…like a fish needs a what?

Farting around.  Serving no greater purpose than focusing on the moment at hand.  For the better part of the last five years.  It’s what i’ve done.  It’s what i do.

Late last year, i attended a few meetings of a regional bicycle advocacy group.  After a few follow-up discussions, i was invited to join the board of directors.  The group has been in existence since the 1960’s, but became dormant in recent years.  The remainder of the board was making one last run at resurrection – and wanted me to fill the empty board seat.

What the hell?  i’ve been battling a bit of restlessness for the past few months.  They needed what i got.  Were very surprised when they saw my resume – combination of professional chubb with a long history of regional board memberships.  Despite my “Party Girl” reputation…

i started attending monthly board meetings in January, and have been working on a variety of projects and activities on my own time.  Most of our interaction happens via e-mail.  It’s hard to get to know strengths, weaknesses, and styles of colleagues without daily interaction, but we are definitely working through the glitches and getting things accomplished.  They are good animals, and it’s been fun so far.

If i really want to get inside the mind of another human being, i try to elicit laughter.  If you can make someone laugh?  You start to understand how he works.  As i try to get to know the other board members, this has proven invaluable.

The April meeting was on a fairly tight schedule, with a lot of turf to cover.  We met at Archie’s house – bringing laptops, notes and beer.  A nice balance of “business” and “pleasure”.  Much of our discussion was around planning activities for an upcoming event where we hope to make a visible splash with our resurrected presence in the region.

Bob (President, and Serious Businessman):  Would it be possible for us to find a vacant parking lot and launch an exhibition bike polo game?  How much room would you need?

Kendall (Radical cyclist, party animal, and historian):  We play 3-on-3 games, and that includes the goalies.  Would still take a good-sized lot…

daisyfae:  How did you teach the ponies to ride bicycles?

[crickets]

After a beat, three of the guys at the table laughed.  One rolled his eyes.

Kendall [looking confused]:  It’s bike polo.  We ride bikes, not horses?

daisyfae:  It was a joke.  Guess if i have to explain that, it’s a “failed joke”.

pic found here

Excuse me?

On my way to the gym at lunch time, i ran into Les. He and i have worked together for about ten years, and he is currently running the other branch in my part of the office building. We frequently commiserate over the pain and suffering of being supervisors.

We’ve always had a very healthy, collegial working relationship. Professional.  Friendly, without being especially social outside the workplace.  We were joking about the latest office gossip.  i marked my whereabouts on the sign-out board as he headed down the hallway to his meeting.

Stopping about halfway down the hall, he turned back to me and said “By the way, are you still fucking your ex?”

i froze in my tracks, astonished. “Excuse me, what did you just say?”

“Are you still fucking your ex?”

Again, i was slack-jawed. In utter shock!  My secretary, Janice, was watching the exchange and i briefly wondered if she was going to be a star witness in my future manslaughter trial…

Bewildered and stunned, i walked a few steps closer to him and said “i’m sorry… i still couldn’t hear you. What was that again?”

“Are you still offering up your axe? The guitar?”

Late last week, Les had asked my advice on buying a nice, used guitar so he could refresh his skills. i’d offered him one from my collection as a loaner instead.

And had completely forgotten….

“OH! THAT! Yes. YES! No problem! i’ll bring it in tomorrow…”

“Yeah… I need to convince my wife I’m serious about this before an outlay of discretionary income!”

And he was on his way…

image found here

Not quitting my day job

Over the weekend, i attended a friend’s 50^th birthday party.  It was an outdoor picnic, complete with roast pork products, many dozen friends and relatives, and perhaps a few coolers full of beer.  She’d asked me to bring my guitar, and be prepared to drop in with one of her other friends to provide some entertainment.

With my arm twisted so tightly behind my back, it took a full nanosecond for me to say “Sure!”, while simultaneously blowing the dust off my set books and digging my guitar case out from under the spare bed.

Dragging my friend Studley McRocklegs along as roadie for the day, we spent a pleasant afternoon celebrating.  When it was time to set up the amps/microphones, we ran the extension cords, and grabbed a few more beers.  i had a wonderful time jamming with her friends, encouraging crowd participation*, and throwin’ down like a wannabe rock star!

On the drive back, Studley couldn’t wait to tell me about a conversation that occurred while i was performing.

Charlie [grillmaster, full of Bud Light]:  Hey, you’re wife’s really good!  Do you think she could play at our pig roast in September?

Abby [Charlie’s patient wife]:  She’s not his wife! 

Studley:  She loves doing it!  I’m sure she’d be willing to play…

Charlie:  How much does she charge?

Studley:  Nothing, she just does it for fun!  If there’s a roasting pig, you probably can’t keep her away.

Charlie:  She’s good!  Seriously, how much does she charge?

Studley:  Seriously, she’ll do it for free! [grinning] And careful how you ask that, Charlie!

Charlie:  Oh, I ain’t sayin’ she’s a whore or anything…

*Always bring a cowbell.  i never leave home without it…

Text Noir…

Text exchange with The Boy this week…

daisyfae:  What’s the word from your mouthpiece?

The Boy [20 minutes later]: What the fuck are you talking about?

daisyfae:  Lawyer?

The Boy:  Forgot to call him today. Probably tomorrow.  Why did you say ‘mouthpiece’?

daisyfae: That’s what gangsters in 40’s movies called their lawyers!

The Boy: I never heard that before.  You’re showing your age.  You dames and your jargon…

Awesome Cagney pic found here!

Warning: 12 year-old boys at work

It started here.   And as is always the case, plumbed the depths of molten-core stupidity within a few minutes.  i love these crazy bastards…
 
cramnitram:  Bad news.  How long can you survive on beer alone?  Long enough to get scurvy!

daisyfae:  Drinking only Blue Moon, with substantial slices of orange, could certainly delay scurvy.  More experimentation.  We need science, damn it!
 
ninjaneer:  But then Blue Moon ups the prevalence of the trots and subsequent dehydration……question is, does this constitute a reasonable trade-off?
 
RN:  Not to mention if your drinking Blue Moon then you have a high probability of being gay, giving you a statistically higher chance of dying from AIDS. Beer alone is ‘iffy’, but Busch and Ring Dings probably has all you need. 
 
ninjaneer:  I would have to concur with this assessment.  I, myself, stick with Bourbons and the occasional Tennessee Sour Mash.  Beer drinkers have always struck me as slightly effeminate, and frankly, unable to carry on serious barroom discourse through their constant preening, primping and giggling. 
 
daisyfae:  RN, your use of the words “busch” and “ring dings”, amidst your obvious homophobia, are a bit much.  Tone it down, please.  I’m trying to work here…
 
ninjaneer: A sure sign of Living in Lifestyle Denial if I ever saw it.  Classic Textbook……
 
RJak:  I have to agree with RN.  Blue Moon is the VW Jetta of beers.  It is socially acceptable for women but for guys it leads one to ask “Is he …?”  And if a guy drinks a Blue Moon with orange slices – question answered. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
 
RN: It gets even worse, did you know Ring Dings are a product rip off of Ding Dongs?  
 
ninjaneer:  ….and how does this all relate to Dong Rings
 
cramnitram:  Dong rings are just a bigger version, except in your case, ninjaneer.
 
RN:  It relates via the mysterious yogis in the Kentucky mountains who live on nothing but bourbon, the movie was “Lord of the Dongs”
 
TC: ….as the ninjaneer always used to say……’Dong Rings before Ding Dongs….never sicker…..Ding Dongs before Dong Rings…..’  uh….I can’t remember the rest. 
 
RN:  Ding Dongs were made by Hostess I think and Ring Dings was something I can’t remember.  Same crappy cylindrical black cake with crème in the middle
 
ninjaneer:  I’m not a big fan of Dong Rings…..but when she insists – think radiator hose clamp…..
 
RN:  …and “Ding Dongs” changed name to “King Dons” for a while, then back to “Ding Dongs”.  I know all that, and you say I am not a MAN?

daisyfae:  “Ring Dings” (by Drakes) were the original chocolate sponge-cake hockey puck, and they sued Hostess for infringement when “Ding Dongs” were introduced.  The “King Dons” name was a negotiated solution.  Hostess, however, bought Drakes in 1998, returning the name to “Ding Dongs”.  I have finally proven that the internet is good for something other than porn.

ninjaneer:  I’d like a minute for rebuttal…..
 
daisyfae:  yeah, but you’ll have to explain to the guys in bio-environmental health what all that stuff is on your monitor.
 
TC:  you mean that dribble on the floor?
 
RN:  “Don King’s Dong Ring”
 
ninjaneer:  ten times, really fast!

Wargaming

A series of messages exchanged with a friend today, helping pass the hours as we both slogged through work stuff.  We kinda sorta almost briefly dated, but it quickly became clear that he likes small, attractive and normal women and i prefer men who are a little bitter, very twisted and somewhat broken we were both looking for different things. 

We remained friends, and spent more than a few happy hours commiserating about our troubles with persons harbouring opposing genitalia.

Our conversations included a lot of questions, ball-busting and throwing of the bullshit flag as necessary.  These kind of friends are invaluable.  Having an honest broker, representing a completely different point of view, who questions “Why?” can do wonders for your thought processes if you are drilling down to the center of your beliefs. 

Well, up until the point you want to slap him…

An attractive, intense and relatively conservative man, he spent a portion of his career in the cockpit of military jets as a weapons system officer.  Fairly messy divorce, with the ex-wife moving his kids to the east coast.  He left town a couple of years ago to get a job on out there, closer to his three teenaged children.

HotStuff:  Hey, daisyfae!  How goes it?

daisyfae:  Life is good!  How are things out east?

HotStuff:  Pretty good!  Building a house, closer to where the kids are.  Haven’t missed the associated yard work for the past four years, so it will be an adjustment.  How’s your collection of boy toys coming along?  Do you have a complete set?

daisyfae:  Entertaining, to say the least.  Two new ones since we last talked.  One?  About 60 miles east, and the other lives about 60 miles south!

HotStuff:  You don’t like those boys too close, do you?  Same town does have advantages, though.

daisyfae:  i get cranky when they get too close.  They get all up in my bidness and want to actually get to know me…  That’s when it stops being fun – for everyone involved.  Geography is my friend!  You still seeing that gal who works back here?

HotStuff:  Yes.  And we’re reaching a decision point soon.  The distance is making it tough.

daisyfae:  Committment is hard, but apparently can be worth the effort. So i’ve been told.   i hope it works out for you!

HotStuff:  Too bad I can’t wargame this…

daisyfae:  You can flow chart it.  Analysis of Alternatives.  Eventually, you can at least identify the options you can’t live with, and perhaps a few paths that get you closer to where you want to be.  But that relationship crap is smelly – people are the worst kind of unknowns.

HotStuff:  You aren’t serious, are you?  Flow charting won’t work with relationships.  It just gives you an excuse to get out.  It is only as good as your assumptions, so really all you end up doing is picking your answer and rationalizing it with science.

daisyfae:  i usually just work through a range of “best case”, “worst case” and “probable case” scenarios.  Until i get bored, or realize “Nah, i really don’t want to do that…” and quit.   You’re right, though.  It just provides pretense of logic.

HotStuff:  Wargaming. That’s far more rigorous!  Now, I just need to look up the parameters for a standard woman…

Li’l Squirt…

Last Sunday, after my day of excavations at Mom’s house, i was post-processing the event with my children, and my daughter’s boyfriend, Z.  Standing outside the garage, chilly and overcast midwest midnight, smoking cigarettes while the dog tried his best to trip us all with his leash…

daisyfae:  It’s so hard to see her hurt that we don’t want boxes and boxes of glassware.  We don’t need it.  She’s got so many “collectible” glasses from the 70’s – given away as gas station premiums.  She’s even got a set of Apollo tumblers!

The Girl:  Hey, those could be cool.  Did you take them?

daisyfae:  No.  But i can look next week.

The Girl:  Wow, that was from before you were born!  I wasn’t even an egg then!

daisyfae:  I was born then, in 1962.  So i was just a kid.  Your dad was older, and remembers it better… 

The Girl:  So I was at least a sperm.

daisyfae:  Not really –  The sperm that became you was “fresh” in 1986.  Sperm kind of dies off and regenerates. 

The Boy:  It also could have been squirted out.  Knuckle children. 

daisyfae: [spit take]

The folks at ThinkGeek do it again...

 image from here, where lots of plush microbes are available!

Pasteurized….

i don’t get sick.  Seriously, i have – for reasons unknown to me – developed the immune system of a cockroach during the course of my life.  In the past ten years, i can COUNT the number of times i’ve been sick.  A bout with strep 10 years ago, a few rounds of the pesky 24-hour stomach virus (one delightfully timed to coincide with Girl Scout Cookie deliveries).  Mononucleosis, contracted in the Cambodian jungle trip in 2006 (initially mistaken for Malaria).

Head colds?  Rare.  Maybe twice.  That was until this season.  i have had the same fucking cold – passed to others for mutation prior to return to my nasal cavities – THREE times.  It’s a minor annoyance, and costs me about $10 in Kleenex each time.  But i’m sick of it.  Since November, my head has been weighed down with extraneous lugubrious secretions and i can’t stand it…

Friday night, returning from a happy hour drunk fest work, both of my children were home.  i made the mistake of whining about being sick, as i curled up under a blanket in the living room.

The Boy:  Wow.  She’s really starting to fall apart…

The Girl:  Really.  Do you think it’s time we had her put down?

The Boy:  Yeah… starting to get pathetic, isn’t she?

daisyfae:  Hey!  It’s a fucking cold!  But you know i don’t get sick… how many times have you seen me sick?

The Girl:  Should we take her for a ride in the country?

The Boy:  C’mon, Mom!  It’ll be nice!  We’ll take you out to a field, where you can frolic around with a lot of other middle-aged women…

My misplaced child…

i suppose it’s possible that i actually had three, and forgot where i put the last one.  i mean, those years are pretty much a blur, with working full time, going to grad school at night and caring for my two elder-sprogs…

If i DID misplace one?  i think i found him via the good folks at Failblog.  See if you can find my potentially misplaced child below…

 

Been a bit delinquent in actual writing lately.  Final weekend of the show, and i expect to get my life back shortly.  Nearly sold out opening weekend, and an exuberant sell out crowd last night.  Despite the fact that She continued to fuck up, we got our first standing ovation.  More importantly?  They laughed their asses off throughout.  Two more to go…

Malaprop du Jour

As if i didn’t have enough going on at the moment, i endured another round with Buzzy McTwatprobe this afternoon*.  In my continued quest to hang onto my girlbits, supplied as OEM** parts, it was off for another ultrasound.  During the pre-procedure preparation, the technician went over my medical history, asking questions about pregnancies, birth control and surgeries.

While listing my hoo hoo-related operations, i told her of the sterilization*** procedure i embraced in 1999.  Having spent enough time with medical professionals over the last decade to earn an honorary MD, i’m pretty clinical in such matters, listing my procedures by title and date (in reverse chronological order). 

daisyfae:  Two C-sections, 1986 and 1988.  Tubal Ligation, 1999….

Twat Tech [interrupting]:  Hold on, that was “Tubal Litigation“?

daisyfae:  Yes.  Exactly…

* Despite rampant urban legends to the contrary, she did not, in fact, find testicles. Large, brass or otherwise…

** “OEM” = “Original Equipment Manufacturer” for the non-motorhead reader.

*** Tubal Ligation, known as ‘having the tubes tied”.  Not willing to leave it to chance, i not only asked for them to be tied, i asked my doc to “cut, tie, clamp, cauterize, staple and superglue the god damned things shut”.