Years ago, Aunt Tudi found a mail order gag gift that she just had to have. She's holding it in the picture above. She asked me to get her, the Father Unit, and Uncle Michael one each, because she thought it was just hilarious. When it came in the mail, I took this picture of her, and photoshopped one gleaming tooth, adding the caption. I posted it here on LJ and on Facebook.
A lot of people here on the Cliffs got to know Aunt Tudi really well over the course of the nine years she was with me after I began blogging. Many of them became friends with me on Facebook as well. Facebook is where dydan contacted me to tell me she'd spotted Aunt Tudi on eBay. She gave me the link to the eBay listing, and the belly-laughing commenced! So I wrote to the person on eBay. Here's a screen cap of the note.
And would she have laughed? Most definitely.
This is proof positive that anyone can be a model, even middle-aged, eccentric, crazy-cat-lady level, Southern goofballs with a fetish for novelty items! Screw Kendall Jenner. Aunt Tudi is a star!
I just got permission to share the rest of the conversation as it stands now. If there's anymore in the future that I can share, I'll do more edits. I have to say, this has really made my day. :D
(I then sent him the link to the video, since I wasn't bright enough to include in the original response)
Behold the horror.
Spinach Lasagna, for the win! I had a completely vegetarian meal.
When we got home, though, I couldn't find my wallet. I knew I'd had it at the restaurant; otherwise, I would not have been able to pay for our meals. But the Unit took me back to Giovanni's, just in case. No joy.
I was starting to freak out, but as we approached the curb in front of the house, the Mother Unit said, "What is that lying in the gutter."
It was my wallet. It must have fallen off my lap, when I opened the door to get out.
I was so relieved.
Here are some pictures that need sharing. I made the Accomplishment sign, the Pentecostal Kitteh sign, and the Mickey Rourke sign.
( here be some funnies )
One of the things I've learned that I love about getting taxis, is the varied nationalities I've so far had the honour of encountering. I have a "Fish Called Wanda"-level love for accents and languages, so engaging these guys in conversation is like crack for me. I have so far gotten to talk with an Indian, a Kenyan, a Pakistani, a Jamaican, a Ukrainian, a Nigerian and, today, an Iranian by the name of Abdulahi.
He came to pick me up at CVS to bring me home. As usual, I complimented him on his accent and asked him where he was originally from. He told me Iran, and that he'd been in America for almost twenty years. It was a pleasant conversation that lasted all too briefly, since the trip from CVS to the house is just over two miles.
I paid Abdulahi and exited the cab. As I was about to open the front door, though, he honked his horn at me and I turned to see him getting out of the car and rushing up to me. Taking me by the shoulders, Abdulahi turned my back to him and pulled a big sticker off my butt. Apparently one of the cab notices had come off the window and fallen in the seat. I sat down on it, and it stuck to me. So there I was, proudly displaying one of Orange Cab's policies on my tuches. He said, "I'm so sorry, you have a sticker on your a--," then caught himself. I just cackled, and thanked him, noting that I was glad I was home instead of still out in public with something like that affixed to me. I thanked him and he laughed, apologised again, and then hugged me.
I don't think there's any sort of moral to this story, except for maybe watch where you are landing your arse, but it's one of those WTF stories that you know you're gonna end up telling a disinterested orderly in the old folks home.
"Sonny, did I ever tell you about the day my butt got labeled by a taxi, and earned me a hug from an Iranian dude? Well, sit right down!"
So I figured a trip to urgent care may be in order to make sure I hadn't broken anything and maybe I could get an antibiotic for the tooth so the dentist could pull it immediately when I get to see him after September 1, instead of making me wait and take antibiotics then.
But because I had suffered vertigo, urgent care sent me to Mercy Scripps emergency room. They x-rayed me there and everything was in order; however, they did give me some tramadol for the pain and giant penicillin horse pills to take three times a day for the next week to get my tooth ready for extraction. I already feel better there.
Anyway, whilst I was outside the E/R waiting for my cab to the drug store, this dude came up to me and assured me that everything was going to be okay. I wanted to believe him, because he looked like Montel Williams. He asked if they were able to help me, and I told him yes. He said he was waiting for them to take his vitals, but wanted to come out and smoke real quick like, and thought I was pretty, so he figured he'd take his chances and talk to me. I thanked him, and smiled the best I could, with my swollen face. Then he asked if I was waiting for my husband to pick me up, and I thought oh here we go…. I told him I wasn't married. Lawd, you would have thought he'd won on Jeopardy. He put his arm around me and started yip-yapping about everything, and informed me that he had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, but was taking his medications, so he was okay. He introduced himself as Geno. I immediately thought of Geno Vanelli. He then gave me his phone number and practically begged me to call him. Then, as my cab pulled up, he asked me for a quick kiss. WTF? He gave a light peck on the lips and dashed back into the hospital.
After all that, my emoticon face was set on o_0.
So, today, I went to the grocery store with the Mother Unit, and as I rounded the corner of an aisle, this short, chubby guy stopped me. He held up a huge bottle of Jim Beam in one hand, and a family-size box of Fruit Loops in the other. In a lovely Middle Eastern accent, he asked "This is a great combination, eh?" I laughed and agreed with him. He practically skipped away with glee.
I think I'm really starting to like San Diego.
You constantly revile me with your singular lack of vision. Be aware, there is an essential truth and beauty in all things. From the death throes of a speared gazelle to the damaged smile of a freeway homeless. But that does not mean that the invisibility of something implies its lack of being. Though simpleton babies foolishly believe the person before them vanishes when they cover their eyes during a hateful game of peek-a-boo, this is a fallacy. And so it is that the unseen dusty build up that accumulates behind the DVD shelves in the rumpus room exists also. This is unacceptable.
I will tell you this Rosalina, not as a taunt or a threat but as an evocation of joy. The joy of nothingness, the joy of the real. I want you to be real in everything you do. If you cannot be real, then a semblance of reality must be maintained. A real semblance of the fake real, or “real”. I have conquered volcanoes and visited the bitter depths of the earth’s oceans. Nothing I have witnessed, from lava to crustacean, assailed me liked the caked debris haunting that small plastic soap hammock in the smaller of the bathrooms. Nausea is not a sufficient word. In this regard, you are not being real.
Now we must turn to the horrors of nature. I am afraid this is inevitable. Nature is not something to be coddled and accepted and held to your bosom like a wounded snake. Tell me, what was there before you were born? What do you remember? That is nature. Nature is a void. An emptiness. A vacuum. And speaking of vacuum, I am not sure you’re using the retractable nozzle correctly or applying the ‘full weft’ setting when attending to the lush carpets of the den. I found some dander there.
I have only listened to two songs in my entire life. One was an aria by Wagner that I played compulsively from the ages of 19 to 27 at least 60 times a day until the local townsfolk drove me from my dwelling using rudimentary pitchforks and blazing torches. The other was Dido. Both appalled me to the point of paralysis. Every quaver was like a brickbat against my soul. Music is futile and malicious. So please, if you require entertainment while organizing the recycling, refrain from the ‘pop radio’ I was affronted by recently. May I recommend the recitation of some sharp verse. Perhaps by Goethe. Or Schiller. Or Shel Silverstein at a push.
The situation regarding spoons remains unchanged. If I see one, I will kill it.
That is all. Do not fail to think that you are not the finest woman I have ever met. You are. And I am including on this list my mother and the wife of Brad Dourif (the second wife, not the one with the lip thing). Thank you for listening and sorry if parts of this note were smudged. I have been weeping.
Your money is under the guillotine.
I saw this image of Barbara Bush on Yahoo, and the first thing I thought of was a velociraptor. Now, you will too.
( more behind here ~ one is very naughty, so be aware... )
I'm back to trying to write, as well as collect pictures for the most ambitious video I will ever make. Ta.
I may have just lost my mind from this hilarity.