Geckos Ruined My Life

I hate geckos.  Don’t let those insurance commercials featuring the bug-eyed critter with the charming English accent fool you.  Geckos are the devil.  They ruined my Olympic dreams.  Three years ago I moved to Florida to pursue a half-baked idea my dream to ride horses competitively. 

I needed a fresh start, I needed a new challenge, I needed a new interest that would quickly drain every last cent of my divorce settlement and since I can’t drive a stick shift, fast cars and NASCAR were out of the question.  So, I turned to horses.  The fact that I was starting my pursuit of equestrian glory later in life than the snooty “I was born on a Hermes saddle” crowd did not deter me.  The fact that my bank account was so empty that it echoed when I opened my checkbook did not deter me.  It went something like, “Ha, ha, ha!  Ha, ha, ha!” Kinda like that creepy clown thing from the Saw movies.  And I tell you, trying to survive in the world of competitive horseback riding with little to no money was torture.

It wasn’t even the fact that during my first week of training the gigantic mare I was riding in an elevated ring decided that she just didn’t want me on her back anymore.  I was thrown, catapulted, launched a good seven feet outside the fence.  And at least six feet down the embankment.  Face down in a crumpled heap under the Florida sun, my trainer thought I was dead.  I heard her screaming into the phone for 911.  I remember thinking, “Oh my goodness, someone’s really hurt!” as I picked my battered and bruised but miraculously unbroken body off the sandy Florida ground.  And got back on that damn horse.  No, all this I could have overcome.  The snootiness, the poverty, the soft tissue injury and torn ligaments that still bother me to this very day (usually at mile two of a six mile run) were mere challenges. It was the geckos.  Those damn geckos.

As you can see in this photo below, those damn geckos are everywhere.  It ruined one of the few pictures of me on my horse:

Being a city girl I was accustomed to pigeons, squirrels, and even rats the size of subway cars.  But my encounters with city wildlife were limited to the outdoors.  They did not live constantly underfoot and squish sickeningly under my bare feet if I made a mad dash to the car to let my windows up during one of Florida’s incessant rain storms.  The pigeons, squirrels, and rats did not come into my apartment.  They did not cling precariously to the screen windows and make chirping noises that kept me awake all night long wondering if they could get inside.  Everyone, it seemed, delighted in telling me that it’s not “if” the geckos get inside your apartment, but “when.” These same asshats loved to tell stories about the time they were in the tub, cooking dinner, watching TV, or whatever you do in the safety and comfort of your own home when you are not expecting geckos to drop from the sky when a gecko does just that — drops from the sky.  These geckos are evil.  You can’t tell me that these fuckers that can cling to the side of buildings with the tenacity of cat hair on black pants suddenly lose all suction as they traipse across your living room ceiling.  Oh, no.  It’s just one of those gecko practical jokes. 

Rats and pigeons do not play practical jokes.  They may threaten to CUTCHU if you don’t turn over that crust of bread you are hoarding from lunch, but they are not joking.  They mean business so just hand over the bread.  Rats and pigeons also do not gross me out by licking their eyeballs.  I mean, really, who thought this was a good idea to make a creature with no eyelids and then plop it down in sandy, tropic climes.  So, to moisturize and clean their eyes, geckos lick their eyeballs.  How is this evidence of intelligent design?

Six months after arriving in Florida I was ready for my first riding competition.  I’ll have to tell you more about my riding experience some time.  It was incredible.  Jumping a fence (and in my case “fence” is used loosely, it was more like a speed bump) is what I imagine it’s like to fly.  But this post is about the geckos.  Those damn geckos.  I was talking on the phone to a friend, preparing a nice, tall glass of good ol’ sweet tea when she asked me about gators.  “I’ve only seen one or two gators since I’ve been here,” I said.  “But I tell you what, these geckos are everywhere.  The first time I see one in my house, I’m packing my bags and I’m outta here.” Those words had barely left my mouth, in fact, they were still making their way through the airwaves and had yet to land with dulcet tones upon my friend’s waiting eardrums when a big-assed gecko darts across the kitchen counter. 

Does it try to avoid me?  No. 

Does it see me and run the other way?  No. 

What does it do?  I’ll tell you what that eyeball-licking lizard did.  It ran right up my arm and stuck itself to my cold, refreshing glass of sweet tea.  As it was on my way to my mouth.  I don’t know whether it was my scream or contact with the wall that shattered the glass but I do know that the Florida Marlins called me the next day asking about signing some kind of contract.  Apparently, they’ve never seen anyone throw like that.  Sadly, I had to turn them down.  I had too much packing to do.

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Not So Friendly Skies

Way, way, way back in the day (or sometime last week), Dirty Laundry Diva tapped me for a meme.  While I don’t ordinarily do memes because they are so much damn work, this one seemed easy.  All I had to do is list seven interesting facts about me.  Um yeah, sorry, don’t have much for you there. 

So, I thought I’d expand on a topic that I’ve only briefly mentioned before.  My life as a sky goddess.  Yes, prior to attending law school I was a flight attendant for three and a half years. 

All of you who just nodded your head and said, “Oh yeah!  I can see that!” consider yourself cyberslapped.  I HATE when people say that.  What the fuck is that supposed to mean?  I get the opposite reaction when people find out that I’m a lawyer and practiced law at one of the nation’s largest and most expensive chew-them-up-and-spit-them-out attorney mills.  Their brow gets wrinkled and there’s a puzzled look in their eyes.  “Really?” they ask.  “No, REALLY?” Yes, really, asshat.  Is it really that difficult to imagine me in court dazzling the jury with my brilliance, striking fear into the hollow hearts of opposing counsel, and figuring out ways to screw the little guy so my corporate client with a gazillion dollars in his hip pocket can keep it there, waiting for the right lap-dance to saunter by?  Is it?!?  I ask you, esteemed internet, does the Dingo who appears before you today not look like she could wipe the floor with any and all who oppose her?  And maybe also serve soft drinks and tiny bags of peanuts at thirty thousand feet? 

Anyway, here are seven li’l tidbits about my life as a flight attendant for Pathetic Airlines:

1) It sucked.

2) I am the bane of Little People everywhere.  One of my many run-ins with the Little People included the time I saw an unaccompanied minor gazing out the window.  Being a good flight attendant (it’s flight attendant, NOT stewardess), I scurried to the galley and came back to her seat proudly bearing wings, Mickey Mouse ears, and an offer to tour of the cockpit once the plane landed.  And yes, when I asked her if she’d ever travelled alone before, my face may have actually made a flushing sound when she answered, “I usually travel alone on business trips.  They won’t let me bring my mommy.” Those Little People sure are touchy!  I won’t even go into the time there was a group of Little People going to a convention.  Let’s just say it was dark, the beverage cart had a wobbly wheel, and it’s not my fault it if I didn’t see their heads sticking out into the aisle.  Who can lay down in a row of seats with your head in the aisle, I ask you?  Decapitated Little People, that’s who.

3) I was instructed to ask if you are able and willing to remove the window in an exit row and assist your fellow passengers.  I only ask that because in an emergency, I am going out the back door.  Y’all can fend for yourselves.

4) I think they brought defibrillators on the airplanes just for me.  There was a rather wearying stretch of time where at least once a week I had some sort of emergency.  It was usually some poor schlub having a heart attack.  But I also had to make two emergency landings, put out a fire, break up a fight, actually use the oxygen masks, and have the Marshalls meet the plane because of unruly passengers.  This is before the term “air rage” came into being.  Back then, we just called them assholes.

5) Believe it or not, if you brought a five-tier wedding cake on board for your sister’s wedding in Greensboro, or a beach umbrella and lounge chair for your Ft. Lauderdale vacation, or a Christmas tree, I could stow it away as carry-on for you.  But it would not feel good and your ass would be sore for days.

6) Yes, I did make fun of you behind your back and often to your face.  You just didn’t always know it.

7) Because I was based in NYC, I had many celebrities making the NY-LA trip.  Some of them were jerks.  Most of them were nice.  One of the nicest ones was Val Kilmer.  As the last passenger disembarked , my crew and I were rushing to our next flight about sixty miles at the other end of the airport.  Everyone was gushing over Val Kilmer and asked what he was like.  He was charming, I said.  He was nice, I said.  I’d definitely do him, I said.  At that point, I dropped my ugly flight attendant sweater.  I heard a voice say, “You dropped something.” As I turned to thank the gentleman and retrieve the ugly flight attendant sweater, I came face to face with Val Kilmer.  Who had heard every word.  Every.  Word.  He just smiled.  I’d still do him.

So, think about these things the next time we discuss my career at Pathetic Air Lines.  I bet you’re no longer thinking, “Oh yeah, I can see that!”

That’s all for now.  Buh-bye!

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Go Find The Funny Caption Contest Results!

I am sure that since it was so long between posts, you guys were wondering if you should be wearing this shirt instead:

But I am back, baby!  And I am back with the winner of the Go Find the Funny Contest!  You guys are hilarious and very creative.  I admit, I was scratching my head wondering what I would write if I had to submit a caption for the Monkey photo.  When The Cougar first sat down to choose the funniest caption, she thought it was going to be easy.  After reading through all the entries for the fifth time, she said something like, “I think I’d rather be back on the witness stand.  This is hard!” Okay, she didn’t really say that, but choosing the winner was definitely tough.  But enough of my rambling.  The winner is Mel Heth with:

Mel Heth, send me your info and I will get the T-shirt off to you right away.  That is, of course, if you don’t mind wearing the f-bomb or if you go to church.  I’ll be glad to send you the Shine the Light CD instead.

Because it was such a difficult choice, I decided that a runner-up would receive the remaining prize.  I really wanted to keep it but Mr. Dingo said I should give it away.  He also helps old ladies cross the street and gives generously to the homeless.  No, really, he does.  He’s a nice counterbalance to my plans for world domination and mind control.  So, because Mr. Dingo guilted me into give the other prize away, Crissy, you are entitled to whatever prize Mel Heth rejects does not choose for the following caption:

Thanks so much everyone for participating and for all of your support this week!

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Law and Disorder

Oh my holy hell, folks.  I had planned to post earlier this week but once again, if they paved the road to hell with my intentions, we’d have a superhighway in no time at all.  Of course, with the high price of gas and environmental impact of a new road, maybe I can forgo the highway to hell and trade my good intentions in for a six pack of Hop Devil Beer and a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.

I have been at The Cougar’s this week for her divorce hearing.  I would like to write about how justice and fairness prevailed and that Jackass I will be writhing in torment for all eternity but I can’t.  We did not have Judge Judy who would’ve given Jackass I the smack down he so deserves.  No, we had Judge Reinhold.  Wait a minute, you say!  He’s not a real judge!  He’s that dorky actor from Fast Times at Ridgemont High! That’s okay, we didn’t have a real judge either.  And believe me, the comparison works because this judge was obviously smokin’ the ganja.  In the end, although the court’s decision wasn’t fair, Mom will be okay financially. 

The papers haven’t been finalized and submitted to the court yet so I don’t want to say anything that Jackass Spy can pour into Jackass I’s ear and foul things up.  It has been a grueling week and I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to spend all day in court and then come home and blog. 

I haven’t even had a chance to read your blogs!  But I have been able to read your captions for the Go Find the Funny Contest.  You guys are HILARIOUS!  I was stuck in the waiting area for some of the hearing since, as a witness, I couldn’t listen to the testimony of other witnesses.  Your comments kept me sane through the long wait and made me laugh out loud.  Loud laughter in Family Court is often inappropriate.  But in spite of the unhappy circumstances, there was much to laugh at; like the fact that one of the court police officers was cross-eyed.  He wasn’t just mildly cross-eyed.  Oh no!  This guy’s right eye was so far to the left he looked like a flounder.  If that wasn’t unsettling enough, he had a gun!  How does one make it through the Police Academy (hey, wasn’t Judge Reinhold in that movie too!) with eyes so crossed you can’t help but run in circles?  This man was so cross-eyed he would get caught in his own friendly fire! 

Then there was the Special Olympics officer.  I suppose the local Wal-Mart wasn’t accepting anymore applications for greeters because the second officer roaming the hall where I sat would’ve been a shoo-in.  On a break I tried to get my Mom to stare rudely in his direction.  “Mom, does that police officer have Down’s Syndrome?  Does he, Mom?  Does he?” She wasn’t listening, she was paying attention to some other guy…oh, yeah, her lawyer.  Geez, I know that she’s in court fighting for her financial survival but I have a blog to write, damn it!  Anyway, I’m pretty sure he had Down’s Syndrome.  One of my favorite Aunts is mentally challenged and she has lots of Down’s friends.  I know Down’s.  This officer had Down’s.  The following exchange between Officer Downs and Officer Flounder eliminated all doubt.

Officer Flounder:  Yeah, well I just got back from Afghanistan.
Officer Downs:  Afghanistan?  Were you on vacation?
Officer Flounder:  No, I was finishing up my tour.
Officer Downs:  Tour?  What tour group?
Officer Flounder:  No, my tour.  In the army.
Officer Downs:  I’ve never been to Europe.

And yes, Officer Downs also carried a gun.

After I was called in to testify (see this time I was a real witness Mel Heth!) I wanted to borrow one of their guns.  Or at least taser myself.  You’d think that after my legal career where I’d prepped dozens of witnesses for trials and depositions I would’ve done much better on the stand.  But no.  I froze.  It could’ve been Jackass I giving me the stink eye, smirking, and shaking his head every time I said something that threw me, but I don’t think so.  I stopped caring what he thought of me a long time ago.  I just think I’m a bad witness.  Let me say, as much as I love you all, if you ever commit a crime please do not call me as a character witness.  If you do, you’ll be serving 10-20 and the next time we see each other it will be from behind a glass partition as you introduce me to your bitch Martha.

Anyhoodle, that’s what’s been going on here with me!  Mom and I are looking forward to going over all the captions this evening.  If you haven’t submitted one, it’s not too late!  Do it, do it!  Go find the funny!

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Go Find the Funny Contest

It’s time for a contest!! 

Sunny at CityLitNYC called me today to tell me about a fantastic find she made over the weekend.  And because I’m fantastic, I decided to share it with you.  But I’m going to make you work for it, be-otches!

Because all of you were so wonderful during McMini-Meltdown I and II (yes, even you lurkers; although you didn’t comment, I could feel the love) I’m going to give something back.  I’m going to give you this!

Yes, it’s the coolest t-shirt ever:  Keith Richards asking, “Who the fuck is Mick Jagger?” And how do you win this fine, fine piece of t-shirtery?  (Yes, that is a word.  I just used it, didn’t I?) I’ll tell you.  You have to provide a caption to this photo from I’ll Make My Own Lemonade:

For those of you who are lame do not want to wear the F-bomb across your bosom, I did ask the store clerk if they had any t-shirts that said Who the heck is Mick Jagger, Who the hell is Mick Jagger, or even Who in guldarnit consternation is Mick Jagger?  But no.  The pimply-faced gangsta was astonished that someone would be offended by the word fuck.  “What’s wrong with fuck?” he asked.  I told him that people might be uncomfortable wearing that word.  And you know, he had an eye-opening solution.  “Well, they could just go to church!” Hmmm….good idea, wearing the fuck t-shirt, no doubt. 

So, if you already have something with the word fuck among your Sunday best, I will send you Shine a Light:  The Original Soundtrack by the Rolling Stones.

You have until Friday at midnight to enter.  Friday!  A whole week to find the funny and leave your caption in a comment to this post.  Because my Mom needs a good laugh, I’m going to have her pick the winner.  I’ll announce the winner sometime on Saturday.  But don’t get up early!  I’m sleeping in so you shouldn’t expect anything until after 1pm. 

Now, go!  Go find the funny!

Update:  It’s okay if you leave more than one caption or more than one comment.  No need to edit the captions or comments for content.  I will make sure there’s a difibulator nearby in case The Cougar (Mom) gets the vapors.
Oh, and I won’t be commenting on this post because I don’t want to influence Mom’s decision.  I will also try to post something later in the week so you can get your Dingo fix.

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