Whoo! Saturday again? So soon? This is impressive, right?
It’s random crap day. I have lots of things that are not long enough for a whole blog post. I know, I could totally write a short blog post. HA HA HA. Who are we kidding, really? Why would I do something like that? That would be utter lunacy. SHEER MADNESS I TELL YOU. Next I suppose you’ll be telling me it’s time to stop using caps lock! What is the world COMING TO?
The Fisher King (or possibly queen, it’s not like anyone got close enough to look)
So my dad has a wood lot. Because he lives in the boonies, and they need wood so they can have a fire so they can heat the house. And he has a little garden up there. But something is EATING his garden. So he puts out a trap all year-round and sometimes catches things like skunks and one time he swears he caught a forty-pound raccoon but I think I didn’t get my penchant for exaggeration from the neighbors, you know? Also sometimes woodchucks.
So the other night I talked to him and he was all, “I HAVE A STORY” and that’s exciting, you know? I do so love stories.
Dad: So I was going up to the wood lot and I had to check the trap because maybe there was another forty pound raccoon in it. Only I couldn’t find the chicken I left in the truck yesterday that I wanted to put in the trap as bait.
Me: Wait, you left chicken in the truck? And it disappeared? That’s strange. Where did it go?
Dad: That’s not what the story’s about. I think your brother ate the chicken.
Me: He ate old truck-chicken? That seems like it would give him worms or something.
Dad: Again, not the point of the story.
Me: Also, are you sure that forty-pound thing was a raccoon? Maybe it was a wolverine.
Dad: Those things are FEROCIOUS. No, it wasn’t a wolverine. This isn’t a comic book.
Me: No, not HUGH JACKMAN. A REAL wolverine.
Dad: It was a raccoon. You’re really not going to let me tell this story.
Dad: So I called your brother and told him I was going up to the wood lot and he wanted to go, too.
Me: Did you ask him if he ate that wormy chicken?
Dad: THIS STORY IS NOT ABOUT THE CHICKEN OR THE RACCOON.
Me: Every story really has a story within the story; it’s just about getting the person to tell it to you.
Dad: You are infuriating.
Dad: So we went up to the wood lot and there was something in the trap, but it didn’t look like a raccoon or a skunk.
Me: Or a wolverine?
Dad: Or a wolverine. Guess what it was?
Me: A penguin.
Dad: Yes. It was a penguin, because we live at the Arctic Circle. NO. It was NOT A PENGUIN. It was a FISHER.
Me: *squealing too high for anything but dogs to hear* A FISHER? They are AWESOME. Oh wait. Oh, no. Tell me you didn’t kill the fisher. This story doesn’t end with you killing the fisher, does it?
Dad: Please let me tell the story.
Me: If that’s how it ends, we need to change the subject now or I’m totally going to get upset and start singing that Sarah McLachlan dead animal song.
Dad: SO THEN, your brother got close to it, and it was actually pretty calm, until he put his face next to the cage. Then it hissed and showed its teeth. But then when we moved away, it sounded like it was purring.
Me: THEY PURR? WHY DIDN’T YOU ADOPT IT AND IT WOULD BE THE BEST PET.
Dad: I told your brother, “Your sister is going to say, ‘Why don’t you adopt this fisher, it would be the best pet.’”
Me: Well? Why didn’t you? I want a fisher.
Dad: Your brother said, “Yes, it would be a great pet, until it ate your face off.”
Me: Yeah, you always run the risk of face-eating with pet fishers. That’s a fact.
Dad: So then I decided, this is one pretty animal. I have to let this go. Even though once it was in the trap, it ate all the chicken in there. I could have re-used that chicken, since I couldn’t find my other chicken.
Me: I AM SO GLAD THIS STORY DIDN’T END THE WAY I THOUGHT IT MIGHT. Wait, are you mad it ate the chicken? Of course it ate the chicken! It was like stress-eating. The poor fisher was all, “I am trapped! Might as well eat this delicious cage-chicken. IT MIGHT BE MY LAST MEAL ON EARTH. Nom nom.”
Dad: I like that you think you know how the fisher thinks. Anyway, the cage is really hard to open. And, as mentioned, there’s the face-eating to worry about. So I cut a stick and with some maneuvering, we got the cage open and that fisher ran and ran and ran. I think it’s still running. Like Forrest Gump.
Me: You realize that because you saved that fisher’s life, it owes you a favor now.
Dad: What? Only you would think of something like that.
Me: IT IS A PROVEN FACT. It’s like an Aesop’s Fable. Like the lion and the mouse, and the mouse pulled the thorn from the lion’s paw.
Dad: I don’t want to talk about that story. It sounds stupid. Lions and mice are not friends.
Me: Fine, we never finished discussing the disappearing chicken.
Dad: FINE. What kind of favor does that fisher owe me?
Me: So someday, you’ll be out walking in the woods, and you’ll fall and break your leg where no one will hear you calling for help. And the fisher will appear!
Dad: And let me kill it and eat it so I don’t starve to death?
Me: THAT IS NOT HOW FABLES WORK. Fables are for CHILDREN. Children would be HORRIFIED at that kind of fable.
Dad: Well, how else would a fisher save me?
Me: It would go run for help.
Dad: Oh. And how would it get help?
Me: It would flag down a passing car with its long tail and lead them to you.
Dad: That is one talented fisher.
Me: I know. You’re probably feeling pretty stupid you didn’t adopt it as the most awesome pet ever right now. Because, PURRING.
Dad: No. Because, FACE-EATING.
As you can see by this story, I am not adopted, and come by my rambling storytelling technique genetically. THROUGH SCIENCE.
Either a crazy or a dope-fiend. Either way, totally both racist and homophobic. Yet oddly cheerful.
So I went to get my car fixed this week, THANK YOU ASSHAT CAR VANDAL, and while waiting at the garage and playing with my phone and reading and such, a man came in. He was probably my age. Somewhat attractive, in a bro sort of way.
Bro: IS THERE WI-FI IN HERE?
Bro talked LOUDLY. Like, if Bro was writing, it would be all-caps, all the time. And RAPIDLY. And looking at Bro, I realized, he was really twitchy. And his eyes were WILD. So I decided that probably Bro was on some sort of speedy drug. Or possibly a lot of Red Bull.
Bro discovered that there WAS, INDEED, wi-fi in the garage (“YES! WI-FI! THIS IS AWESOME!!!!”), and he then sat down RIGHT NEXT TO ME, even though there were about seven other chairs that were NOT right next to me.
Bro: DO YOU WANT A BOAT?
Me: Um. No?
Bro: HA HA HA. EVERYONE WANTS A BOAT.
Me: I don’t. I can’t swim.
Bro: HA HA HA. OF COURSE YOU CAN. EVERYONE CAN SWIM. LOOK AT MY BOAT.
He then pulled up Ebay Motors and I was regaled with a story about how this BOAT was TOTALLY AWESOME and he was going to PURCHASE IT from OHIO and he was pretty sure he could get it for only $16,000, which was a VERY GOOD PRICE FOR A BOAT.
Now, listen. As a rule, I totally don’t talk to people who are so hell-bent on talking to me in public places because STRANGER DANGER and also I hate people. But this guy was SO EFFING ENTERTAINING. At first. At FIRST he was entertaining. Until he started being a looney. Also, you all know I love all-caps, and this guy TALKED IN ALL-CAPS. I’m pretty sure he was about one toot away from a heart attack, and he was entertaining himself so, so thoroughly with the loud-talking. So I totally talked to him, even though he punctuated every sentence he said with a slap on my leg or arm, for emphasis. I mean, not HARD. But totally a slap. Not a sexy slap. Just a “HA HA HA” slap. He was a hot mess. It was kind of like watching a slow-motion car wreck. You know you SHOULDN’T want to watch. But you do anyway. OH! Also he had a lot of very white teeth. Like, TOO white. And too even. They looked like PROP teeth.
Then he started getting both racist AND homophobic. But in a weirdly jolly way. I’m not sure what to make of that.
Bro: DO YOU WANT TO SEE WHAT’S GIVING ME A HEART ATTACK?
Me: Um. I guess?
(Bro closes Ebay Motors, sadly, and then opens a photo of some teenagers in cheerleading uniforms. I did not like the very pervy direction this conversation was heading.)
Bro: THIS IS MY DAUGHTER! (points to one of the girls.)
Me: (inner “whew”) Oh! She’s lovely!
Bro: I KNOW. I HOPE SHE GETS FAT OR TURNS INTO A LESBIAN.
Although, he didn’t say lesbian. He said an offensive TERM for lesbians. This was off-putting and I was kind of knocked for a loop and didn’t know how to respond. It was not so much “crackhead bro behavior” as “ignorant redneck behavior.”
Me: I don’t…I don’t think her sexual preference or weight will make you worry about her less, honestly.
Bro: HA HA HA. YOU TALK FUNNY. LET’S LOOK AT MY BOAT MORE.
Then we looked at his boat a little more.
Bro: THE REASON I CAN GET THIS SO CHEAP IS BECAUSE IT HAS SOME DAMAGE BECAUSE BOATS LIKE THIS? YOU CAN GO 70 OVER WAVES WITH THEM. AND THAT CAUSES DAMAGE. WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO GO 70 OVER A WAVE IN THIS BOAT?
Me: No. Because I can’t swim. So then I would fall out. And die.
Bro: HA HA HA! FALL OUT AND DIE SHE SAYS! YOU JUST NEED TO CONQUER YOUR FEAR! EVEN AFRICAN-AMERICANS CAN SWIM IF THEY CONQUER THEIR FEAR!
Although he didn’t SAY African-Americans? He said the word that if you say it, it makes an entire ROOM go quiet because it is SO ABSOLUTELY NOT ALLOWED?
My coked-out friend was really getting to be a worry. And yes, before anyone gets all up-in-arms, probably I should have been all “teaching moment” and all “sir, that terminology really isn’t appropriate” but listen. THIS GUY WAS WIRED ON SOMETHING. And he was a STRANGER. If it makes you feel any better about the state of the world, after he started being a total weirdo who hated all the people for their sexual partners and skin colors, I kind of buried my nose in my book and just made a random “uh-huh” and “oh” here and there to his ongoing rant because it was very, very awkward.
Even the garage guy came in at one point, saw Bro there, and made a beeline back to the relative safety of grease guns and loud banging.
Bro then told me a story about how, at his last job, although they LOVED him, he’d done over $1.5 MILLION in damages, and so they’d had to let him go. But they didn’t WANT to let him go. It was just an insurance thing. YOU KNOW? *leg slap* YOU KNOW HOW THAT IS? *leg slap*
Finally, the car was repaired and I was SAFE and I could ESCAPE. Poor Bro. He looked sad. Who would he talk to now? Luckily, Project Runway was on the television. I can only imagine the things he was saying about my favorite mentor, Tim Gunn. I’m glad I left when I did.
So! Heads-up, people on Sacandaga Lake! Bro’s getting a BOAT! And does A LOT OF HIGH-PRICED DAMAGE! And seems to be CHEERILY RACIST AND HOMOPHOBIC! I’d probably stay out of the water, if I were you. Maybe stay safely on land. Have a nice party somewhere with walls, or something, I don’t know. Just a tip.
My favorite lovebirds, aw! Squish!
Happy first anniversary to R and A, two of my favorite lovebirds! I can’t wait to see you in 4 or 5 months and we will have all the adventures and I will goggle in awe over your LATEST COLLABORATION, who will totally be born by then, BABY GIRL AWESOMESAUCE! May every year after this one, up to a million billion more, plus one for luck, be filled with love and romance and laughter and fun! *smooch*
So remember last week I told you about how I laughed to tears about how I imagined that one of my actors was sitting at home making up a death-book for celebrities? In case you were wondering how awesome my actors are (I don’t think anyone’s sitting around wondering these things, but you never know, someone MIGHT be), the very next day, the same actor that I’d been imagining that about came in with his hands behind his back. “I have something for you, to thank you for all your hard work this week,” he said. And he pulled out A DEATH COLLAGE. He and his awesome wife, who told him about my giggle fit, complete with tears, about imagining him collaging celebrity deaths, made up a fake scrapbook page for Whitney Houston’s death. It’s totally not as morbid as it sounds. OK, yeah, it is. But ALSO AWESOME. It’s on pink paper and has the article from the paper and “our angel” and “we will always love you” and I laughed so hard I almost died. I would totally have tried to get a photo of it but it’s too big to take a photo of and also I think people might start getting the wrong idea that I like hated Whitney Houston or something, which I totally didn’t. WHITNEY HOUSTON IS NOT THE POINT. The point is, my giggle fit made death-coupaging a REALITY. This is why I love theater people: they get my insane and morbid sense of humor, and they do it one better. Because they are AMAZING. And their brains don’t work like regular people. Much like mine doesn’t. And this makes me so, so happy.
Happy Saturday, all! I hope your weekend is filled with Cheetos and also alcoholic beverages. I mean, everyone wants those things, right? If you live locally, COME SEE MY SHOW. If you do not, I WISH YOU DID. No, no. NOT YOU DING-DONG JOE. You can stay right where you are. Doing…whatever it is you’re doing there. Ew.