Spooky II

Okay, yeah, psychically deaf.  Meaning I can’t ‘hear’ or ‘see’ psychic stuff.  But it doesn’t mean that stuff doesn’t happen that makes you go, “Hmmm….”.

My brother’s wife talked to me a bit back saying that she had a strange event occur – – –

Her favorite song is…now, don’t laugh…a piece written for clarinet (the instrument of choice of sex gods and goddesses alike).   A song called “Stranger on the Shore” by Acker Bilk.  Actually, quite a beautiful, if sappy, little number.  But, just as obviously, quite obscure.  Hell, I had no clue what it was without looking it up on the internet.  I’m guessing none of you knew without doing the same (okay, maybe one…).

About a year after my brother passed, I got a phone call from sis-in-law.  She was obviously a bit shaken (not stirred).

Seems she got a call on her phone from some 1-800 number she didn’t recognize.  Still, she picked it up.  There was silence on the line, like you sometimes get when a 1-800 number figures “we have a sucker here” and transfers you to a real person to sell you some obtuse thing like flapjack warmers or ear polishers or some such.

But, instead of a live human, she started hearing “Stranger on the Shore”.

And it played all the way through, hanging up at the end.

She told me that there were only two people in the world who knew that was her favorite song – – my brother and her functional daughter*.  Given that my brother was…ummm…indisposed, having passed away and all, she called my niece…

…who categorically denied having sent the message nor any knowledge of who could have sent the message**.

So…

…how do we explain stuff like that happening?

[shaking my head in wonderment]

Yoicks!

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*I keep intending to share the story of my brother’s daughters…the good niece and the ‘other’ niece.  Well, that’ll have to wait on another post.

**Sis-in-law did try to track down the 1-800 number and found out it was for some bug control company like Terminix or the like.

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tshirt friday 29Jan10

Okay, joining in again with the delightful and delectable NurseMyra’s t-shirt Friday post. I’m thinking the theme is cartoon characters we relate to in some way, so this one works for me…love Michigan J. Frog — the reluctant singer.

Michigan sings "Please Don't Talk About Me When I'm Gone"

MJF being shy and retiring

And before you ask, no, the bottle of bourbon in the background was not required to post along with NurseMyra.  Doing this of my own free will.

Psychic Deafness

I’m deaf.  Well, psychically, anyway.

There’s part of me that wants to believe in the surreal and supernatural.  There’s part of me that can’t see the logic or facts in the paranormal, so discounts the whole idea.

Irrespective of whether I believe or not, I’ve been told I’m psychically deaf.  Even if I fully believed and wanted to hear what’s going on in the psychic world, I would be unable.

I went to a couple ‘psychic readers’ over the years (knowing full well that the money spent was for entertainment, not really expecting to get true insight).  All of them but one (who wanted more money) said I was unable to ‘hear’ the psychic world.  One of them told me that I could train myself to hear by doing psychic exercises.

“Imagine that there’s a screw top cap over your ‘third eye’.  Now, each night, imagine yourself unscrewing that cap and removing it so you can let the spirit world in!”

looks just like me...

Well, if I don’t fully believe, isn’t the exercise of unscrewing the cap from your head a failure-before-start?

I mention this in preparation for upcoming posts, plus just as an admission of my frailty… either in being unable to believe in the first place… or having the gall to think I could, some time, be able to…

yep...them too...

Boxer Friday 22Jan10

On occasion in the past, I have joined the delectable and edible Nursemyra for her T-Shirt Friday posts.

I’m feeling just rambunctious enough to join her for her Corset Friday this morning.

It’s going to be icy here in The Wilds of Ohio, so thought I’d dress appropriately – – –

ready for the day

Figure the penguins can help me stay stable on the ice.

And, again, kudos to Nursemyra for all those corset shots of the past she took by herself.  It’s not easy.

Random Restroom Reflections

Had an experience in the men’s room today that got me thinking.

Now, before all you rude and crude people (you know who you are) start chomping at the bit to comment, no, I’m not talking the Congressman Craig kind of scenario.

I’m just going to throw out some restroom observations… random neurons firing off.

There are no real rules and etiquette for behavior in public restrooms.  Some have written on it, but what’s acceptable in one part of the country may not be acceptable in another.  And, of course, cross country borders and all bets are off on what’s okay (for example, walking into a Belgian restroom to take a stand at the urinal…while the cleaning lady was nonchalantly scrubbing away nearby).

So, first, the toilet – –

Now get all comfortable sitting down...

The Poo Interrupter: This guy wants to hold a conversation while you’re in mid-deuce.  We’re talking co-workers here.  Without getting into the psychology of what horrible emotional damage potty training did to me us all, does anyone else find it mildly disturbing to be holding a discussion punctuated by grunts, escaping body gasses, and, not to mention (which I am anyway), the occasional sounds of “the kids being dropped off at the pool”?  If this were a loved one, it may be a bit different, but when I’m safely athroned in my stall, I’d sort of like some privacy.  Talking can wait for the water cooler.  This is not to say that my co-workers should wait on me to finish before telling me the building is on fire and I should skedaddle out of there or ask if I’ve got today’s paper in my stall or some such.  I’m not a total recluse there.

Now, I also know that there are such people as “Nervous Poo-ers” who’s butt hole clenches up tighter than Joan River’s face  if anybody tries talking to them while on the toilet.  I’m not one of those, but if you were to get a Poo Interrupter talking to a Nervous Poo-er?  There could be some physical damage done there.

The Toilet Yakker: A slightly different version of the first one (or, perhaps, it is the first one who doesn’t care when and where he yaks).  This is the guy who wants to carry on a conversation while he’s in mid-deuce.  Okay, maybe there is an intriguing psychological study in this about how toilet training affects restroom comfort.  Hmmm…

–        The recent example of this one I ran into was not, thankfully, talking to me.  However, he WAS talking on his cell phone (sounded like a business call, too).  I missed my chance to make all kinds of noise to interrupt – like grunting loudly, flushing often, making a loud “Phew!”… I’ll be better prepared next time.

Next, the urinals – –

don’t stand TOO closely

Which urinal to stand at? There have been many well written article on this, so I won’t linger.  Some guys go to the first available.  Some go to the one offering the most separation from the next nearest guy.  One guy I know purposely takes the middle one so he maximizes his chances for company (and, no, I’ve no clue if he has wandering eyes or not).

How to stand at the urinal? This is a weird one.  Now, I’m not really an OCD germaphobe, but there’ve been some instances that just make me go “eww”.  I’ve seen a guy who felt he had to hold onto the urinal plumbing.  More common, are the guys who put one, or even both, hands up against the wall.  And, lately with the explosion of smartphones?   Guys who use both hands to text on their phones (sort of a e-version of the Toilet Yakker?).   I hope those last guys have good aim.

Like I said…just random observations.  No real moral to this story.  No resolutions.  No dramatic findings.  Just a few thoughts.

I’m just sayin’…

Gracious Helps

I received this blog award from a woman who dabbles in the absurdity of life, S. Le – –

When she got it, then forwarded the award, she listed the rules attached to this award.

The rules are:

1. List 5 things that make you happy.
2. Try to do at least one thing on the list today.
3. List 5 bloggers who brighten your day. Pass it on to five friends. (Please let them know they received the awards with a comment or email).
4. Those of you to whom I give this award are to link back to my blog and perpetuate the happy with your own lists and recipients and whatnot.

Now, I truly appreciate and humbly accept this award.  But I’m not going to do #3 right now.  Later, ‘kay?

But, I can do #1, 2, and 4 of the rules…

Five things what make me happy:

1. My kidlets, Boy Child and Daughter Person
2. My chosen ‘family’ of friends
3. Flying
4. Scuba diving
5. Chocolate ice cream with peanuts sprinkled on top, then muxed* together

Now, I’ve called the kidlets today and chatted with Dear Friend, so I’ve met the second rule requirement for my first and second ‘happy’.  Weather is too messy for flying.  Too cold to scuba locally.  And the damn diet prevents me from indulging in the ice cream.  Will hit those another time.

So, I’m going to create a new page for my awards.  I feel good about getting them (thank you S. Le).

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*muxed:  past imperfect of ‘mixed’, meaning to just mash it all together until it’s a delicious slurry of flavorful fun

Inner Voice, Released

Most of us have an inner dialogue (or, good Lord, I hope I’m not the only one).  We also have the filter that let’s us say the appropriate thing in any given situation, despite what we’re really thinking.  But there are times that filter fails.  Today was just such a day.

Tired and stressed by life and work, I found myself having to attend a later afternoon meeting.  I knew the guy talking would be long-winded and unlikely to finish anywhere near my usual time to go home, so was looking at a long and late day.

Waiting for the meeting to start, I was checking out who else was around.  I noticed the boss of the guy giving the presentation on the other side of the room.  I also noticed that she had her thumb all wrapped up in surgical gauze.  Knowing there was time before the meeting started, I wandered over and inquired if she stuck her thumb in something, but didn’t pull out a plum (I can be so clever sometimes, can’t I).

She allowed as how she’d cut her thumb, quite badly, on a sharp piece of metal in a poorly opened food can.  Then she proceeded to tell me that the cut didn’t hurt as much as when they went in later to remove her thumbnail because it was infected.  Ewww.  Continuing, she started talking about how you knew some of the thumb was infected and how some wasn’t (“…if it looks like raw hamburger, it’s okay…”).  Ewwww some more!  And she kept talking about it…

Now, I’m not a real queasy kind of guy usually, but for some reason, this started to get to me.  Since she is of an equivalent level of my supervisor, I felt I couldn’t just walk away, but had to say something.  Looking to be clever again, my mind formulated a quip that would get a chuckle and allow me to make a calm exit from the conversation.  I thought I’d say something like, “My, this discussion makes you very attractive to me.”  Not really politically correct, but not awful.

What really came out?

GnuKid: “My, but you are one damn, fine sexy bitch!”

Mortified, of course

I knew as soon as it rolled off my lips, that I’d screwed up royally.  Luckily, one of the other ladies who was listening in burst out laughing and said, “Well, when he puts it like that, how can you get mad?”

Tail between my legs, I slunk back to my seat on the other side of the room.

Just waiting for tomorrow to see when I get the phone call from my boss demanding an explanation.

Aw, crap…