Twofer

Most fast food places utilize the Two For One Tuesday Special at some point.  It’s cheesy, worn-out, and definitely over-used…but it’s a play on words, you see.  Advertisers find it hard to resist a good play on words, no matter how many establishments have used it before.

Regardless of the weather, the degree of exhaustion, or the status of the bank account; if it’s a Tuesday night, you’ll most likely find us slugging it out at a certain local taco joint.   By ‘slug it out’ I mean that there are literally hundreds streaming in and out of those doors all day long…maybe even thousands.  Even on a slow Tuesday, it meets the requirements to be officially labeled a “Madhouse”.  Doing the bob-and-weave through the masses to get to the salsa bar…pausing at least four times to let others pass when you go get a refill on your drink…speaking at top-volume but not quite yelling just to be heard at your own table….yea, it’s a calm experience. Hey. It’s a good deal.  My folks ask me almost every week to go- and it’s become somewhat of a tradition.  And I’m not too proud to tolerate the loudest, most intrusive and fever-pitched dining environment imaginable for a three dollar taco plate.

Yesterday it was Taco Tuesday. “Twofer Taco”, I call it. More than anything, though… I equate this weekly trek with honey.  Sopapillas come with honey.  The Child insists on The Sopapillas… and I have a hard time refusing her this simple treat unless she’s being a total stinker, or is currently being punished for something.  Let it be known, though- where kids are concerned; the sheer bargaining POWER of The Sopapilla is unparalleled.  I have yet to find anything on the planet that equals its strength when used in the form of a threat.  All I have to say (and it doesn’t even have to be ON a Tuesday) is- “Hey! Knock it off!!…Do you want sopapillas at Twofer Tacos on Tuesday?!” And she shapes up immediately….folding her hands in her lap chastely with an angelic calm written all over her face.  I try to use the Sopapilla Threat sparingly; if only to maintain its uber-effectiveness as a cure-all for The Child’s most undesirable behavior.

It’s almost an addiction to her- this combination of puffiness, cinnamon, sugar, and honey.  A while back, she discovered that the salsa bar had OTHER condiments….namely little tubs of whipped butter.  She puts the butter on her plate, then pours (LOTS of) honey on top and starts swirling it with her fork until the desired consistency is reached. This butter/honey swirling- the mere preparation of it- seems to take on a Zen quality for her.  There is a self-imposed restraint and measured anticipation in her eyes. Apparently, just getting READY for sopapillas brings with it an odd discipline.  I liken this action to that of heroin addicts I’ve seen on television…the way they concentrate and hold their faces while they go about mixing their drugs in a spoon and heating it up are almost identical to watching The Child with her honey/butter emulsion process.  Personally, I just don’t understand the addition of butter- but then, I’m a purist. I’ll just use the standard recommended condiments, thank you.

I’m not altogether sure what it IS exactly about the chemical composition or make-up of the simple sugars that are found in honey that brings about this unnerving reaction in The Child.  Honey is an all natural sweet treat, made by bees- and not concocted in a lab somewhere like the infamous Red Dye Number 5 – which we all know induces near fatal mania in children and should be avoided at all costs. Honey should be a soothing food…but instead we see something quite the opposite happen.  First of all, once the honey/butter is combined in just the right balance, and the sopapillas are produced and waiting on the table; The Child spears one like she is throwing a weapon at a running wild boar.  She dips the sopapilla in her plate with no attention paid to the fact that she is also dragging her fingers and hair through the honey mess as well. She lowers her face to the plate to reduce the actual ratio of plate-to-mouth distance.  She INHALES one, two, three of them – however many she can possibly beg off of others at the table.  She eats them greedily, like a prisoner- and guards her plate with the non-active, non-fork wielding arm.  Once they are gone, she always attempts to lick the remaining gooey honey/butter/cinnamon glob directly off the plate- even though she KNOWS I stop that crap as soon as I see her lift the plate to her face.  This is bad enough already!  The Twofer Crowd has already been watching her devour her dessert like a wildebeest as it is…and many have paused with their forks in midair to concentrate more fully on the gluttonous display happening at our table.  She giggles. She vibrates in her seat. The honey kicks in as fast as if she had injected it with a hypodermic needle….straight into the bloodstream.  I’m quite positive that six cereal bowls full of M&M’s would not get her this wired.  If you look closely, you will see that her pupils dilate almost immediately to the point that her eyes look solid black instead of blue.  We have long established that washing up promptly is a requirement- so she goes to the restroom without touching ANYTHING right away.  While she is gone, we shake our heads at each other and laugh… it never fails to amaze us even though it happens every time.

For hours afterwards we suffer through the honey-high.  She literally flies around and talks a mile a minute, waving her arms around.  She’s quite animated and amusing to watch as long as you can keep her from crawling and/or hanging all over you as you stand.  You tell yourself that NEXT week there should be no sopapillas.  You are firm in this decision up until she finally stops moving/talking/whirling and crashes out in her bed…angelic calm across her face once again, and all traces of honey removed by her bath.  And you forget all about the manic behavior since dinnertime and decide that she really is a good kid- what’s the harm in indulging her a little honey?  Why, it’s nature’s candy, after all.  Not one harmful additive or preservative included.  Even nutritious on some level…I’m sure of it. 😉

very kubler ross

No one likes it when you speak in absolutes.  I tell my daughter all the time, “You don’t ALWAYS do something.” and “Don’t say ‘NEVER’, because sometimes you do.”  For those of us who are literal-minded, it’s aggravating to the core to hear others use the words ‘always’ and ‘never’ carelessly; so I try to use ‘sometimes’ or ‘most of the time’ to make my absolutes more credible when I DO use them.  As for speaking in generalities, I try to identify them as such with a preemptive disclaimer.

So believe me when I say that my entire life I have periodically wondered- has there EVER been a morning when I wanted to get up?  Has there ever been EVEN ONE freakin morning that I was excited, rested, and ready to hop out of bed?  I’ve thought about it. Pondered it. Really reached into the recesses of memory to give this question a fair shake.  And after careful, deliberate and honest consideration, the resounding answer always has been, and continues to be: Nope. Never.  Not once. Not on a birthday, not after sleeping 12 hours, and not to get up to catch a plane for Vegas.  Not on Christmas and not seaside in the Caribbean. There has yet come a day that I didn’t just squint, glare and slap at the alarm clock and try to think of a reason to call in.  Every single work and school day of my life, I have pondered calling in for at least an average of three minutes while mentally straddling that chasm between sleep and wakefulness. Doesn’t matter if it’s a weekend or a weekday.  Doesn’t matter what exciting things I have planned.  Doesn’t matter if I wake up late or early or exactly when I planned to- I absolutely never ever have the desire to get up.

But despite the daily internal struggle, I have learned to just trust the process. Upon reflection I have discovered that it’s very “Kubler-Ross” in design. (the five stages of grieving, which is apropos in itself, as each day that I am forced out of my warm cocoon of sleep is like dying a tiny little death every day.. 😉

• Denial

Obviously, I’m in total shock that the alarm is already going off. It CANT be. I just closed my eyes.  There is absolutely no friggin way I have to get up now.  I’m not. (Hits snooze, rolls over to face the wall)

• Anger

I frequently alternate between different alarm sounds. This is due to an auditory tolerance, or the subconscious “dontwanttos” getting the better of me; which causes me to sleep right through a familiar alarm sound. Therefore to ensure that I am not late, I change the sound every 2-3 days to something different.  No matter what that sound IS, though… be it pretty church bells or soothing ocean waves… it still pisses me off. It’s still annoying as all hell. I become filled with rage, despite lying comatose and refusing to give in by squeezing my eyes shut ever tighter. Every time it goes off, and every time I blindly bat at the snooze button, I get more and more angry- because like it or not, morning is happening.

• Bargaining

There are two definite sub-stages here…and one always immediately follows the other. The first is the aforementioned pondering wherein I waffle back and forth about any possible (imagined) sickness or some other appalling inability to go to work.  After a few rounds of this, I realize that it’s tacky to call in sick or tragically disabled when you really have no legitimate excuse to stay home.  At this point, the second stage of bargaining kicks in and it then becomes a game of trading bits and pieces of required-getting-ready-time for extra sleeping time… “How long will it take me to get ready if I skip such and such?”  we will use examples like ironing and eating breakfast because the real things like showers, shaving legs, letting hair go one more day than it should without washing….these things are just gross.

• Depression

Kind of self-explanatory. It’s a sad, sad time in our lives when no one lets us sleep all day.  It’s sad when responsibilities and obligations require those of us with a moral code to get up and take care of business.  Why can’t I just flake out and stay right here? Why do I have to go ANYwhere? Who made these rules? These rules just aren’t fair.  Sometimes, a tear will escape… marking the pillow for those poor unfortunate souls who are not permitted to follow their desire for immediate gratification.

• Acceptance

With an exaggerated sigh, and a flinging back of the covers in a petulant fashion, she gets up. Heads straight for the coffay.  You would be wise not to speak or look directly at her until at least fifteen more minutes have passed.  She’s out of bed, but not happy about it.

Realism in Advertising

(See pic at bottom to understand …posted this on fb earlier and was responding to comments from others about it. MY little comment went rogue on it’s own and grew ridiculous in length ..so I posted it here. Lol)

Lol! I DO totally think that would make an awesomely memorable commercial. Maybe I should call Purina right now ! Lol genuine slapstick moments are the best because people always can relate! 🙂 consequently, not long after Oreo’s hilarious/ungainly kitchen entrance, I had something equally ungainly happen to ME fraught with the makings of a good commercial.. Similar in slapstick quality and unflinching truth.. I took two Aleve gelcaps. Allow me to expand on that sentence, please.

(((Note- This story is not specifically geared at the Aleve company….this idea for a commercial would work to advertise any brand of gelcaps, ie NyQuil, DayQuil, ect.. and THOSE even have additional humorous slapstick potential just because of how impossible they are to remove from foil packet…’Tear Here’, my butt!! If only it WAS that simple …fingernail clippers, teeth, steak knife, hedge trimmers- all have been employed to assist in THAT particular package opening process in this house… not to mention the delicate skill involved while using these unwieldy, and certainly not recommended, sharp instruments…. violently hacking and sawing and gnawing like rabbit at deceptively simple foil encasement.. yet simultaneously attempting the finesse required to open it gently enough as to not inadvertently puncture the precious and urgently desired gelcaps within – causing rupture and medicinal goo inside to ooze out, thus negating aforementioned sweaty efforts and having to begin all over again…)))

but! back to the topic at hand !! Let me just say that I must psyche myself up mentally in preparation to swallow those things. They are undeniably huge and gag-inducing. They have forever intimidated me. But when you really NEED to take them for medicinally indicated purposes-you just gotta Man Up and Proceed! ….You’ll do deep breathing, set your jaw, find your non-gag mental “Zone”… intentionally put your game face on …and try any and all manner of feeble attempts to control your mind set that THIS time it won’t end in a cat-hairball-esque retching gag…. But it always happens anyway. And naturally, Gelcap recommended dosages seem always to require taking TWO at a time. As if the initial resulting gag from the first Gelcap-Swallow wasn’t bad enough, we have to then commence quickly through the shuddering shiver phase of the gag and shake it off, because there’s another one coming. Number Two Gelcap-Swallow is traditionally more challenging to approach due to the now-awakened gag reflex being activated, and its resulting excitement and readiness to engage again vigorously. One has an even MORE fierce internal struggle going on trying to encourage follow through of the second Gelcap-Swallow. There is much rationalization, self soothing, and animated pep talk happening within…

(“But you want to feel better, don’t you!?”… “Just do it!”… “Don’t overthink it!” …”It will be worth it.”…. “Don’t throw up.”…. “CHILDREN can do this, ya Sissy!”…. “1, 2, …3!!! Wait. I wasn’t ready.”…. “You.Have.To.Swallow.This.” )

Despite everything, I just gag even more violently this time. Make horrible urp/retch type noises. Primal, non-human sounding, and threateningly close to pre-vomitous noises… Lol Even once they are both swallowed and gagging has ceased, one cannot relax. Most times you are still unavoidably and all too aware of their presence, as you feel them apparently lodged sideways within your internal throat musculature for at least the next 20 minutes. Periodically, you ineffectually pound at your sternal region – wistfully believing that somehow you can assist them on their downward path by knocking them loose with external brute force.

Hearing the voice-over soliloquy of one’s ongoing internal dialogue and struggle while watching them visually proceed through these steps would make a fascinating commercial. Maybe even include a “dream sequence ” in the middle where the person mortifyingly imagines the horror of losing control altogether- The Gelcap-Swallow is involuntarily rejected by the gag reflex, resulting in a violent blubbering coughing fit. Spewing forth water and Gelcap forcefully across kitchen (switch to super slow-motion footage to crescendo the spew and splatter drama of the moment in visually stunning HD) …then enjoy a riveting fast action-sequence as we follow the course of the unnecessarily large Gelcap as it ping pongs comically about the room in a most humorous fashion..bouncing off the toaster, grazing the dogs nose, and his resulting confusion indicated by perked up ears, plinking against the stainless steel coffee pot with a satisfying Plink! sound effect, ect.,. eventually we watch the Gelcap come to rest with a final, lazy, languid spin on the floor, tucked within that recessed and shaded space under the protruding lip of the lower kitchen cabinets. Now in close-up shot, it resignedly sits, damaged, spent of energy, partially gooey, and somewhat “melted” in appearance… cushioned disgustingly atop a small pile of floor debris which includes a few obligatory unidentifyable crumbs, perhaps a rogue cheerio, and a small bit of dog hair to hammer home the reality that a bit of filth exists in every home. The Gelcap is now rendered tragically unsalvageable due to its partially dissolved and sticky state, not to mention the adhering dog hair…and is therefore disqualified for a second swallow attempt. We end the commercial as the person valiantly regains compusure, assumes the Gelcap-Swallow stance, applies their game face with much concentration, and bravely begins again. Point implied- the end outweighs the means. No matter how difficult the blasted Gelcaps are to swallow, they undoubtedly trump the more traditional caplet and tablet forms of pharmaceutical delivery. We all recognize this universal truth, and will suffer through any level of discomfort with the perseverance required to enjoy their effectiveness once we manage to completely ingest them.

well played

Found:

one stealthily and strategically placed whoopie cushion under a blanket on my couch.  Although obviously some time had passed since it’s placement there, enough inflation remained in it to emit that shocking, yet satisfying poot sound when I unsuspectingly and unknowingly sat on it this morning.  Well played, kiddo… well played.

Benji

(I had previously deleted this post…due to it’s inflammatory nature and my wish to stay gainfully employed.  I have long regretted having to remove it from this blog…because it’s just priceless.  But now it’s a moot point, and therefore it’s time to proudly repost it. To catch you up, I was at a conference in San Antonio with my boss and his wife, who decided at the last minute to pointlessly tag along as she has nothing to do with the business.  To read further about this excruitating three day trip, please read ‘The Guy From Arkansas’ posted some time back. )

 

So back to San Antonio….my boss, his wife and I were sitting on a patio at a restaurant on the Riverwalk having some appetizers and cocktails. (my drink of choice: JagerBombs. Always.)  But unfortunately, no matter how many I drank, they seemed to have little to no effect on me whatsoever.  Believe me when I say that I kept them coming, and was desperate for them to kick in…as dealing with my high maintenance, Rolex-wearing,Nouveau-riche companions was almost too much to endure.  I have a hard time feeling guilty about drinking several high-dollar shots when the ones paying for it feel that owning several pairs of $400 jeans is fiscally responsible….and they took a taxi to the convention center that was three blocks away, people. More than once we
took this five dollar minimum cab ride– and we are all able bodied to walk that distance. (Nevermind the fact we would have been at the hotel immediately across the street from the Convention Center if The Wife hadn’t insisted upon bringing that 4 pound dog she carries in a Louis Vuitton bag… A simple Marriot isn’t pet-friendly, you see. So we are staying at an overpriced,more luxurious hotel a few blocks further away.  Because of the dog.  That dog is worth another three blogs in itself.)  

It’s the night of Day Three. I get to go home the next day.  I have been continually and immaturely texting people about these things I cannot possibly say out loud for fear of losing my employment.  It’s a coping mechanism.  Text it or risk the ooze of spontaneous sarcasm dribbling out the corner of your mouth.

The check arrives.  I don’t blink or move a muscle to even pretend that I wish to split it or pay for any of it.  As far as I’m concerned, I am still on the clock because I am forced to carry on conversational topics in which I have no legitimate interest, as well as tolerate their continued snobbish nonsense.  The Wife
begins to pull out her wallet- Louis Vuitton naturally- and not finding what she is looking for, she says to her husband, “Dear,” (yea. She calls him ‘Dear’) “Do you have a Benji handy?”

I snarf Jager.  It almost comes out of my nose.  I expertly cover my ass by coughing and pounding my chest gorilla-like, stating that I swallowed wrong.  Did she REALLY just say that?!  Oh I can barely contain it.  I bite my lip and give self a fierce internalpep-talk…. “Come on, it’s the last night….you can DO this. Keep your lip buttoned. You have been praying in advance for a week for God keep your tongue in check and this is your test!  DO NOT SPEAK. Do not make fun of her.  Do not snicker.  Engage all optical-region musculature to stop the involuntary eye roll before it happens.  Act normal.”

I immediately picked up my phone and mass-texted that shit.  It’s all I could do!  Everyone I told had the same response: “Shut up. You are making that up.”  I solemnly shook my head.  Nope. She really, really said it.  And HE didn’t seem to think her term of disdain for a mere hundred dollar bill was anything out of the norm, either.  He just opened HIS Louis Vuitton wallet and handed her one.  Unbelievable.

A week later, as I prepare to go out of town on a REAL vacation (accompanied by someone with whom I absolutely cherish spending
my time) I came home to find this card from my folks: