The Recipe

Ok. Take about 16 ounces of Cumin, or Camino as my dad used to call it, and add 3 ounces of fermented cabbage juice, Kim Chi, as the Koreans call it. Let it sit in the sun for about 5 or 6 hours. Add onions, garlic, poverty and despair. Then rub it all over your crotch. Sniff it. Repeat. That's what the old lady in front of me smells like. She's Serbian or Croatian or from Belarus, or Dead, I think. She's wearing the headscarf and shawl and can't speak any English. In fact the only thing coming out of her is fart.

This is the only odd person I’ve bumped into today. It’s actually been a pretty pleasant trip up until Bubushka the Burping Croatian sat in front of me. On the previous flight I sat next to and talked to a Norwegian. Nice guy. He told me in a rather rough accent about his two girls and his wife back home 50 miles above the arctic circle. He told me about how much he loved America and especially Texas. He was over here selling wenches for fishing. He’s the Chairman of the board of his company, Rupp Wenches. When he first told me the name of the company I thought the accent was getting in the way and that he was a Norwegian Pimp with a lisp pushing "Rough Wenches". Not the case. The part of the conversation that made me laugh, was when he talked about Lute Fiske, which is Jellied Fish meat. He asked me if I liked it, and I told him no, “Regular fish is fine with me. Jellied Strawberries are great. I’d rather have my fish fried or raw.” He said, “well it’s like a combination of both………..wrapped in bacon.” Mmmmm…Mmmmmm. He looked around the seats where we were sitting to see I guess if anybody was listening to our conversation, which I thought was odd. I was waiting for the awkward moment like, “ I like to rub the jellied fish on my……..how do you American’s say…….’Junk’.” But the awkward did not come from Johan; it came from me for the sake of laughter. After looking around for a sec, Johan says in almost a whisper, “Many American’s look down on my favorite meat though.” I waited a while not wanting to hear the Norwegian word for Crank. “Whale. Have you had it? Most American’s say, ‘Oh that is awful that you would eat such an exquisite animal.”
Here comes what I thought would be the awkward moment.

“Nope. I haven’t had whale. I’d love to try it. You know what I hear? I understand that many Norwegian’s have a problem with some of the meats Texans consider a delicacy.” Johan looks a little puzzled, “oh really? I am not aware.” I realize I’ve got him when he looks around again like he’s going to flash me at first, and turns in his seat towards me. I said, “Oh yeah. The best meat to be fair……” Then I look around the cabin to ensure no one is listening but I’m secretly hoping they are. “Is young Teen Aged Haitian. Many Norwegians find it in bad taste (Pun Intended) that we eat them before they become cab drivers in New York.” His face for about 5 seconds looked like I pooped in Seat 4 C. Then he smiled. Then a little bigger. Then he busts out laughing slapping his thigh. Then mine. (Awkward moment) Then he says, “This is why I love the US! Everybody is comedian." (Pause for Effect)"You are kidding right?”

;)

Mr. Right

I'm tickled pink. Don't know why. Just happier than a pig in the poo.
Maybe it's because Rick Perry was at my church on Sunday. He didn't say anything, he just stood up and waved to the crowd. I loved him being there though. it was like knowing that your cheering for the right side. I'm sure the democrats candidate Bill White has minions that feel that same way when Mr. White goes to an opening of an abortion clinic or a cat sacrifice. "Man I'm glad I'm following this guy! More like Bill Right if you ask me."

Maybe its because I'm working out again and I feel better than I have in a few years. I'm actually growing chest hair. Apparently, and I did not know this, if you are a man and you turn into a gelatinous blob, you will actually turn into a woman in her late 50's battling with late stage menopause. (Explains why up until recently I had hot flashes....... and sensitive sagging breasts.)

Maybe its because I'm doing a job I love again. Well not right now, but right after I post this. I had a dear friend tell me that he could hear in my voice that I was enjoying my job. I can sum up the transition from the old job to the new one in one word really: Peace. I haven't had that in a long time.

Maybe it's because I feel funny again. (Not evidenced in this particular blog posting. )

More to come. ;)

Health Care

My $30 dollar co-pay bought me five minutes with my Dr. He comes in, and I’m not kidding, he says, “Ok. Here’s what we got. We’ve got some pancreas tissue in your stomach.” I said, “Seriously?! How does that happen? I don’t remember eating a pancreas. I’ve eaten some weird tacos, but I don’t remember a pancreas taco. Pan Dulce, yes. Pan Creas, no.” That’s when the other Dr. walked in; a white guy named Dr. Smith. I’ve had so many Indian Drs. the last few months, now I don’t trust whitey. Whitey asked me, “Have you been throwing up?” I was almost offended. I don’t know Whitey. That’s a little too much personal information to be giving Dr. Cracker. I said shortly, “No.” “How about abdominal pain?” I again said shortly, “No.” I think Dr. Patel could tell I was annoyed by the Blue-eyed Devil, so my curry eating brother says, “Dr. Smith is following me around today. I’m taking vacation in a few weeks and he’s going to cover for me so he’s getting up to speed on some of my cases.”
Doctors shouldn’t be allowed to go on vacation until they’ve closed out their cases that they’ve opened. Either that or people should only get sick in the icky months like February when the doctor people don’t go on vacation. I have been very impressed my Indian doctor though. All three of them in fact. I’ve also been very happy with my Indian convenience store clerk. Isn’t it odd how that particular culture has gravitated toward a couple of specialties in the workforce? Convenience Store guy, Doctor, and to a much lesser sense, environmental engineer. The convenience store guy will be pissed if you “Wheeze the Juice” and the doctor will treat it, if you are.

The Trouble with Midgets

Every once in a while I come up with a blog title that cracks me Up. Not the blog; just the title. This is one of those times. The blog comes from the title and the laughing, instead of the other way around.
I apologize that it has been so long since my last post. I’ve been a little busy though with Dr.’s and stuff. The good news is I don’t have cancer and I’m not pregnant. I’ve had 8 blood panels. I’ve been poked, prodded, felt up, MRI’d, CT’d, Man Handled, Papped, Fingered, Shmeared, Ultrasounded, Sonogrammed, and Endoscoped.
Below is the conversation that created the Blog Title and the laughter.

Brian [4:04 PM]:
I got a buddy who wanted to “woohoo” a midget.

Sheffield, Colin [4:05 PM]: K. Gross.

Brian [4:05 PM]:
So he went to the website blackpeoplemeet.com, or something like that, typed in his height requirement 4' 6" and found him one in south Houston.

Sheffield, Colin [4:06 PM]:
Nuh uh? Wow. That there internet has ever-thing.

Brian [4:08 PM]:
he said it was a great time! Only problem was her arms were so short he came to the realization that….

Sheffield, Colin [4:08 PM]: Yes?

Brian [4:08 PM]: She can't clean her honey pot real good.

Sheffield, Colin [4:09 PM]: LOL!!
Brian [4:09 PM]: One of the funniest stories I’ve heard in a long time.

Sheffield, Colin [4:09 PM]: Funny. I have the same problem with Honey pot cleanliness.
I miss the days when I just had acid reflux, but could still clean the ole honey pot, or as my wife likes to call it, "The salad Shooter". I'm going to have to get me a "cleanin' Pole" if I get much fatter! Sounds like my next two blogs......
"The trouble with midgets"
and
“My Cleanin' Pole"
Clark, Brian [4:21 PM]: Dude, I just had me some Greek yogurt and I nearly spit it all over my computer monitor. That was funny! The foil lid was ripped, but I ate it anyway. I'm thinking that was a bad idea.
Sheffield, Colin [4:22 PM]: It'll probably just give you diarrhea like regular Greek yogurt.
Brian [4:22 PM]: Yep
Sheffield, Colin [4:23 PM]: The other day my wife asked me with a crinkled up nose, "How can you tell if Greek Yogurt has gone bad?"

Brian [4:23 PM]:That's true. Is Greek yogurt just bad regular yogurt?
Sheffield, Colin [4:23 PM]: I said “I don't ask foolish questions. I just eat it really really fast and then deal with the Greek Yogurt headache.” And Yes. Yes it is.

Have a great Weekend! (I'm starting to feel abnormal again and for me that's great! ;)

Jou are feenished. Hab a nice day!

Is it too much to ask that someone keep the appointment they set for you?! Two hours I've waited for this Dr. To tell me I'm fat! I've got friends that tell me that in about 4 seconds after I see them and there is no Co-pay involved. Maybe I can guilt the Dr. into giving me a breast exam and pap on the house for waiting so long.

This is what is in the waiting room:
A cute little black boy that looks like the Lil Bill cartoon.
His mom who looks like Alicia Keys. (I find out later her name is Tiquesia)
A fifty year old Hispanic female with Bleach blond hair that's way too short(the hair not the Hispanic).
A 18 year kid named Papadopolous who looks Hispanic. Three older black ladies.
A sick screaming white kid.
His apologetic mother.
A 55 year old white lady who looks like she just woke up.
A fat 25 or so gangster looking guy who smells good. (when I'm bored I smell gangsters. It's an odd hobby but I really don't have the time to get into something more involved.)
A white soccer mom type that looks like she been crying since the presidential election. Shes got two little kids with her. A 9 mo old bald baby a 7 year old. Both appear to be dripping with snot brought on by a flu from either a pig or bird.

I finally get a room. 45 minutes after my scheduled appointment. My Dr. comes in. She is a 4'11" Filipino. Really cute and very plain spoken. Now even being aware of her particular "In your Face" bedside manor, she still took me by surprise when she walked in the little room with my lab results in hand and asks, Dr Josef Mengele like, "So, is there any history of Pancreatic or Liver cancer in your family?" My reply was "Not...... yet." Now I'm off for more tests. Yaaaaay.
To me, this was like walking up to some one's house, unscrewing their porch light, while putting on my Jason Mask, unsheathing my machete, pouring a bottle of ketchup on the blade, and ringing the doorbell only to find the person at the door screaming and dancing in place in fear when they see me. My question to them would be something like, "Do you have a phobia about fat people in hockey masks wielding a slightly used machete?"
Anyway I arrive at the second hospital and find the waiting room full of people needing some sort of imaging. MRI's or Sonograms, and ultrasounds. All having a similar characteristic; weight and lots of it. I was getting the ultrasound. My second one in a month, (Still not pregnant, BTW).
Anyway my time in line comes up and I get a slightly effeminate Colombian guy named Julio. He speaks with a heavy accented lisp which already makes me feel a little better and helps to get my mind off the fact that my Dr. may think I'm pregnant. The Ultrasound machine is shaped like a Giant Krispy Kreme donut, with a place to lie down in front of it. I ask Julio if I needed to take off "muh bling" to which he replied, "Oh no thur. Thees is a Ultra sound macheen, not an MRI. All I needs for jou to do is unbuckle jou pants down to jour mid-thigh and lay own de table." I said ok and asked if this was because of the metal accessories that are on pants like buttons and zippers, to which my friend Julio replied, "No eats because jou are cute. No I'm juss keeding! I'm so baaaaddd! Jes, eats because of dee metal. Now lay down sealy!"He tells me to close my eyes, which I do nervously, and he lines up a laser sight onto my forehead. When I look up there are two icons on the underside of the donut that I'm looking up at. One is a stick figure's head showing him smiling (I thought) and the other is the same stick figure's head, but looking like he's holding his breath. (I was right on that one.) Julio tells me when the 1st figure lights up in green, I'm to exhale and breath normally. When the icon with the guy holding his breath lights up, I'm to hold my breath. Easy. I see the magnets starting to rotate around inside the donut, and the light comes on for the guy holding the breath, so I do it for 20 seconds. With my pants around my thighs. When the light comes on to breath I do so, heavily. This goes back and forth for 4 or 5 minutes or so. Julio comes out of what I was guessing was a lead lined vault and says, "Jou are feenished. Hab a nice day." "Thanks you too" I say. I walk out of the hospital a little light headed, a little relieved that it didn't take that long, and a little flattered. ;)
I'll keep you in the loop.

Pascal the mask eating French Baby

There's this baby that has captured about four aisles of attention on the plane I'm now on. Let's call him Pascal. Really cute little boy a little older than a year I'd guess. Pascal's parents seem about 25 or so. When the plane started to pressure up, he started crying. Then this precious little one seemed a little scared so he cried a little louder. The mother being overly self conscious about the crying started doing everything in her power to quiet the little one. I've been in her shoes albeit it's been quite a while so I felt sorry for her, the baby and the husband. The mother started to try to get the baby's mind off of the fact that security at that particular airport was lax and that now they were hurling thru the air in a compressed tube of air with people the didn't know.
No. Wait.
That last part was more me than the baby but anyway.
The mother got the baby's attention by turning on and off the light above her. This worked and the baby giggled. So the father tried the same thing. Pascal giggled again (I did too but only a little bit). When the mother stopped turning on and off the light the baby would look at her with an expression like "Hey what tha hell?" but in a lil baby French accent. ("Sac re Bleu!" i think) So what does the mother do? What every parent including myself has done; create a strobe light for the other
passengers so the baby won't cry. Now aside from getting a small seizure from the strobe light in seat 7A, I did eventually get used to it. So I went back to my paperwork. That's when I heard the French cuss words. I look up and over and noticed the baby giggling and the mother and father looking panicked. Apparently you are only supposed to depress the little light bulb symbol 57 times and not 58 before
giving it a break...............because that is precisely what it will do. The light bulb fell into the mothers lap! Then a few seconds later the little yellow air mask that the flight attendants have always shown us only we've never actually seen one fall except on the number 1 hit television show "Lost", falls!
Anyway as soon as the mask falls about twenty of us simultaneously look out the window to see if everything was still OK. It was. I giggled a nervous laugh. Very nervous at first. I mean I am flying from Canada whose claim to fame is Maple Syrup, Canadian Bacon, and Hockey. Not airport security. Meanwhile Pascal, is eating the yellow mask. I mean eating it like there is little baby catnip on it. He must be teething, because if memory serves, I thought I was sure they took "Gerber's Lil Baby Catnip" off the market. The much older French couple behind the young parents decided to help. Trying to get Pascals attention by acting like their fingers were the Itsy bitsy spider. It worked. Well for me anyway. I was mesmerized by the older woman's perfect nails at the end of her fat yet surprisingly still beautiful fingers. She very sweetly made Pascal forget about his parents freaking out with her "Not so Itsy Bitsy Spider". The older woman begins to cough because she giggled, and not a normal cough. Like the term "death rattle" kind of cough. Like the kind of cough Doc Holliday had. The kind of cough that seems to go on wayyyyyyy too long (like this analogy) while she infects the entire plane with her French Canadian tuberculosis. I know what your thinking. You're thinking, "Sac re Bleu!" but I'm OK. I just held by breath for 60 second increments and when I did breathe I did it through my shirt, and I continued to type. Do you know why? Because the story of Pascal had to be told, that's why.
;)

Love You!

My God I love you!
That phrase works so well as long as I’m not trying to quiet the wife during an argument.
Then……………..it’s like drinking a fifth of Jet fuel and peeing on an A&M Bonfire.
We’re great now. Don’t start fretting about our stability. We’re healthier than we’ve ever been marriage wise. We just had a difference of opinion about a couple of things. I thought (stupidly) that I’d say, “you know regardless of how we feel about this, I sure love you!”. She took it as “Shut up and stop arguing with me……………………………and I love you……and stuff. “
I recently had the same kind of disagreement with my 15 year old daughter. Although ours was maybe a little different though. She has several friends who are girls who believe they are “bi-sexual”. I explained to her rather delicately at first, that there is no such thing as “bi-sexual”, and that you’re either Gay or Straight. The analogy I used that she vehemently disagreed with was Pregnancy, in that you can’t be “sort of Pregnant”. You also can’t be “Sort of Straight” or “Sort of Gay”.

Usually I post things that made me giggle or laugh. Here’s something that pissed me off:
University students want 'Our Lord' removed from diplomas
http://www.woai.com/content/blogs/headlines/story/University-students-want-Our-Lord-removed-from/MseBLVfmmkmypXZXCjH99g.cspx
You’re in a free country! You’re at a private university! You’re at a university whose foundation was built around Christian principles, and wait for it. ………………………….THE TRINITY!!!

GOD I LOVE YOU!!!!!

Beyond the Dura

I met a couple of nice people in the airport today. One guy who was “Big and Tall” named Kevin who sold Flame Resistant clothing. The other a young woman who looked like Kate on the show Lost. She was reading a book called, “Cranial Sacral Therapy: Beyond the Dura”. Kevin was eating Combos. Just a stretch here, but I’m thinking Kate is smarter than Kevin. I doubt Kevin even knew that there was anything beyond the dura.
One disturbing thing, and actually is the reason I started to write, was I saw a guy in line in front of me, in a suit. Normally this doesn’t disturb me, but what did, was his eating of his booger. He picked it. Looked down at it, and you could see him kinda say, “Oh. I didn’t know you were the booger I was picking.” And popped in his mouth.
I usually don’t get grossed out. I have actually won gross out ‘contests’ with friends and family, but this was a little too gross for me. I wasn’t even paying this guy much attention because there were much more interesting people in line with me. Like the 60 year old retired hooker and the girl who looked like Kate from Lost. But the Booger eating lawyer stole the show. After he consumed the dried mucous flake, I had to concentrate on not staring at him in awe. I had to adjust my face a few times because I realized I had a look on it like I smelled a musty warm garlic fart. I kept asking myself questions that, thank God no one answered like:

Does he think he’s by himself in one of America’s largest Airports?!?
Does he not realize or care that other people are watching out for Booger Eating lawyers just for material for their Blogs?!
Why did he appear to say in gleeful surprise “Oh.” And then eat it?!
What causes a professional to not stop eating boogers in the 1st grade?!
Did he eat a “Brain Booger” before his bar exam?!
Has he ever said, “What? It’s just a booger.”?

This puts me in a different sub conversation but relates directly to this.
I went to the bathroom before boarding, and noticed in the stall a couple of numbers for a good time, and that someone had flicked a couple of boogers on the stall doors. WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS? THERE IS TOILET PAPER ONE FOOT FROM YOUR LEFT HAND? Is it the art of flicking the booger that is so compelling that they cannot resist doing it? Do these people say to themselves, “I could wipe the booger on some TP, but I really want to see this one Fly!”? This is not the first I’ve seen this. I’ve seen it from coast to coast. Even in the corporate office where I work. There is either a national problem with booger throwing, or some booger throwing stalker is following me around the country. I rarely ask readers of this blog to reply or comment, but if you have a theory about the “Snot Phenomenon” please comment at the bottom of this post.

I’m sure some of you were reading this and going, “Why does he always write about bodily fluids and noises?” While some of you were wishing, “Man, I hope he writes more about that 60 year old retired hooker.”I’ll address both of these in a little bit, but first I wanted to dispel a myth that Northeastern people are Rude.
I have a theory about this. I don’t think they are rude. I think they are so used to people not asking them how they are doing, that they become accustomed to keeping their heads down and keeping to themselves. I was bored a couple of evenings on this audit so I conducted a few little experiments.
The first one dealt with me finding a Duncan Donuts franchise. If you’ve not been to the North east, this is incredibly easy, as they are on every corner. Next was to find a DD franchise without a Drive thru. A little tougher task but completely possible due to the large number of franchises. Next was to find a DD franchise with nothing but “Foreigners” manning their respective posts at the counter, fryers, and coffee machines. Easiest part of the experiment, by the way. In the 4 or 5 DD franchises I went to, I saw no person working in them who was not from the southern or eastern part of India. (Long story how I know this) The unknowing participant in my little experiment was a short little Indian named “Runs with Doughnuts”. No. I’m just kidding. Her real name was, and I’m sure my recollection is going to butcher this, Mahindra. Now besides the fact that I thought Mahindra was either a Tractor making company or one of the villains Godzilla faced, I had a semi controlled environment to conduct my “experiment” or theory.
Mahindra wore a lot of darker colored Gold, and some beads and some greenish looking mother of pearl jewelry. She wore her DD hat and shirt. One of the other employees with her had a much longer name that covered three or four nametags, which is why I didn’t use her in my experiment or story. Mahindra was about 4’10 “ or so in height .
When I walked in I turned the southern accent up a few notches so I could get her attention. When she said in her “More Indian than English” accent, “Welcome to Duncan Donuts. How can I help you?” I replied, “Well………Dadburnit. I don’t know. Do you have any coffee?” She smiled at me, and said, “Oh yes sir. We have very good coffee. Would you like a large with cream and sugar?” “Yes Ma’am. That sounds mighty fine.” I said, hoping my exaggerated accent would arouse her curiosity where I was from. It did.
She looked at me like I burped in Dolphin, handed me my coffee, which was the perfect flavor and temperature, and said, “Here you go. Where are you from?” I replied ecstatic that my little plan worked, “I’m from South Texas.” She said, “Oh really? I could tell by your accent you were not from around here.” I said with an Aw shucks grin, “Is it that obvious?” “It is a little obvious, yes.” She said with a little smile. I said, “I thought you knew that because I wasn’t being rude. It seems as though many of the people up here are a little rude. Do you find that to be the case?” She says, “I used to, but not anymore. So many of the people here just keep to themselves. My first thought was that they just didn’t want to be bothered by small talk, but if you ask them a sincere question like ‘how are you today’ or ‘nice day today.’ They will respond in kind. If I do not say anything, they will not have a conversation. My cousin lives in Houston and she loves the hospitality there. She said she doesn’t have to drag the conversation out of people. Do you live near Houston?” I replied, “Not too far away. Great coffee by the way. Good talking to you. You have a nice night.” She said, “You too sir.”
It felt great to have a theory partially proven. I set out the rest of the week to solidify it by talking to the refinery operators at the plant in New Jersey, the Puerto Rican workers at the hotel I stayed at, and the wait staff at at every restaurant I ate at. I can happily say that Mahindra was right every single time, and that in essence, people from the Northeast are rude; they just talk funny.
I know to some of you this kind of “theory testing” is either pathetic or awkward, or maybe even creepy. It’s really just a study of people and cultures though. And although they are intriguing at times, I have gotten a hold of a weird one every now and again. So much so that a couple of times like today, I have regretted asking a simple question like, “how are you today?” to my pilot. The response coming back at you like a fastball, with the pilot suddenly swatting at something that isn’t there, “Well I’d be better if it weren’t for these damn bees!”
See why I say partially proven?
;)

Bucket of Rocksalt

A few weeks ago, minutes after my Wife told me to slow down a little bit, I got pulled over by a Wilson county deputy. My wife looked at me with bewilderment and said, you guessed it, "I told you to slow down.". In the interest of time (kind of ironic now) I didn't want to be late for a flight to California.
That's what landed me in defensive driving today and to be honest is the perfect ending point for this week.
Despite all of the crappy events of the week, I've found a few little things that made me giggle and that I thought you might find funny as well.

1. This week while in Houston there were two ladies outside a bathroom at a refinery I was at. Both were leaning up against the wall in between the men’s and women’s bathrooms taking account of all who entered each room, while talking of budgets or cost reductions. I was in a hurry after eating the curry cayenne sprinkled doughnuts so I paid them little attention when entering as I literally had a much more pressing issue at hand. Upon leaving the restroom, one of ladies paused in her conversation, looked at me, then glanced down at her watch, as if to say, "Ten minutes in the bathroom. He pooped." or "3 minutes in; she peed." or "she's going in with her purse, she’s on her period” or “he is going in with his purse, he’s gay.”

2. My Defensive Driving Teacher is shaped like a dodge ball. He looks like a globe with two carrots shoved in the bottom of it. He’s a nice enough guy but he did say a couple of funny and strange things. One of the questions he asked the room of 30 was, “Is the Railroad track a safe place for pedestrians to walk?” Nobody said anything. I think most were shocked by the silliness of the question, but there were a few in the class that I could tell were pondering it. Redneck in the back row (not me) raises his hand.

AppleBodied Teacher: “Yes sir?”
Redneck: “My foot doctor has a Mercedes.”
AppleBodied Teacher: “What?! Oh. No sir. I said pedestrian, not podiatrist.”
Redneck: “Oooohhhh. Then no. But it is safe for the trains.”

Another statement made by the AppleBodied Teacher was “Brown is the color of fun. Signs, I mean.” This is also something I didn’t know.
We were talked down to so much, that by the end of the six hours, that I will never get back, you actually felt drained. I can only think of one other time when I felt this dumb. I was asked, “Hey what time is it?”. I had the Milk Carton in my right and a rather full glass of milk in my left hand and absentmindedly looked at the watch on my left wrist. This caused the milk to leave the glass and go a little in my belly button, but mostly all over my genitals.

3. You ever get dressed and go somewhere only to realize much much too late that a piece of what you are wearing smells less fresh than it should? I’m not talking about that ball cap you own that smells like a port o potty in a public park, or the “draws” you decided to flip over inside out and “recycle”. I’m talking about an undershirt or shirt or maybe you thought that these were the “clean pants”. No? Me neither.
But something I did notice today, as well as the sweet lady named Nikole (Her spelling) and the gentleman named Juan sitting to my left may have as well, was the fact that I have never washed these particular tennis shoes. Because the class was so boring, I found myself shifting my feet trying I guess to make the uncomfortable chairs more comfortable. Periodically throughout the day I catch a whiff of what smelled most like garbage whose contents where made up of ancient Mold and the Baby diapers my mother changed off me. I subtly looked around my fellow students judging them saying in my head, “he must not bathe.” Or “She must have a Moldy Baby.” Around lunch time it dawned on me that it was me. I crossed my legs with my foot on my lap and a smell that would gag a maggot reached my senses while I was chewing on some pizza. I bet the lady Nikole thought that I had that disease Restless Leg Syndrome, because while almost choking on my pizza, I kick my leg straight really fast so she won’t look at me like I have the other disease “Moldy Diarhea”. I smile and keep my disgusting feet away from her, Juan and I. I put them under the chair of a fat red headed woman who asked too many questions and made this horrible class longer.
I close with the words of the redneck in this class, that I will never forget as Long as I live. “I’d rather paper cut my taint to hell, and pop a squat on a 5 gallon buck of Rock salt than be here in this sumbitch.” Amen. Pass the Tylenol.
;)