Justifiable Filicide

My father is both blessed and cursed.

Blessed in that he is almost 82 and looks fabulous and is in good health, he is still very active and has a wonderful, perfect daughter (my sister) and two beautiful grandkids. He even has the son he always wanted in my husband: Tony.

Although, in order to get Tony, he had to live through the curse: Me.

My Dad andPerfect  Sister with the Red-Headed Step Child

There have been several times when I thought he might kill me for one thing or another. Doing stupid things, missing curfew, breaking laws, breaking stuff, etc. However, I have survived. Mostly because I am VERY resilient to beatings and like most vampires, I am very difficult to kill and I constantly hide his wooden bullets.

Dude-Magnet

When I was a teenager, I drove a powder blue Dodge K Car Station Wagon named Felipe. It was hot.  Aside from knowing where to put the gasoline, I did not have a lot of automobile knowledge.

One day, I attempted to “wash” the windshield in the “vehicle.” And I found that the blue liquid was gone. Far be it for me to go to a store and buy windshield washer fluid, when I knew full well, my father had multiple bottles in his garage.

A bevy of washer fluid

I rifled around the garage and found many bottles that said “Windshield Washer Fluid” but the “fluid” was dark in color and not really liquid.

Hmmm.

This doesn’t seem right.

But there are 10 bottles here and they all look the same. And why is my father hoarding windshield washer fluid???

Strange.

But there are 10 BOTTLES of it. It MUST be right.

Right?

Maybe you have to dilute it with water?

Plausible. Although, one would think this would be common knowledge.

Right?

So I begin to pour the “fluid” into the reservoir and quickly realize that it was NOT windshield washer fluid.

F@#%!!!!

It was Motor Oil.

USED Motor Oil, actually.

IN
MY
WINDSHIELD
WASHER
FLUID
RESERVOIR

I uttered a phrase I had used many times in the past, “My Dad is going to kill me.”

All I can say is, a) Yes, I’m an idiot b) Thank god I didn’t, like, try to use spray the fluid because I do believe I would not be here to write this ridiculous blog.

My poor Dad had to get the motor oil OUT of the reservoir, and it took him awhile.

To this day he says “If I didn’t kill you the day you put the motor oil in the windshield washer… you are safe, I never will.”

I’m certain he underestimates me. I’ll sure I will do something that could be considered grounds for justifiable filicide.

The Olympic Sit-up

I have a plethora of wacky friends. I am certain this shocks many of you, as I appear to be so normal. But alas, it is true. One friend, whom I will refer to as Jacques Hansbrough, clearly not his real name, falls under the category of a good, but wacky, friend.

I met Jacques in college. Junior College, to be exact. In essence, a very expensive, camp for young adults. And Jacques treated it like camp. Classes?  Optional.  Tests?  Semi-Optional.  Funneling Beer?  Necessary.  His parents were sponsoring his stay at camp.  He didn’t live on campus because he waited too long to request housing so he was FORCED (and it was a godsend for parties) to live off campus with this older guy named Smith. The best thing about Smith (at the time) was that he was 21 and was willing to buy us beer.

Smith is an entire blog in and of itself….but I’ll save for another time. I think he’s currently living  in Hawaii, in a tree.  Minimal work, maximum doobage.

But we are here to discuss Sir Hansbrough.. and with the start of the Olympics, I thought this might be a fitting tale. The first night I met Jacques, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. But he WAS wearing a wool sweater vest… just without a shirt underneath. Which must have been itchy.

He looked, almost like this guy.  Except Jacques’s vest was blue.

In our little crew, there was another kid, Rudy Rumplemintz (again, not his real name, but it’s pretty close). Rudy was a really nice guy, but not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Jacques used to like to play jokes on him, which weren’t always nice, but were always funny.

One evening, Jacques and Rudy were consuming some beverages, and Jacques said “Yeah, so this buddy of mine and I were trying to do “Olympic Sit-ups” last night. My abs are pretty sore from it, because it’s so hard. In fact, in the end, I wasn’t able to do even ONE.”

Rudy asked “What are Olympic Sit-ups?”

“You’ve never heard of Olympic Sit-ups? I’m surprised because you are in decent shape… It’s just a sit-up that is SUPER hard to do because, well, a) you have to be blindfolded and b) you have to do these heavy breathing exercises immediately before you attempt to sit-up. But you probably couldn’t do one.”

“I bet I can.” Rudy said confidently.

“You think? Nah, I doubt it- I mean, it’s really hard. I didn’t even come CLOSE to doing a full one.” Jacques replied

“Well, I’m in much better shape than you!” Rudy retorted. And he was right. I mean, Jacques was, basically, a veal. He rarely got of bed and when he did it was only to drink beer.

Jacques said “Well, I mean, you can TRY it.”

“Ok, now, what do I have to do?”

“Well you lie down on the floor, and then I’ll blindfold you with a towel”

“Wait, why do you have to be blindfolded?” Rudy asked

“Um, well, it messes with your equilibrium. And it makes it MUCH harder to do the sit-up. I mean, ANYONE can do this sit-up not blindfolded. That’s the whole point.” Jacques explained.

“Ok.” Rudy agreed.

“So, once you are blindfolded, cross your arms over your chest, you stretch out, make your body as rigid as possible and then you have to pant and breathe really heavy for, like 60 seconds.”

“Ok” Rudy agreed

“And then we’ll count down from 10, and when I get zero, sit up with as much force as humanly possible.” Jacques said “But I’m guessing you won’t be able to do it.”

Rudy did a few stretches and sat down on the floor while Jacques produced a dirty towel from his dirty clothes pile.

Just a few calisthenics to warm up

“Are you ready?” Jacques asked

“Yes.” Rudy replied.

With that agreement, Jacques tied the blindfold tightly over Rudy’s eyes.

Preparing for the sit-up

“Ok, you need to start breathing.  Breathe IN through your mouth and then OUT through your mouth, this is CRITICAL.” Jacques said.

“Ok.” And Rudy started the heavy breathing portion of the preparation.

In…Out
In…Out
In…Out

As Rudy was preparing himself to “sit up, really hard,” Jacques unbuttoned his jeans, and pulled down his pants.

In…Out
In…Out
In…Out

Jacques then, silently, straddled Rudy’s chest and squatted so that his buttocks were, approximately, 8 inches from Rudy’s face.

10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
0

Rudy sat up. He sat up HARD. A smile of triumph forming on his lips, just as his face hit Jacques bare, sweaty, hairy butt.

Boldy, go where no man has gone before

Because of the blindfold, Rudy couldn’t be sure what transpired.  What did I hit? Ew, it smells… I have hair in my mouth. Wait, what just happened?!?!?

Rudy ripped off his blindfold, and stood up, ready to kick Jacques’s ass. Fortunately, Jacques’s friends held Rudy back. But Rudy was pissed.

To this day, 25 years later, Rudy has never spoken to Jacques again. But Rudy still brags about completing an Olympic Sit-up, failing to see that it is nothing to be proud of.

While researching for this blog, I googled “Olympic sit-up.” and found that it is also called “Atomic Sit-up” or for those non-creative types “Very Hard Sit-up.” In googling, I also found that there have been several lawsuits brought, in the Chicago area,  sit up-ees vs sit-up-ers claiming molestation and various other atrocities.

The moral of this story is, this isn’t 1987 so don’t try this at home. You don’t want to get sued for some harmless butt play.

It’s not easy…to be me

I’ll admit it. I have a few “Five for Fighting” songs on my iPod. Mainly, I keep them on there because I sometimes start feeling too manly and I use their songs to try to regrow my vagina. Tonight I was trying to do just that- resurrect my womanhood.

Before I go any further, I need to mention that Tony has this thing that he does- he changes the words to songs. For example: Bryan Adams “Summer of ’69,” the opening line is “Got my first real six string bought it at the five and dime.” Tony believes this line to be “Got my first real sex dream…bought it at the five and dime…” I have pointed out to him that his interpretation does not, in fact, make any sense. But he insists.

We went out for Chinese food tonite (yes, the leftovers are sitting on the counter, unrefrigerated), and on the way home, Five for Fighting’s “Superman” came on my iPod.

Near the end of the song, Tony said “Are they saying “I’m only a man in a funny red sheet?”

I said “Yes.”

“Why are they singing about a transvestite in a red sheet?” Tony asked.

“Tony” I said “this song is called “Superman.” It’s about Superman.”

“No it isn’t.” Tony said “It’s about a transvestite who wears red.”

“Tony, the lyrics are “I’m more than a bird, I’m more than a plane. More than some pretty face beside a train.”

Blank stare from Tony

“‘I’m only a man in a silly red sheet, digging for kryptonite on this one way street.’ doesn’t that KIND OF sound like Superman?”

Tony said “No, I really believe it is about some transvestites in red sheets.”

The next song that came on was “100 Years,” also by Five for Fighting. I asked Tony “So, what is THIS song about?”

“It’s about aging.”

“Ok, so you understand this one?” I asked

“Yes, it’s about aging transvestites.”

It’s not easy… to be me.

TonyVision

I have long maintained that my husband is oblivious.

In fairness, sharing a life with me requires tremendous filtering skills, and believe me, he has mastered them.

Don’t get me wrong, if Tony is working on the computer for work, or even NOT for work- he is focused and dedicated. He is unflappable, really.

However, I swear, when he prepares to leave his office, he opens his skullcap, removes his brain, and locks it in a small drawer in his desk, along with beef jerky other assorted sundries, he would prefer for me not to share.

Non-Refrigerated, of course

Consequently, I get the Tony that, oh, leaves a cut onion on the counter for 4 days.  Or will make a sandwich and leave it in the refrigerator, for days, like this:

Saran Wrap?  I don’t need no stinking Saran Wrap!! 

Franky, I’m shocked he even thought to put it in the refrigerator.  Generally, he was no concept of the need for food refrigeration, as the refrigerator is merely a device to keep beverages cold.   I’ve seen him eat food that has been left out for days, all without consequence. In fact, we ate at the Diner last night and Tony took home two pieces of chicken and part of a turkey club. It is sitting on a brown bag on the counter. In July. And we don’t have air conditioning.

When I ask him WHY???

His response is usually: “It didn’t occur to me to (insert offense here).”

Sometimes I get this response.  “I don’t believe you need to (insert offense here) ”

To which my response is always “I know YOU don’t BELIEVE it, but you do!”

Tony is also stricken with an ability, or disability, to be completely BLIND in any given situation.  For example, I’ll call  him and say, “Hon, can you check if we have any eggs?

Eggs?  What eggs?

He will open the refrigerator and respond “No, I don’t see any.”

“Hon, do we have any Corona?”

Time to go buy some beer!

“No hon, no Corona. We do have a LOT of Coca Cola.”

“Hon, do we have any Toilet Paper?”

Sorry, I don’t have a square to spare.

“I don’t see any.”

“Hon, do I have any white shirts in my closet?”

(ok, I wish this was my closet)

“Not that I can see.”

“Hon, do we still have that trashbag of severed heads?”

Hon, we need to add “severed heads” to the Costco list!

“No, the cleaning lady must have thrown them out.”

So when I left for work this morning, I remembered that I needed to thaw out some shrimp to make Thai Shrimp Dumplings for a party we are attending tomorrow.  Being as it’s “hot-as-nards” out, I don’t want to leave the shrimp out too long, so I left a note for Tony asking him to check the frozen-ness of the shrimp when he wakes up. He usually wakes up 1-2 hours after I leave for work, so I left him a note, on the coffee maker. I figured this would be my best shot at him seeing it.
After writing and affixing, I debated whether or not to draw and ARROW to the shrimp. I then decided to make it a test to see if he could find the shrimp.

We better get Magnum PI over here to help us find this shrimp!

“An urgent case involving missing shrimp?  Sure.  I’ll be right there.  And I’ll bring my chest hair.” 

What do you think?  Will he find the shrimp?

This will be his face when he reads this:

I do not believe I know the location of the shrimp…