Lorelei

September 14th, 2006

In keeping with Biohazard Week, I discovered that Sunny, like most dogs, has been snacking out of the cat’s litter box, which is disappointing, but not deal-breaking, although I’m thinking twice before I let her suck on my earlobe. What was almost devastating, however, was the oderous gas she’s had for two days that I’m trying not to chalk up to you know, semen, or some sort of other foul substance she’s ingested on my watch. I kept smelling farts all day and thinking, did I fart and not know it? Have things dipped that low?

They haven’t. She’s just gassy. Thank God. Or whatever.

Anyway, I didn’t mention the other day that after the, uh, incident, that I called my health insurance provider’s health line to make sure I couldn’t contract any diseases from handling a stranger’s bodily fluids. I think it was the fact that I sniffed my hand that really set me off. Fluid. Mucous membranes. Whatever.

Gah, I don’t know. I mean, I’m not an idiot who thinks you can get pregnant from dirty dancing or anything, and I know how disease is transmitted, but there is a reason nurses wear gloves, is all I’m saying. And you know, I put my fingers to my nose before I even knew what happened, and God, I know I’m sounding dumber by the moment repeating this, and all I can say is this: if you think this sounds stupid, picture the scene with the nurse:

Jonniker: “Hi, do I have any diseases? I unexpectedly had my hands all over a stranger’s semen!”

Nurse: “Well, have you seen ejaculate before?”

J: “YES! Of course! All the time! I mean, not all the time, but sometimes! I am familiar with it! I know semen when I see it! ”

And so on…I don’t think I ever even properly explained how it happened, or why I was concerned, or even anything remotely intelligent or coherent. And I basically told her that I handle semen on an hourly basis, which is awesome. And look, I know you can’t diagnose diseases over the phone, much less STDs that are highly unlikely unless I had a gaping gash on my hand the size of San Andreas and poured about three gallons of schmutz on the open wound. I was panicked. But somewhere, there is a call center full of nurses having a field day at my expense, but I’ll say it again: semen, dude.

Speaking of gashes, I was in CVS yesterday and the woman in front of me was standing with her son talking to the clerk, and all I overheard was, “Yah, darlin’, Junior’s friends here done broke into our house last night and damn near ripped his ear off! They stole our television and ripped his durn ear off! Junior ain’t got no ear!”

And then I spied the Frankenstein-like stitches on the back of where Junior’s ear should have been. Junior really didn’t have an ear, as his friends stole it, along with the television. And then I realized: holy shit, please sweet Jesus, I need to get out of here.

In keeping with the theme of absurd randomity, how about that Rockstar? Or should I say, the fuck, dude? I was tooling around another part of my office today, separate (like way, way separate, as in they do not know who I am) from where I sit, and overheard a sales guy say to another, “Rockstar, dude? Lukas!” And then I leapt over about 300 cube walls just to join the conversation, because that’s just how desparate and pathetic I am, and oh, did I! I launched off almost immediately with a tirade about how shoddy Lukas is, and how Toby should have won, and then I went off and actually sang the words, “CONTROL ALT DELETE” the way Dilana did to make a point that made no sense, and then I talked about how hot Ryan was, even in eyeliner, and I think the words “get laid,” accidentally referring to myself came out of my mouth, and they were so impressed they just stared at me and blinked.

*blinkblinkblinkblinkblink*

So, I uh, just went back to work and I haven’t spoken of it since, but suffice it to say I would consider it a massive chunk of time wasted if not for the eye candy that is Ryan Star in eyeliner, because: LUKAS.

And finally, tonight at the gym I humiliated myself not once, but two whole times, first by singing out loud while my iPod blared. No, no I did not hear myself warbling “Lift up your toes! In my mouth!” as I tried to imitate Elizabeth Fraser, which is uh, impossible. I finally noticed the stares of a fellow treadmill runner to realize that while I might have matched her breathiness on the track due to exhertion, I did not sound coherent, nor did I want to be screaming about sucking toes in public.

And then, when the horror of that moment passed and I’d given up on the iPod due to its inherent hazards, I started sobbing at the end of a Grey’s Anatomy rerun where the dude who killed another man’s daughter is apologizing, and then the man puts his hand on his chest and ohmyGod, it was so moving, even though I’ve seen it before, and have you seen that episode? Because Jesus. Moving shit right there. And there were full, heaving hiccuping sobs that ensued while running, which caused me to choke on my own saliva and hack like an emphysema patient, which forced me to get off the treadmill for a moment, lest I kill myself from lack of oxygen.

And here ends the most nonsensical shit ever. Not unlike Elizabeth Fraser’s lyrics, so today’s title is fitting. Have a great weekend everyone.

*Cocteau Twins. I realize an alarming number of people have done songs called “Lorelei,” but I am quite specific here. Lift up your toes! In my mouth! GUILTY BOY.

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