lisa marie corley | greenville, sc



Peek 4

Me, announcing to my nearby cubemates: “Geeesh, I’m going blind working on this survey.”

:: crickets ::

Me, considerably louder: “I didn’t mean that I’m at my desk masturbating, by the way.”

:: crickets ::

:: uncomfortable cough from the cube next door ::


How do you feel today?

I found this e-mail chain while cleaning out my inbox this week. You might chuckle.

P: How do you feel today? It is only 11am, and I feel like I have been here all day!

Me: I feel like I am a basketweaver in a very small club of basketweavers who, as part of a grand sociological experiment conducted by the military, have been asked to produce ten thousand effective baskets per week while following the advice of electricians, ditch diggers, and dolphins. And the air that we breathe daily has been laced with sodium somethingorother, which causes us to forget that we are all inmates in a facility for bipedal arthropods. We are not arthropods, I know, but with the overflow….hey, what can you do except go where they send you? At least we live with other earthlings. My cats are actually in middle management, and have been placed in my house undercover. They are currently conducting side experiments on the effects of sleeplessness on basketweavers.

L1: And I thought I was losing it…

G1: I smell what you’re steppin in.

P: Actually….you know what I feel like? I feel like I am on a carousel going very fast and all the images before me are just a blur – lost in the day-to-day, not being able to see how, where or when I should get off. I stay on because that is what I am supposed to do.

L2: I feel alive! That’s good enough for me!

K: I just want to make everyone a nice sandwich and take a warm bath. Alone.

G2: I feel like a giant in a land of little people. There are other giants walking the area with me but the little people do not see the fact that we are indeed giants. The everyday struggle to prevent stepping on the little people is very tiring. Sometimes we giants step on the little people and then it takes a great amount of effort to scrape them off our feet and make things right again. Every day I rise early and teach and lead the little people, trying to gain some sort of normalcy in my life. The struggle is great and yet I carry on.

L2: Mmmmmm…..little people…

We haven’t been to lunch in ages

P: “It looks like an old man’s penis.”
Me: “Oh, great…now S isn’t going to want it anymore.”
S, poking one into his mouth: “Well….actually, I was going to disagree. I think it looks like an old man’s balls.”
P: “How is it?”
S: “Good. Try one.”
P, gingerly picking one up and munching an end off: “Hmmm, yeah. Not bad.”
S: “Lisa, aren’t you going to have one?”
Me, examining the ones that are left on the plate: “Uh-huh.”
S, peering at me impatiently: “Well?”
Me, choosing one of the plumper, less wrinkly ones and biting it in half: “Mmmmmm. You’re right. It is good.”


Yep, it’s another email conversation, this time among P, S, and me….and G, even though she missed most of it.

A bit of backstory — one of S’s favorite phrases is that we all need to “sharpen the ax” regularly. Get out of the office…relax…kick back a little so we can come back to work refreshed, creative juices a-flowin’.

P: I am locked in my office with annual plans – GOING CRAZY – and wanted to know how everyone was doing? I have not stopped since I got here. S, the ax is dulling.
S: My blade fell off the handle. I’m chopping with just a wood stick in my hands.
P: I am right behind you.
Me: Wow. S has got wood in his hands. Chopping. Hmmmm.
P: You really do not want to chop. That could damage the wood. You could stroke the ax but that will cause blisters.
Me: AND I just noticed that P said she is right behind S! Is that appropriate for the office?
P: I can’t do much from behind.
Me: Well. That depends on your elevation in relation to the aforementioned wood.
S: Now THAT’S a lot of wood!!!
P: The more the merrier.
Me: Is more wood better wood?
P: Then you can just keep working all night.
S: Ewwwwwwww!!! Wood on wood!!!!
Me: Hmmmm, I’m getting a little excited. Might have to close my door for a bit. Again.
G: I just got back to my desk and see how much I have missed……..WOW!

The fetal position, molasses, and temporary insanity

E-mails, e-mails. You never know which direction they’ll turn….
X: Did you get a chance to see?
Me: Only a glance. I continued my trek to the bathroom and assumed the fetal position in the back stall.
X: Did you suck your thumb?
Me: Yeah. I wanted to suck my balls, but after fumbling around for a few minutes I remembered I don’t have any.
X: The bad thing about balls and the fetal position on the bathroom floor is that they (the balls) usually stick to the cold tile. Sucks!
Me: Do they have to be recently sucked in order for them to stick?
X: Oh no… They’re usually sooo sweaty that they have the necessary moisture to stick to almost anything.
Me: How interesting. Would they stick to a banana?
X: They’d consume it! Especially with it’s “blob-like” features during a thumb sucking moment like that… It’s all body temp.
Me: Yikes, they’d consume the banana? Peeling and all? Like Godzilla consumed Japan?
X: Like a slow-moving molasses.
Me: We should sic sweaty balls on all things we wish would disappear. There’s a painting I created 8 or so years ago as a group project with other artists… sucked, and I mean hard like a black hole. It is still hanging somewhere with my name on it. Could sweaty balls take care of it for me?
X: Like I said… It’s all about the body temp.
Me: Hmmmmm. Well, that’s about all the conversation I can eek out of sweaty balls. Got anything else to add?
X: Visuals and lab experiments?! Sorry, I’m not totally focused on balls right now. Have you asked others?
Me: No, I reserve sweaty-ball email conversations for you. Oh, wait….Y may have something to add. Y? (I cc’d Y)
X: Oh no you didn’t…?!!
Me: Hey, I’m stressed. It’s OK for stressed people to go a little insane. Perfectly acceptable. Right, Y? (I cc’d Y again)

Y: As a refined sophisticate, I only partake of perspiration-laced balls, which would never consider temporarily adhering themselves to a frigid surface (other than mine).

Followed by….
Y: As a refined sophisticate, I only go a little insane, which is perfectly acceptable as you so astutely note.

Pointless quiz #1

Quiz time, my dear, sweet mm readers! :) I’ve taken mildly amusing slices of my life (or someone else’s) and turned them into a fabulously interactive bit o’fun for you. Guess the answers, if you wish, via the happy little comment tool.

(Updated 9/3/08 – Answers are asterisked in bold.)

1. What dialog came just before…. “Dude, I’d rather smell your butt”?

a. “What sort of toxic soup of chemicals are you spraying in your office? It’s making me gag.” ***
b. “Auugh! I really wish you’d stop microwaving broccoli for lunch.”
c. “Get those hot donuts out of here — I can’t be smelling yummy things! Don’t you know I’m on a diet?”

2. To what was a friend referring when s/he said, “I big-toed it down the drain”?

a. a giant centipede
b. dog excrement
c. human excrement ***

3. What was a co-worker doing in the hallway when I peeked outside my office and asked, “Hey, wouldn’t it be better if you blew yourself in your office?”

a. leaning forward, almost doubled over, with his back to me
b. testing a desk fan to see if it would blow an electrical circuit ***
c. blowing his face and neck with canned air

4. What was my response to…. “Come on, Lisa! I know he’s a dirty old man who’s almost 70, but he’s funny as hell and is worth millions. He owns five planes. He’s going to waste all that money on SOME woman, and it may as well be someone we like.”

a. “I don’t know….the last time I got involved with an older man, I ended up on TV wearing hot pink short shorts and a matching feather boa.”
b. “Um…isn’t he the one who has an anatomically-correct, inflatable sheep in his hangar?” ***
c. “Maybe. Do you think he would teach me to fly?”

5. To what was a co-worker referring when s/he e-mailed, “It was like a pilot light on my trash hole last night.”

a. yesterday’s spicy lunch ***
b. hemorrhoids
c. an inflamed zit in an unfortunate location

6. A friend almost got in trouble for doing something naughty at the beach. What did he do?

a. flirted with a buxom, Texan debutante who was accompanying her pistol-totin’ daddy on a business trip
b. buried a buddy’s 5-year-old son in the sand, sculpting the boy a giant, flaccid 3-ft penis ***
c. got drunk and, after an unpleasant conversation with his girlfriend back home, threw the hotel phone out the window….narrowly missing the hotel manger’s tiny, shiny bald head

7. Years ago, a co-worker laughingly threatened to sue me if I ever wrote a novel and incorporated a story she’d told me about her own childhood. What was it she used to do on warm, sunny days around age 6 or so?

a. go outside in the driveway, strip off all her clothes, and lie spread-eagled on the hot asphalt because she loved the heat against her skin ***
b. climb her favorite tree in the backyard, strip off all her clothes, and swing from her knees on the lower branches, pretending to be a monkey in the zoo
c. slip through the hedge to their neighbor’s yard, strip off all her clothes, and jump into the shin-deep kiddie pool, hoping that little Robbie would come out and play with her

8. Very recently I was told, “You could try the noodle. Some of the noodles are quite large, and, if you wanted, you could even blow them.” Naturally, that gave me a giggle — but what was I told immediately afterward which gave me a giggle FIT?

a. “Some people also suck the noodles.”
b. “Blowing them makes the noodles bigger.”
c. “Of course, it’s usually children who blow the noodles.” ***

If you had a magic muffin….

Me: “If you had a magic muffin, what would it feel like going down?”
S: “You’re looking for blog material, aren’t you?”
Me: “Hey, it’s been awhile since I’ve posted a conversation. Work with me.”
S: “Well, let’s see. If I had a magic…..muffffin…..what would it feel like…..going down?”
Me: “Yep.”
S: [allowing a little time to lapse] “Hmmmmm.”
Me: “Oh, it’s not a hard question. Come on, there’s even a second part to it.”
S: “What’s the second part? That might help me answer the first part.”
Me: “What would happen after you ate it? I mean, it is magic, after all, right?”
S: “But that’s not logical.”
Me: “What do you mean?”
S: “The second part of the question wouldn’t necessarily be the logical next step. You said if a magic muffin ‘went down’…..that doesn’t mean that I ate it.”
Me: “Ohhhhhh. Good point. Well, I have another question.”
S: “What’s that?”
Me: “If you were redecorating a torture chamber, what sort of wallpaper would you choose?”
S: “Probably something spikey with a downward motion to it.”
Me: “Really? Not teddy bears?”
S: “No.”
Me: “I can’t believe you didn’t answer my magic muffin question.”
S: “There’s just so many directions I could go with that one.”
Me: “Well, I’m going to ask M at lunch. I’ll bet he’ll answer me.”

A bit later, while sitting in Panera with S and M …

Me: “I have a question.”
M: “What?”
S: “Oh, good Lord. Here she goes.”
M: “What?”
S: [rising out of his chair] “I need more to drink.”
Me: [grabbing S’s sleeve] “No, the question is for both of you! Don’t leave.”
S: [leaving the table in search of the soda machine] “I’m really thirsty. Ask M.”
Me: “If you had a magic muffin, what would it feel like going down?”
M: [staring at me, quizzically] “If I had a what?”
Me: “There’s a second part to the question.”
M: “What’s the second part?”
Me: “What would happen after you ate it?”
M: [chuckling and looking around the room as if beseeching others for help]
Me: “I mean, if it’s a magic muffin, something cool has to happen after you eat it. What would happen?”
M: “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”
Me: “Mmmmm. OK. I have another question.”
M: “What?”
Me: “if you were redecorating a torture chamber, what sort of wallpaper would you choose?”
M: [chuckling] “A torture chamber?”
Me: “S said he would choose a spikey pattern that pointed downward.”
S: [coming back to the table, catching my last sentence] “Oh, I see she’s moved on to the next question.”
M: “Yes, she has.”
S: “You know, another wallpaper option would be a pattern based on those African penis idols.”
Me: “Huh?”
S: [flexing forearm and making a tight, hard fist] “You know, those idols with the giant….”
Me: “Ahhhhhh.”
S: “Of course, it would really depend on what sort of torture would be taking place.”
Me: “I see. What type of torture would the penis wallpaper imply?”
S: “Oh, just anything involving that particular body part.”
Me: “I was thinking teddy bears and kittens for the wallpaper.”
M: “Or beach scenes.”
Me: “Exactly. Something that takes you to your happy place.”
M: “Right.”
Me: “So do you guys have any questions?”
S: “Sure, I’ve got a question.”
Me: “Great!”
S: “If you redecorated your proctologist’s office, what wallpaper would you use?”
Me: “Pastel-colored popsicles.”
M: “What’s a proctologist?”
S: [looking at me for some unknown reason] “What’s a proctologist?”
Me: “Why are you looking at me?”
S: [looking at M] “Did you say ‘What’s a proctologist?'”
M: “Yes, what is it?”
S: “An ass doctor.”
M: [snort-laughing]
Me: “That’s why I said popsicles on the wallpaper. It’s cold, a convenient size…it would provide some relief, right?”

Did you notice that no one ever answered my magic muffin questions? It’s just plain WRONG when a girl can’t get her curiosity satisfied.

Puppies, kittens, moonbeams, daisies, babies, and sunshine

Morning coffee-pot chitchat
Me: “Last night I posted to my blog. Twenty things to do instead of preparing my taxes.”
S: “Oh, my list would be way longer than that.”
Me: “Eh. I wasn’t feeling very prolific.”
S: “So what was on your list?”
Me: “One thing was googling other people’s perversions. But I hit a road block when I couldn’t remember the name of that thing you described to me.”
B, just walking in: “Hey guys, what’s up?”
S: “You mean the thing about the goat?”
Me: “No, the thing about bald heads and surgical alterations.”
S: “Ohhhhhhhh, yes, I remember.”
B: “What are y’all talking about?”
S: “Well. A coworker told me years ago about something that a friend of hers was into.”
Me, gasping: “You mean you actually KNOW someone who does that??”
S: “My friend wasn’t into it. She said she knew someone.”
Me: “But still. Someone actually knows someone. Wow.”
S: “Yeah. Wow.”
B: “Come on, TELL me.”
S: “Well. Apparently there are men out there who lube up their bald heads to stick ’em into someone else’s anal cavity.”
Me: “And there are other men who have surgery…”
S: “Yeah, they get their anus snipped so the heads can fit.”
B, horrified: “Ewwwwwwwww!”
S, laughing: “Ever since I heard that, I haven’t been able to look at a bald man without having that picture come up in my head. I’d think about standing near him and saying, ‘hey, dude…do you smell ass?'”
B: “Or…’Is that chocolate on your head?'”
S: “‘Let me get you a tissue.'”
Me: [ welling up with laughter-tears ] “Yuck! What a place to have skid marks.”
S: “I think it’s called felching.”
B: “So what started this whole conversation?”
Me: “I was telling S that I’d rather google other people’s perversions than do my taxes. You see, in my younger days, back when the internet was becoming ‘the thing,’ it was a mission of mine to find the most perverted website out there. Fascinating stuff.”
B: “Well. Everyone needs a hobby.”
Me: “The winning site for a long time was one on which people posted pictures of things they’d done to their penises. Some guys cut themselves with razors.”
S: “Razors? What did they do?”
Me: “I’m sure I told you this before. There’s no way I never told you about this.”
S: “No, you haven’t. Trust me, I’d remember.”
Me: “Well, one guy posted pictures and described the process in detail. He’d sliced himself in half.”
S: “What? You mean he had two schlongs?”
Me: “Yeah, it took him about a year. Each day, he’d slice a tiny bit more until it made two.”
B: “Oh my God. Did he pee out of only one side?”
S: “Yeah, how did it….um, work afterward?”
Me: “I don’t know, he only described the slicing process.”

Nothing ends a conversation quicker than a VP walking in to grab some coffee.

Research results
Later, I get an e-mail from S entitled “Various internet answers.” There’s nothing about heads and snipping, so we need to do some additional research, obviously, to get our terminology straight.

Felching is a sexual practice in which semen is sucked out of another person’s vagina or anus (with or without a straw), or out of a condom. The individual sucking the semen may swallow it or pass it, mouth to mouth, to a partner. The colloquial term for the latter act is snowballing.
Inserting a hollow tube up your anus and letting a live hamster go up into ones arse.
When semen is sucked out of another persons anus.
Felching is a sexual practice in which semen is sucked out of another person’s vagina or asshole after a vaginal or ass cream pie. The semen is fresh and usually it is the man doing the sucking, though this is not always the case. It can then be passed to another person during the act of kissing and then swallowed. This act is commonly known as “snowballing,” or the lesser known “squeegeeing.”

“Hi, my name is Lisa, and I’m addicted to shock-blogging”
Goodness. I admit I’ve always gotten a giggle out of saying things that make people stare at me in “oh-my-God-I-cannot-believe-that-came-out-of-your-mouth” horror. But lately, my happy little ever-so-slightly-naughty blog has taken more of a downward slope than I ever intended. I should probably balance it with more talk of puppies, kittens, moonbeams, daisies, babies, and sunshine.

So what’s a baloney pony?

Lunchtime conversation
Me: “I need another diversion.”
A: “Buy an outfit and fight crime.”
Me: “Did you say ‘fight crime’?”
A: “Yep.”
Me: “And did you say ‘buy an outfit’?
A: “Yep.”
Me: “What sort of outfit would I need to fight crime?”
A: “A superhero outfit.”
Me: “Ohhhhh, I see. What could be my superhero name?”
A: “I don’t know. I’m sure you could think of a good one.”
Me: “What sort of crime could I fight? How about laziness?”
A: “No, that’s not a good one. I like to be lazy.”
Me: “Yeah, me too. Hmmmmm…..”
A: “Hey, I know. Redneckery.”
Me: [ giggle ]
A: “You could go into a restaurant and say, ‘Hey YOU, wearing the camo tank top! You’re outa here, buddy!'”
Me: [ belly laugh ]
A: “And… ‘Hey YOU with the mullet! There’s the door!'”
Me: [ snort-laugh ] “And after I kicked them out, everyone left in the place would stand up and cheer. I WOULD be their hero!”

Later, inside my head
That conversation with A would make a good blog post.
I really should come up with a good superhero name, though, before I write it.
I’m not feeling that creative right now, unfortunately.
Plus….something else isn’t quite right.
Redneckery is petty darn funny, but might there be a more appropriate crime to fight?
Something more unique to me?
What type of crime or disservice would I be qualified to combat?
What am I good at?
Well. There’s innuendo.
But how could I fight innuendo?
Why would I want to, anyway? It’s funny.
I mean, it’s hard to beat a good “bigger is better” statement in the middle of a staff meeting.
Or during cycling class: “By the time you leave here, you’ll be limp and spent.”
Or after cycling class: “Yeah, I know it was hard, but let’s be honest — it wasn’t long.”
Or when talking to a friend about shopping: “I really love BJ’s.”
Or when talking about toys at work: “Hey, why don’t you bring your balls to our meetings?”
I wonder if it is technically innuendo when it’s truly an innocent statement.
I’ll have to look that up sometime.
I could be onto something.
That could be my superhero spin.
I could defend the innocent people in the world who spout innuendo without meaning to.
I can jump in and kick the butts of the mean people who laugh at them and make them feel bad.
Who better than me?
Since I am a queen of deliberate innuendo, I’d be able to recognize accidental innuendo immediately.
I could come to the rescue with superhero speed, yeah!
[ knock knock ]
What’s that?
[ knock knock ]
Is that someone else in my head? Who are you?
[ I’m your conscience, Lisa. ]
Geesh, what do YOU want?
[ You realize, don’t you, that you’ve laughed at these people yourself since 1978? ]
I wasn’t laughing at them. I was laughing with them. There’s a difference.
[ Explain that difference. ]
Well…..I’m not mean about it like some people are.
[ Lisa, you should examine your…. ]
Oh, shut up.
[ Lisa…. ]
Go away. There’s a box of donuts over there in the corner.

Subsequent e-mail chain
Me, to X and Y: If I were a superhero, what would be my name?
X: Seriously?
Me: Actually, allow me refine the question: If I were a superhero who fought crime in the form of accidental innuendo, what would be my name?
Y: In Your End, Oh!
Me: I am falling out of my chair, ha! I’d hate to see what my outfit would look like.
X: Hilariass.
Me: If I fall out of my chair again, I’ll need to go to the doctor for a coccyx exam.
Y: Hil Hairy-Ass
Me: OK, I’m going to have to leave work early. I hope Dr. Long can fit me in.
X: Is she Richard Long’s sister, Anita S. Long?
Me: I am hyperventilating in my office! The trash dude just came in and now he thinks I am insane.
X: Is her practice on Grove Road, next to the Wang & Hung practice?
Me: I thought she practices with Dr. Hardenfast.
X: Oh, that’s right… and Sly Downhum.
Y: And triplets Lou, Bree and Kate.
X: Aren’t those Dr. Jellifinger’s kids?
Y: Ho, ho. That’s what happened when the rubber didn’t meat those who were rode.
Me: Hey, did you hear that Dr. Jellifinger divorced his wife to marry acupuncturist Sum Pun Tang?
X: Did you know that she’s the sister of the Asian porn star Ty Twat?
Y: Who happens to be allergic to kumquats and baloney ponies.

I don’t think it’s a partridge in that pear tree

Me: “Hey, have you ever heard of a cum tree?”
S: “A what?”
Me: “A cum tree.”
S: “A country?”
Me: “No, a cum tree. Two words. A cum tree.”
S: “A cunt tree?”
Me: “No, a cum tree. C – U – M… T – R – E – E.”
S: “Um. No.”
Me: “So you’ve never smelled one?”
S: “Nooooooooo…. What are you talking about? Is this a euphemism for a penis?”
Me: “No, it’s a tree. Outside. A tree.”
S: “Oh, it’s an actual tree?”
Me: “Yeah.”
S: “Is that the actual name of it?”
Me: “No, I don’t know what kind of tree it is. That’s what I was wondering. Some friends called it a cum tree a few years back while we were walking through downtown Asheville. That’s when I smelled it the first time.”
S: “You know, now that you mention it, I used to take drives to Chicago, and on the way I would always smell…jizz.”
Me: “Man juice.”
S: “Baby batter.”
Me: “Spooge.”
S: “Man relish.”
Me: “Guy goop.”
S: “I thought maybe the smell was some type of…I don’t know…onion, maybe.”
Me: “Well, I smelled it again recently. Took me awhile to realize what it was. At my gym the other day, we dragged our bikes outside for a spinning class, and I kept getting a whiff of…something. Then I realized we were underneath those trees.”
S: “I wonder what kind of tree it really is.”
Me: “Dunno. Googled ‘cum tree’ last night, but plant-related results didn’t land near the top.”
S: “Hey, you should ask J. She is a master gardener, you know.”
Me: “That’s right, she is! And she will know what I’m talking about because she was the class instructor that day. Perfect, I will ask her.”
S: “Please make sure I’m there when you do. And make sure other people are standing around, too.”
Me: “Come on, let’s do it now. J and M are both sitting in the next room.”

So we walk over to find J and M talkin’ shop at a small conference table…

Me: “Hey, J–we’ve got a question for you.”
J: “Yes?”
S: “There’s a tree…that has a particular….smell….”
J: “You mean a Bradford pear tree?”
Me: “Are those Bradford pear trees outside the gym?”
J: “Yes, they are.”
S: “Does the tree…have a nickname?”
J: “Hmm?”
S: “Do people call it a cum tree?”
M: “Oh, I know what you’re talking about. It smells like semen.”
J: “You know, it’s funny. Some people can’t smell it at all, but the ones who do smell it, think it reeks–no one actually likes the smell. It is a very popular tree, though.”
S: “Oh, yeah? Why?”
J: “Well, for one thing, it grows very fast.”
S: “Really, it grows fast? Does it grow very tall?”
J: “Yes, quite tall and straight. It also has a nice shape and an early bloom.”
S: “How interesting. And the top of the tree–does it get pretty full? Plump? Like it has a big head?”
J: “Oh, yes. It gets very full. Sometimes it gets so heavy that it falls over.”
S: “You’re kidding me. It will fall over, limp?”
M: “Like it’s had too much to drink?”
J: “Correct. Or it may break.”
S: “So sometimes the trunk is not strong enough?”
J: “Correct.”
S: “Wow. That is interesting.”

Fast facts
According to Clemson University’s online Home & Garden Information Center, the Bradford pear tree…
– Grows up to 50 feet tall and 30 feet wide.
– Has a narrow and erect canopy.
– Is a rapid grower, but has a short life span.
– Sprouts showy white flowers in the springtime which, unfortunately, have an unpleasant fragrance.
– Also bears small, round, brown fruit which are hidden by the leaves.
– Can be used in urban settings because of its tolerance to pollution.
– Is relatively free of insect problems, but can suffer from severe branch splitting.
– Requires low-to-medium fertility.
– Tolerates most conditions, including occasional wet soils or drought.

I’m feeling un-funny today

A: “You know, I’m going to stop visiting your blog.”
Me: “I know what you’re trying to do. It’s not going to work.”
A: “Yep, I’m trying to force you to post.”
Me: “It’s hard to come up with things that are post-worthy.”
A: “Oh, come on…I KNOW you think of at least one funny thing a day!”

Hmmm, I’m not so sure that’s true. It’s shortly after noon and I haven’t had one funny thought yet. In my defense, though, I only got out of bed about an hour ago, and am still working on my first cup of coffee. It’s a yummy blend of pumpkin-spice flavors I found at Bloom.

So far this morning I have regretted not letting my cats in the backyard yesterday because now it has rained and is too wet to take them out. Or….was it wet yesterday, too, and I just did not notice? That’s a possibility. I was consumed with getting-ready-for-Christmas indoor tasks and barely looked out the window.

This morning I have also wondered if I should revisit a project I’d abandoned — making my cats an elaborate play-tunnel. Many weeks ago, I’d read about a woman who had fashioned a tunnel for her cats out of grocery-store paper bags. I’d begun collecting bags of my own and had linked four of them together already, but there’s a major design flaw which I need to address. The tunnel won’t stand up by itself.

This morning I’ve also had an interesting……um…..scenario or two flicker through my head. They relate to a dream I had last night, which relates to a website I stumbled upon recently. An interesting sort of fellow was attempting to describe the S&M culture — and, most notably, practices — to the uninitiated. Fascinating stuff. I didn’t bookmark the link, though. Sorry. I could’ve shared it with you.

Well, I think that’s about all that has crossed my mind this morning, and, as I’m sure you agree, none of it can be classified as funny. Weird-catlady-ish, maybe. Inappropriate-for-middle-class-America, maybe.

But not funny.

If stuff like this didn’t happen to me, I suppose I’d be bored

So this guy — a young man whom I’d just met about 20 minutes before — hops on top of the table next to me. I was already sitting on one of the tables.

“Do what I do,” he says.

“OK…sure,” I reply. “Show me.”

The short, ever-so-slightly plump, dark-haired, khakis-wearing, 20s-something professional swings his legs behind him, twists around, and in a smooth motion gets on all fours. I look around the room and no one seems to be paying us any attention at all. Perhaps this is a normal thing in this establishment.

He’s looking at me expectantly. Chuckling, I take a deep breath, and in a second I, too, am on all fours on top of my own table. I turn my head to look at him, and he’s beaming at me. Yes, I said beaming. It’s odd to be beaming in this particular situation, I think to myself. And odd, too, that he’s not saying anything. Just beaming.

“What’s next?” I ask, trying to ignore the beaming.

“Have you ever been in this position before?” he asks.

I just stare at him blankly for a lonnnnnnnggg few seconds while I process this question. Does he think I never played “doggie” as a child? Never cleaned that hard-to-reach corner behind my toilet? Never gardened? Never played with a pet in the summer grass? Never knocked the kitty toys from underneath my coffee table? Good lord, there are a countless number of things requiring an all-fours position.

And, of course, you — dear reader — know me well enough by now to realize that all those innocent things flash through my head at lightspeed. The scenarios conjured by my inner pervert are the things which linger. A lecherous giggle-fit is dangerously close to the surface, but I don’t allow it. I’m pretty good at suppressing lecherous giggle-fits.

“Have I ever been in this position before?” I ask him back, hoping to kill a little time while my brain comes up with an appropriate answer.

“Yes,” he says.

That was no help.

“You mean….have I ever been on all fours before?”

“Yes,” he says again.

“Umm……” My brain was coming up with nothing. “Yyyyyeeeeess……”

“Good. Has anyone ever made you do this?” I watch as he demonstrates.

“Oh, that thing! It’s useless. It doesn’t DO anything.” I quickly mimic his demonstration, then follow with my own, more creative move. When I’m done, I sit up on my knees and look over at him. He’s sitting on the edge of the table again, looking at me with wide eyes.

“Hrmmp,” he says.


Me: “Hey, guess what my physical therapist makes me do when he catches me standing with my hip out.”
S: “Meow?”
Me: “Um. No.”
S, snorting and cracking himself up while mimicking my physical therapist: ” ‘Now, every time you stand improperly you must give me one meow.’ “
S, mimicking my reply to my physical therapist: ” ‘Well, OK, but I don’t see what it has to do with my therapy.’ “
S, mimicking me mimicking a tiny sweet kitten: ” ‘Meoooww.’ “
S, doubling over with laughter while still mimicking me: ” ‘Mmmmmeeeooooowwww.’ “
Me: “Nope, that’s not it.”
S, wiping away laughter-tears: “OK. So what does he make you do?”
Me: “He makes me squeeze my butt cheeks together ten times.”
S: “Ahhh.”

Inside my head

I don’t know if I really LIKE this about myself, but I’m one of those nerd-people who actually pays attention in meetings, seminars, presentations, and the like. Most of the time. But every so often my mind will go off on private, meandering tangents, which lead to others, which lead to others….. I’m sure this happens to you, too. it happens to everyone who does the nine-to-five thing on a regular basis. What goes through your head? If you eavesdropped on my thoughts, you might hear something like this:

That guy’s wearing long sleeves.
How am I supposed to see if he shaves his arm hair?
It’s a little chilly in here. If I turned up the temperature in the room, would he roll up his shirt sleeves?
How many other people are wearing long sleeves? Several.
Hey, she’s a good 15 feet away and I can see her arm hair.
That guy over there has lots of arm hair.
Hey, I’ve never seen him before. Who is he and what does he do?
He looks like an accountant.
I’m hungry.
I wonder if I can talk someone into having sushi for lunch.
We haven’t had Thai in awhile.
Ginger salmon…….yuuuummmmmm……
Fresh basil rolls…….yuuuummmmmm……
Man, I have a craving for pound cake.
No icing.
Icing would ruin it. Just cake.
Maybe I’ll bake one at Christmas and eat the whole thing by myself.
Maybe not a good idea.
Geesh, I am getting antsy. I have a ton of stuff to do back in the office.
It looks like things might be winding down.
I wonder if anyone else is as bored as I am.
I like her shoes.
Her slip is showing. That’s going to bother me. Wish I hadn’t seen that.
Look somewhere else.
Ha! He’s about to fall asleep. Should I punch him?
I’d laugh if he started snoring.
Ahhhh, someone else is waking him up.
They woke him up because it’s his turn at the front of the room.
This man’s a pontificator.
We are going to be here for-freakin-EVER.
Geesh, we don’t have time for this.
Oops, I saw her slip again. Need to stop looking in that direction.
That dark-haired woman over there is doodling.
I think I’ll doodle.
Why don’t I doodle more? Most artists doodle constantly, don’t they?
Maybe I’d have more ideas if I doodled more.
I like that word. It sounds naughty.
Like: “Hey, I’ll doodle you if you doodle me.”
If I doodle the word “doodle” and don’t really draw a doodle, am I really doodling?
The doodling woman has a really unpleasant expression on her face.
It’s a look that, all at once, communicates “I smell shit” and “I’m way damn better than the peasants in this room.”
Is she bored?
Is she constipated?
Well, at least her slip isn’t showing.
Avert your eyes from the slip-showing woman.
Don’t look.
People might think you’re checking out her legs.
Don’t look.
Why am I compelled to look?
Don’t look.
Don’t look.
I looked.
Avert your eyes.
Watch the pontificator.
He is really getting on my nerves.
If he brings up one other problem, I’m going to scream. Very loudly.
It will be a passionate scream, and people will wonder why I’m having such a good time in this meeting.
What’s he saying now?
Dammit. There he goes. Another problem.
We need a new rule for life: any problem proposed must be accompanied by at least one potential solution.
How can I make everyone on earth follow this rule?
I….think I must….
Take over the world!!
Like Pinky & the Brain are always trying to do.
Maybe a giant satellite super-mega-huge laser can be involved in some way.
I really wish he’d stop talking.
If he doesn’t stop talking, I’m going to go insane.
Don’t go insane.
Don’t go insane.
Sing the Smirf song in your head. That’s not insane.
Laaa, laaaaa, la, la, la, laaaaa……
Look out the window.
Seriously, I’ve got too much to DO to be here.
I can’t take any more. I need him to stop talking. Now.
When I go insane, what will it be like? What will I do?
Will I kill him? Or will I run outside and kill the first person I see?
Will I feel better? Will I feel relief that he is no longer talking?
Or will I experience immediate regret, with not even one sweet second of relief?
Maybe I should avoid killing someone.
Maybe I should kill myself instead.
I won’t have to listen to him anymore.
I won’t have to get up early for work every day.
I won’t have job pressures.
I won’t have family pressures.
I won’t have to clean my house ever again.
I won’t have to worry about the mind-numbing tedium of paying bills…ever again!
Wow, that sounds great.
I think the best way to do it would be to stick a lead pencil in my forehead.
It adds a lead poisoning aspect which would be particularly poetic, I think.
I mean, two activities linked to me intimately–art and writing–are both linked to lead pencils.
But I would miss my cats. It would probably be days before someone came into my house and fed them.
I can’t let Ozzy and Blue go hungry.
Plus, I’m really enjoying my life nowadays.
In general.
Good Lord. How does he talk so continuously?
Does he breathe in between sentences?
Does he go around in circles like that because not enough oxygen is getting to his brain?
We’re going to be here even longer than I thought.
Let’s see…..I was thinking about something a second ago. What was it?
Oh, yeah…..I’d decided not to kill myself.
I’ll try an audio head-trick instead.
I’ll squint my eyes and maintain an internal yawning action without actually yawning.
Now he sounds like the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons.
The only problem with this technique is that I probably look a little weird.
Maybe like I’m having a stroke.
Ha! That’s funny.
Oops, I think I chuckled at an inappropriate time.
I’ll fake a little cough. There. No one’s the wiser, I hope.
Maybe meditation is the answer.
I’ll stare at that dot on the wall across the room….
Until everything else goes a little hazy….
Think nothing.
Be peaceful.
Just be.
A flash of white off to the left….
What was that?
She crossed her legs the other way and now her slip is showing even MORE.

Who’s on first?

Me: “Hey, have you been to my blog lately? I have a poll now.”
S: “A pole? What type of pole?”
Me: “It’s a new Blogger feature I’m trying out.”
S: “You mean like a pole-dancer pole?”
Me: [silence…while an “I-should’ve-known” light bulb dawns above my head]
S: [quizzical, slightly impatient glance in my direction]
Me: “Hmmmmm. I guess you’ll have to go there and find out.”

Random news from a longtime friend

A recent dialogue of somewhat dubious note, proving that I’m not always the wacky one.

Me: “What did you say? Your sister got a blow job?”
M: “No, no….she got a BOOB job. Can you believe it? My 47-year-old sister went from negative nipples to a D cup!”
Me: “Oh my gosh…you’re kidding me!”
M: “She is so sore. Don’t believe it if they tell you you’ll be back in commission right away. It’s been a week and she still can’t move.”
Me: “Yikes. Well. Um. So. …… How are things going with what’s-his-name?”
M: “Really good. We’ll NEVER get married! I couldn’t be happier!”
Me: “That’s freakin’ awesome.”
M: “He’s looking for another job, and has applied for a position with your company. He said to ask you if you can sleep with someone in HR.”
Me: “Sure, whatever it takes.”
M: “I’ll just tell him you’ll work your way through the entire department.”
Me: “No problem. I’ll get started right away.”

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