A Simple Conversation

I have weird friends.

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V: I've been asked if we were fighting.

P-Ziddy: Yes. Horrible fight.

Love is...

V: P-Ziddy doesn't love me any longer.

P-Ziddy: Nope. Jeff is the object of all my affections now.

V: It's the coffee, isn't it?

P-Ziddy: Isn't it always?

V: Betrayed! Betrayed I tell you!

Jeff: I prolly shouldn't mention that I've switched to tea for the rest of this afternoon, then.

V: Ha. Serves you right for leaving me like that. Jeff doesn't love you any more.

P-Ziddy: I'm not sure he ever did. I think he just used me for my coffee.

V: It's a twisted love triangle, with coffee at the heart of it. Love, betrayal, suspense and a good cup of joe.

*giggle*

Jeff: If it were a book, I would read the heck out of it.

Jeff: At night. Twitching, unable to sleep.

V: All it needs is a few sticks with nails in to be a fabulous action thriller.

P-Ziddy: It'll be the movie of the week on A&E next month.

V: Lifetime. Too sappy for A&E. Not enough sticks with nails in.

P-Ziddy: Juan Valdez Kills Again.

V: It was the donkey all along. Do you think we've made the blog yet?

I will cut you, Pedro.

Jeff: Oh, I think we're all about to make the blog.

P-Ziddy: I'm not sure. He's been ignoring my blog contributions lately.

V: You betrayed him. He doesn't love you any more, or possibly ever, remember?

V: He's turned his affections to that Scruffy fellow, who offers him power tools and the opportunity to see what the local ER looks like.

===========================

I would, without hesitation or apology, gleefully watch a movie called "Juan Valdez Kills Again". Make this happen, Hollywood!

Your Argument Is Invalid

Sometimes P-Ziddy gets some odd whims. He sent me this pic, along with a caption.



"Optimus Prime is holding a Devil Ducky. Your argument is invalid."

There's just not much to say in response to unsolicited ducky. Except, perhaps, that "Unsolicited Ducky" might make a good name for a rock n' roll band.

Then...



P-Ziddy explained, "I added Godzilla to the mix. Godzilla makes everything awesomer."

It's really hard to argue with logic like that.

Tricky Foot

I got an email newsletter from my chiropractor. 7 minutes later, I was at his office, breathless.

Hulk Adjust L3 Vertebrae!

"It says you work on feet, also?!?"

See, my tricky foot has never really healed and has been getting worse. Time for a second opinion, sort of thing. He X-ray'd it and looked it over. "This bone is turned in, but it should be straight," he explained. "This one is pushed up instead of down, this one is left when it should be right." Then, he got to the best part.

"I can fix all of this."

He had me lay down on his little torture table. "Grab on with both hands," he instructed. "I'll be pulling pretty hard."

Then he grabbed my foot. "I'll adjust this bone first," he said while poking a seemingly random spot. Then, he grunted and yanked my foot back like he was trying to start a stubborn lawn mower. If I hadn't been holding on to the table, he would have thrown me into the wall. My foot nearly came off.

I said, "Ow." He said, "Ah, that's good."

Aw yeah.

He poked another random spot on my foot. "Now I'll adjust this one. Hold on!" I grabbed the table again. YANK, and again my foot nearly came off. "Ow," I said. "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow! Ow." "Ah, that's good."

We did this 4 times.

Just like when he fixed my back, this will unfortunately take time. Three times a week for at least a couple of weeks, probably a month. If I still have a foot by then, I hope it feels better. Something tells me a peg-leg may be in my future.

Wrong Number

This is the start of something good

There's just something hysterical about persistent wrong numbers. My phone rang:

"Hello?"
"Is Charles there?"
"No, you have a wrong number."

That should have been the end of it, no big deal. Instead, a few minutes later my phone rang again.

"Hello?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I have a wrong number."
"Yes. And if you dial the same number again, you'll have a wrong number... again."

At this point, I was actually hoping to get another call. My misguided stalker did not disappoint.

Pants! Who needs them?

"Hello?"
"Are you sure this isn't Charles?"
"Well, I left my birth certificate at home, so I guess there *could* be some mistake."

The calls stopped. It's too bad, I had one more good reply ready.

"I've never been Charles before, but I'm willing to give it a try."

Oh well. Next time.

One Of My Christmas Presents

So, I ran out of stories this week, thought I'd share a pic of one of my Christmas presents this past year.



Yeah. Hurtful. A "power" screwdriver (how much power can it have with just two double-A's behind it?), and two packages of band-aids. For the anticipated injuries.

*sigh*

I'm already about half-way through the second box, too.

Squeaky Chair

[SCCCRREEEEEEEEAAAAAAAACCHH]

My office chair became noisy one day. I leaned back and [SCCCRREEEEEEEEAAAAAAAACCHH]. It was odd, because there was never a period that the chair made "little" squeakies. One day it was perfectly normal, and the next day my hinder-holder was squealing so loud that I couldn't hear the freight elevator.

So, I did the only thing I could. I called upon the talents of The Genius.

The Genius came to my office to see what he could do. I walked over to the chair. "Check this out," I said. I sat. I rocked back n' forth. The chair was silent.

"That's a good trick," The Genius nodded. He was grinning like a hyena. The Genius knows good theater when he sees it. "I hear chairs squeak like that all the time."

We agreed to hold off on doing anything until the chair acted up again. As he left the office, The Genius was chuckling. About an hour later, [SCCCRREEEEEEEEAAAAAAAACCHH]. "Sounds like one of the howling demons from the freight elevator is hurt!", somebody quipped. I sighed.

A few days later, The Genius came through on his way to the freight elevator. "How's that chair?", he asked. "Loud," I replied. "See?"

I rocked back n' forth. The chair was silent. "I think I may change your blog nickname to 'WD-40'," I told him. "Whatever works for you," The Genius replied.

The Genius got into the nearby freight elevator, and I kid you not, as he started to lower the door my chair said [SCCCRREEEEEEEEAAAAAAAACCHH]. "Hey!" I jumped up, waved my arms. "Come back over here!"

The Genius came back over. "It just did it again!" I sat down. Silence.

I think The Genius has a new nickname for me, too.

I'm now considering a different approach. I'm going to bring in some sawdust and metal shavings to try and make it louder.

Let It Snow

Last week we had our first snow chances of 2012. It was expected to be a very puny amount.

This didn't stop the rampant speculation and dreamy-eye'd wishful thinking, of course. "We're supposed to get a half an inch at most." "Maybe they're wrong... maybe it'll cover the whole ground!"

OoRah expressed doubt. "We'll probably just get a thin layer of ice."

I countered him. "I'm hoping for at least 8 inches, and a Yeti."

There was a brief stunned pause. Then OoRah slowly replied, "I think those are both unlikely."

I pressed on, undeterred. "Is it Yeti hunting season?"

OoRah gave this serious consideration. "Probably," he agreed. "Yeti are not specifically regulated by the Oklahoma Wildlife Department, so they'd fall under the heading of 'nuisance animals'. You know, like coyotes. Or neighbors."

I grinned. "Suddenly I have big plans tonight."

OoRah walked away. "Good luck with that."

C'mon, Yeti! Come at me!

Toilet Training

Our toilet at home needed its innards replaced. My wife bought a "Dual Flush" Flapper-less toilet kit and wished me luck.

I'd never changed out toilet innards before. This should be fun.

Of course, since I was about to start a project, Scruffy called.

The last time Scruffy came over to help, he wound up busting both knees and face-planting on the hood of my car. I was a little concerned about his safety. When he showed up I told him, "If you promise to step carefully, I'll let you help. Please try not to land on your head this time."

For the most part, things went smoothly. I did manage to dribble dingy water all over the floor, but half a bottle of Windex got the mess cleaned up before my wife was able to see the black tile and scream.

Scruffy held the instruction manual for me. He had a bad habit of waving the pages around every time I'd ask to see a diagram, but he made up for it by being quick with the paper towels.

The moment of truth came. "Turn on the water."

Turns out, there *is* such a thing as too much water pressure. Inky black water shot halfway up the wall. Scruffy managed to stay dry by cleverly hiding behind me.

"I think we have a problem," I gurgled.

We eventually got the water pressure adjusted, tank re-assembled and walls mopped.

My toilet flushes, and I didn't even have to injure Scruffy to do it.

Yeah, I'm a stud.

Subway Cheese Choice

I walked into my local Subway last week. The lady who runs that particular store is friendly and occasionally opinionated. She was talking to the guy in line in front of me.

"... and what kind of cheese do you want on do you know what the corporate office just said?!?"

Turns out she recently got a memo from "corporate" (which sounds a lot like a curse word when she says it) saying that they are no longer allowed to ask customers what kind of cheese they want on their sandwiches. It is supposedly poor customer service because they are "forcing the customer to choose."

"Now we're supposed to wait for you to ask us," she grumbled. "I'd like to tell *corporate* a thing or two about how this line works!"

I kept expecting to hear a "PTOOEY!" noise every time she said "corporate", but I'd bet there's already been a memo about spitting on the job.

She eventually wound down and it came to be my turn in line. "What kind of sandwich?," and I told her, and then she grinned and chuckled slightly. "And what kind of cheese would you like on it?"

I faked a frown. "How dare you ask me that."

The store stopped. You could hear a pin drop.

"You're forcing me to choose!"

For a second there I thought I was going to be kicked out. Then the laughter started. Close call!

I'm the comedian of Subway!

Christmas Lights Down

My buddy Scruffy came over to the house and scratched up my car with his face.

Lemmie 'splain.

I was taking down Christmas lights. Scruffy said he'd be glad to come over. He specifically mentioned, "If nothing else, I can help make sure Jeff doesn't get hurt."

He has so much confidence in me.

So, Scruffy showed up. "Pull those lights out of that hedge," I instructed. I turned my back for a moment.

There was a violent meaty "THUD!THUD!", followed by a squeal and couple of hollow "FUMP! FUMP!" noises. The first set of noises were Scruffy's knees. The last were his head, dribbling like a basketball on the front of my car.

When I turned around he was laying in a crumpled heap with his face pressed up against my car's headlight. Less than a minute into the project and I had managed to critically injure my sworn protector. Nice.

I finished taking down the lights while my wife took Scruffy inside and wrapped his knees in ice.

Scruffy is recovering nicely, thankfully. He's also speaking to me, which makes me think he hit his head hard enough that he doesn't remember.

Which means I can get away with this again next year.

Score!

Crane Kicked

OoRah looked out the window near my desk. "Hey! The crane is gone!"

(brief aside: There's been a construction crane outside that window for a couple of weeks)

OoRah was obviously in a silly mood. "Where did the crane go?"

I decided OoRah was old enough to know the truth. "Well, I wasn't going to tell you because I knew you'd be upset." I gave a brief pause for dramatic effect. "The crane died."

This caught him off guard, but after a couple of quick blinks he recovered admirably. "How can you tell if a crane dies?"

"Your desk is too far away, but I can hear the screams."

"Over the freight elevator?"

"Barely."

(There was a long, unblinking pause)

"I don't believe you."

The next time he's in a mood for one of these "all grown up" conversations, I'm gonna tell him the truth about Santa Claus.

My Funniest Christmas Present This (Last) Year

I know, I know. It's a bit late for a Christmas story, but I think this one's worth it.

Christmas at my sister's house was quite fun this year. My niece and nephews are still young enough to go all giddy over their presents, but also old enough to be able to pass out the presents for other people. The air was full of flying wrapping paper, and the occasional thrown present. Chaos! Madness! Noise! It was perfect.

My niece came running up to me with a gift sack. "This one's for you!," and then she was off and running again.

Somebody asked, "Jeff, what did you get there?" Inexplicably, all eyes turned to me. I reached my hand into the gift sack and pulled out the tissue paper. There was nothing in the sack.

"Uh...", I confessed. "It appears to be empty."

I investigated the tissue paper as the laughter started. Nothing in there, either.

"I think I got a sack of nothing."

(Later, we found the gift that was supposed to be in that sack. It had fallen out in all the chaos.)

My niece also gave a memorable gift to my wife. It was a bottle of fancy lotion that had already been opened.

So, "Used Lotion" and "A Sack Of Nothing".

It was wonderful. :)

The Funniest Grandpa Story I Know

In honor of my grandfather, I'm going to share the funniest story I have about him.


Last summer, my wife and I got to drop in on him un-announced. Grandpa was out in the yard, working on his tomato plants. He had 25-30 plants that he'd recently put in, and was putting up some wire cages around them.

Well, of course he was surprised and happy to see us. "Wow," I told him. "That's a lot of tomato plants!"

"Yeah," he agreed. He pointed at each plant individually. "That one's Alan, and that one's Bob, and Charlie, and Dutch, and Eleanor and Faye and ..."

Now, I've changed the names here because that's what I do in this blog. :) But every name he mentioned was somebody from our family. Siblings, Children, Grand-Children, Cousins ... All names that I know.

I wasn't quite sure what to think. "Really?..."

Grandpa just nodded. "I always name my tomato plants."

I *still* wasn't sure what to think. "Really?..."

Then he looked right at me. "But I never name one after you."

"Why don't you name one after me?", I asked.

"Every time I name a tomato plant after you, it dies."


Gardeners, take note. I just might be the reason your crops are failing.