Meerrettich and Deportation

The German arrived last week. It was good to see him again after a 5-week trip - despite the fact that he came back with a wretched cold and strained throat. At least his nuts were intact so to speak. Today, he dug up a shit load of horseradish and the two of us spent about three hours making batches and batches of this stuff outside in our driveway. We were pretty high for a good portion of the time. I like that quick and wickedly intense brain sensation, and then it just sort of dissipates - kind of like wasabi or poppers.

My folks were here with their friend L for the weekend. We had a good short visit. We were poking fun at mom last night over dinner because, technically speaking, she still to this day does not know if she’s a U.S. citizen. We came up with the usual scenarios about her being deported back to Poland (she was born in Poland, but the city she was born in is now part of Russia, although she is Russian – all very confusing). I told her to think of it as an adventure tour and how fun it would be for us to travel to Poland to try to find her – sort of like a DP camp version of Where’s Waldo.

Boy, Dr. Bibfash got hit with some tough questions for the advice column this week, but I asked for them, so here goes:

Question: Other N writes that she’s concerned about surviving her in-laws moving to town and what the expectation is for her to eat with them, run errands, visit them at their house, and handling unannounced drop-ins.

Dr. BF Responds: Personally, I don’t like unannounced drop-ins. Occasionally it’s okay to do this, especially in the summer, but it is unacceptable on a frequent basis. You could simply tell them that you have nude church services in your house on an irregular basis, so that may keep them at bay or at least caution them about dropping in unexpectedly. I say at the beginning of their move here you’ll want to eat with them more frequently until they “get into their groove” and meet some people, then you can wean off a bit. Running errands and visiting at their house you have more control over. If the errand would include something that they would also be buying for you – then I say go with it. Just remember – it’s always about you.

Question: Sad Plum is having a hard time with the smoke factor at the local Thursday hangout and she doesn’t know what to do. She would like to convince people to have these events in someone’s backyard, but how can she get people to agree to this?

Dr. BF Responds: This is tough. First, this whole Thursday night get together is technically the History Club get together, which has been recently co-opted by these nutty English people and a few other un-nutty people. The other problem is that you never know who will and who will not show up making the purchasing of beer at a private residence very difficult. Plus some people like to eat dinner, while others pass (like Other N), but that’s hard to predict, too. Then it becomes more of a house party, which as you know requires quite a bit of preparation, and then there is the food problem. In this sense, it’s easier to just go to the bar. Also, backyard parties would only work in the summer unless you’re so drunk (like I was two Saturdays ago) that you wouldn’t even notice if it was 80 below zero – even if your nipples were ready to pop off. I’m not up on the latest smoking ban and that may have a near future impact on the smoke quotient. Also, I do believe this bar opens up the front big windows in the summer, so that may help. The only other short-term alternative I can think of is this: Bring a portable fan with you to blow smoke away and occasionally orchestrate the backyard barbecue in the summer months only, or just go up to every person smoking and drop the little bastard in his or her beer. That should work.

Fun word of the day (brought to you by Urban Dictionary):

Dandruff
One who always ditches, or "flakes," hence the name dandruff; usually for an insufficient reason, getting the hopes up of friends and family and ditching them for materialistic sluts.

"I think Tyler needs to get a bottle of head 'n' shoulders cause he's been pullin some dandruff moves lately."

Casting Couch

God, I love Vanity Fair! It’s like the police blotter and gossip rag of the rich and famous. Here’s a snippet interview from one of my favorites, Sue Mengers – Casting Agent (VF, June 2005):

Which living person do you most admire?
My plumber
What is your greatest extravagance?
Grass
What is your favorite journey?
From the living room to the bedroom
Which talent would you most like to have?
I'd take any one
If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?
That I don't have any
What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Not having children
What is your favorite occupation?
Sleeping
What is the quality you most like in a man?
That he breathes
How would you like to die?
I think I already have
What is your motto?
"Tomorrow may not be another day."

I was trying to think of other jobs I'd like to have aside from the exciting world of librarianship (cough cough). Here are a few:

- Art Theft Investigator - FBI
- Mimicker
- "Smack my ass" aerobics instructor
- Bunny & squirrel rehabilitation expert
- Male brothel entrepreneur (N and I are already investigating this)
- International party girl
- “Words to avoid in public” consultant – e.g., come, probe, titillating (you get the idea…)
- Underwear tailor for Lenny Kravitz or that “bad” doctor on Grey’s Anatomy.
- Penis scarf maker

The Dr. Bibfash Advice Column has been pretty paltry lately. Come on, people. I know your lives can't be that perfect! Remember, I’m still trying to “get noticed” by an agent that has some minion surfing for blogs with lots of comments. It’s all about numbers not substance.

The Gimpy Bunny

I discovered a gimpy bunny by the curb today while walking my dog. I walked over to it and realized its leg was hurt and it couldn’t really move. The neighbor lady came out and said she saw five male rabbits chasing this rabbit earlier in the day (yes, I was wondering how the neighbor lady knew there were five supposed male rabbits chasing a supposed female rabbit?? No makey sensey as "Other N" would say). Anyway, when I got back to the house, I decided to call the Humane Society. The conversation went a little something like this:

Me: “I’m calling about a gimping bunny that’s near the curb on Third Avenue. Can you take care of this or shall I call someone else?”

Humane Society volunteer worker: “Is it wild?”

Me: “yes”

Humane Society volunteer worker: “You need to call Aaron. He takes care of wildlife in the area. Here’s his number…”

I call Aaron.

Aaron: “Good afternoon, Aaron’s Wildlife Control”

Me: “Hi, I was just referred to you by the Humane Society. There is a gimping bunny that’s near the curb on Third Avenue and I was hoping someone could help it.”

Aaron: “Oh, you need to call Charlotte. She does bunnies and raccoons in the area. I don’t have her number handy, but you may want to call the Humane Society again and see if they have it.”

Me: “Okay, thanks.”

I call the Humane Society

Humane Society volunteer worker: “Humane Society, how may I help you?”

Me: “Hi, I just talked to you a minute ago. You told me to call Aaron about the gimping bunny, but he said I have to call Charlotte and he doesn’t have her number, but said you have it.”

Humane Society volunteer worker: “Hmm. Let me check”

Pause (or paws – ha!)

Humane Society volunteer worker: “I’m looking at the book, but I can’t find a Charlotte. You could call Ray, but he only deals with squirrels. There’s Dan, but he does opossums and feral cats. Jean only does squirrels and bats. There is a woman in Green Bay I found that does rabbits. Would you like her number?”

Me: “Green Bay seems like quite a distance. I would think the bunny would be dead by then. What if I call the police – do they have like an animal control unit or something?”

Humane Society volunteer worker: “No, they don’t. Looks like Green Bay is the closest. Maybe you can try calling Aaron back to see if he can dig around for her number.”

Me: “Good idea. Thanks.”

I call Aaron back.

Aaron: “Good afternoon, Aaron’s Wildlife Control”

Me: “Hi Aaron, I just called you a few minutes ago about the gimpy bunny. The Humane Society doesn’t have Charlotte’s number. Is there any possibility you have it around somewhere or know the last name so I can look in the phone book?”

Aaron: “Hmm. Let me think. Oh yeah, the last name is Henner. Yeah, that’s it – Henner. She lives out in Amherst or near there.”

Me: “Is it ludicrous for me to think that someone from Amherst is going to come all the way here to help this wild gimpy bunny?”

Aaron: “Nah, Charlotte rehabilitates bunnies. That’s her expertise, so just give her a call.”

Me: “Ok. Thanks again.”

I find Charlotte in the book and call her. No one answers, but the machine picks up.

Me: “Hi Charlotte, I was just referred to you by Aaron who was referred to me by the Humane Society. I understand you rehabilitate wild bunnies. Well, there is a gimping bunny on the corner of Third and Eighth by the curb. It looks like a possible broken leg or maybe an injury due to a fence incident. A neighbor told me that this bunny was chased earlier by five male bunnies, so maybe there was some type of attack. I hate to leave it by the curb because I’m afraid it will get run over by a car and I was afraid to move it. I hope you can take care of it. I feel badly for it, and I know I’d have a much better leg to stand on if I were a vegetarian, but I’m not, although I was about ten years ago, but I’m thinking about it again. Anyway, if you can help the bunny, I would really feel better. Thanks a bunch.”

I hung up and felt like a complete idiot. If I were Charlotte, I most definitely would not call me back. Nutball. If some dude were shot in Chicago -let’s say Logan Square- I wouldn’t even bother picking up the phone, but the bunny, that’s a whole different story.

I drove home from work tonight and turned up Third Street to see if Charlotte came to help the bunny. I saw the bunny still in the same place by the curb, flashed my lights toward it, and it was dead. I pulled into my driveway around the corner, turned off the car, shut off my headlights and cried.

The end.

Getting to the bottom of things

The mysterious “rusty spoon in mail” incident is still under investigation. I’ll let you know the outcome once more evidence is collected.

An ex-boyfriend contacted me about a week ago via email. Not sure what to make of that. I couldn't tell if he was in one of those 12-step programs or just really wanted to talk because he was depressed. We went out when I was an undergrad. He was funny as fuck, and pretty fucked up to boot. Too bad it turned romantic 'cause we would have been much better off as friends. He was another brush with B-grade fame 'cause his sister was the (in)famous Flashdance actress (you know that off the shoulder cut mid-drift sweatshirt is making a come back). I wonder if he sent the rusty spoon?

People don’t believe me when I tell them about sphincter bleaching, but it’s true. Just check out crappersquarterly.com. It’s super popular in Australia right now. I guess the best cream on the market these days is called “pink cheeks.” It’s specifically made for self-applied inner butt waxing/bleaching, but you can also go to a salon and have it done for $75. Makes a nice Christmas gift for that special lady.

I drank a peculiar amount of beer last night, but I woke up as peppy as a pussy this morning. Crazy. I think I was really just babysitting that last beer, so maybe that’s why I was okay. I must say the most interesting segment of the evening was G’s demonstration of interpretive “safety hand” dance signals while walking through cubical farms. Pretty hilarious.

“Pure Sugar Magic” sent me a list of her rock recommendations in my newfound rock exploration quest inspired by the basement band posse – “trailer hitch” (I know, I wish the name was “thrifty hauler,” but some people just won’t listen). "Sugar" totally rocks, so I’m sure this is a way cool list:

Lynard Skynard
Kiss--any greatest hits
Led Zeppelin--led zeppelin IV
Poison, Open Up and Say Ah
Motley Crue Dr. Feelgood
Cinderella, Greatest Hits album
Rolling Stones greatest hits albums
Guns' N Roses, Lies, Use Your Illusion I and II, Appetite for Destruction
The Doors
Metallica, Black Album
Red Hot Chili Peppers, Mother's Milk or Blood Sugar Sex Magic (Great album!!)
Nirvana, Nevermind
Slaughter, Stick it to Ya
Jackyl, Jackyl

I’ll close with a little excerpt from my “Granny has curls” story:

“Granny always gave me advice over the years. Never waste good alcohol in any recipe ‘cause it just burns off. Don’t touch your privates! Never leave perfectly good rolls at the restaurant - just stuff ‘em in your knee highs and take them home. You can make a whole meal out of Jell-O. Don’t pick your nose! Get those fancy ideas out of your head. You must have picked that up from your mother. Stop touching your privates!”

Conference Survival Guide

- Don’t forget to change your clocks if your conference happens to coincide with Daylight Savings Time.

- Be sure to take time out to hit the hotel bar for one, two or three glasses of wine or beer or a combination of both or gin & tonics if you’re really desperate.

- If you’re planning a conference, try to avoid having your keynote speaker scheduled at the same time as a Polish wedding reception in a ballroom right next door. It’s hard to compete with Gwen Stefani’s “Holla Back Girl” when you’re trying to discuss the importance of the scholarship of teaching and learning without at least some backup vocals.

- Make sure the caterer understands that tuna and chicken do not constitute a “vegetarian” option.

- Be sure to not fall into the academic conference trap of horrendous footwear, coordinated separates purchased at marginalized department stores, glasses WITH excessively large drop earrings with matching necklaces, bracelets and “art fair” scarves, and frizzy or unflattering matronly hair. PICK UP A FRICKIN’ FASHION MAGAZINE ONCE IN A WHILE – it won’t kill you.

- Freak out people in the academy by reading “In Touch” magazine in plain view in a high traffic area.

- Go ahead and sign the wedding photo memento from the Polish reception. They’ll wonder for years where those signatures came from.

- Take out those interns/teaching assistants to the local bars and fill them with pitchers of beer until they’re as drunk as little Catholic school girls.