Friday, December 9, 2011

Hillbilly Handfishin'

Oh, for fk sake…seriously?!?!?!?!

I kid you not.  I have had a terrible couple of weeks, just got back from my electrolysis appointment (waging battle against morphing into a post-menopausal circus freak, fyi – laser doesn’t work on blonde hair, permanent facial hair removal requires jamming an electrical probe into each follicle individually and frying the crap out of it, repeatedly… because once is not enough, and paying for the privilege… but I digress).

I toss myself onto the couch and catch a glimpse of two things – neither of which makes any sense ... and zero ability to reconcile the two.  On tv, some redneck male is wrestling with a huge catfish in a muddy bog of some sort, cut to a flamboyantly gay character (not that there’s anything wrong with that, or the redneck either…mostly) in a cabin making over a couple of women ... glamming them up in what can only be described as early 80’s chic make up, these are either friends or spouses of the men wrestling the catfish.  Don’t get me started.

So I turn to my son and inquire…. wtf??  Apparently this is something called Hillbilly Handfishin'... yes, there is a show called Hillbilly Handfishin'.  He offers to change the channel …but much in the way you can’t quite take your eyes off a carwreck, I’ve had a couple of horrific weeks and the dark and twisty side of me was morbidly curious to see how this plays out.

She’s got one “under her butt, under her business, tickling her fancy”.  Nothing like having your fancy tickled by a 50 some odd pound slimy, mucky catfish … I’ll take your word for it, count me the fk out.

So, let me get this straight.  In order to go “hillbilly handfishin'”, one gets into a van blindfolded ‘cause you are being taken to a secret location, the catfish hole is proprietary information, is there really a line up for this??

Isn’t there a whole genre of B movies that start out with unsuspecting people getting into a van blindfolded somewhere in rural Oklahoma?  Those movies never end well.  Some mutant miscreant is taking you home to meet the family with tell-tale banjo music playing in the background.

You arrive at the mudbog where job one is to wade right in, the bottom is slimy and disgusting. You sit on down in the muck and feel around, there are catfish - huge, slimy, creepy, disgusting catfish lurking in the muck.  You feel around a bit until you find one - that may be sitting right beneath you, tickling your fancy, no less.  You use your hand for bait, and once it’s attempted to scarf down your hand, you grab its’ jaw and yank it out of the mud.

All of this is being done willingly, no one is being held at gunpoint.  I cannot tell you how long my “bucket list” would need to be for Hillbilly Handfishin' to make an appearance.  Having a root canal (sans novocaine) during a colonoscopy (no lube, angry medical tech) would make the list waaaay ahead of Hillbilly Handfishin' and you won’t see me signing up for that either.

At that point, my desire to figure out the whole makeover tie in was well in the rearview mirror, no amount of explaining is going to justify any of “aha moments” here Oprah, this is just too many kinds of wrong.  That’s an hour of my life I’m never getting back.  I’m not sure what’s more pathetic – that there’s actually a show called Hillbilly Handfishin' or that I watched nearly an entire episode of it ...maybe a little from column ‘A’, a little from column ‘B’. 

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Ripped From The Headlines Part 2

Teen Shoots Dad With Arrow Over Cell Phone

Once again ...that’s the headline.  A 35 yr old man in rural Washington was airlifted to hospital after his 15 yr old daughter shot him in the head with a hunting bow and arrow because he took her cell phone away.  The kicker – she refused to let him use the cell to call for help and he had to crawl to the neighbour’s house for assistance with the arrow still firmly implanted in his skull.  Seriously. 

Wonder if he’s regretting the decision to sign her up for those archery classes now?  Proud papa cheering loudly while she is presented the award for marksmanship.  Should have signed her up for band camp … na, she probably would have beaten him senseless with a tuba or a French horn.  Cheerleader camp ... would have suffocated him in his sleep with her pom poms.  Let’s face it - the kid’s got an attitude problem.

Now, this is not the first teenager to be defiant - no one likes being punished, losing privileges, being grounded.  But since when is firing off an arrow at your father’s head the kung fu counter move to losing your cell phone ??  Arming oneself ramps up the defiance level considerably.  That takes a special kind of pissed off.  Not that there might not be a time and a place for it ...maybe someone threatening your family...meeting force with force.  I’ll give you that but I’m thinking armed response is a little overkill in this particular scenario.   I’m guessing dear old dad is going to be a little nervous disciplining this little nightmare in the future – may want to invest in a helmet and a riot shield for the next time he has to tell Princess Pissed Off (Xena's lesser known cousin) that she’s grounded.  Maybe keep the SWAT team on standby.

It certainly never occurred to me to fight back with more than a pout and stamping my feet as I retreated to the bedroom to which I’d been banished when one of my parents had grounded me (cell phones were not an issue in the “way back” machine).  I’ve raised two sons to adulthood and where they might have talked back and stood their ground in the face of groundings or having video game systems taken away, pretty sure it never crossed their minds to arm themselves for a full on assault.  Or, if it did, they were smart enough to know it wouldn’t end well.

Of course, my dark and twisty side has a field day with this … I picture my boss turning down my vacation request or telling me I have to work through the weekend.  Hhhmmm … I reach down and load my crossbow ... I don’t think so, sir …

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Ripped From The Headlines

Have you ever read a headline and wondered wtf??  Came across a whopper today:

“US Man fined $27K after ejaculating in co-worker’s water bottle”

Ummmm ... seriously??  I shit you not.  Gotta say, as headlines go, it got my attention.  Some character in California (where else?) has been fined (and I am assume fired) for ejaculating into a co-workers water bottle.  Buddy needs a new hobby.   

Okay, so now I find myself wondering how the detective work played out on that particular investigation.  The board room meeting where police are asking for DNA swabs from all male employees.  Hmmmmm … are you trying to solve a murder, espionage, some white collar crime??  Nope ... just sorting out who’s jacking off in Sally’s water bottle. 

Then I’m wondering under what circumstances it occurs to someone to jack off in a co-worker’s water bottle.  Is this some frustrated Romeo who’s tired of her turning down his sexual advances, no “office” hummer ….well, guess what??  It’s a rather devious way to get Sally to swallow some of your swimmers.  If she wasn’t interested before the water bottle incident, I doubt this is going to sway her opinion in his favour.  Was he that pissed off at the office snob that it was twisted payback – here, take this !!!!    Under what plan of action does this seem like a good idea?  I’ve got a pretty dark and twisty side but I just can’t wrap my head around this at all – I, of course, do not have a penis but I still can’t picture any scenario, any extreme of anger or rejection that would inspire one to spank the monkey into a co-worker’s water bottle.  

The victim of this particularly nasty plot is now going to be compensated for loss of wages, therapy and medical expenses.  What the hell kind of therapy is suggested for this trauma??  She drank from the bottle on both occasions – the first time she detected a foul taste (uumm...ewwwww) and disposed of it (poor thing would never have guessed what the secret ingredient was), the second time she suspected something was up and sent it to a lab for testing.  Imagine the surprise at the lab when the contaminant was identified...who’d a thunk it? 

It took a DNA match to discover the culprit which tells me he didn’t bother coming clean right around the time everyone is required to submit to a cheek swab. Perhaps he thought, given enough time, he could come up with an innocent / logical explanation for how his ejaculate wound up in the suspect water bottle.  Even in the darkest recesses of my mind, I can’t conjure up an explanation that doesn’t involve him having jacked off in the bottle.  Strangely enough, men are expected to exercise some control over where their swimmers end up and there’s not one rational explanation I can imagine where he could claim innocence here – they don’t sneak out undetected and wander about the room.

I’d like to be a fly in the room when Mr. Charming interviews for his next job ….can you tell me why you left your last job …well, apparently, they frowned upon me ejaculating into a co-worker’s beverage container...go figure ...the epitome of uptight corporate management ...picky, picky, picky.  There were no actual rules concerning said act, it did not come up during the employee orientation...You know those peculiar rules that you come across and you can’t possibly fathom how they came about except that you know that somewhere along the line somebody did the very stupid thing that necessitated the rule ... licking batteries, sticking a finger in the paper shredder, standing on the roof hugging the antenna during a lightning storm.  It’s all about liability, isn’t it?  The update to the New Employee Manual should be hysterical – rule# 16 – Employees are not permitted to share ejaculate with co-workers without their knowledge and consent – no jacking off in anyone’s water bottle. 

As my dark and twisty side is mining this story for every last bit of ridiculous, the morning news team in the background offers up today's poll question ...are people in the workplace becoming increasingly rude...Sally votes yes...and no one, I repeat no one has a better case....

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Scarred for Life - The Vagina Monologue

Some conversations are unpredictable, unavoidable and scarring.  The portions of the exchange that I am about to share with you that appear in red italics are contributions from the voices in my head.  I was only ever able to utter one phrase out loud at one point but the voices in my head had a field day with this one.

To set the stage for this particular episode, you need to know who Crash is – Crash is a former coworker who, how shall I put this, had some personal boundary issues.  Gets a little too close, unnecessary hugs, a little too enthusiastic about my  perfume.   Relatively harmless ....I think ...but isn’t that how all sexual deviants are described by their neighbours after they start digging up bodies in the backyard?  Crash is, of course, not his real name but it is one he’s earned along the way, but that’s another story.

Crash stops by the shop early afternoon to pick up the dry diving suit he had repaired and couriered to the shop and to say goodbye, new job started today.  Crash pulls out the dry suit to explain it to me (you have mistaken me for someone who cares). It is a special suit that keeps the diver dry in cold conditions.  After explaining the various features to me, he gets down to a little valve near the crotch that he feels the need to explain, it went something like this:

This is the elimination valve - divers tend to dehydrate so it is recommended that they hydrate thoroughly before they go down.  The result, they need to pee. 

HHHhhmm, who would have thought, if you drink a lot, you need to go pee.

In a wet suit, you simply pee, the suit is wet and you just go pee in it.  It's simply a body function that you need to do.

Ya, I don't fkg think so.  I don't want to urinate in a rubber suit that is going to keep said urine snug up around my body.  The idea of being enveloped in a layer of urine seems wrong a couple of different levels.  Note to self:  never rent or borrow anyone's wet suit, people pee in those.

Since you can't do that in a dry suit, you put a catheter in your penis and hook it up to this tube and use this valve to eliminate.

Too much information, way too fkg much information.  No more words, just stop talking.

It's a little more difficult for women since they are built a little differently.

No shit Sherlock.  I think this is about to get much worse.  An anatomy lesson from Crash.  Oh, just stop talking now.

They are coming up with devices now that women can use over their vaginas.

For the love of god, stop talking.  Shoot me now; this conversation cannot possibly be happening.  Of all the things that I don't want to ever hear Crash talking about, vagina tops that list.  Not that I am uncomfortable with that particular word - vagina, vagina, vagina - see, there, I can use it.  Just don't ever want to hear it come out of Crash's mouth.  I'd be willing to bet he's not a fan of them anyway. 

It's a special pouch / funnel thing that needs to be glued in place.  Of course, that presents a problem with the pubic hair so the vagina has to be shaved.

He just said vagina again.  And, he has just suggested shaving it and gluing something to it like having something glued to the vagina is perfectly acceptable.  Pretty sure I am about to achieve spontaneous human combustion, I'll just burst into flames to end this conversation. In fact, I'd welcome it at this point.  This conversation cannot be happening. 

I need to say something, I can't handle this anymore.

“Gluing something to one's lady bits seems like a bad idea.” 
(This I manage saying out loud).
Lady bits?  Where the hell did that come from?   What am I, six?  I know the term "lady bits" is a little juvenile but I cannot bring myself to say the word vagina to this man, I refuse.  I will not talk to Crash about vagina, it's just wrong and I'm guessing something that he's not all that familiar with, especially if he wants to glue something to it.

At some point, he finally stopped talking and I am still hoping to burst into flames, there are things in my head now that just ought not to be there.  I can't unring this bell, I can’t just make this conversation go away.  For the rest of my life, I will always know that Crash talked to me about shaving a vagina and gluing stuff to it.  And of course, I am aware that he wasn't even using the anatomically correct term but I had no intentions of correcting him - one could not shave that particular anatomical feature nor glue anything to it, it is a moist internal structure.  If the vagina is hairy, urinating in a dry suit is the least of your problems.  No more words, no more words.   Perhaps an aneurysm - that would be quick and relatively painless.  At this point, I’m not fussy – spontaneous human combustion or a burst aneurysm either would be welcome.

Once Crash left the shop and I was up at my desk curled in the fetal position, shuddering uncontrollably, ears bleeding from things they should never have heard, I tried to explain what happened to a coworker who found me curled up, twitching but words failed me.

Scarred for life.