Thursday, November 20, 2014

Dust Bunny Blame

Due to my persistent patter that I am disheveled and a bit of a dust devil when it comes to cleanliness is a tad misleading. It is not really ME that makes most of the messes around this ape cage, it is those dumb bunnies who hide under the toe kicks in the kitchen and waft across the floor at the slightest sneeze of a breeze. I don’t care how much I sweep or suck the buggers up with a bigger vac duct, they always seem to find a way to multiply and fly in the face of my hopes for a spic n’ span  place.

Hey I know I rarely smell of bleach but that doesn’t mean I am a fan of competing for floor space with fuzzy baseball-sized amalgams of intertwined dust and dirt. More than once I’ve suffered a squirt of adrenaline as one of those darting wind-driven faux-rodents streaks up from behind to fondle my meaty beat feet. Though I can think of several things more unpleasant caught aloft surfing on a warm-winded vortex, who wants the comet tail from some linty lapin always trying to sneakily squeeze that out of me.

What worries me is given the degree of follicle fleece flying freely at floor-level, logic would have it that the dust stuff is breeding down there somewhere too. That takes the suspicious spotlight off of the attic mite-y mice of course since they typically only come downstairs to watch Tom and Jerry cartoons while ironing their capes. I also don’t believe my cave-feet are to blame since I’ve turned to Rogaine and that means the silky long locks of my ankle-manes have never looked fuller and more alive.

So though I am at a loss as to the creation of this excess loess, my wife’s judgmental and furtive glances towards my thinning ‘Bowl-Magnon’ cranium have not gone un-noticed. Oh sure my lice have a little less to work with and mowing the Mohawk takes half the time now, but surely one hairless rat alone cannot be at the root of this dusty bunny foot ball invasion? Too bad we don’t have a few domestic pets around since I’m looking for something to blame and take a broom to other than myself; because it’s times like these that I could sure use a little MORE ‘hare of the dog’!

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Green Sleeves n' Shelves

It’s usually a bad idea whenever I explore my drawers regardless if I do it in the bedroom closet vanity or in the back of the refrigerator. While I can usually control what goes and grows into the underwear or socks, I really never know what I am going to find fascinatingly fetid inside the fridge. Oddly beyond the rainbow of colored Tupperware containers (both inside and out) and the Rorschach jelly and gravy shelf-blots it was something very GREEN yet very ordinary which caught my eye.

From dairy to berries everything in that ice box had some kind of cutesy label or attempt at a memorable marketing catch-phrase to grab what’s left of my aging and fleeting attention span. That makes sense for foods that are grocery store shiny and trying to sell me on their merits before I check-out – (more than ordinary anyway). However once the stuff has been fermenting freely on frigid racks for weeks I use my snout more than my cerebrum when deciding what’s good to eat rather than what smells like feet.

So that frees up a smattering of what’s left of my grayish mattering to think about really important worldly topics like, is ‘Farm Fresh’ really the best marketing term for the food lurking in our refrigerators. I already felt that the household dairy staples of ‘Sour Cream’ and ‘Cottage Cheese’ sound like stuff that might have parked inside a cow too long. But I have to guess that it has been quite a while since any of these Mad Ave Ad geniuses have taken a big country whiff on a truly fresh farm lately. 

I’m not a fan of ‘restaurant quality’ marked items either since I guess stuck-up true foodies aren’t apparently eating in the same bottom-dollar vinyl buffet booths that I slide my coverall-covered rump into. You can also save your snooty ‘sea salt’ for someone who sympathizes because word has it - THAT stuff comes from the same place where fish go to the bathroom.  Hmm, that fact alone makes me now question the origins of that ice cold, green-sleeved Mountain Dew I dream to ‘DO’; clearly before ‘downing’ I’d better wash my mouth out with a little soap, or better yet . . . a lot of alcohol!

Thursday, November 6, 2014


Despite my craggy crusty white bread exterior, on occasion I have been known to be ‘sweet’ and melted butter soft. Since I’m happily married I do my best to hide my warm and yeasty dough-boy self and usually don’t share my best nectar with those who I don’t know from friend or foe. That fact apparently did not resonate with a random bulky bee who just so happened to seek a patch of hand-shaped shade as I inadvertently brought my paw to bear briefly upon his fuzzy bumble-bum.

Like most folks I’m no perfect Pope, so translating Latin, pig or otherwise from flapping flags and pretentious diplomas is not my strongest of suits. However while my eyes were turned to the skies engaged mightily in that very task, the bossy bee interrupted me by rubbing his furry figure violently under my pinkie before pricking me with his pointy stick.  Oh don’t worry about my barbless benefactor and his electric kiss since he flew away fine with barely a ‘thank you’; just a bit jumpy n’ grumpy from my unfortunate fondle of his itty-bitty bee-hind rumpy. 

Gee who asked ‘Buzz LightREAR’ out on a date anyway – surely not me since I don’t need more complications in my life? Even my wife only gets near my dust covered dump of a truck when it’s absolutely necessary so why would I be expected to engage in a ‘homo-insectual’ relationship with some tush-pushy buttinsky bee? All I know is that for a brief moment my brain was receiving mixed messages as my finger tingled and that hairy manicurist was getting a little too enthusiastic showing off his needlepoint and ample emery board. 

Other than the lingering itch in my littlest of digits and since I’m a Pollen-anna by nature, I have to say my shameless Queeny bee encounter was more of a pleasant surprise than a painful one. Yes I’m positive and not dense (I know because my glass is always at least half full of fat) so there is something to be learned here about my own inner nature. Yes I clearly have to do a better job of suppressing the beast piece of my personality – since obviously I possess an abundance of Anmalia magnetism and I don’t want to BEE too desirable to the opposite species.