BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Eighteen year old girls can be a lot of fun.

Okay… Let me stop you right there you dirty minded monkeys. That is NOT what I am talking about. I am talking about being an uncle to a niece who just turned eighteen and the hilarity that can ensue at a family gathering… Especially when said uncle makes his living with words, and moreover, he’s me. (Hey, nobody else was patting me on the back, so I have to do it myself…)

At any rate, we just had a family gathering to celebrate the “fourth quarter birthdays.” We used to do a separate party for each, but as the family grew – and aged – it became hard to schedule multiple gatherings each month and still have time for things such as, oh, I dunno… Work. Sleep. Grocery shopping… you know. Extracurricular activities of a sort. I know that makes us a bit selfish, but it’s just one of those things…

But, back to the story. Among the fourth quarter birthdays is that of one of my nieces, and as we have already established, she recently hit the “Big One Eight.” Of age to vote, sign legal documents, etc.

How did she celebrate this milestone? I mean, besides the family gathering, of course.

She went out and had a hole poked into the side of her nose.

Now, for the record, I don’t give a flying rat’s arse about that. I see more folks with metal in their faces than you can shake a stick at – and I mean a really big stick. Seriously.

Now, to be honest, I don’t find it attractive at all. In fact, I find it more than just a bit silly and a whole lot stupid. But by the same token, it ain’t my face, so whatever trips your trigger. I’m not about to think any less of you for it, because truth is we all have our moments of stupid.

Let me repeat – if you want to impale yourself with ornamental finials and tie tacks, go right ahead. Whether or not I think it is stupid has no bearing whatsoever on whether or not I like you, will hang out with you, or will perform CPR if you are in distress. What I’m saying here is keep your hate mail to yourself. I am not discriminating against you, nor am I being intolerant of you, nor am I repressing you because I think it is stupid to poke holes in your face. I am simply expressing my feelings on the subject, just as you are doing the same by walking around with a diaper pin through your lip and a key fob sticking out of your eyebrow.

However… If you happen to be my niece and you show up at a family gathering with a hunk of metal sticking out of the side of your face, you should expect repercussions. I cite the following –

Merpizm 11/21/10: “If you say something stupid, I’m going to make fun of you. I expect no less when the roles are reversed.”

~ M. R. Sellars

The above quote also applies to DOING as well as saying…

And so, my dear niece arrived at the party. I had already heard that she experienced much disappointment in the fact that her Grandparents – and even her parents – had eschewed comment on her proboscis bauble. Since she, like all of my other nieces and nephews, is a pretty cool kid, I felt bad for her, in a sarcastic uncle sort of way, of course.

Merp – Hey… Niece… C’mere for a sec.

Niece – What?

Merp – [cocking head to the side for a better view] You set off metal detectors with that thing?

Niece – Yeah… Right… Very funny, uncle Murv.

Merp – So… How’d it happen?

Niece – What do you mean?

Merp – Horrible explosion at the jewelry counter and you didn’t duck soon enough? Or did you just fall on it or something?

Niece – It didn’t “happen.”

Merp – You mean you did it on purpose?

Niece – Yeah. It’s how I celebrated my birthday.

Merp – Really? I ate lasagna and cake to celebrate my eighteenth. I didn’t poke holes in my face.

Niece – I didn’t poke holes in my face.

Merp – Ummm… I hate to tell you this but you have a hole in the side of your nose. That’s part of your face.

Niece – I mean I didn’t do it myself. I had a professional do it.

Merp – A professional… You mean you paid someone to poke a hole in your face?

Niece – Yes.

Merp – Seriously? How much it cost you?

Niece – [pulling back hair to show something akin to Trigger’s horseshoe sticking out of the top of her ear] Well, for the cartilage piercing and the nose  piercing it was fifty bucks.

Merp – Wait… You willingly had TWO holes poked in your head in order to celebrate your birthday?

Niece – Yeah.

Merp – And you paid someone fifty bucks to do it?

Niece – Yeah.

Merp – I wish you’d called me first. I’ve got a hole punch at home and I would’ve done it for free.

Niece – [Laughs]

Merp – Really. In fact, I’ve got a three hole punch. I would’ve done three all at once, no charge. I even would’ve sterilized it first.

Niece – Yeah… right. These holes are smaller.

Merp – [Shrugs] No problem. I’ve got a stapler too. Next time you want to put a hole in your face let me know. I’ll bring it along.

Niece – Funny. Right now I’m thinking about getting a tattoo.

Merp – Really. Now you want someone to draw on you with a motorized needle?

Niece – Maybe.

Niece’s Mom – Where are you wanting to get this tattoo?

Niece – On my foot.

Merp – What’re you gonna get?

Niece – I don’t know yet.

Merp – Well, if you’re gonna get it on your foot, have ’em put Rue Britannia on the bottom of your foot and call it good.

Niece – Why?

Merp – So you can be just like Bullwinkle.

Niece – Bull who?

Merp – Bullwinkle. You know, Rocky. Bullwinkle. Moose and squirrel. Watch me pull a rabbit outta my hat…

Niece – What?

Merp – You don’t know who Rocky and Bullwinkle are?

Niece – I’m only eighteen.

Merp – If you’re old enough to go out and have a hole poked in your face, you’re old enough to know who Rocky and Bullwinkle are.

Niece – [Redirecting] It would hurt to get a tattoo on the bottom of your foot.

Merp – Sugar, I’m here to tell you it’s gonna hurt no matter where you get it…

Niece – [Sigh] You know, it’s just an earring.

Merp – What is?

Niece – [pointing at gas cap on the side of her nose] This.

Merp – Oh… Honey… You must’ve missed a biology class. That’s your nose, not your ear.

Niece – You know what I mean…

Merp – I think maybe your stupid hasn’t worn off yet.

Niece – What stupid?

Merp – The one that overtook your brain when you willingly paid someone  to stab holes in your face.

Niece – They didn’t stab holes in my face. They used a needle.

Merp – Okay. So did you have to shove a cork up your nose for them to push it into?

Niece – They didn’t use a cork.

Merp – Well how in the world did you fit an apple up there?

Niece – [Attempting to remain indignantly eighteen but her  “OMG Uncle Murv” sigh is overcome by her own laughter]

Merp – Did they give you an instruction guide booklet with that thing?

Niece – No.

Merp – No? Well what happens if you get a booger caught up in there? How do you know what to do?

Niece – I sneeze.

Merp – Then I guess if someone is sitting on your right they should duck so you don’t shoot their eye out if that thing flies outta the side of your nose, huh?

Niece – The post is at a right angle.

Merp – Pointing up or down?

Niece – Up.

Merp – Well there you go. That just makes it easier for boogers to get caught on it.

Niece – I have a friend who has one. I’ll just ask her.

Merp – A booger?

Niece – A nose ring.

Merp – I really think you should go back and ask for the instruction guide booklet. I mean, you paid fifty bucks and all…

I could go on, but I’m already over one-thousand on the word count, and I’ve heard that shorter blogs are “in” these days. Suffice it to say, the razzing went on for better than an hour while her younger sister sat and listened. After all that I’m pretty sure we won’t have to worry about her setting off any metal detectors when she hits eighteen. Not at any family gatherings where Uncle Murv is present, anyway…

More to come…

Murv

Long about the time the O-spring made her debut in this world – technically, about 4 months prior if you want to be exact – E K and I moved. It was a short move in some ways, long in others. You see, we didn’t exactly change homes, just bedrooms.

We live in a modest house, as I’ve said before. It’s around 100 years old, but it isn’t going to be found on any historic registries anywhere. Nothing special happened here, at least not that we are aware. I’m sure something special happened for the folks who lived here at different times, but nothing earth shattering enough to be recorded in the history books.

Anyway, since it’s relatively small, her supreme evilness and I decided that we would move out of the large bedroom on the main floor, and relocate to the smaller bedroom on the second half-story of the house. Why? Because babies take up a lot of space, believe it or not. They come in a small package, yes, but they require an inordinate amount of support equipment. Cribs, changing tables, mobiles, little Dalek looking things that are in reality bizarre machines that take full diapers and turn them into enormous, twisty, poop sausages. Let me tell you, I thought the thing was ridiculous right up until we switched from cloth diapers to disposables. It was worth its weight in gold when it came to disposal of hazardous waste, as long as your “poo sausage casing” cartridge didn’t run out. Trust me, that was cause for panic…

But, enough about the ka-ka…

The thing is, many years have rushed by, disappearing into the distance and making us wonder just where the hell they went. E K and I are getting older… Okay… I’m getting older. Apparently E K has the Dick Clark gene or something. Either way, the O-spring has advanced a few years as well, so we no longer have to worry about her toddling head first down the stairs or anything scary like that. We have other worries instead, but that’s another blog.

What I’m trying to say here is that we are swapping bedrooms again. The Evil One and I are moving back to the main floor – closer to the bathroom, if you know what I mean. And, the spring is going to have a “tween pad,” up and away from the “grups”… Or so she thinks – my office is still right across the landing from the upstairs bedroom and it’s not moving.

I know, I know, get to the point…

Since it has been better than a decade since any work was done to the rooms, we’re in the midst of updating a few things, and taking care of some of the issues one will have with an aging house. To that end, just the other day we were installing some new quarter-round, and other trim in the upstairs space where we had built some recessed shelves some time ago.

These days, one of the problems with trim and baseboards is that a lot of it is made out of plastic. This is okay if you have a nail gun. If you have a hammer, however, it presents a problem. Why? Because you generally have to hit a nail two or three times to drive it in, and when you do, all of the vibrations and impacts shatter the plastic. And so, this is what I dealt with on a very hot day. Suffice it to say, I ended up screaming a good number of expletives. Fortunately, it was just the cats and me in the house at the time.

Fast forward a few days. I had been forced to abandon the project temporarily since I had to fly off to a faraway land and be that author type guy for a bit. Upon my return, I was sitting in the office one evening – remember the office right across from the bedroom?

Well, anyway, E K had taken up the task of installing the rest of the quarter round. As I answered email I listened. From the other room I heard:

tap… tap… TAP… TAP! Clatter! Grumble Grumble… Sigh…

Saw Saw Saw…

tap… tap… TAP… TAP! Clatter! Grumble Grumble… Sigh…

Saw Saw Saw…

tap… tap… TAP… TAP! Clatter! Grumble Grumble… Sigh…

Saw… Saw… Saw… tap… tap… TAP… TAP! Clatter! DAMMIT!

I chuckled, which probably wasn’t a good idea given that I was chuckling at The Evil Redhead herself, then I said, “Now you sound like I did the other day.”

Without missing a beat, the O-spring chirped, “But I bet you used the word that starts with F.”

Kids. You just can’t fool ’em, can you?

More to come…

Murv