u s e y o u r h a n d s

I chose this title to allude to my air adventure later today, but what it really made me think of was the song “Up, Up, and Away.” As a severe sufferer of what is termed “pee-shyness,” I used to sing this song to myself in potties across the land. Like porn, I had to retire that song, hoping it will be used later with greater effectiveness.

Anyhoo, Missed Connections! As always, these MCs are taken from the Chicago Reader. The stories growing out from or beyond the MC appears in blockquotes. Enjoy, suckaz.

YOUR AD #46303 appeared May, 2002. You stated in your ad that you resemble Juliette Binoche. What caught my eye though is the fact that we both like the movie North by Northwest.

Wait, back the fucking train up, buddy. People like North by Northwest? No fucking shit, man. It’s, like, a fucking classic. When I was just renting movies to assholes like you and penning my brilliant screenplays for movies such as “True Romance” and “Pulp Fiction,” never once did anybody come in and ask for…what did you say it was called? North by Northwest? Jesus. It’s only a fucking classic. Wow, guy. You must be some genius for recognizing the brilliance of Alfred fucking Hitchcock.

SNEAKER PIMPS. I was there with two friends, you were there with your boyfriend. You saw me. I couldn’t take my eyes off you all night. Would love to talk to you.

There’s something very Red Bull-with-Vodka about trying to pick up a person with a boyfriend at a trip hop show, but Andrew really wanted to go talk to the girl with the tousled black hair. During “6 Underground,” her boyfriend walked away from her, and he nearly made his move, but sort of felt like an asshole. It’s way too sleazy and way too obvious.

THANKSGIVING EVENING, BUTCH McGuire’s. You: U of C doctorate student. Me: friend of woman with unfortunate shoe incident. Regretting not asking for your number.

Oh, shit. I remember this girl. Me and a couple of my friends were talking to her and her cute friend. We bought a round and then they offered to buy a round. The friend went to the bar to collect the drinks, and on her way back, the heel of these ridiculous stiletto boots she was wearing caught in a crack in the floor and she totally ate it. She fell down and her tray of drinks, which sort of hovered in mid-air for a moment, crashed down on her back. Man, that was funny.

Worrying: About flying. My throat, additionally, hurts. Oh, I have to get my car smogged.

Packing: Everything.

Oh, crap! Last night, I experimented with the Vicoprofen I scored from an unnamed source for tomorrow’s flight and it made me really sick! Shit. I’ve puked three times this morning, forfeiting a pint of OJ and a banana nut muffin. I think I’ve finally reached the other side of the tall mountain of Nausea, but who knows?

Oh, sorry to that parking lot off Cumberland. It had to be done, the vomiting.

I’m a star, though. I puked three – no, four – times and didn’t get a spot on my white shirt. Kiss my grits! Unfortunately, it’s not the best thing in the world to blow your nose and have a walnut chunk come out of it. That’ll wake your shit up in the AM, I tell you what.

I think I’m still going to dope up on tomorrow’s flight, just with a big greasy meal in the tum for buffering purposes. !

Eating: Just finished a bag of micro. popcorn. It settled the mighty tum.

Reading: Finishing B. Pym today, staring a collection of Haruki Murakami stories.

Wearing: My new wrist braces to stem the carpal tunnel syndrome tide. Thanks for the early gift, Peedger!

I had the strangest dream this morning and then in the car later, a strange flashback.

Phineas “the Body” Jones left to go to the gym at like 7 and I asked him to turn on the “talking box” before he left. (Sidebar: Early in the morning, I can’t see, have poor locomotion, and can’t think of accurate nouns.)

Subsequently, I had a dream about a family being plagued by spiders. In my dream, they had a last name like “Benton” or something and at one point, I actually watched this husband and wife trap one of these spiders in a glass jar, slide a CD under the jar, flip it, and pour alcohol in the jar to kill the spider.

In addition to actually seeing images, I also “read” this account in what seemed to be a book. It’s hard to describe. One of those multi-media dreams.

Fast-forward to an hour and a half later. In my car, driving to work, I turned on NPR right in the middle of a story about a Kansas family plagued by spiders. They described exactly how the family killed the spiders (jar, CD, alcohol). The family’s name was what it was in my dream.

I shouldn’t listen to NPR and sleep. I incorporate the radio into lots of dreams, much to my chagrin.

In other happenings, I ordered a real coaty-Mc-Coat-Coat from Land’s End the other day, after returning the lady coat I purchased from them because the arms were several inches too short. The coat arrived at Phineas’ office this morning. Note our AIM exchange:

The Jesus Pants: Hola, Abejita. I have a coat for you.
Minvervah: Try it on.
The Jesus Pants: You want me to open it?
Minvervah: Yes. I want to make sure it’s long enough in the armal region.
The Jesus Pants: Ok. Of course you know, opening it and trying it on will just collapse its waveform. Right now the arms are too short *and* too long. It’s Schroedinger’s coat!
Minvervah: Don’t be cheeky.
Minvervah: BTW, I’m putting that exchange on my webbity.
The Jesus Pants: Thanks.

What a punk that Phineas is!

Overhearing: This guy across the way from my cubicle is having the worst problems refinancing his house. Seems his bank (Wash Mutual) doesn’t want to give him scrillah because he’s on a 1099. He’s annoying.

Baking: Made two dozen gingersnaps for the neighbors and a basket of muffins for Coz, who gave me “flight aids.”