Enough About Me ...

One of a few sad addictions that I have (addiction to American Idol entry coming soon) is my need for TLC, that's The Learning Channel to you not in the know. They have some amazing shows. Make-overs, baby stories, wedding stories, surgery, little people, fat people almost like reading the Guinness book of world records really. This one show, "The Man Whose Arms Exploded" pushed the TLC envelope a bit too far. I'm not even sure if there was a point or script or flow to the show other than dude, look how gross this guys arms are. Thirty minutes later, it was over. So I share with you this program and be pleased that it took you two seconds for the same effect.

During an excited discussion on monogamy with some of my high school turn e-friends, the question finally arrived at "Mallards, really? What other animals are monogamous, Jean?" To which I replied the typical answer of many birds, the prairie vole (I don't exactly know what this is except that it's studied quite frequently) and shrimp. I don't know why I know this other than it does make for great party conversation. Pressed on the shrimp answer (more specifically: "Shrimp??? C'mon, chimpy. You're one of a billion plankton floating in a cloud in the ocean about to eaten by a baleen whale and you're gonna stick with ONE other crustacean? How could a shrimp even FIND their life-mate if a strong current separated them? I would like to respecfully call bull-shit"), I was forced to widipedia my retort as back up. Yes, shrimp are monogamous, but what I didn't know was the type of shrimp. It turns out they aren't the running wild and free type. These shrimp dwell in a sponge, sort of an oceanic subdivision. Most interestingly is the their tendency of inbreeding. One can only wonder if they also are talented banjo players and squeal like a piggy.

I was having my teeth cleaned today, which, ordinarily is a straightforward experience. This day, however, I fell to the mercy of my hygienist and her ill attempt at conversation triggered by a little tooth prick which caused me pain. And I paraphrase: "I'm not trying to hurt you. So sorry. Not like my doctor. I have these plantar warts, you see. I go in every other week and he burns the plantar warts off with nitrate. The plantar warts then grow back and I have to keep getting the plantar warts removed." It was like she tried to stick the word "plantar wart" in every sentence. Then, when she had enough of that, she went on to tell me about the cluster of plantar warts that - and this is where the relevance comes in, I guess - when the doctor applies the nitrate to the single plantar wart, he usually gets it right on the spot. However with the cluster of plantar warts, well that's a bit tricky. Apparently he isn't as precise, thus missing the plantar wart cluster giving her a pus-ie blister which leads to pain which is what she inflicted upon me, but not on purpose which her doctor did inflict pain to her, but on purpose when he aimed for the clustered plantar warts and missed, resulting in said pus-ie blister for no reason.

I felt so defenseless, my mouth blocked by the teeth cleaning, totally unable to guide the conversation passed the plantar warts and on to other topics. Like, hey speaking of plantar warts, who do you think will make it to the top twelve tonight? (American Idol ref) Or plantar wart? That reminds me of this little planter I bought for this great tulip and daffodil center piece to be used for Easter with egg hunting and fuzzy, sweet pleasant things of abounding joy. I think it was the pus-ie blister that really began to gross me out. After exhausting the variations of her podiatral issues, thankfully we finally switched topic to her friends Jean and Joan. Apparently having friends with such close sounding names really sucks. She keeps wanting to call Jean, who is a man, Joan. And if that weren't enough, she'll call Joan, who is a woman, Jean, but that works out okay. If they were both woman, the issue may have been avoided. Having both genders represented really raised havoc with her ability to keep the names straight.

That tidbit lines up quite nicely with topics to initiate with your cab driver to avoid conversation. It's up there with "My cat eats dog food," "I bought this shirt on sale for ten dollars," and now "I have two friends name Jean and Joan." But, grrl, that hygienist can sure clean some teeth, so she's still my dog.

And as a side note, I can't for the life of me spell "pus-ie." Every time I try, it comes out pussy …. Which doesn't look right and I'm not brave enough to look up "pusy" on the web.

I had no insight into the ways of pest control. No insight until this morning I read about the Rat Zapper 2000. This was brought to my attention as the Wall Street Journal described of a patent lawsuit on the Rat Zapper 2000 and it's unfortunate run in with the makers of the classic red "V" mouse trap. You know, the ones that chop their head off as they partake in some gouda. I then reflected on how we killed mice back in the day and where this pest murder or "control" is headed. First we have the guillotine approach. Let's lour them in with something yummy and snap! That seemed to be working until little bubba junior snapped his fingers in one. I've done it, it hurts like Brenna Gethers singing a Donna Summer classic. Ouch! Then the hippies tried to convince us we need to learn to live with our pests. Nope, aaaah. Thanks for playing Star Moonshine, your tub of turtle wax is waiting in the back for ya. The glue sheet came by and you watched the poor little critter struggle and starve through its attempts to wriggle out of a resistance that took inertia and cranked it to eleven. That brings us to the little mouse electric chair, Rat Zapper 2000. This contraption designed by an open mind inspired as he watched a gopher die as it came into contact with an electric fence on his ranch. So what's next? I'm thinking lethal injection. Let's take poison and needles and embed them in a cute little, cheesy flavoured house. Squidge. Dead rat. But if that's too far, according to this open letter to Pest Control Operators, you can also simply give them chocolate Ex-Lax and they defecate themselves to death. Now that's creative. Little rat got the shits and died.