Friday, December 25, 2009

Ass Spelunking Holiday and a General Lack of Class

Where to start? Please note that this is not going to be in any type of chronological or logical order for that point. Just getting it out there. We temporarily lifted the fart moratorium here at Casa de Flatulent Free. Mr Man had to go for an Ass Spelunking (not sure if it warrants being capitalized but I'm guessing 45 ft of cinematic equipment up your ass probably does) and of course they puff you up like Rocco the Clown blows up balloon animals. I'm pretty sure that the doctor, nurses and random orderlys have never been thanked nearly so much and in general complimented for their services. Apparently Mr Man on anesthesia = super sweet Chatty Cathy. He told all of us how wonderful the hospital was and how great everybody treated him. He waved and told anyone in sight good bye. Luckily we avoided the parade wave, but not by much. I got him home and on the couch under a couple of blankets and gave a wide berth for the deflation process. Happy to report that the fart truce is back in full force.

Any body who's anyone knows that I am not a holiday type of person. I am not Scrooge, I just don't like them....haven't since I don't know when. It's not just limited to Christmas, I hate Thanksgiving and New Years too. If sleeping from about the third week of November until oh say mid March was acceptable behavior then I would be the first to sign up. I do really really look forward to going to see the Wizard of Oz play every year. Mr Man has taken me the last 3 years. We always go to the Sunday matinee. (*That reminds me of something but in attempt of not being completely random I'll come back to that.) There is always a kid adult ratio of about 500:1 and at least half of them are dressed like little Dorothy's...with little ruby slippers on...they are so cute. I just want to pinch their little heads off. Every single year walking in I say the exact same thing "Fuck...we forgot our kid". But I digress. We rush to the little concession stand and thanks to the new NC only one drink at a time law we get our little thimbles of wine and try not to spill it...note to the Carolina Theatre concession planning gods...price is not the issue...hell I'll give you 15 bucks for a solo cup next year. With all those kids I need it. It is however, the best play ever. Me and daddy always watched it on TV together and I love it.

So I was fresh off my Wizard buzz when I saw this ad in the paper for A Christmas Carol at the Palace Theatre. Well here's my logic...if a little community theatre group and pull off awesome then a big ass tourist trap is going to rock...Right? I talk Sharon into going with us with the allure of injecting a little class and culture into our otherwise bar filled Sunday afternoons. The road to the catching of hell is paved with good intentions. I actually stopped drinking and had water at lunch so I wouldn't be I was looking forward to 5 or 6 wine thimbles to get me through. The smarter ones in the crowd continued beering. So we get in and at the concession stand...Dr Pepper and popcorn. FUCK ME RUNNING...REALLY?? And there were at least 2 hoverounds buzzing in front of us. Note...they were the only things buzzing. Sharon was already threatening my ass kicking. Me being the ever salvager remind them of culture. The opening scene...thunder, strobes, spinning white dresses...this is going to be great. Let's just say that the wad was shot. Within the first 5 minutes they shook an imaginary rug and knocked on and opened an imaginary door. IMAGINARY!! WTF?! I paid 30 bucks a can't tell me there wasn't a fucking rug backstage some where in front of a real door.

At half time or intermission or what-the-fuck-ever it was Sharon and Mr Man pretty much unleash on me. Still being the genius in the crowd I suggest we visit the cooler in the car. As we stand in the parking lot of the Palace Theatre in broad daylight...tailgaiting...Sharon holds up her beer and toasts to class and culture. We determined that it can't be bought...even for $30. We bar hopped the rest of the day.

I struggle to remember a good Christmas, not that all of them weren't. But 2 years ago Christmas was the last time that I saw my daddy not in a hospital bed and the last time that he really knew me. He played with his boxes and tissue paper like a little kid would. He ate his oyster stew with a fork. As bad as it was, I failed to see that that was it and inside of 3 ugly months he would be gone. Last night was a little is better. After Mr Man dried my tears I livingroom danced with Carletta cat to Bob Marley's Three Little Birds. Don't worry about a thing...cause every little things gonna be alright...

*Back to matinee. I have a new source of blog worthy one liners. We'll call him my Mr B. Last week he came across with a good one. "I remember when a matinee was something to look forward it's just an old fucking movie." Classic.