Evil Mom, continued

Larry,

Today is your lucky day. I've got more exciting things to tell you about my very dull and uncomplicated life.

On Friday, I uncovered more evidence that my mother may be the devil.

I was out walking Xander on Friday afternoon and I stopped by my mom's place to have a diet coke and talk with her a bit. She told me that she'd had a rough day at work. Playing the part of concerned son, I asked her for details. She's a nurse and she currently works for a company that provides home hospice care for people. For the past year, she's been caring for Judy, a mentally retarded woman. It sounds cool, I know. Sadly, Judy has the mental capacity of a 5 year old. This is problematic for my mother at times because Judy likes to play practical jokes, be disagreeable, and basically act like a child. Every day, my mom has to take Judy's vitals and document them. Friday, she was using a digital thermometer to take Judy's temperature. However, Judy was not cooperating. Normally, one inserts the thermometer under the tongue and then the instrument beeps when it has a reading. After 15 minutes without a beep, my mom questioned Judy. She didn't go into details but when I asked her what happened, she said that she basically tore Judy a new one. I think that she actually used those words. She said that after she had gone off on Judy for being difficult, Judy panicked and begged my mom to not forget to feed her. I listened, incredulous, as she told her tale. I believe that she was prepared to skip one of Judy's meals as punishment.

As far as I know, she fed her anyway.

Maybe she's not evil.

Talk soon,

Paul

Desperation

Larry,

Hey buddy. How the heck are you? It's been a while. I haven't had much going on but darn it if I can find the time to write you like I should.

I am pathetic. I realize this on a daily basis. The story that I am about to tell you illustrates this point perfectly.

Two weekends ago, Anna and I went out to dinner with Jen and Diego. It was a farewell dinner of sorts as Diego was leaving the country for six months. We went to Houston's. The food is great but what really impresses me about the joint is the waitstaff. They are meticulous. This makes for a really enjoyable dining experience.

Anna and Jen ordered the Ahi Tuna. I ordered ribs. Big mistake. When our food arrived, I immediately asked Anna for a bite of her tuna. I immediately regretted ordering the ribs. That's what I get for going for portion over taste. So, I ate my ribs, all the while ruing the fact that I didn't get the tuna. Jen had eaten most of her tuna and when she passed Diego a piece of the tuna, I knew that she was probably getting full. With 2 pieces left on her plate, I was hopeful that they would soon be mine. Unfortunately, she polished off another piece and I was no longer sure that I'd be on the receiving end of her unwanted meat. With one piece of tuna left on her plate, she and Anna excused themselves and went into the bar for an after dinner smoke. Deigo and I chit-chatted sporadically in their absence. I was distracted by tuna. Suddenly, our waiter came by and reached down as if to take Jen's plate. With desperation in my voice, I exclaimed, "Don't take it! She's not finished!" He picked up her napkin and explained to me that he was just folding her napkin. I felt a little foolish, to say the least.

When the girls returned, I slaked my tuna thirst with her seared meat and I tell you, my friend, it was heavenly.

Pathetic.

Happy Monday,

Paul

Timing is Everything

Larry,

Something's rotten in Denmark and by Denmark, I mean Memphis. I would like your opinion about something. I'm going to present you with a set of facts and then I want you to tell me what you think about what I've told you. Agreed? Let's begin:

Background: My mother is moving downtown. She's buying a house across the street. She will soon be a homeowner for the first time in her life. Pretty monumental. She has a dog named Pax (that's Latin for Peace). My mom's so smart she knows Latin. Respect. Pax is old. Maybe 11 or 12 which in dog years is probably 100. He's old; let's just leave it at that.

Timeline

3 Months Ago: My mom asks me to buy some UrineBGone. Pax is getting old and becoming incontinent. This spray, that you can only order on the Internet, is going to help get rid of the stains and the odor (this is relevant, you'll see).

Last Week: My mom tells me not to tell Anna but that she doesn't know if she's going to bring Pax with her downtown. She said that there was a woman she knows that had expressed interest in taking Pax. Mom said that her neighbor said that she was looking for an older dog. My mom was hopeful that this woman would take Pax so that she wouldn't have to make any decision at all.

Last Week (Again, but this time later in the week): I asked her if she had decided what she was going to do about Pax. She said that she was still thinking about it. I told her that I supported her if she was going to give Pax away. I mean, I couldn't really believe that she would do it but I supported her decision.

Sunday: She comes by to visit Anna and I and to take us out to Starbucks. We have Frappucino's. Mom had the Vente. That's Italian for Gi-normous. Yes, my mom's a polyglot.

Monday: Nothing happened really. I mean, some stuff happened. Nothing pertinent here.

This morning: I was using this website Jajah to prank call my mom and brother. Basically, you enter 2 numbers and the service calls and then connects both numbers. You can do it for your number and your buddy's number, but it's even funner to do it to two different people and then listen in on the ensuing conversation. Of course, I couldn't listen to my mom and brother talk. But it was funny enough imagining their conversation: "Mom, why did you call me?" "John, why did you call me?" Hilarious.

This afternoon: I was working out when I got a call from my brother. We chit-chat for a minute and then he started telling me about the weird thing that had happened to him earlier in the day-namely, that he received a phone call from mom but it was weird because she thought that he called her and he thought that she called him. Like I said, hilarious. Anyway, he tells me that mom is crying because Pax was dead. That he hadn't been feeling well so she took him to the vet on Saturday and they euthanized his ass. We saw her on Sunday, by the way. I don't remember if I had mentioned that or not. She didn't say anything about Pax.

Apparently, she is a murderer with a heart of stone.

I told John that she hadn't been sure about bringing him with her downtown. We quickly put 2 and 2 together.

What do you think? Coincidence? You be the judge.

Talk soon,

Paul

Ramblin' on my Mind

Larry,

Yesterday, I forgot to mention that part of my nightly ritual includes walking Xander for the last time. Add 15 to 30 minutes onto the already established 30 minutes and there’s a whopping hours worth of things that I have to do before I go to bed.

But that’s not what I was writing to you about. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure why I was writing. Maybe it’s just to vent. We’ll see where this takes us.

I’ve been invited to a Memphis Blogger Bash. Would it make me more or less nerdy if I were to attend? I think that I’ll wait to see what they are planning. Free food will likely be the deciding factor.

Did you read about the cat born with two faces? I heard about it last week and then Jen mentioned it yesterday. Fascinating! I saw the video of the little guy meowing and the coolest thing is that both mouths mew in unison. That’s entertainment. But then the story takes a tragic and most unappealing turn. The kitten’s master, a young boy, was asked what he wanted to name the genetic freak, and the kid responds, “Tiger”. Tiger? Tiger! The child must also be a mutant because the only name that one can give to a feline of this ilk is Two-Face. That’s it. You have to draw a line in the sand. I could possibly go with Janus but that’s a little obscure for a toddler. Two-Face. Anything else is unacceptable. I’m serious.

I’ve decided that “Have a great day” is unacceptable in polite conversation. Whether it’s bidding farewell to a friend or completing your conversation with a random customer service representative, this manner of saying goodbye is horrible. It puts entirely too much pressure on the receiver. I mean, I never have a great day-ever. I’ve had maybe 2 great days in my life. The day I was born. I would count that. Of course, I don’t remember it but to finally escape the warm, gooey, disgusting prison that was my mom’s womb, I think, must have been joyous, to say the least. On a scale from 1 to 10, most of my days are a 5…maybe a six if I had to leave work unexpectedly. Days off, depending on my agenda, are better. Even if I have to go get a cleaning at the dentist. Especially if I have to go get a cleaning at the dentist. That day is a solid 7. I don’t normally see 8 or 9 days. And a 10 would be a great day. So, when someone tells me to have a great day, they’ve done me a huge disservice. They’ve put an inordinate amount of pressure on me to do something that’s virtually impossible. Be asked to shoot a guest spot on the Spice Channel’s reality series Who Wants to be a Pornstar? That kind of thing is out of my control.

I wouldn’t do it, by the way. Too self-conscious. Talk about pressure. Imagine performing while a room full of people watch. Impossible.

Have an OK day,

Paul

Routine

Larry,

How's it going? Long time. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hear that a lot. I think that I'm allergic to obligations. Work, returning phone calls, writing to my bestest friends. Get's harder and harder every day. But, in the spirit of shunning work-related obligations, I thought that I'd drop you a line. How are you? How's the better half? Kids good, I hope. All is well on this side. Summer is killing me. It's so hot here. I've been hearing a lot about Global Warming in the news recently, and you know what? They might be on to something.

This is the worst segue ever...

I've got to figure out a way to reduce the amount of time I spend in preparation for sleep. I sleep very little as it is. Six hours, usually. I think that I may have figured out the problem. My routine. Far too complicated. Here's what goes down every night for me before bedtime:

Neti Pot. Cleans out the sinuses. It's awesome. Trust me. I can't eliminate this. Never. (10 minutes)

Shower. After a long day, I need this. I can probably cut it out when it cools off. But when it's 85 degrees at 9 PM, I'm going to sweat. And if I sweat, I gotta get clean. (5 minutes)

Pre-brush rinse. (30 seconds) I do this for whitening purposes.

Brush (3 minutes) Got to brush-every day, 3 times a day. If you don't have your teeth, you are essentially a hobo. No offense to people with fake teeth. I'm sure that some of you are very productive.

Floss. I'm still working on my technique. This takes a little longer than I'd like. I start at the top, middle. Work my way back to one side. Then start at the back, on the same side. Take that all the way around. Then finish up the top row. (3 minutes)

Post-floss rinse (30 seconds) In case there is any bleeding, which normally, there is not.

Ok. That's maybe 30 minutes. Still, I feel like it takes longer. I think that I can trim that. I'm always looking for efficiencies.

I hope that all is well.

Paul

Getting Head

Larry,

How’s it going, old timer? I’ve got a wicked headache right now that’s preventing me from concentrating on just about anything. Do you watch Jeopardy? Do you know who Ken Jennings is? He’s selling a big foam likeness of his head on eBay. I just bid on it! If I win, and I doubt that I will, this will be the best $10.00 that I ever did spend.

Take care of yourself and stay classy.

Paul

Update: I wrote this yesterday and then forgot that the picture of Ken’s giant head embedded in the letter wouldn’t show up on the blog without some trickeration on my part. So, follow the link to see it.

Also, I was outbid in a matter of minutes. Currently, the highest bid is $207.50. Too rich for my blood. Proceeds go to Cancer. I didn’t know that Cancer was broke but it has apparently fallen on hard times. Wait, that’s the American Cancer Society. My fault.

Layla and the Relationship that Never Was (Update)

Larry,

What’s up buddy? I thought that I’d invite you over to www.uptownyak.com if you’d like to talk to me or any of my neighbors live and in person (sort of). We’re having a good time. Please note my tribute to Patrick Swayze and the awesome icon that represents the best movie that never got made.

And since I said that I’d have something original for you, I thought that I’d share this tidbit. My brother’s dating a girl named Layla and I thought about it for quite a while, I decided that I could never, ever date anyone named Layla. Technically, I’m barred from dating anyone indefinitely but I’m still trying to find a loophole for that rule. But I realized almost as soon as John told me her name, that if I were dating a Layla, not necessarily his, but any Layla, it would be impossible for me to go day without working Eric Clapton’s ballad into the conversation. I don’t think that it could be done. And this poses a multitude of problems but for the sake of brevity, I’ll only mention two.

First, she has no doubt heard this song a thousand times from people that thought they were being original or funny. She, I imagined, detests that song with every fiber of her being. I asked John and this is a point of fact. Layla hates Layla. Having said that, any references to that song would be out. So, if we were sitting at home one night and I found myself entertaining the idea of a snack, I couldn’t just turn to her and say (sung to the tune of Layla, of course), “Layla, would you make a sammich please. Layla, I want an extra slice of cheese, Layla”. I’m guessing that I wouldn’t get that sandwich that I so desperately needed. This poses a problem for both her and I. She’s pissed because I asked her a sandwich using the Layla song that she hates and I’m pissy because not only am I hungry, but I have to make the sandwich myself. I’ve given this a lot of thought, more probably than you could imagine, but I won’t do anymore situational examples. They get tiring.

Second, conversations between Layla and I, would be slow to evolve and perhaps even a little stilted. I believe that if she’d ask me a question, I would have to take a minute to see if there was any way I could work in the Layla song to my response. Then there’s a whole rhyming issue that I’d have to work out. What rhymes with chores? Bores, floors, doors, whores…You get the idea. Conversations would move like honey. All in all, it’d be a burden on us both.

So, John, I will not be stealing your lady. The possibility of our relationship is fraught with perils, aplenty. Rest easy, brother.

Hope that you’re doing well. See you on the Yak.

Paul    

Update: Just had an interesting conversation with my brother. I told him that I had written about Layla on the blog and he naturally inquired about the subject matter. I explained to him the gist of my letter and he said, “You want to have kids soon, right?” I said that, in fact, I did. He then told me that it would be pretty hard to care for my kids when I’m face-up in a casket.

There goes your Christmas present, assface.

Warning to all: Do not try to date, woo, court, or flirt with Layla or you may find that you meet with an unfortunate accident. Or, perhaps she needs a tattoo on her backside that states, “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here”. I get the message, brother.

Paul

The Funny

Larry,

I haven't the time nor the energy to be witty or clever or amusing at the moment. I have instead elected to go to bed a bit early. However, I wanted to let you know about this guy who's blog I stumbled upon today via TV Squad. In particular, read this piece about Follow-Up Calls. It might begin slow, but the denouement is phenomenal.

Beware afraid. Be very afraid...for Rapebear lurks in darkness waiting for his next victim-or the bus-or his next victim which is a bus. Just read it.

I'll be back with some original stuff in a day or two.

Paul

Pedicure

Larry,

How goes it with you? Good weekend, I presume? Just wanted to tell you about my very first pedicure. A little too intimate, if you ask me. I mean, this Asian lady made love to my feet and calves with her soft, but firm, hands. It was pleasurable, for sure, but at the same time, difficult to enjoy. The problem, I think, was that I wasn’t sure exactly how much I was supposed to enjoy it. I had to distract myself a little so as not to enjoy it too much because I could definitely felt that I was on the verge of enjoying immensely.

Another thing that really prevented me from enjoying it as much as I should have was that this was not a typical business transaction, or at least, not one that I’m used to anyway. It’s rare that I receive a massage from the barista at Starbucks, although that might be nice, depending on who serves you. All in all, the experience was a bit askew.

Anna was pleased that I accompanied her and she didn’t have any problems relaxing and enjoying the pampering. The Asian lady and her daughter were tickled that I decided to participate in the pedicure though. They giggled and asked me if I was certain that I wanted to get them painted. Are you wondering what color I painted them? Black, of course. It goes perfect with my soul.

Plus, I read in Glamor (while waiting for my toes to dry), that black is the new white.

More soon,

Paul  

Pickles

Larry,

I know that it's been awhile. What can I say in my defense. Not jack. I'm just lazy, plain and simple. I did just find something that might amuse you. Over at Boing Boing, they pointed me over to You Tube to watch a clip from the Maury Povich show. Pretty funny but it's got to be fake. How can anyone be afraid of pickles? Clowns, I get. Heck, I'm afraid of bugs, snakes, heights, public speaking, balloons popping, anything with the capacity to fly-the list goes on. Pickles? Outrageous!

I feel better about myself after having seen that.

I hope that you are well. Much more about my weekend is forthcoming.

Paul