Suzy Says

While Suzy is away, I’ll be blogging for her, so expect a bit of a change in tone…

Cat Update:

Well, I got home from work yesterday (Monday, 8/20/01) and of course the cats were sniffing around for Suzy, all of them acting like Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window, looking at me like I bumped her off or something. Then, of course, they went apeshit because it was playtime. After I fed them, they all sat on the bed with me while I ate NVGTO* Pizza and did a Tony Soprano, watching a documentary on World War II. I tried to sleep around 8pm, with the phone on my bedside table, anticipating Suzy’s call to let me know she got to London okay. I suffered through intermittant Jackattacks all night as our Siamese 1 year-old leaped around the bedroom and kept messing with the cords attached to our window blinds. The cords have this little plastic ball on them that makes a spectacularly annoying clacking sound whenever they strike the wall, and of course Jack found this to be great fun. I believe that in some third-world countries this is considered a cheap and effective torture technique. Suzy called sometime after 11pm, to let me know she reached her destination safe and sound. I think everyone slept on the bed last night, including Hannah, who slept on me. To her I’m just furniture. This morning I didn’t want to get out from under the covers, but the cats kept running and jumping across the bed. It’s an old, very effective technique. I leap out of bed in a rage and chase them down the hall. They run into the kitchen, and by the time I get there they are sitting quietly, thinking, ‘since you’re here, why not break out the food?’ Works every time. (*NVGTO = Not Very Good Take-Out)

Things That Still Piss Me Off After All These Years #112:

It irks me that the X Files got moved from Friday night to Sunday night. It happened years ago, but it still sucks.

Women Are Strange #76:

The following letter, and reply, were found on a website that deals with testicle trivia (yeah, like YOU don’t surf the net for weird stuff?). The note at the end is the perfect capper to this bizarre entry-

“My husband is getting a vasectomy and we’re going to ask the doctor if we can keep his balls and I’m going to cook them and eat them because I love him. Can you suggest a recipe for human testicles?”

NO!!! When I received this mail the first time, I was sure it was a sick joke. After several years of receiving many variations on this same theme, I’ve begun to figure out that there are people who have perhaps seen their dog (or cow) neutered and misunderstand the process for men. All of these letters are written seriously and earnestly, I’ve decided to include the answer in my FAQ and mail sections. For all the loving wives and girlfriends (and the one boyfriend) out there who want to eat their husband or lovers balls after he has a vasectomy, I’ve got news for ya. Medical science has progressed a li’l bit faster than animal husbandry. Doctors these days simply snip through your vasa deferentia which will keep your spermies from mingling with your semen. They won’t snip through your jewels, not even if ya ask them nicely. Here’s a page which explains the process. NOTE If you have been to a doctor who removed your balls and called it a vasectomy, you should call a lawyer, not a chef. (and I’m neither 🙂

Random Notes:

I hate our downstairs neighbor. This knob has a deck the size of a trampoline, and yet it is always dirty and covered with leaves. The guy will go out there in his fancy designer togs [expensive pullover with the collar turned up, blue jeans with creases ironed into them (jesus), work gloves that come in an assortment of delightful colors (jesus squared!)] and then he will spend, no joke, an average of 10-15 minutes trying to tidy things up before dropping his rake and trashbag and leaving them there as he heads back inside his cigar-rank home. He is useless, and yet has a lot of money, so he must be some whiny executive. He has actually paid consultants to come out and discuss the deck situation, hoping for some radical solution to the dampness and rot, when all he really has to do is clean off all the leaves and slap down a few cans of Thompsen’s Water Seal. Oh, and he bought a super expensive leaf-VACUUM on the weekend. The fucking thing sounds like an F16 taking off and he kept interrupting his work to pointlessly fiddle with it, and Christ, I’ve seen chimpanzees with the munchies use sticks to draw termites out of old logs with more skill than this guy showed. Considering his apparent complete lack of friends and longstanding zero-ranking on the dating scene, maybe he should just turn the damn vacuum around and use it on himself. The stupid fuck. We call him Shithead, because that’s what his actual name sounds like and, well, he IS a shithead. In fact, I think he should be a shithead for real. If I could get one of those window-washer safety-belts, I’d rig it so I could hang out my window while he is uselessly puttering around on his deck and relieve myself right on his goddamn head.

Oh, and here’s the beginning of The Shithead Song (sung to the tune of the Flipper theme):

We call him Shithead, Shithead, greasy and bal-ding

Who’d ever want to be, friends with someone like he…

-Rufus