Been channeling George Costanza on Seinfeld:
“Hey, it’s George. I got nothing to say.”
– George, leaving a message on Jerry’s answering machine, in “The Chinese Woman”
http://tvsothertenpercent.tripod.com/seinfeld.html
Actually, I DO have plenty to say, I just don’t know that it has any relevance. So seeing as how I can’t seem to get my feeble brain around any sort of theme, here are some musings and episodes lacking in complete and utter importance:
There are certain people who are just deviant by nature. Let’s say, my roommate’s mother, for example. We attended an entertaining production of “My Fair Lady” at Roger Rocka’s http://www.gcplayers.com/rockas.html a couple months ago, and she arrived stocked with an entire mini-bar in her well appointed handbag. Which, by the way, always feels like a very large bowling ball has been sewn into it’s interior. Apparently, Margaret had attempted to open a lovely bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, only to have the cork splinter and wedge itself into the neck. Completely unfazed, she located an empty container of Jose Cuervo, filled it with her chilled vino, and capped it with the handy screw top. Thus, our bar bill at the show was almost non-existent, and Margaret got the official sneaky-by-design award for the evening.
People with no cell phone manners, and women wearing WAY TOO MUCH bad cologne should just stay home. There, I’ve said it. And speaking of smelly stuff, I must admit that I have the bravest roommate on Planet Earth. Not only will Cinderella pick up a gigantic, rotating-head praying mantis with her bare hands (yikes!), she will courageously perform the ugliest, scariest, hair-raising chore that humans can possibly imagine. No, I’m not talking about plunging the clogged toilet, emptying the mice trap, or sucking up 3 month old cobwebs with the Hoover (bleah). I’m talking about dog poop, and lots of it. We only have 2 mutts in our household, but they do manage to crank out an exorbitant amount of doo-doo on a weekly basis.
When Cinderella unexcitedly announces she’s going on “poop patrol” you know it’s not going to be pretty. As a matter of fact, it’s going to be downright toxic. Sometimes, those precious packages take on a life of their own, and turn into horrifying science projects reminiscent of “The Fly” I volunteer to help out every once in awhile, but quite honestly, I just don’t have the stomach for it. Those moldy piles of dino-dump just freak me out (Dino-Dump(d-EYE-no D-uh-mm-p) Noun: Having the appearance or utility of a six foot tall steaming pile of shit). Not to mention the juicy ones our friend Katie lovingly refers to as “un-done brownies”… they look harmless on the outside, but break them open and WHAM! Those creamy chocolate centers are just evil. Grossed out yet? Stomach getting queasy? Revolted beyond belief? Then my day is complete.
We have the bitchiest neighbor in Fresno. Actually, Fresno, Clovis, Madera, and the surrounding metropolitan areas. I don’t know what her story is, but she hates us. She really hates us. We tenants at Cowpoke Alley do our best to be affable, personable, likeable folk. We say “hello”, “how are you” and sometimes (when we’re feeling REALLY daring) even “howdy” to our fellow Sherwood Forrest dwellers. They reply, conversations ensue, and life is all lollipops and moonbeams. And then there’s “Crabby Mary” She’ short and mousy with bad frizzy hair, big bug-eye glasses, and a nasty attitude. Even when she’s just taking out the garbage, she strides with such a clipped purpose, you’d think they were handing out blue ribbons for the fastest trash can slam.
This humorless, pint-size peon thinks we’re too loud and boisterous, even at 8:30 on a Saturday night. We think she just needs to get laid. She’s been known to swagger out onto the front porch, hands planted firmly on her bony hips, and giving us her best shut-the-hell-up-I-loathe-you-because-you-have-a-life-and-I-don’t stare down, before returning to her hovel with an ear-splitting slam of the door — KA-BLAM! But what really makes her blood clot, is the Boo dog. She absolutely abhors the Boo dog. She thinks he’s the devil incarnate. Especially when he whizzes on her potted plants. He just thinks she’d make a good appetizer. Crabby Mary’s favorite phrases are, and I quote,”Why isn’t that dog on a leash!?” “That dog should be on a leash!” and “GET THAT DOG ON A LEASH!!!!!!” We’ve decided to go ahead and bite the bullet, buckle down, and invest in a nice leather leash — a 50 foot one —just long enough to reach those potted plants.
