I came out of the shower this morning and heard a tearing sound. I immediately assumed my dog was up to something as he is prone to during fits of angry boredom.
I wrapped a towel around myself and stuck my head out in the living room. Mahoney was not ripping the stuffing out of the chair I found at the thrift store. I glanced in the bedroom. He wasn't eating one of Jazzy's shoes or flip flops.
I checked the guest bedroom/office. He sat quietly on the ground by the desk looking up at me, big brown innocent eyes, tail wagging. I look down at him with suspicion.
"What did you do?"
Tail stopped wagging and he tried to army crawl backward away from me.
"Oh no...you did something really bad, didn't you?"
I reached under the desk with my damp fingers. Zapping sounds and sparks greeted me as I screamed like the very manly man that I am. Yep. My dog ate the power cord for the computer I use to write and draw my little comics. So...no comics today. Sorry. I don't have the battery power and my other computers just don't cut it for my drawings.
My dog is fine...even if the ripping sound had actually been him shocking the crap out of his face.
Showing posts with label bath. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bath. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
Newspaper and Bathtubs Do Not Mix
When I was around four or five I caught a bit of wonderful 80's television. I managed to see a man with a mustache reading a newspaper in a bathtub while smoking a cigar. For some reason this image stuck in my young brain, teaching me that real men did such things. I'm pretty sure it was Magnum PI, but after scouring the whole internet for about an hour I could not find a clip or a pic to support my claim.
I did not have access to cigars, thank goodness, or a mustache, but I did have access to a bathtub, water, and a newspaper. Can you guess what I did next?
Okay, I know I draw myself in the bath a lot...like this post about my lovely wife and this post about joyous bum warmers. I have good reason to draw myself in the bath. I love baths. I always prefer them over showers.
I think it goes back to coming from a large family and not always being able to take them. I also have fond memories of long days picking blackberries in the Louisiana woods, dodging water moccasins, slapping away mosquitoes, and watching the fireflies blink in and out of existence in the thick night air. These days always ended with me tromping home slick with sweat, covered in mud, and dripping purple juice from my mouth. My mom always sent me to bathe. There is something about the hot water hitting aching muscles and tiny scratches that exhilarates me. Did you know blackberry bushes had thorns? Now you do. It is a good pain, like the ache after a good exercise. You know the hot water is doing its job.
Or, maybe, it goes back to when I was sick. I'd eat a huge bowl of tomato soup, take a crazy hot bath, and then crawl into bed. Worked every time. I would sweat the cold out while I slept and feel so much better in the morning. Maybe it goes back to the time I lived in Mexico where bathtubs are very rare and the showers are infested with worms and the mother of all cockroaches. That is a different story though.
No matter the cause, I like baths. I will continue to draw them...back to my story at hand. I dragged a whole newspaper into the bathroom, ran some hot water, and climbed in.
I did not have access to cigars, thank goodness, or a mustache, but I did have access to a bathtub, water, and a newspaper. Can you guess what I did next?
Okay, I know I draw myself in the bath a lot...like this post about my lovely wife and this post about joyous bum warmers. I have good reason to draw myself in the bath. I love baths. I always prefer them over showers.
I think it goes back to coming from a large family and not always being able to take them. I also have fond memories of long days picking blackberries in the Louisiana woods, dodging water moccasins, slapping away mosquitoes, and watching the fireflies blink in and out of existence in the thick night air. These days always ended with me tromping home slick with sweat, covered in mud, and dripping purple juice from my mouth. My mom always sent me to bathe. There is something about the hot water hitting aching muscles and tiny scratches that exhilarates me. Did you know blackberry bushes had thorns? Now you do. It is a good pain, like the ache after a good exercise. You know the hot water is doing its job.
Or, maybe, it goes back to when I was sick. I'd eat a huge bowl of tomato soup, take a crazy hot bath, and then crawl into bed. Worked every time. I would sweat the cold out while I slept and feel so much better in the morning. Maybe it goes back to the time I lived in Mexico where bathtubs are very rare and the showers are infested with worms and the mother of all cockroaches. That is a different story though.
No matter the cause, I like baths. I will continue to draw them...back to my story at hand. I dragged a whole newspaper into the bathroom, ran some hot water, and climbed in.
My little four or five year old hands didn't hold the paper very high.
The paper touched the water and started to get soggy and leak a little ink into the bath. I continued reading, despite the fact I could not really read yet. I was being a real man. I did not need to read to be a real man, just sit in the tub with the paper and grin at the world like I owned it.
The ink spread further and deeper into the water and the paper soggified even more. At some point my wet fingers could no longer grasp the paper and down it went, bubbling up ink as it sunk.
I had planned for this contingency. I reached for another page.
This page also refused to stay out of the water. The ink swirled around me and my page got soggier and soggier.
Can you guess what happened next? I dropped that page and reached for another. That one got wet and I grabbed another. The cycle continued for some time, each new page releasing more ink like some perpetual squid kicking machine...I may have to invent that. I was oblivious as I struggled to fulfill the task at hand, read a stupid paper in the bath like a freaking man. Maybe I would grow a mustache right there and then. I didn't know! Thank you, Tom Selleck!
Each time I reached for another paper I left dark smudges. I wiped the steam from my face. I smoothed back my hair. So, this is more or less how my mother found me.
I do not recommend you attempt this. Tom Selleck was wrong. It is not cool to read newspapers in the bath. It does not make you a man and it does not grow mustaches...unless you are happy with newspaper smudge mustaches. All it does it leave you an inky mess with a very angry mother. Don't live with your mother? All grown up? Doesn't matter. Wherever your mother is, she will be angry with you, and Tom Selleck for gifting it to the world, and me for bringing it up. Just say no!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
My wife is weird and I am Hat Eye!
I love my wife. She is quirky and odd. Can you imagine me with anyone who isn't? The funny thing is most people don't see that side of her. They see her with her nose in a book or with a stack of papers to grade. I am going to take advantage of my blog stardom and expose the real Jazzy to the world.
Here is a conversation we had on IM. I was at work. She was home. I teased her about something. I can't remember exactly what, but I probably called her stinky or made fun of her inability to cook. I scribbled down everything that came after, thinking I would remember what instigated the conversation. I should have known my memory doesn't work that way. Here is what came right after the teasing:
Jazzy: i hat eyou/
Me: I hat eye you too dear
Jazzy: and i can't type
Me: Hat Eye, the Avenger!
Jazzy: Are you coming home to help me make dinner?
Me: Nope. You make dinner. I am avenging the wrongs with my haberdashery super powers of sight!
Jazzy: I have no idea what that means.
Me: Haberdashery? Google it.
Me: *waiting like three seconds for her to google it*
Me: Besides clothing, they made hats.
Jazzy: Why do you know these things?
Me: Because I am Hat Eye! Pay attention.
Jazzy: I do. You are just weird.
Okay. I know what you are thinking. This makes Jazzy look normal and me like a weirdo. But, would a normal person put up with me? I think not.
I've got a better example. I sat in the bath, playing with the bubbles and patting the water like usual. My wife wanders in as she does sometimes. Don't worry. This is not in any way dirty.
Jazzy: *wanders in singing* Lalalalla la...you're a firework.
Me: I'm a firework?
Jazzy: It's a song...
Me: *ignores that it's a song* What kind of firework am I?
Jazzy: Like...pfft pffft...*she puts her feet shoulder length apart, raises her hands, and shakes her fingers like sparks*
Me: So...I'm a lame firework?
Jazzy: *laughs and walks out of the bathroom*
Me: *bubbles are suddenly less fun*
See that. She is funny and goofy. You still don't believe me? Yes, you need more proof. One more funny story about my wife:
Me: *sleeping soundly and happily in on a day off*
Jazzy: *jumps on bed and tackles me* (I know you can't tackle someone who is laying down, but she still tried.)
Me: ummmffftt *half asleep*
Jazzy: Wake up, it's 8:30!
Me: *stretches and bumps her in the forehead with my elbow*
Jazzy: Ow. You smoke me in my pants! (I heard 'smote', but she claims she said 'smoke') *falls over laughing*
Me: Did you say 'I smote me in my pants'?
Jazzy: *rolls around the bed next to me laughing*
Me: *laughing* What is wrong with your brain?
Jazzy: *gasping for air while laughing* I don't know.
Odd, definitely odd to have those words come out of her mouth when she meant to say "Ow, you poked me in the face." I give you unavoidable proof that my wife's brain does not function. I was the one half asleep. She had been up for at least an hour. Jazzy, I love you. Stay weird. I need it to keep me sane.
Here is a conversation we had on IM. I was at work. She was home. I teased her about something. I can't remember exactly what, but I probably called her stinky or made fun of her inability to cook. I scribbled down everything that came after, thinking I would remember what instigated the conversation. I should have known my memory doesn't work that way. Here is what came right after the teasing:
Jazzy: i hat eyou/
Me: I hat eye you too dear
Jazzy: and i can't type
Me: Hat Eye, the Avenger!
Jazzy: Are you coming home to help me make dinner?
Me: Nope. You make dinner. I am avenging the wrongs with my haberdashery super powers of sight!
Jazzy: I have no idea what that means.
Me: Haberdashery? Google it.
Me: *waiting like three seconds for her to google it*
Me: Besides clothing, they made hats.
Jazzy: Why do you know these things?
Me: Because I am Hat Eye! Pay attention.
Jazzy: I do. You are just weird.
Okay. I know what you are thinking. This makes Jazzy look normal and me like a weirdo. But, would a normal person put up with me? I think not.
I've got a better example. I sat in the bath, playing with the bubbles and patting the water like usual. My wife wanders in as she does sometimes. Don't worry. This is not in any way dirty.
Jazzy: *wanders in singing* Lalalalla la...you're a firework.
Me: I'm a firework?
Jazzy: It's a song...
Me: *ignores that it's a song* What kind of firework am I?
Jazzy: Like...pfft pffft...*she puts her feet shoulder length apart, raises her hands, and shakes her fingers like sparks*
Me: So...I'm a lame firework?
Jazzy: *laughs and walks out of the bathroom*
Me: *bubbles are suddenly less fun*
See that. She is funny and goofy. You still don't believe me? Yes, you need more proof. One more funny story about my wife:
Me: *sleeping soundly and happily in on a day off*
Jazzy: *jumps on bed and tackles me* (I know you can't tackle someone who is laying down, but she still tried.)
Me: ummmffftt *half asleep*
Jazzy: Wake up, it's 8:30!
Me: *stretches and bumps her in the forehead with my elbow*
Jazzy: Ow. You smoke me in my pants! (I heard 'smote', but she claims she said 'smoke') *falls over laughing*
Me: Did you say 'I smote me in my pants'?
Jazzy: *rolls around the bed next to me laughing*
Me: *laughing* What is wrong with your brain?
Jazzy: *gasping for air while laughing* I don't know.
Odd, definitely odd to have those words come out of her mouth when she meant to say "Ow, you poked me in the face." I give you unavoidable proof that my wife's brain does not function. I was the one half asleep. She had been up for at least an hour. Jazzy, I love you. Stay weird. I need it to keep me sane.
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