Archive for April, 2009

Bad Joke, Darling

Posted in Uncategorized on April 28, 2009 by tom


Just so you know, I think the "prom pictures" you enclosed are wrong.  These show a beautiful young woman, whereas T is like eight now.  I just saw her not too long ago and she was like four, I think.  It was at that going away party before you moved to Colorado.  We were in the backyard, smoking, and T had found a bird feather.  She kept running up to me, and tickling my leg.  I acted all scared and freaked-out.  She'd giggle and run away.  She did that probably 20 times, and her giggles were the most precious song that day. 

I was there with the Devilbitch, although she wasn't the Devilbitch then.  We were in the kitchen, and your husband  came up to us, and he told us we should get married and come out west to visit you.  That never happened.  Neither part, honestly.  I kissed you goodbye that day, and rode away with her.  She and I broke up badly, then I fell apart on my own.  You didn't stay in Colorado too long before South Dakota called you there.  Of all the Canadian provinces, I joked, South Dakota is the least exciting.  I'm sure it's more exciting now.

Still, though, there's no way the girl pictured is T, because that would make her around 16 and all grown up, and you and I both know that couldn't be true.  You were just pregnant with her.  I accidentally bumped one of your enlarged breasts in the elevator, and you smacked me.  No way that's the same kid.  Then again, I remember sitting in Gamble's with you.  We were having one of our thousand lunches together, nothing special: you'd produced the morning show, and I'd voiced a couple spots, and was getting ready for my show.  It was Monday April 19, 1993–burger special day, like any Monday.  You'd gotten the grouper fingers–does T love those? Lord knows you ate enough when you were pregnant with her–and I'd gotten the patty melt.  Gamble's had a great patty melt.  We were eating, and the TV was on CNN.  Somebody said, "Oh, shit," and we looked up.  The Branch Davidian compound was burning, a wind-whipped inferno.  No way people were living through that.  You lost your appetite.  I finished my burger in silence. 

It's funny how you remember things.  I guess that was before my lost decade began in earnest.  Maybe that's why I remember it.

One day, we had a picnic in the bed of my truck.  A DC-10 flew through a low cloud, and unzipped it.  Damnedest thing.  I've only seen that a few times, but that one was with you.  I think the C-130 flying safety bassets were out that day too, lumbering across the sky with their big black noses sniffing for drugs or survivors.

And T was inside you then, an unknown quantity.  Now?

Could it be that long ago we sat outside Fat Jacques, drinking Tanqueray and talking? You'd driven HIM crazy–hah! That was the greatest nickname for an omnipresent and annoying coworker–HIM.  Anyway, HIM was struck agog by your ultra-short cutoffs and long legs.  You and I were meeting for the first time, catching up as if we'd known each other forever.  Maybe in a different forever, Darling.  Maybe. 

Tempus freaking fugit, E.  We worked for Drew, and he's passed away.  We ate and drank copiously at Gamble's, and Brophy's gone.  In one day, we worked for Drew, drank at Gamble's, and went to the Comedy Corner in Tampa to see Richard Jeni, and HE's gone.  I've changed over the years.  We've kept in touch sporadically.  I had a long, plummeting dive into a truly bad place, then I worked my way out.  I almost died again Christmas before last, but I beat that.  CBS has laid me off twice, but I have a new job I really like.  Tempus freaking fugit. 

Seriously, Darling, T is beautiful, just like her mother.  She looks healthy and happy and smart.  The tundra life has been good to her.  You should be proud.  I hope T had a wonderful prom, a beautiful, magical evening, and that the guy with the hat realizes that hats like that look dopey unless you're Marcello Mastroianni, and that Marcello is dead (and would not have been in South Dakota anyway).

Then again, I had a brown fedora when I was 17 too, so I can't really count points off. 

But I looked cool.  

Again, nice try putting that beautiful young woman in the red dress, and telling me it was T.  Funny joke.  Ridiculously bad joke, that time thing, eh?

Love and miss you.



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Ready with your rimshots: a joke from Jane

Posted in Uncategorized on April 27, 2009 by tom


A lady found out her dog could hardly hear, so she took it to the veterinarian. He found that the problem was hair in its ears. He cleaned both ears and the dog could hear fine. The vet then proceeded to tell the lady that if she wanted to keep this from recurring she should go
to the store and get some "Nair" hair remover and rub it in the dog's ears once a month.

The lady goes to the drug store and gets some "Nair" hair remover. 

At the register the druggist tells her, "If you're going to use this under your arms don't use deodorant for a few days." 

The lady says: "I'm not using it under my arms."

The druggist says: "If you're using it on your legs don't shave for a couple of days." 

The lady says: "I'm not using it on my legs either; if you must know, I'm using it on my schnauzer." 

The druggist says: "Stay off your bicycle for a week."

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Saturday Night Odd Thought Pot Pie

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on April 26, 2009 by tom

I apologize for lack of coherent narrative, but this is just a collection of thoughtlets I've had today.  Not enough for a good post on any of them, but mix them up with some mushroom soup, and they might make a mental casserole.  Probably not, but I'm an optimist. 😉

Lies told to children:

  • If you sprinkle salt on a bird's tail, it won't be able to fly.
  • Love bugs are stuck together with peanut butter.
  • Moths are just ugly butterflies, too ashamed to come out except at night.

Okay, the first two were told by actual grown-ups; the thing about the moths and butterflies? That was me.  Puddin's four year-old was freaking out about a moth, so I told him it was just a butterfly with an inferiority complex.  They're both order Lepidoptera, so it wasn't that bad of a lie.  Despite my fossil-like age, I don't consider myself a card-carrying grown-up, so I doubt my lie will end up part of standard parental vernacular. 

As far as the bird thing…well, good luck getting close enough to a bird to put salt on its tail.  I didn't figure out this little ruse until I was 30.  Not that I ever even tried to sprinkle salt on a bird's tail, either as a tot or a 30 year-old. 

Lovebugs and peanut butter, on the other hand, probably came about because parents are loathe to use verbiage like "Well, child, these bugs copulate their entire adult lives."  When presented with bugs flying around, perpetually joined at the genitals, I think "peanut butter" is easier for kids to fathom.  Good Lord, you might scare kids off of sex forever, in fear that they'll end up permadoinked.  Still, I wonder how many dumb kids have tried to find the peanut butter between the two lovebugs. 

These things popped into my head because we Floridians are having our semi-annual lovebug clearance.  On my break this morning, the horny little blighters were swarming, but they were all singles: stag lovebugs.  There were also birds, and I was lamenting that other animals don't eat lovebugs, because lovebugs taste bad. 

No, I've never tasted lovebugs–I'd expect them to taste vaguely peanut buttery for some reason ;-)–but they are very acidic, to the point that their carcasses can destroy automotive paint. 

I will say this, though: defrosting mosquitos smell like dollar movie theater popcorn "butter."

Bet you didn't think you'd read that when you awoke today.

Two words bug me: coup and stroke.  I'm speaking of stroke in the "Oh, shit! Irving just had a–" sense.  We should change these words to something worse sounding.  "If you stroke the pretty bird, it will coo."  They sound so pleasant and happy.  Make them more sinister.  "As a result of the attempted phlegm, Irving suffered borborygmus." I'm just saying.

Finally, among all of entries I've read this week, this death sounds the most horrible:

Biography for
Roy Kinnear

Date of Death

20 September 1988, Madrid, Spain (broke his pelvis after falling from a horse and subsequently bled to death)

Sorry, but you will never find that cause of death in my obituary.  First off, it's impossible to fall from a horse if you never get on a horse.  I don't trust any animal that would allow my fat-ass to climb atop it (not after the Devilbitch, anyway. (har!)).  Second, if they told me I'd broken my pelvis, I'd probably laugh myself to death before I bled out.  As I've mentioned, that word always makes me giggle.  Knowing me, though, I'll probably end up with a horribly embarrassing death.  Something like, "Exploded from too much stomach acid, caused by accidentally ingesting love bugs while trying to put salt on a bird's tail."

That, or "Shot to death by a moth."

Happy Sunday.  

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Saturday Morning Dream Theater

Posted in Uncategorized on April 25, 2009 by tom

Even without NyQuil or spicy food, the weird dream parade continues.  Once again, I was on an X-Files assignment, this time with a non-Jodi Foster Jodi Foster as my Scully.  We were supposed to investigate a series of people jumping inexplicably from rooftops, and we had a tip that one was taking place downtown.


This was no downtown I’ve ever seen, to be honest.  It was partly like the Central Ave arts district in St Pete, a little like Adams St Commons in Tallahassee, and a bit more like Diagon Alley from the Harry Potter films.  Anyway, I needed cash first, so I stopped by work to access the NCNB ATM.  I stuck in my card, then noticed a thick wad of bills already in the cash dispenser slot.  I unwedged them, and it was a bunch of fives with a few hundreds interspersed.  Yay.  I took the money, then decided that—for appearances sake—I should withdraw $20 of my own.  Even in my dreams, I’m worried about plausible deniability.  I’m a devious sumbitch.  I had to ask my friend Cathy something, but she was on a difficult call.  Thus, I killed some time over in the aquarium area (and don’t all workplaces have giant aquariums? (aquaria?)).


My pseudo-Jodi Scully and I made our way to the outdoor café across the street from where the jumper was supposed to go splat.  We ordered strong Cuban coffees, and watched as a person dressed in a giant Mr Bill costume made his or her way to the roof edge.  I looked at Jodi/Scully.  She looked at me, took a bite of her guava pastry, and shrugged.  Across the street, Mr Bill costume person jumped, falling to his/her death.  The giant Mr Bill head cracked, although nothing came out of it.  I took a bite of my guava pastry, and shrugged back, knowing we’d have to wait for the crime lab to show up and process the scene. 


I think my subconscious is telling me I need to go to a Cuban store and get a guava pastry.  Yum to the O. 


Tonight, I shall ingest both NyQuil and something really spicy, just to see if I can be in the room when Bones (probably played by Linda Hunt) does the autopsy.


Weird-ass dreams.

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TomFriday Foto Update

Posted in Uncategorized on April 22, 2009 by tom

Since Wednesday is my Friday, and my weekend has now begun, I need to share a couple photos.

First off, for Brown Suga:

Suga, you said Wind's nose (as an elegant tuxedo) is supposed to be peenk.  As you can see, it's black, with a little patch of white fur beneath, as if he'd been doing lines and left a little blow.  I appreciate your viewpoint, but the guy even has black ear hair.  For a cat, he can accesorize like a mutha.

Second, we've been discussing workplace toys.  I mentioned my Spongebob doll and origami pterodactyl, (the latter of which sounds like a muscle in which House would diagnose sarcoidosis).  I also have the lovely magnetic rubber beaver sign Arbed sent me all the way from Canada:

Like the flag on a military base, I begin my day by mounting the beaver

onto my drawer.  At the end of each day, I carefully stuff my beaver

back into the drawer.  It's a tradition.  (gosh, I don't know why those lines ended like that. 😉 )

So today, work-wife Aimee and I combined forces to create the ultimate workplace toy: a movable plastic skeleton/Xanax dispenser:

This masterpiece, as modeled by work-wife Aimee, is from a Jeff Dunham routine, Achmed the Dead Terrorist.  The arms move, and the Xanax is a .5 mg.


Speaking of work, my oft-mentioned partner-in-mayhem and dear friend, Ann Marie, is moving away.  :-(  Words cannot describe how much this sucks.  I'll miss you, sugarbooger:

True story: Ann Marie absolutely hated the beaver.  She refused to touch it under any circumstances.  "I'm NOT touching a beaver!" she'd admonish.  She went on vacation once, and had the beaver
kidnapped.  She got Kellee, Junior Grade, to help her.  There was a ransom note, saying that I had to stand up, put my hands on my hips, and say–projecting in a theater voice–"I miss my beaver! I really need it back, please." I did, and Kellee, JG, brought it back.  It was a memory I'll always treasure.  That, and all the great lunches and hugs.

Finally, one more from the series, "Happy, quiet, Washington State locations I wish I could go when I'm stressed."

, Enjoy your Tomweekend.  🙂

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Wednesday Schtuff

Posted in Uncategorized on April 22, 2009 by tom
  • Kelly, Senior Grade, and I developed new words on 4/20, to recognize Hitler’s birthday. (Isn’t that why everybody was smoking weed on 4/20? Because if Hitler had, maybe he would have lightened up a bit?)
  • Hitlery: adj, annoying and irritable, histrionic.  “Jeezus, Bob.  Your kid got a B.  It’s not like he failed.  Stop being so hitlery.”
  • Hitlerally: adv.  “Being a jerk, Bob railed hitlerally at his Little League team following their loss.”
  • One of my coworkers is talking about the ultimate cat fuel recipe: buy frozen rats at the pet food store, thaw them out in the oven, then frappe.  “Best served warm.”
  • I’m convinced Wind and Ana-Sofia Vargas would turn up their black and pink noses, respectively, at this rat frappe.  They only like Meow Mix brand cat fuel.  The Original flavor, too, by God.  None of those frou-frou flavors like “seafood medley,” “corned beef and catnip,” or “mandarin, ginger, coconut, and mackerel.” 
  • I’m not really obsessive or anything, but I touch certain things ritually.  (note: I’m not touching myself ritually, at least not at work J)  For example, when I get out of my truck, I have to pat it twice.  This started because I had a thing with the door not closing all the way, so the dome light would stay on and kill the battery.  That issue has been fixed, but I still pat the truck twice, even if I have to switch all my grocery bags to one hand to do it.  It’s my way of thanking the truck for delivering me safely to my destination.
  • Also, when I worked in the other office here, I’d pat this one plant twice on my way in from break, but only then.  When I arrived and departed, I left the plant unpatted.  In this office, I touch the no-smoking sign once like some sort of healthy mezuzah. 
  • The irony is that I’ll touch the no-smoking sign on my way back in from smoking.
  • People in the new office are big on toys.
  • No, not that kind of toys. (at least not that I’ve seen (although that would explain their generally happy mood))
  • I had no work toys.  This was pointed out to me, though not in a hitlery fashion, more sympathetically.  I came in two days ago, and there was a large, rather grungy stuffed Spongebob Squarepants doll on my desk, and an origami pterodactyl on my computer. 
  • I felt loved.
  • As are you.  Happy Tom-Friday/Wednesday.

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Things on Tuesday

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on April 21, 2009 by tom


  • Two coworkers discussing their hernias and macular degeneration, loudly and before I’ve had breakfast.
  • Trying to get used to waking up at 0525 every morning (ten hours earlier than I did ten days ago).
  • Having to pay bills when I’d rather do something more enjoyable with my money.
  • Rude neighbors with big woofers playing bad dance music.
  • Yuck.  I did NOT want to hear about this lady’s intestines extruding through her belly button.  Gah.



  • Venus, the crescent moon, and Jupiter making a tic-tac-toe line in the early morning sky.
  • Gravy
  • Gorgeous weather.
  • Figuring out what I’m supposed to be doing a bit more every day.
  • My post-work, three hour mega-nap.
  • There’s really not much happening at work the first hour, so I can ease into my day.
  • As always, ten fingers, ten toes, one belly button, and a steady pulse.

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