs, I thought they were cockroaches but I have been informed that they are water bugs. I don’t care what they are called if you crawl over my face and you have more than two legs, we are gonna have some problems. Well one night, such a thing did in fact happen. After waking up and flicking something off my face, I see this beast of a thing scaling the wall. I grabbed a shoe to smash it(normally I am humane and do the capture and release thing, but this effer woke me from a Sarah Silverman sex dream and clearly he had to die. Now, she can crawl over my face whenever she wants to). So yeah, the bug, so I squared up and went in for the kill. Did you know these things could fly? One minute he’s in my bedroom the other he’s crawling on the tiles in the bathroom. Which I realize, New York apartments are crazy small, and it’s not like he has to far to go, but still I didn’t know they flew. I looked for another line of defense, grabbing what I thought was bug spray and sprayed the shit out of the thing and he still didn’t die because it was actually that Lysol Disinfecting stuff. Apparently I have a problem with things that look the same as well. But I figured its okay, you know, because if he crawled over my face again at least he would be 99.9 percent free of bacteria, and I’m fairly certain his balls would be a little cleaner for the journey
So I should be busily writing and preparing for Tuesdays comedy show, but naturally I am looking up vocal performances of Megan Mullally on YouTube and downloading Joss Whedon’s Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog on ITunes. It has been five full days since I have smoked a cigarette, four days prior to that when nary an indulgence happened in the daylight, and only a puff at a party or a single cigarette that lasted for three days was what I had to owe up to. In short I am quitting smoking. But tonight, I caved. In effort to squelch the habitual companion to typing, I failed and lit one up and breathed it in. Ah sweet mystery of life.... Turn the count back to one. I feel a little guilt for failure. Excuses a plenty. Neil Patrick Harris, sing another song tonight, and tomorrow I will start again my plight the fight against nicotine. This fight I am fighting, harder than it may seem. Forces me into poetic writing, to distract me and keep me fighting from once again cigarette lighting. Wish me luck.
(Neil Patrick Harris stars in the little downloadable musical vignette I mentioned, I just wanted to make clear my references.)
I just flew in from Tennessee and boy... Oh how I wish it were that simple. Apparently there was a bit of wind and foul weather Sunday in New York City. I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t here. We departed the Volunteer state around eleven o’clock in the a.m. The plane was a cute little commuter that had propellers and everything that departed from the tiny tri-cities airport. About a half an hour later we land in Charlotte, a quick look and see in some of the shops and we arrive at the gate where there was another gift shop. I deliberated over a bag of cheese popcorn, only because the buildup at the register looked long. That’s the only good reason for forgoing day glow powdered fluffy kernels of goodness. By the time we had browsed the key chains and bobble head beaver pens, the line dwindled and snacks were purchased. We lined up to board, avoided tripping over the wheelie cart that the woman in front of us was totting, oblivious to the extra space she took up with her tag along, all the while maintaining a comfortable distance from this hovering girl behind us who found in necessary to exist three inches over your shoulder at all times. I complimented my travel companion on her expertise at a smooth connection(perhaps as a buffer for switching my position, leaving her to the hoverer) and remarked what an easy flight it was. Yeah, I spoke to soon. After we settled in for our anticipated hour and a half flight, we instead spent the equivalent and then some of that time on the tarmac, waiting for the go ahead to depart to JFK. Thank goodness for Cheese Corn and puzzle books to pass the time. Ah, but it was all in vain. Instead of a liftoff, we returned to the gate to “refuel.” As we readied ourselves to exit back into Charlotte’s airport, an announcement was made to make sure that we removed all of our belongings in case we decided to “change our plans.” Um, okay. “Yeah, no. I don’t really think I want to go home today; maybe I’ll just hang out here instead. I think I saw some rocking chairs with a view of the hanger and Bath and Body Works is having a buy one get one sale.” That wasn’t exactly what we had in mind, but seeing as how we were informed that our flight was cancelled as soon as we deplaned, it was what we got. Sure, “refuel.” A likely story. Long line story short, we stayed in a hotel nearby. There was a free shuttle and a discounted rate for stranded passengers, so it’s not all doom and gloom. Plus there was a Mexican restaurant with margaritas nearby and the hotel had a pool. Our packing had not prepared us with proper swim attire, but we were determined to make the best of things, so boxer shorts and tank tops made do. We awoke at the leisurely hour of 4:30 a.m. to catch the shuttle for our seven o’clock connection correction. The woman behind the counter told us that her driver hadn't yet shown up. “I can’t believe it” she stated, feigning sympathy, “actually I can” she added with a shrug, her less than concerned state of being was a little unerving. She finally called a cab, a single van cab for the five adults, two children, luggage, and cars seats. We figured they family of travelers would get it first, but the woman suggested to the other two adults that she went ahead with the two kids with us, and they could get the next one. I was shocked how democratically well handled the situation, when I found out she was Canadian and it became more clear. We got there in plenty of time, and it was a good thing to. Both of us were “randomly selected for addition screening.” (I bet it had nothing to do with the SSSS’s printed on the corner. Maybe they think distressed passengers to be hostile. ) The search turned out to be nothing more than a slightly fancier because they used technology rummage through our bags, similar to what I encounter, sans swabbed analysis, every time I pass a random subway station search site. Seriously I’ve been searched almost every time I enter a set up. Maybe I look suspicious. I don’t know, but if that’s the case I wish someone should have said something sooner. But anyhoo, we actually took to the sky not to terribly long after our stated time, and everything seemed to be going our way until we were informed that Laguardia wasn't accepting any landings and we were being rerouted to LaGuardia, so we fell into a holding pattern and circled.. What I wouldn’t give to have gotten more cheese popcorn that day! After a few spins, they had to refuel. No sarcastic inferred air quotes there. I’ve heard tale that planes keep only what they need as far as gas goes for issues of weight control, and I didn’t want to test that theory by staying up longer than they intended. So it was good morning Baltimore, where we land at the pump and wait another two hour before heading back and finally landing at LaGuardia. Oye. I wonder if they include all those extra bits if adventure into frequent flyer miles.