BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Or: How Michele Bachmann Got Me Into Trouble With My Wife

I’m not a Michele Bachmann fan. Personally, I think the woman is off her rocker, but I am stating that as my opinion based upon her rhetoric. I’ve never met her – nor do I want to meet her – and moreover, I am not a clinical head-shrinker, so I’m not academically qualified to diagnose her as a nutjob. That said, (being a disclaimer and all, you understand) I’m relatively certain her elevator stops somewhere in between the first and second floor.

All good. I’m not about to begrudge her the right to run off at the mouth. However, as I’ve always stated, other people’s rights end where mine begin, and now Michele has directly affected said rights. How? She got me in trouble with The Evil Redhead.

For this to make sense, I need to give you a bit of info. You see, there is a routine here at E K Central. Each morning I wake up at oh-dark-thirty, start the coffee, visit the “Little Merp’s Room,” then install a 45 minute back massage on The Redhead. Trust me, if she doesn’t get her back massage in the morning, there’s hell to pay. After that, I proceed to get breakfast ready, answer email, prep EKay’s lunch, clean litter boxes, and on, and on. Somewhere in there, I take the o-spring to school, get my daily walk in, then return home in time to refill my coffee, bow and scrape to The Redhead, and then walk her out to her vehicle. It’s not that she needs an escort; it’s that she needs a pack mule. Yes, I “carry her books” for her (that’s a metaphor. I carry her lunch, extra shoes, and other stuff. Although, sometimes there are books, too.)

It’s at this juncture where her supreme evilness imparts upon me the instructions for the day. You know, stuff like, “Pick up my dry cleaning, polish all of my shoes, paint the house, build me a gazebo, make sure you prepare Beef Wellington for dinner tonight, and my vodka & tonic was too weak yesterday so if you don’t do better this evening there will be hell to pay. “

See what I mean? Normal stuff.

What does this have to do with Michele Bachmann, you ask? I’m getting to that.

On Friday morning, following standard procedure, I walked E K to her vehicle, loaded her lunch, stood still while she slapped me around, replied with, “Thank you, Mistress, may I have another?!” just as I am supposed to do, and all was good. Among her daily instructions to me was the following: Water the Basil and Oregano on the porch.

Easy enough, even for me, right? Well, not so much…

After seeing off Her Worship, I went back into the house on a mission to fill the watering can and tend to her herb garden. As I entered the door, The Early Show was blaring from the idiot box. On the screen was one of the co-hosts, and Michele Bachmann. From the speakers I heard, “Inducements inducing people to break the law to be induced to get the inducements that they were induced to be induced by, for the purpose of inducing…”

Okay… Yeah… So that is definitely NOT a direct quote. Here’s the real one:

“We’re inducing more people to break the law by giving them inducements and if someone comes into this state, they can subsequently also obtain other benefits on occasion as well,” she continued. “So we don’t want to have any inducements that will be a magnet to induce more people to come into the united states illegally.”

Even so, my overarching point here is that Michele Bachmann was flinging a ten-dollar word out there, in its various forms, multiple times in the same sentence.

I make my living with words. I notice shit like this. Especially when someone overuses the living crap out of a word. I mean, grammatically it’s never a stellar idea to use a word multiple times in a single sentence unless it’s an article or a preposition or a conjunction or something of that ilk. Know what I mean? It’s sort of like the old rule about not using a word in its own definition.

So… How did this get me in trouble?

Again, that’s easy – Inducement-gate was like a big train wreck to my ears. I stood there staring at the screen, drooling (because I was being mind-numbed), and I just couldn’t look away or tune it out. I’m sure plenty of folks are thinking, “Doooood. You’re making too big a deal out of it.”

Well no, not really. I’m not saying she should take a long walk off a short pier because of Inducement-gate (there are plenty of other reasons why I think she should do that.) However, as I said above, words are how I make my living, so a verbal train wreck like that was bound to make me go all googly-eyed.

And so, with my eyes goggled up, and my brain severely numbed, I completely forgot to water The Supreme Redhead’s herb garden – a fact that dawned on me Friday evening as I was paying daily homage to Her Worship by removing the lint from her sweater with a single three-inch strip of 15 year old generic cellophane tape, just like she’d told me to do. I guess I was still a little brain-numbed too, because instead of just going and watering the damn plants, I said with my out loud voice, “Oh crap, I forgot to water your herb garden!”

The doctor says I’ll be good as new in a few weeks if I just take it easy. He also suggested that I avoid exposure to Michele Bachmann.

I wonder if I should send HER the medical bill, or just forward it on to the GOP?

More to come…

Murv

I know a lot of Wendys…

I realize that’s kind of odd, but throughout my life I have come to know several Wendys. Or, in one case, Wendi. There’s also Wendie, as in Wendie Malick, but I don’t actually know her. I’ve just seen her on TV, so she really doesn’t count.

And, these Wendys are all across the board as to personalities and professions. There’s a blond Wendy who was a Flight Attendant for TWA – remember them? TWA, I mean, not Flight Attendants. Although, I could certainly wax nostalgic about how Flight Attendants used to be Flight Attendants, and not psychopathic hall monitors who seem to think they are Air Marshals. In any event, I have no idea what TWA Wendy is doing these days. I haven’t seen her in years, but I did use to joke with her quite a bit and call her an Airborne Waitress. Fortunately, she had a good sense of humor about it.

Then there’s small Wendy. I have no idea what she is doing, or what she grew up to be. I met her shortly after I graduated high school. My dad and I went on a hiking trip in Colorado, and we had set up camp in a public – but little used – camping area halfway up a pass in the Rockies. Small Wendy and her parents were camping in the same area, albeit several sites over. She developed a crush on me because she thought I looked like John Denver, and would come over to our campsite whenever she saw us out and about. Her parents even sent her over with leftovers from their dinner – they had an RV with a kitchen – because they felt sorry for us having to eat freeze dried rations.

And, there’s “Mistress Wendi”. That’s where the Wendi with an”i” shows up. That’s not her real name… Well… Not when she’s just being her normal self. It’s more of a moniker attached to the alter ego of a friend. Based on the honorific I’m sure you can figure out what she does for fun. We’ve been friends forever, and she was an invaluable source of info when I was researching the Miranda novels.

There are others, but I don’t want to bore you too much. I mean, all I am doing is rambling about women named Wendy. There was, however, a particular Wendy in my life who wasn’t exactly a friend. She also wasn’t exactly an enemy. She was, for lack of a better description, a thorn in my ass. I have no clue what happened to her, but I think of her often, believe it or not. Well, maybe not often as in often. More like whenever I am startled by something and jump out of my skin.

I was all prepared to write the story of why this happens to be when I received notice that one of my recent workshops, which had been videotaped at an event, was now online. I was watching it to see how it came out and lo and behold, there I was, right there on the screen telling the story about this particular Wendy in order to illustrate a point. So, rather than toss a whole ‘nother mess of words out there, here it is, from my lips to your ears.

(Video Courtesy of Spiraling Up Video Productions)

Moral of the story?

Don’t let your guard down around anyone named Wendy. Especially if she has a roll of Scotch Tape in hand…

More to come…

Murv