Postponed, Due to Lack of Interest

I tried to bond with the O-Dog today. A little pre-maturely, perhaps.

O-Dog: I didn't understand Hannah's biography on Tara Lipinski. Who's Tara Lipinski?
Prego: A figure skater. Which one's Hannah?
O-Dog: The one with short hair and glasses.
Prego: Oh. She's cute. Don't you think she's cute?
O-Dog: I don't know. I don't like her.


Prego: Well, who do you think is the cutest girl in your class, then?
O-Dog: I don't KNOW!
Prego: Oh, you're not there yet?
O-Dog: Where?
Prego: You don't notice girls.

Here's the part that cracked me up inside...

"Notice girls? What do you mean, 'notice girls'? What's to notice? 'Oh. Look. She's doing her homework. Wow.'"

Granted, in about six years, he'll be drooling like a Pavlovian O-Dog, hiding his
"nerb *" as he goes to the chalkboard.

(*nerb: from the acronym NRB, for 'no reason boner.')

In the meantime, he could see no reason whatsoever to notice the fairers.

I thought of all the other lackluster things he'd be bound to notice... when he's not paying attention to b-cups, visible panty lines, freckles, that sexy little red mark on the back of the calf she gets after she's had her legs crossed for the past 38 minutes, bra straps, toothy and winsome smiles, stylish glasses, barrettes, hanes for hers, tasty beauty marks, come-hither glances...

Here, then, is a ho-hum list of "What's to notice...?"

"Oh look. She's watching Grey's Anatomy."
"Oh look. She's eating cobb salad with dressing on the side."
"Oh look. She didn't flush. She must have been on the phone with a friend when she shat."
"Oh look. A splattoo."
"Oh look. She's driving a Beetle"
"Oh look. She's texting while driving."
"Oh look. She's browsing the poetry aisle."
"Oh look. She ordered a multi-syllabic coffee beverage. With skim milk... f*cking up the whole queue this morning."
"Oh look. She subscribed to "Cooking Light."
"Oh look. She left make-up residue all over the sink."
"Oh look. She's pissed about 30 things and needs to let you know all about it. (29 of them are about you.)"
"Oh look. Mich Ultra."
"Oh look. She jogged her boobs away."
"Oh look. She has 13 cute car air-fresheners."
"Oh look. Her dog fits in her purse."
"Oh look. Liberal bumper stickers."
"Oh look. She's 'experimenting.'" (Oooh. That lacked foresight.)
"Oh look. She said 'Chai.'"
"Oh look. An Ani DiFranco CD."
"Oh look. She's giving us a play-by-play of her daily routine on facebook."
"Oh look. She owns the complete 'Sex in the City' DVDs."
"Oh look. She hates the three Stooges."
"Oh look. She doesn't 'get' sports."
"Oh look. She rides vintage bike and wears thrift store clothing."
"Oh look. She's vajazzled."

I could go on... but on the other hand, there are the sun dresses... hair tosses, arms akimbo, hips, lips, short hairstyles, long hairstyles... tennis...


Chain of Pain

A little word-play game I've been playing... a variation on the muscle-headed, menacing quote: "Two hits. Me hitting you. You hitting the floor."

A few years ago I added "... and the ambulance hitting fifty (mph) on the way to the hospital." One of my boys, J. Sales appreciated the humor, so we've been adding the "hits" lately. Let's see how many hits we can take it to:
  1. Me hitting you.
  2. You hitting the floor.
  3. The witnesses hitting 9-1-1 in horror.
  4. The paramedics hitting you up with an IV
  5. The ambulance hitting fifty on the way to the hospital.
  6. Your mom hitting her knees when she gets the news.
  7. The gurney hitting the emergency room door.
  8. The doctors hitting you up with reconstructive surgery.
  9. The newspapers hitting the stands with the story.
  10. The jello hitting your chin, because you won't be able to eat anything else for months.
  11. You hitting the remote to change the news channel showing showing your ass getting medical attention.
  12. Your family hitting your friends for cash at a benefit to cover your medical bills.
  13. The judge hitting his gavel, acquitting me, because you're a punk anyway.
  14. The hospital's collection agency hitting you up for the past due balance.
  15. Kids hitting it when they see your f***ed up face coming up the street.
  16. You, hitting yourself, saying "Why? WHY???"
And Prego, hitting the "Publish Post" button with this dumb, f***ing blog-post.


All Right, F*ck It.

I'm going to jump-start this b*tch, if I have to club a muse over the head. What's the point of being a writer if you don't write?


Last gasp?

I doubt I can resuscitate this thing, but anything's possible.


Sub-Zero Memories

5.  Going sledding in Delaware park with my family.  Sat there shivering... Dad notices the only thing I wore under my winter coat was a flimsy t-shirt... Dad says, "Jesus.  Are you stupid or something?" as he takes off his own sweater and puts it on me.

4.  Getting a ride home in my friends' cold mini-van and convulsing to the point that it felt my guts were being wrenched.  

3. Walking, sans gloves, with my brother to buy milk from a vending machine, circa 1977, and coming home crying.  This prompts my mother to rush me to the sink, running water over my hands and rubbing to re-vive my frozen digits.

2.  Being stranded in Buffalo General hospital during a snow storm eight years ago.  Cars are buried under a couple feet of snow.  While watching everyone dig their cars out, I get an epiphany - I turn to my brother and say, "Dude, we can take the subway home and walk to my apartment."  Probably the only time I found that subway handy.

1.  Walking home in 5th grade with a wad of Bazooka Joe chewing gum in my mouth.  I blew a sizable bubble... it falls from my lips - I watch the bubble fall and shatter on the sidewalk into a thousand pieces as if it were a light bulb.

Nothing more life-affirming than winter.