Tuesday, February 28, 2006

multiple tales of left thumb atrocities

Tale I
1998 – Chicago
While hurrying to pack a bag for a weekend trip, Left Thumb was maliciously attacked by a falling pink razor from the second shelf of the bathroom cabinet. The all-too-impenetrable plastic protector was not secure, and flew off the sharp predator in a split-second following. Like the bolt of a preying jaguar, the razor leaped as I instinctively tried to catch it with my hand, my left hand. Heaven forbid this ferocious razor hit the floor; what would I do then?! Out of thoughtless instinct, my right hand then reached out to cup the flailing razor into my left hand, when the razor, desperate for freedom, turned over in brutal fashion. In an ironic twist, my right hand pressed the blood-thirsty razor face down into the flesh of…that’s right…Left Thumb. To this day, I have a memoir, a token, or in other words, a bit of a nasty scar just below Left Thumb’s Thumbnail... the size of a pitiful squished lentil bean.

Tale II
2000 – Chicago
3 a.m. and I can’t sleep. Might as well do the dishes. I fill the sink with soapy, hot water and gently, gently, place some large glasses in the sink to wash. As I’m scrubbing, my mind wanders through a maze of semi-conscious notions as I barely begin to register that the water is pink. I have not yet registered any pain as I turn the glass in my right hand over to find the glass I'm holding has a broken edge, a v-shaped jaggedy thumb killer. The glass is vertically broken from its top to its base. I turn my left hand over, the hand holding the sponge, to find that a heart-shaped portion of the skin that covers the inside of Left Thumb’s knuckle is hanging on by a few strands of flesh. I raked poor Left Thumb right over and across the jaggedy edge of that glass. I spend the next hour with Left Thumb held tightly with a dish towel above my head to get it to stop bleeding. Had I insurance, I’m sure stitches would be appropriate. I make a bewildered 4 a.m. phone call to the fire department wondering if it’s a bad thing that it hasn’t stopped bleeding yet. Moral: This tale is especially good for people who have considered living alone. Living by yourself is a great idea provided you don’t buy cheap glasses or have trouble sleeping at night. Incidentally, from this gruesome episode there remains a slightly raised kidney-shaped scar, palm side, over Left Thumb’s knuckle.

Tale III

Feb 2006 – Boston
Meet Red Thumb. That’s not a made-up insensitive reference to Native Americans, it’s actually my thumb…that’s right…Left Thumb. Left Thumb became Red Thumb when I poured boiling, scalding hot water over my hand while trying to make herbal tea for the guests in my living room on a cold Sabbath eve. Thanks to an obliging bag of frozen corn, cold running water administered by my friend Daryl, and the subsequent producing of a local cable telethon, “Save Red Thumb,” providing cash for the purchase of Target-brand Neosporin (thanks for calling, Mom), I’m happy to report that Red Thumb is healing quite well, with little blistering, and very few complications. Red Thumb thanks you for your support.

All these things happening to one thumb. One more nasty thumb injury, and I’m fielding a call from the MCATD (the Massachusetts Center Against Thumb Discrimination) wanting to know why I don’t treat all my thumbs with the same amount of abuse.

It is not intentional! I can’t explain it! Won’t anyone believe me?!

Friday, February 24, 2006

careful dear, the lsd is showing

an actual phone conversation at work today...

Me: Good afternoon, Vice President "X’s" office?

Her: Yes, I tried to send an email to somebody at the school, and I’m not sure if they got it?

[pregnant pause]

Me: Okay?

Her: Well, what I need to know is, are your email addresses case-sensitive, because I didn’t capitalize the name.

Me: Oh, I see. I believe they are.

Her: But you don’t know for sure.


Me: Um….I’m pretty sure. Who are you trying to reach, ma’am?

Her: Rafael in the Costume Shop?

Me: Okay, let me look up his information on the directory, one second…

Her: Well, I’ve got his information, so you don’t need to do that.

Me: All right. How can I help you then?

Her: I just need to know if your email addresses are case-sensitive or not!

Me: I believe they are.

Her: But you don’t know for sure.

Me: [Echo Echo?!] Okay, I'm looking at the directory, and all the email addresses here seem to be in initial caps.

Her: No, that can't be right, because I have one here that's all lower case.

Me: [I need to go somewhere else now.] Uh-hunh. Well you could always send the email again and this time capitalize the first initials? See if it works?

Her: Well I would think if it didn’t get work, my internet service provider would have notified me.

Me: [oh sweet buddha, make it stop]…Yes, I imagine that’s true.


Her: I’m trying to confirm an appointment.

[another pause as I search for response]

Me: Well…

Her: Don't you have a cell number for him?

Me: [okay, now I'm actually enjoying this] Oh, I'm afraid I don’t. This is the Office of Administration and Finance. We mainly handle upper division management, legal and other corporate issues.

Her: Yes, I know that. You’re a central office. I would think that you’d have that information.

Me: [Oops! Oh, I'm so blind. There it is, right there on speed-dial! "VP A", "VP B, "Rafael Cell", "VP C"...] Well, I’m sorry I don’t have that information. Perhaps you can try the main Costume Shop number?

Her: No, that won’t help me.

Me: [HAVE YOU CONSIDERED REHAB?] Ohhhkay. In that case, ma’am, I’d try and re-send the email this time only using initial caps.

Her: No, that won’t help me either. Thank you!


This was a Friday highlight. I’m still laughing.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

some valentine-like mutterings (which is all i'm afraid i can muster)

hi folks,
so i know this is really the cheap way out but in honor of valentines day and all, i thought i'd share some of my chat dialogue i had with my sister, Amanda, earlier today.

"Amanda and me on Valentines Day"


me: oh crap...yeah thanks
i hate this day so bad

Amanda: oh honey no.

me: sorry i do

Amanda: yes

me: well...is you doing something with yer hubby toonight?

Amanda: he works until around 10

me: ahhhh....romance

Amanda: but I did buy us laser tag to play around our apartment.

me: hahahahah!!!!!
oh the visual

Amanda: yes... naked
hah! just kidding!

me: no no no noooooooooooo!!!!!

Amanda: don't visualize!!!!!!!!!!!!!

me: too late

Amanda: you visualized

me: yep

Amanda: you pervert

me: you're the one who bought the laser tag.

"More Amanda and me on Valentines Day"

Amanda: so.. things are crappy for me too...

me: i'm misery. you're company. i love you.

Amanda: well now that's a valentine if I've ever heard one

me: totally. actually i saw the headline for an article that was talking about how the anti-valentine market was booming
so sad
we're all just so bitter
and broken

Amanda: love stinks

me: and ugly

Amanda: that reminds me of that Seinfeld where Jerry and Elaine are talking about dating
Jerry asks Elaine what percentage of the population is datable
she says 30%
he says, "No way, it's like 4-6 percent!"
and she says, "Then how are all these people getting together?"
and he says, "Alcohol."

me: hahahahhah! I can see his face when he delivers the punchline.
i may have to blog that

Amanda: I heart Jerry Seinfeld

"Amanda and me on the happiness factor and its ratio to how well you type"

Amanda: and it will be a glorious day

me: in glorious place
in A glorious plae...OH SHOOT.

Amanda: sound it out...
good grief.
I really feel sorry for you..

me: i don't wanna live anymore

Amanda: good luck finding a valentine with YOUR lack of typing skills!

me: i loaf you, argentine!
that's why i'm alone!

Amanda: honey, listen
someday a certain special someone is going to want to see how many words you can type a minute--ACCURATELY
and you don't want to watch him walk away, do you?

me: no

Amanda: then type, dammit!!! Type like the wind!! Don't stop until you've done it!!!

me: but i caaaaaaan't!!!

Amanda: losers say can't!!
are you a loser!?

me: uh...

Amanda: (interlude: can you believe how long this conversation has lasted?)

Finally, "Amanda and me brainstorm"

me: Amanda, what should I write a play about?

Amanda: I still think you should do something with mom's idea

me: huh?

Amanda: the musical about being a therapist

me: oh
i'm trying to think of a catchy title...
Fix It Yourself, Moron!
The 50-Minute Me Fest
It's Always About You (a love ballad)

Amanda: The Tramp Slept with My Brother dance number

me: Doormat Disco

Amanda: hah!
Who Said That?: Skitzy's Sonnet
so many possibilities....

me: Sybil is My Soul Sister - a duet

Amanda: haha!

me: okay,...I'm saving this chat.
good material here

Thursday, February 09, 2006

junior high

Here's a little Game...
Which Of These Is The Most Pathetic? (cue applause track)

The following five (5) scenarios are actual events taken from Mary’s junior high years. These years represent the emotional equivalent to passing seven kidney stones at once while listening to a live recording of Barry Manilow, all without anesthetic, five days a week for 36 weeks. Your job is to pick which scenario ranked highest on our Pathetic Meter®.

Grand prize winner receives a complimentary urine odor-ridding recipe from StinkyPets.com

Let’s Play!

1) In 1987, after finishing her sack lunch in the library, by herself, just her lunch, and her book, and her notebook filled with weepy confessions of acute loneliness, Mary was confronted by Derek Kumugai, Trent Suntrapak, and Brian Marklund (ask me if I care that I’m using their actual names) near the geography reading section and proceeded to “fake” pick up on her while the rest of the guys watched from a music booth to see if she’d fall for it. This initial experience was to be repeated at random throughout the remainder of the school year, particularly in public places where onlookers could laugh at all the colorful “pickup” lines used by these just silly boys out for a good time. Mary’s favorite was the New Year’s Eve Party she was invited to (because the girl’s parents made her invite the whole class) and at midnight Trent tried to kiss her on the dance floor, pursuant to a dare.

2) Earlier that year, Daniella Hicks (ask me if I care that I’m using her real name), her one-and-only friend for the first few months of 7th grade, asked Mary to play a game of twenty questions which ended with the correct answer: “Yes, I do want you to move out of the locker we’ve been sharing, because I can’t be your friend anymore.” Daniella then handed her a note (written by Adrienne She Is So Lucky I Can’t Remember Her Last Name) explaining on behalf of the spineless Daniella that Mary was just too different, and that Mary needed to find friends more like Mary. Mary then went home that day and read the 3-page note over and over trying to figure out what she’d done wrong, and cried a lot.

3) After the event noted in Scenario #2, Mary went to befriend the deaf and hearing impaired kids, where she tried hard to learn ASL. After a short while, they ditched her too.

4) Mary became “Hairy Mary” to the girls, immediately after Hillary and Kristen noticed the abundant blond hair on Mary’s legs during Physical Education class. Hillary and Kristen didn’t seem to care that Mary’s Mom wouldn’t allow her to shave her legs until 8th grade.

5) Finally, we have the 8th Grade Graduation Dance. The one where Mary found the perfect dress, got the perfect red pumps, styled a perfect curly side ponytail which according to photographs resembled a large furry rodent that had attached itself to the side of her face, put on her new pink lipstick, and showed up at the gym ready to forget the past two years and have a good time. The DJ announced the last slow song, and Mary, who had been hoping all night to be asked to dance, got tired of waiting, mustered up all the courage she had, and asked Brian to dance.

Mary: Brian? (He pretends not to hear.) BRIAN!

(Brian turns around)
Do you wanna dance with me?

Brian: No.

Mary: Kay.

(Mary runs to the bathroom and cries till the end of the dance until her mother and father pick her up in the minivan.)

Mom: Hi, pretty girl!

Father: Well how did it go, kid?

[Mary breaks into more sobs]

Mom: Oh, I’d just like to line up all those damn kids and shoot ‘em one by one!

Father: It’s okay, honey.


There you have it folks. Five choices. Which is the Most Pathetic? Cast in your vote today.

[Postface: You know, when I started out to draft this post, I originally thought it would be way funnier than it turned out to be. Because, come on, wasn't junior high the Black Period for most people? I was surprised at how truly awful and sad it is when it's all there written out.

But I decided to post it anyway, because it's real, it's me, (or what used to be me) and maybe some other social reject who is all grown up now will feel a bit less isolated in their tragic pre-pubescent memories.]

i guess this means i never get to have the domain "stinky pets" dot com - dangit.


Tuesday, February 07, 2006

mary unburdens herself

Remember when I said I was going to introduce new topics to my blog, and one of those topics was the chronic use of misnomers when I’m talking to smart people?

I Give You Exhibit “A”

I was asked to give the closing prayer in sacrament meeting this last Sunday. After I sat down I started to question a word I used in my prayer, then quickly dismissed the thought, thinking that if it were a mistake to use the word someone would have told me. And no one told me.

The phrase I used was something to the effect of: “please help us exonerate the Savior by being…etc., etc.,”

Oohhhh! I’m sorry.
The correct answer is: What is EXEMPLIFY? E-x-e-m-p-l-i-f-y.

Then today, and this is so not a coincidence mind you, I’m reading an article for work which used “exonerate” in its correct context, and I could not stop laughing. My boss commented that the article was not intended to be humorous. And then I explained myself and the unfortunate events of last Sunday.

At the podium, people! Misnomer AMPLIFIED by temperamental microphone!

I heard the Bishop’s “Amen” afterward. Bishop! Are you sure about that? Do you agree with me, that we need to “relieve” the Savior “of his responsibilities or obligations”*** by…etc., etc.,?! No. I don’t think so. No “Amen” for you.

You better believe that ravenous fasters were spitting out their 3 p.m. dinners as they recounted Mary, The Exonerator, in between bites.

Ah well. These things keep me fumble.
***Webster's Ninth Ed.

Friday, February 03, 2006

his name is Mister

Mister likes Music!

Mister likes Jamba!

Mister likes his feet!

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

a deeper look into...something.

What can you tell about a person based on the contents in their refridgerator?
The condition of their desk?
The style and/or color of their bed sheets?

I’m not sure, but I’ll bet real money it’s not half so enlightening as taking a look at what’s in their Netflix queue! (Am I right or am I totally right?)

With that, I offer you the list of what is now in my Netflix queue. Feel free to look at this list as a whole or in part, as one big Mary metaphor, or multiple Mary layers, movies to watch if you want to be like me, or absolutely nothing whatever. I vote for nothing whatever.

(clear throat)


Get ready to believe. Olivia Newton John will tell you straight. We are magic.

Cool Hand Luke
This is listed as a “Classic”. I definitely recognized the artistic merit of it, but it just left me feeling icky. But that doesn't really matter, because Paul Newman is unbelievably gorgeous. Dirty and Sweaty and Misunderstood and stuff.

Bedknobs & Broomsticks
Traguna. Macoytees. Trecorum. Satis Dee.


The Triplets of Belleville
One of those where I can’t believe I haven’t seen it yet.

Wait Until Dark
Audrey Hepburn, blind, suspenseful classic, saw the play never the movie.

American Mormon
I’m trying to be supportive of LDS “art”.

Peggy’s Pick.

Ladies in Lavender
Never seen it, love the women in it: Maggie Smith, Judi Dench.

Ian McKellan and Judi Dench. Point me to the wrong in this.

Mrs. Brown
You don’t even know what acting is until you’ve seen Dame Judi do her thing in this film. Holy cow.

BTW: At this blog, we have a love for Judi Dench. Not that you didn't see a pattern here. When you're old enough to leave this blog, you can love whomever you want. But so long as you live under THIS BLOG, AND YOU EAT AT THIS BLOG....

(translation: not yet out/Netflix can’t locate/ doesn’t have a copy yet)

The Shaggy Dog
Remember Chiffon?? Tommy Kirk? Fred McMurray? Anyone from old Disney Channel days? Anybody?

House, M.D. Season 2
This. Show. Is. Good. And I think T.V. is of the devil. So that's really saying something.

Sons of Provo
I’m trying to be supportive of LDS “art”. I’m seriously wanting to like at least one of these Excel films. Really.


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