The phone rang this morning at 7:30, it's my mother. My Sister-In-Law has gone into labor. My niece will be born sometime today. I hear my 2 1/2 year old nephew laughing in the background.
My mom prompts my nephew, "Can you say, 'Hi Uncle Ty.'?"
My nephew screams, "Hi Umba Ty."
"Can you say, 'Baby'll be here soon'?"
"Babee swoon!"
"Can you say, 'Savannah'?" (My Niece's name to be.)
My Nephew shrieks, "Santa!!"
My Mom corrects her grandson, "No, not Santa! Savannah."
"Santa! Santa! Santa! Santa!"
She promises to keep me updated. I hang up the phone and go back to bed with visions of sugarplums dancing in my head.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Friday, June 23, 2006
Past Due
The phone jingles to life.
She doesn't want to answer. She won't answer it. She knows who it is. Just another Buttinsky calling to ask the most annoying question in the world. She doesn't want to hear the question again. She hears it at the supermarket. She hears it at playground. She even hears it in her sleep.
"When are you going to have this baby?"
She's trying. She really is; the due date was only two days ago. If she could have she would have had the baby three months ago when she felt like her stomach couldn't possibly balloon out any further. She'd been wrong.
The voice mail alert sounds on her phone. She picks it up and sees that there have been thirty six missed calls. She's willing to bet that over half are from her mother-in-law, and her obnoxious brother-in-law who doesn't just call to ask about the baby. No, that clown also calls to harass her about the baby's name. As if his name were any better. It sounds like a Slave Trader's name.
A deep rumbling grows from beneath her belly. A twinge of pain. Could this be it? Will she finally go into labor? Is this going to be the day that her daughter will breathe its first breath?
BBBBBBBRRRRRRAAAAAPPPPPTTTTT!
Even she is amazed by the power behind this particular bugle call. That was a fart that would rival even her husband's all too powerful emissions. That was one thing that she would miss about being pregnant; the completely excusable, and often times just wonderful flatulence. No one tells you about the accompanying gas in sex ed classes. She was going to miss it.
She heaves herself off of the couch, and waddles towards the kitchen. Her cravings aren't very specific. They conform to whatever groceries are currently in the fridge. She'd go shopping but she doesn't want to hear the question again.
Macaroni salad sounds good. She extends her arm, and simultaneously rips a juicy fart that she's pretty sure rattled the window panes. She can't help but smile a little.
The phone rings in the other room. She knows who's calling and she knows why they are calling but part of her wishes it was a neighbor calling to check on her.
"Are you alright? We just heard the loudest thunderclap, and it sounded like it came from your kitchen."
Then her husband's voice, slapping her a mental high five. "Good one, Honey."
She doesn't want to answer. She won't answer it. She knows who it is. Just another Buttinsky calling to ask the most annoying question in the world. She doesn't want to hear the question again. She hears it at the supermarket. She hears it at playground. She even hears it in her sleep.
"When are you going to have this baby?"
She's trying. She really is; the due date was only two days ago. If she could have she would have had the baby three months ago when she felt like her stomach couldn't possibly balloon out any further. She'd been wrong.
The voice mail alert sounds on her phone. She picks it up and sees that there have been thirty six missed calls. She's willing to bet that over half are from her mother-in-law, and her obnoxious brother-in-law who doesn't just call to ask about the baby. No, that clown also calls to harass her about the baby's name. As if his name were any better. It sounds like a Slave Trader's name.
A deep rumbling grows from beneath her belly. A twinge of pain. Could this be it? Will she finally go into labor? Is this going to be the day that her daughter will breathe its first breath?
BBBBBBBRRRRRRAAAAAPPPPPTTTTT!
Even she is amazed by the power behind this particular bugle call. That was a fart that would rival even her husband's all too powerful emissions. That was one thing that she would miss about being pregnant; the completely excusable, and often times just wonderful flatulence. No one tells you about the accompanying gas in sex ed classes. She was going to miss it.
She heaves herself off of the couch, and waddles towards the kitchen. Her cravings aren't very specific. They conform to whatever groceries are currently in the fridge. She'd go shopping but she doesn't want to hear the question again.
Macaroni salad sounds good. She extends her arm, and simultaneously rips a juicy fart that she's pretty sure rattled the window panes. She can't help but smile a little.
The phone rings in the other room. She knows who's calling and she knows why they are calling but part of her wishes it was a neighbor calling to check on her.
"Are you alright? We just heard the loudest thunderclap, and it sounded like it came from your kitchen."
Then her husband's voice, slapping her a mental high five. "Good one, Honey."
Thursday, June 22, 2006
7.5%?
Dude, that's even an awful tip in your country!
Service was good. Drinks were refilled. Food arrived on time. No mistakes!
You're just clueless! Have a good evening. Don't come back!
Service was good. Drinks were refilled. Food arrived on time. No mistakes!
You're just clueless! Have a good evening. Don't come back!
Friday, June 16, 2006
Man, you are one sick puppy!
No, not me.
Our puppy. In the course of 24 hours an upset stomach and a few accidents turned into vomiting, lethargy, and internal bleeding. Today has been a stressful day.
Emergency trip to the vet first thing in the morning.
Big Bill!
Second trip to the vet when Tootsie's conditioned worsened and she started to shoot blood out of her butt.
Hospitalization and, YEP, a Big Bill!
These past few months, since we adopted Tootsie, we have known the joys of owning, caring for and loving a dog. I forgot how much it enriches your life. Just recently with kenneling her while we left town, and now these Vet visits we have come to discover the other side of the coin.
Oh well, this too shall pass...
Our puppy. In the course of 24 hours an upset stomach and a few accidents turned into vomiting, lethargy, and internal bleeding. Today has been a stressful day.
Emergency trip to the vet first thing in the morning.
Big Bill!
Second trip to the vet when Tootsie's conditioned worsened and she started to shoot blood out of her butt.
Hospitalization and, YEP, a Big Bill!
These past few months, since we adopted Tootsie, we have known the joys of owning, caring for and loving a dog. I forgot how much it enriches your life. Just recently with kenneling her while we left town, and now these Vet visits we have come to discover the other side of the coin.
Oh well, this too shall pass...
Thursday, June 15, 2006
A Few Random Thoughts
Rejection Letters are better than looking up the Theatre Company's Website and seeing a list of accepted plays to be performed and realizing that yours isn't included. It might be a little more work but I don't think it's an unreasonable request to actually inform people that you will not be producing their work. Some theatre companies are courteous enough to reject you in written form. I wish everyone was so considerate.
Saw a trendy midget on the CTA today. He had designer jeans, a blazer, stubble, fancy sunglasses, and a Faux-Hawk. I couldn't tear my eyes away. A Faux-Hawk? Why is Bed-Head a fashion statement? Midget... Right. Now for those of you that know me, it's pretty obvious I've always had a strange facination with little people. As a child I was very short; often the shortest person in my class, age group, and/or circle of friends. More than once I asked God if he would just make me a little person. Then I'd pray for a girlfriend. A nintendo game. I also prayed for 'Peace In The Middle East'. I found a way to get the nintendo game. I eventually charmed a few ladies. Unfortunately the whole midget/dwarf thing was as about as reliable as the 'Middle East' prayer. I'm not sure why I wanted to be a little person. Maybe I figured if I was going to be small I might as well be really small and stand out... I bet that's it. I wanted to be different and at the time I hoped my stature would set me apart. Now, many years later, I'm still striving to be noticed, appreciated, remembered, what have you but I hope someday it'll be my accomplishments, and failures that people remember, not my love of midgets.
I find that when I usually complain about being fat, out of shape, broke, and generally clueless in today's society I usually am sitting on my couch drinking a beer and watching Maury. That's not gonna get the job done, my friends.
I need a new joke. Something fresh. Not fresh like early 90's fresh, but new and exciting. I'm told that I'm a funny guy but I feel like I never have a good joke when one would be most useful. I'd love to find a new joke.
Saw a trendy midget on the CTA today. He had designer jeans, a blazer, stubble, fancy sunglasses, and a Faux-Hawk. I couldn't tear my eyes away. A Faux-Hawk? Why is Bed-Head a fashion statement? Midget... Right. Now for those of you that know me, it's pretty obvious I've always had a strange facination with little people. As a child I was very short; often the shortest person in my class, age group, and/or circle of friends. More than once I asked God if he would just make me a little person. Then I'd pray for a girlfriend. A nintendo game. I also prayed for 'Peace In The Middle East'. I found a way to get the nintendo game. I eventually charmed a few ladies. Unfortunately the whole midget/dwarf thing was as about as reliable as the 'Middle East' prayer. I'm not sure why I wanted to be a little person. Maybe I figured if I was going to be small I might as well be really small and stand out... I bet that's it. I wanted to be different and at the time I hoped my stature would set me apart. Now, many years later, I'm still striving to be noticed, appreciated, remembered, what have you but I hope someday it'll be my accomplishments, and failures that people remember, not my love of midgets.
I find that when I usually complain about being fat, out of shape, broke, and generally clueless in today's society I usually am sitting on my couch drinking a beer and watching Maury. That's not gonna get the job done, my friends.
I need a new joke. Something fresh. Not fresh like early 90's fresh, but new and exciting. I'm told that I'm a funny guy but I feel like I never have a good joke when one would be most useful. I'd love to find a new joke.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Wife-Beaters, Waffle House, & Dead Armadillos
In a rented Grand Am w/a cracked side view mirror we crossed the Land of Lincoln, and braved the wilds of the Show Me State. 8 miles from the Kansas/Oklahoma border, nestled in Ozarkland, sits Joplin, Missouri. Peck and Imma, good friends, decided after 14 years together that maybe they should get married. Family & Friends all gathered in a factory building to brave the heat and wish the couple well. The only thing sexier than a tuxedo clad man drenched in his own sweat is 5 tuxedo clad men drenched in their sweat. The vows were exchanged, and the rings slid into place and a life together... well, pretty much continued along the same path it had always been on except with a little more jewlery.
A few highlights:
- Collinsville, IL is home to the World's Largest Bottle of Ketchup. ("Excuse me, this might be a silly question but is there a really big bottle of Ketchup in this town?" It's hard to find, but only because it's actually a water tower that looks like a bottle of Ketchup.)
- Spotting my 1st Armadillo. Then my 2nd. Then my 3rd. I soon lost count. Can you say Road Kill?
- Crashing the Bachelorette Party wearing wife-beaters 2 sizes too small, and the groom wearing a blinking tiara and waving a blinking wand. The Party ended up at Murphy's Bar in Joplin. Apparently a neon shamrock qualifies a bar as being Irish. Beers were consumed, and the Karaoke Community of Joplin will never be the same.
- Stumbling into Waffle House at 2 O'clock in the morning for a cup of coffe, and some hashbrowns (Covered Peppered, and Smothered!).
- Meeting the Peck Brothers. Three good old boys who laugh a lot, enjoy life, and drink Bud out of their pick up trucks.
- Attending the after party hosted by a pony keg named Leroy V.
- Watching 2 friends, whom were obviously made for each other, get married... as if there was ever any doubt. I was proud to be Best Man. Congratulations, my friends!
A few highlights:
- Collinsville, IL is home to the World's Largest Bottle of Ketchup. ("Excuse me, this might be a silly question but is there a really big bottle of Ketchup in this town?" It's hard to find, but only because it's actually a water tower that looks like a bottle of Ketchup.)
- Spotting my 1st Armadillo. Then my 2nd. Then my 3rd. I soon lost count. Can you say Road Kill?
- Crashing the Bachelorette Party wearing wife-beaters 2 sizes too small, and the groom wearing a blinking tiara and waving a blinking wand. The Party ended up at Murphy's Bar in Joplin. Apparently a neon shamrock qualifies a bar as being Irish. Beers were consumed, and the Karaoke Community of Joplin will never be the same.
- Stumbling into Waffle House at 2 O'clock in the morning for a cup of coffe, and some hashbrowns (Covered Peppered, and Smothered!).
- Meeting the Peck Brothers. Three good old boys who laugh a lot, enjoy life, and drink Bud out of their pick up trucks.
- Attending the after party hosted by a pony keg named Leroy V.
- Watching 2 friends, whom were obviously made for each other, get married... as if there was ever any doubt. I was proud to be Best Man. Congratulations, my friends!
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Quien Es Esa Niña
Waiting at the train stop. Minding my business when I am greeted by two co-workers, busboys, who proceed to call me Homo in every possible Spanish translation. After the good-natured insults trickle to stop, they notice this fairly attractive Asian girl reading a magazine.
"Man, check her out. She's hot."
I look up just in time to witness the fairly attractive Asian girl absentmindedly stick her pinky up her nose and pull out the slimiest, longest trail of snot to ever see the light of day... even though it was eleven o'clock at night. If Ms. Snotty had thought to look around she would have seen three idiots, eyes bugging out, jaws scraping the floor, as the illusion of a beautiful, mysterious woman was obliterated by one tiny finger and some mucus.
It doesn't take much.
"Man, check her out. She's hot."
I look up just in time to witness the fairly attractive Asian girl absentmindedly stick her pinky up her nose and pull out the slimiest, longest trail of snot to ever see the light of day... even though it was eleven o'clock at night. If Ms. Snotty had thought to look around she would have seen three idiots, eyes bugging out, jaws scraping the floor, as the illusion of a beautiful, mysterious woman was obliterated by one tiny finger and some mucus.
It doesn't take much.
Friday, June 02, 2006
That Ain't Right.
There's this black dude standing in front of the White Hen begging for loose change. He's almost always there. When he's not there there's this other black dude. I sometimes picturing them punching in and out on the time clock.
"Morning, Harold."
"Good Day, Winston."
So he's there; smiling and shaking his cup. He doesn't see the unmarked squad car waiting at the light with two corpulent vice cops seated comfortably inside.
Not until the passenger squeals out the window, "Gotta quarter? Gotta quarter?" His voice taking on a rugged and desperate sound as he mocks the black dude standing in front of the White Hen begging for loose change, who replies, "I wish." Then the cops laughed, as their fat rolls threatened to leak out of the sides of their bullet-proof vests, and they drove off through the intersection.
Isn't there crime in the city? Are you doing your best to serve and protect? Should you really be wasting your time, Mr. Officer, taunting the less fortunate?
"Morning, Harold."
"Good Day, Winston."
So he's there; smiling and shaking his cup. He doesn't see the unmarked squad car waiting at the light with two corpulent vice cops seated comfortably inside.
Not until the passenger squeals out the window, "Gotta quarter? Gotta quarter?" His voice taking on a rugged and desperate sound as he mocks the black dude standing in front of the White Hen begging for loose change, who replies, "I wish." Then the cops laughed, as their fat rolls threatened to leak out of the sides of their bullet-proof vests, and they drove off through the intersection.
Isn't there crime in the city? Are you doing your best to serve and protect? Should you really be wasting your time, Mr. Officer, taunting the less fortunate?
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