Things That Have Entertained Me Recently
1. My cable box. (Which...you know. Of course. Because hardware is so frequently entertaining.) Specifically, the abbreviations my cable box uses when you go to the "What's On!" (it is enthusiastic! Let's see What's On! We're gonna watch us some television!) menu, and even more specifically, the "What's On!" listing for TBS, which, last night, was showing Everybody Loves Raymond, followed by Sex and the City, followed by My Wife and Kids. Except each show was only half an hour, and that much title just doesn't fit into that little "What's On!" box, and so instead, TBS's listing read, "Everybody Loves Sex And My Wife And Kids." And I was like, aw, TBS! Your whole family is engaging in promiscuous sexual behavior! Even the kids! That's probably why you drink.
1(a). Another offering from my cable box: "John Tesh Live at Red Rocks," happily shortened to "John Tesh Rocks". And I nodded gravely and said, "Of course he does, TBS. Of course he does. Here, have some more whiskey."
2. The fact that, after many years of furrowed brow and narrowed eyeballs, I have finally managed to put my Significant Concerns Regarding FedEx into words, which occurred in an email I sent to a friend in California, which explains as follows:
I am always kind of skeptical of Fed Ex, and when I am sending packages to California, I am all, "It is 5 p.m. in Atlanta, and you are going to have my package to California by tomorrow? I FEEL THAT IS NOT PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE, FED EX." And then it works out, and I am left with additional support for my theory, which is named "How Fed Ex Has Actually Mastered The Art Of Teleportation But Is Keeping It Secret From Us, Well Played, Fed Ex."
3. That picture of Gimmme sleeping from the last entry, because it reminded me of this story, which I am pretty sure I have never told here. Except maybe I have. I don't remember, but here we go anyway!
About six years ago, when Gimmme was just a little guy, I got home from a party with my Then-Boyfriend at around 1 in the morning. I was putting the dogs out, when I picked up Mister Gimmme and discovered this weird, smooshy lump on his belly, which had not been there before we’d left. I freaked out accordingly, insisting that Then-Boyfriend take us to the emergency vet now, NOWNOWNOW. And so off we went, with him in a tux, and me in a cocktail dress and kind of uncomfortable shoes, and me also possibly having consumed one or two cocktails. Or ten. None of this bodes well for Crisis Management.
We got to the emergency vet, and I went running up to the front desk with a happily wagging Gimmme, who remained wholly undisturbed by the entirety of these events. I, however, being very disturbed, promptly shrieked out, “Look! LUMP!” to the receptionist. Turns out, though, that she did not share in my horror, and she calmly explained that, actually, it was not the Insta-Tumor I was envisioning, but instead, just a bug bite. She said they could drain it so it wouldn’t be uncomfortable, but that, you know. Maybe they would have me sit a few minutes in the waiting room, so they could deal with animals in Actual Official Crises, and not just Animals With Bug Bites and Their Hysterical People In Cocktail Attire.
So, I settled down in a little plastic chair, and picked up the latest edition of Highlights for Children (Gallant sucks!), and began the painstaking process of trying to find all of the missing shit in that hidden picture thing. Now, it was the middle of the night, and Mister Gimmme was pretty exhausted. So he fell asleep. And he did so in Gimmme's favorite position - across my lap, on his back, with his head dangling over my knees, mouth hanging open, and feet poking straight up in the air. In short, looking just like the picture in that last entry, and precisely like a dog who is (1) extremely dead, and (2) fully embracing the later stages of rigor mortis.
When I arrived at the vet, the waiting room had been empty, so I didn't realize that this was the image being conveyed until people started arriving, hauling Buster or Boots or whomever in by a leash and looking disheveled, hollering, "He ate ALL of the children's vitamins! ALL OF THEM!" in a tone of great hysteria, before becoming veeeeeeeeery quiet when they saw me, all decked out in formal wear and enjoying my Highlights, with a week-dead dachshund splayed across my lap. Suddenly, they started speaking in hushed tones, like, "Um, excuse me. Mister Buster seems to have consumed all of the Flintstone family, as well as their neighbors. If it is not too much trouble, I would like to make sure that activity does not lead to death, as it seems to have done to that small dog over there on the crazy lady's knees."
Children, who had presumably been having a gay old time feeding Buster all of those Fred and Wilmas, would wander over in curiosity, only to be snatched by concerned parents who whispered, "Don't go near THAT dog." For about twenty minutes, the entire room sat suspended in extreme, palpable discomfort, with nobody able to look away from the Faces of Death playing out across my cocktail dress. Meanwhile, I just kept on calmly reading my Highlights, while then-boyfriend (AND WE WONDER WHY HE IS NOW "THEN"-BOYFRIEND) squirmed in fatal, horrible embarrassment by my side.
Someone did tentatively ask me what was, you know. Wrong with my dead dog. And because I had enjoyed ten (okay, fifteen) cocktails, and that makes me think I am funny, I responded that, well! He just hasn't been eating. Or going to the bathroom. Or moving at all, actually, for days, and also, he smelled funny, and it was getting totally annoying. To emphasize my point, I poked at Gimmme's little feet (which you can do to Gimmme while he is sleeping, because Gimmme can sleep through ALL THINGS, including major explosions or reconstructive surgery), and his little legs would bend, and then immediately snap back to sleeping position. People gasped in shock; Then-Boyfriend cursed under his breath and went outside to smoke a cigarette and ESCAPE FROM SELF. I am sure we cannot imagine why.
Finally, someone popped into the waiting room and said, "Gimmme?" At which point I put down my Highlights and, before the closely-watching crowd, clapped my hands. This caused two things to happen:
1. Gimmme immediately shot straight up in the air; and
2. A man sitting across from us literally SCREAMED, because HOLY SHIT, THAT DOG IS NOT DEAD.
As Gimmme scrambled to an upright position and I picked his waggy self up to get his bug bite drained, I looked cluelessly at everyone else, all, "What? He's got a bug bite. Hope Buster is okay!" And off we went. And shortly thereafter, Boyfriend became Then-Boyfriend. I certainly have no idea why, but it probably has nothing to do with the fact that I am batshit insane.
The End. Anyway, that picture is funny to me because of that. Now we know!
4. The "Tags" function on Flickr, which turns out to be a goldmine for comedy. I am sure that my newest additions will make a computer weep somewhere, but I don't care, as it remains hilarious to me. And that is what is important. To me.
And, that is kind of all for right now. I am all revved up to tell y'all the story of Cookie and the Geese (a phrase which my mind will not stop singing, either to the tune of "Benny and the Jets" or "Beauty and the Beast." Both work. You are welcome!), and Cookie and I even photographed a reenactment of the event, but I haven't had a chance to photoshop them all into Coherence yet. So, that will be coming up. In the meantime, I am going to a wedding this weekend, for which I have purchased a total of three dresses, because it is Fancy. And we will all hope that nobody has to go to the emergency vet while I'm wearing them, because Lord knows. That just does not end well for anybody. And especially not for the Flintstones.
P.S. Oh, I forgot! Actually, one more thing has amused me recently.
Now Bo An Angry Teenager. ROLL EYES. Family SO STUPID.
Heee. Poor Bo. He lives a life of misery.
Kisses to all of y'all, and have a good rest-of-the-week!