The Way Things Are






2005-06-03, 12:02 p.m.


1. My son started plucking his uni-brow. At twelve, he is a full-fledge preener. He applies deodorant twice a day, keeps his toenails trimmed, and now plucks his uni-brow. In fact, he came into my bathroom the other day to borrow my tweezers, and I did it for him. Pluckpluckpluckpluckpluck He didnít even flinch. Such a brave boy.

I tweeze DWís crazy old-man eyebrows for him, too. He has 3 or 4 of those crazy rogue eyebrows that stick out at all angles. He says sometimes they obscure his vision. He screams like a girl when I pull his eyebrow hairs out.

Itís a sad thing that all men related to me by blood and marriage have mono eyebrosis, commonly called the uni-brow. I canít help it; I have one, too.

2. Our dog, Dobie One Penobi (Penny for short, or more commonly ďBeansĒ) slithers. She flattens herself on the floor, stretches her front and back legs out, and pulls herself along the floor using only her front paw talons. She holds her head at a regal angle, sometimes smiling with her tail wagging like a rudder, sometimes with a very solemn look on her face with no wagging. Whatever her attitude during the slither, she maneuvers her way all through the living room like this, pulling herself along, looking like Olí Nessie gliding silently along the surface of a green carpet lake.

This morning, as she pulled herself along, DW stood in front of her saying ďCome on, Beans! You can do it, girl! Come on!Ē while I shouted out in a tortured voice ďI CANíT WALK!Ē

3. There is a person whom we around here in these parts are calling Jim Swine who keeps calling this morning intent upon talking to me, but wonít leave a message. Iím not taking calls from people I donít know this morning, because I made a business decision at 9:30 thatís pissing a lot of people off, but itís good for OUR company and my own peace of mind, so there you go. Jim Swine has been calling, and asking the receptionist for my email address and for my cell phone number (yeah, right, let me just give you her home address, too, stalker) and Ambuh has so far refused and will continue to refuse. I think itís funny that this person, whether they are one of the pissed-off parties or not, will NOT leave me a voice mail.

Anyway, Iím outta here in 15 minutes to go see Mom, so Jim Swine can bite my ass. Come on, BITE IT.

4. There is no number 4.

5. Iím wearing flip flops at work today, and they are not dressy flip flops. They are very casual and I can get away with it based on my good looks and charm. And people fear me.

6. I can hear somebody talking loudly in the reception area, and I sure hope itís not Jim Swine. Because Ambuhís mother works here, and yíall, this being Texas and all, she packs heat. She has vowed to provide bodily protection to all of us here. Folks had best not try to force their way past Ambuh or theyíll have her very good shot mother to deal with. Hey, itís legal. I apologize in advance to anybody offended by my glee at the thought of gun violence. But there you go. Iím gleeful.

These kinds of situations happen at times in this industry, although you would think that affordable housing would be all peace and love and social work and joining hands and singing Kum Bah Ya. Itís not. People come unglued and all sorts of crazy shit happens.

Who is Jim Swine? What does he want with me? BITE IT, SWINE.

7. Iím leaving this here popsicle stand, my precious downy goslings. Iíll see you on the flip side of the weekend.

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