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Tuesday, January 27, 2004

From dreamland, no less. Woke up thinking this:

“Either our house is too small, or the people are too real.”

Lest you think that I wasn’t also thinking about some really bizarre stuff, I had this terrfying dream about alligators (a recurring scary theme and a specialty of mine); about being chased by them, and finding them in unusual places. For instance, climbing up to the rafters to get out of the reach of one on the ground, and seeing several more lying quietly along the length of a beam not three feet away.

Anyway, at some point, I was inexplicably helping someone to show my son how to hold one properly, and he was afraid to touch the scales. The Alligator Handler Who Had No Face and No Name kept saying, “Maybe he’s afraid the scales are so sharp they’ll cut him.” And I remember thinking, “True, but maybe it’s because you’re asking him to touch a huge fucking alligator.”

Monday, January 26, 2004

Oddbits

There’s a theme building! I can feel it! C’mon, sing it with me! We’re going to hell, tra la la la, so we may as well take a few hypocrites with us. Now, I don’t know Angela personally, so I don’t really know if I’m offending her with this reference, but I can’t help myself. Her Friday, January 23, 2004 post has to be one of the most depressing things I’ve read in a long time, and please keep in mind that I voted in the 2003 California Gubernatorial recall election.

I’ll follow Angela’s example and post a disclaimer: I was raised a Roman Catholic, attended 16 years of Catholic and Jesuit schools, studied world religions until my eyes crossed, and was once married to a Jehovah’s Witness, so I know a little something about the subject matter. Please don’t bother to scold me for this post—I won’t respond. But good holy tomatoes, what are people like this thinking??

What’s a Doohickey?

Sometimes, Americans have little mental pauses, where something’s right on the tip of our tongue, but we can’t think of the exact words… or when we want to euphemise unseemly speech. Fortunately, there’s a way around this that doesn’t involve brain surgery or duct tape. We use substitution words that can mean anything and everything.

Here’s an ode to mental vacuity.

Substitution Words

I was rooting willy-nilly through a buncha stuff, looking every whichway for the dinky little whatchamacallit to fix the goldong thingamajig, but good ol’ whatsizname had put it in the hooziwhatsit, as usual! Boy oh boy, what a load of hooey. Always the same old rigamarole with that cockamamie bozo. He’s such a pipsqueak! If I found it, ka-ching, I’d be rich, which would be just jim dandy! I’d be totally discombobulated. You-know-who had done you-know-what with the goofy little gadget again, so whaddyaknow ... there was something-or-other wrong with it. What a snafu! I had a heck of a time getting ahold of whatsername to come over and take care of it with her special little doohickey that she keeps there in the thingamabob. For the gazillionth time, the flightly little flibbertigibbit said alrighty, she wouldn’t shilly shally, she’d schlep over with her widget fixer and whatnot to do a bodaciously whizbang job on the whole shebang. That’s right, the whole kit ‘n caboodle, no ifs, ands, or buts about it ... no malarkey. Okee dokey, but she was a skosh busy right then, yada, yada, yada. Yessirreebob, we usually have gadgets galore, but what with the this-and-that, and all the hooplah, it’s all topsy turvy today, ‘cuz that humungous nincompoop is still in the whatsit acting like everything’s just hunky dory. That’s just a bunch gobbledeegook. Pure gibberish. He’s such an old rapscallion. Jeeminy Christmas, the shenanigans of that old fogey. Yackety schmackety, blah, blah, blah! Shucks, I wanted to find it on my own, and not be penalized for it… I’m just so darned tired of gimme’s and gotcha’s by a lotta has-been nosybones out hobnobbing with hoity toity wannabes. The real nitty gritty is that, young and old, they’re just a buncha happy-go-lucky whippersnappers and cantankerous old fuddyduddies who don’t know diddly. I poked among the gewgaws, tchotchkes, gimcracks, and knickknacks, there in the doodad, but I found zilch, zero, zippo, nil, nada and null. So-and-so told me such-and-such about the deeleebob, but I just don’t know where that little gizmo is. Sheesh! It’s a big whoopdedoo when you can’t even remember where the gosh diddly darned whaddyacallit is!

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Monday, January 26, 2004

Humor

Oh my god, am laughing sooo hard. Go over to Lee’s and read yesterday’s post… Especially hard-hitting this morning, as I spent most of yesterday prying mini-Tootsie Pop lollipops off the bedspread, the computer cabinet, the rug, Gil’s pillow, the side of the butcher block, the couch, the bottom of my slipper… Must remember to remedy candy drawer hazard—Daphne has discovered that she can reach into the gap afforded by the safetly latch and withdraw great fistfulls of the things. Either that, or must start buying bigger lollipops.

BTW, have lost 12 pounds since Christmas on a diet similar to Lee’s, supplemented by 12-hour workdays.

Correction: my friend Kathy reminded me yesterday that it wasn’t really this diet that dropped me two sizes. It was the Stress and Fear Diet, supplemented by 12-hour workdays. How silly of me to have forgotten.

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