Gimmeoxygen's Blog

December 15, 2009

Big Dick, the Fixit Man

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ruby Dabling @ 8:02 pm
Tags: , , , , , ,

Sunday, friends of mine attended a baptism where they were to be named godparents, and they had me watch their only child, Sarah.  This leads me to question their intelligence as I am not child-proofed, but I didn’t mind having one of the smaller minions from Hell spend the afternoon with me.

Sarah is a 5 yr. old cutie – all curly brown hair and dark, solemn eyes with dimples when she smiles.  She is bright, curious, engaging, and she scares the snot out of my dog, though – to be fair – BuKi lives in mortal terror of all children who like to pull on her silky ears and tail.  BuKi immediately went into hiding under my bed when she arrived.

Because of being diabetic, BuKi needs to be fed at precise intervals and given insulin.  To change her schedule results in her sugar being thrown off, and it can take days to reestablish good levels.

I was trying to coax the dog out from under the bed by tempting her with a vet-approved snack of broiled chicken while Sarah sat on the bed offering helpful suggestions of ways to get BuKi to come out.

“Swat her with the broom!”

“Sarah, that’s not nice.  We don’t hit animals with brooms.”

“Throw a shoe at her!” crowed the hellspawn.

I’m laying on the floor wagging a piece of chicken at a terrified dog.  “Broom…shoe…  Are your parents aware that they are raising one of the Children of the Corn?  Do you think I should set fire to the bed?”

“Yes!  Yes!  Burn up the bed!”  She was bouncing, and dust was filtering down on me, so I told her to stop it NOW, and be still.

“My mother says you’re cranky with her,”  said the moppet from the Inferno.

“She does?  Well, I suppose I am at times.  Everyone gets cranky.  It’s okay as long as you don’t say mean things to hurt someone’s feelings.”  (See?  I can be a role model!)  Sarahs’ mother can be very ditzy and she talks too much.  There have been times when I’ve snapped at her in self-defense.

“My daddy says you need Big Dick, the Fixit Man, ” the little snitch reveals further.

I put my head down and bit my hand to avoid laughing.  I thought, “If this was a  movie, this is the audiences’ cue to snicker at the precocious child” and I said, “Your daddy is a Neanderthal.”  Let little Miss Tattletale take that home and see how it translates.  “Your daddy is a knuckle-dragging no-neck.”

She laughs.  Adults are endlessly entertaining to children.  We’ve always been their favorite toys.

BuKi, finally, comes out, grabs the chicken, glares at Sarah, and dashes into the kitchen to scarf down her meal.  I have to prevent Sarah from following, so a tickle session is in order.

“Stop!  Stop it!  I have to pee!”  ALWAYS believe a child when they say this.  I don’t know much about parenting, but I’ve learned this much.

Fed, medicated, BuKi retreats under the bed, and – to pass the time – Sarah and I play a card game she invented.  I forget the name of it, but I think it was called “SARAH ALWAYS WINS NO MATTER WHAT”.  After an extended winning streak, I advised her to run away to Vegas and introduce this fabulous game, become rich, and keep her parents in a kennel in back of her mansion.  That’ll serve ’em right for asking me to babysit…

Soon, the ‘rents are back, and after they bundle up their bundle of joy, they leave, and I wait until they are in the driveway to do what I had been patiently waiting to do all afternoon.  I yell “Donnie!” and when he turns around, all smiles,  I say, “The next time you run into Big Dick, the Fixit Man, you tell him that I said hello, k?” and shut the door before he could answer.

I think I might like having kids around, you know?

You know I waited for two hours to do that, don’t you?  Of course you do.

December 1, 2009

Please Pass the Xanax, pt. II

Filed under: The People From Planet Polyester — Ruby Dabling @ 4:45 pm
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To continue with my vacation with the People from Planet Polyester, here are more of the notes I took while being held hostage for Thanksgiving.

* * *

We went shopping all day!  What fun!

At six in the morning, one of the smallish inhabitants of the planet woke me up.  Do you want to wake up quickly?  Well, try waking – no clue where you are – with a midget wearing a snot-and-oatmeal facial two inches from your face.  The midget is poking you (again with the poking) in the chest, and snuffling.  I can almost guarantee that you will pop out of bed so fast you give yourself jet lag.

“Auntie Boo sez you gotta get up NOW.”  The midget tried to pet BuKi, but she scrambled deeper under the covers.  I’ve raised one smart dog.

“Auntie Boo is mad as a March hare, and should…”  I stopped.  The smallish one might be wired.  “Tell her I’m coming right down, okay, sweetie?”

And, so, I was told that, like it or not, we were going shopping in NYC today.  You better believe I took two xanax today to prepare.

I’d forgotten a few things.

I’d forgotten that I like the station at Hoboken even though it is dirty and noisy.  I’d forgotten how scary the subways in NYC are.  I’d forgotten that you never, EVER light a cigarette on the street unless you want to be surrounded by two dozen people with their hand out chanting, “Hey, can you spare a smoke?”  I have a few – 3 t0 5 – cigarettes a day (hush it – I like to smoke, dammit!), but I threw my pack at one of them, and fled.

I’d forgotten how very bad NYC cabs smell, and that – by transference – will YOU if you spend any time in them at all.  I’d forgotten that most cabbies hate you, have always hated you, and will hate you even more if you say something stupid like, “Oh, Jesus!  Are we near Harlem?  You’ve got the doors locked, don’t you?” as my Aunt Boo did.  (Boo lives with the certainty that every black male alive exists for no other reason than to rip the girdle off her aging, flabby thighs and rape her.  Oh, I suppose everyone can dream, though, can’t they!).

I’d forgotten that making eye contact with the man yelling, “Hey!  Hey, mami!  Ya wanna ride my salami?” will only encourage him to grab his crotch, and make the O Face.  This happened – with creative variations – throughout the day.

And I’d forgotten that I can’t go anywhere with these people without wanting to find a nice, quiet bathroom where I can eat a handful of barbituates before opening a few of my major arteries…but NYC bathrooms are even more frightening than the subways.

* * *

Thank god something good happened!

The only person I love arrived.  My cousin, Abbie.  Like me, she fled the nest as soon as it was financially feasible (only she went north to Vermont where she lives with her wonderfully peculiar lover, Jack).  As soon as she came in the door, I wanted to squeal and launch myself at her like a child.  Even better, she has to share the guest room with me.

As soon as we could, we snuck out to behind the garage to share a blunt and commiserate.  She asked me how bad it’s been, and I said it’s a new circle in Dantes’ Hell.  I told her how, the night before, I’d bent over in front of Uncle Pink to help a little one who’d fallen on her diapered butt, and he’d grabbed me and pantomimes sodomizing me while yelling, “Tell Santa what you want for Christmas, baby!” (I defy any of you to keep even a shred of dignity when your uncle is dry-humping you in front of everyone.)  She shuddered.  “He did the same thing to me a few years ago.  Jack calls him ‘Uncle Kinky’.  You should have whacked him over the head like I did.”

I’m so glad she’s here.

* * *

Giving BuKi her insulin is a spectator event.  As soon as I get the vial of insulin out of the ‘fridge, someone will announce it so that everyone crowds around to watch.  BuKi might be blind, but her instinct for self-preservation is spot-on, and she began to tremble so badly I had to support her with one hand while injecting her with the other.  The only thing I said was to the midget.  “Watch carefully.  You’re going to need this skill by the time you’re in sixth grade, and the nice man beside the playground wants to be your bestest friend.”  This earned me a dirty look from her mother, Gwen, as I’d forgotten she recently left rehab for a meth addiction.  My bad…

* * *

Three more days.  It will be easier with Abbie here.  She knows how to handle the natives better than I do.  When they began their poking, pinching, patting and pawing, she snapped, “Quit fucking touching me, dammit.”   This seems to be a magical incantation they respond to.  I’ll have to remember it.

* * *

(I’m sure you think I’m making it sound worse than what it was, but I don’t even get close to describing these people.  This is a hint:  Two of them were on the Jerry Springer Show, and they show the video each year because they are PROUD of it.  I refuse to tell you what episode it was.)

 

 

 

 

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