[There was an entry here. Thanks To The Various Godlings For Diary Backup. Sheesh.... Sorry about the 'graph breaks and kerning... I'll redo sometime]
Ever wander into a world that doesn�t resemble anything you remember and think that maybe you slipped a minor step over in the MultiVerse by mistake.
DatSauceGuy sure did.
On picking up his incredible-phucking-five-year-old-boy from swimming lessons this evening�the whole world appeared to be running late.
We stopped at the Rx for something to help his dad�s phlegmathon sinus mess� and every human in there was from some form of obscure troll-like universe.
Do note, that YerSauce does love humanity. Gets a huge kick out of the differences. Is not in the least bit squeamish about folks who vary in inordinate ways. Loves to peep the peeps and watch their daily efforts. People watching will always be a fave-DaSauce.
That said, tonight�s cast of near-sub-humans was outta some form of Freaks Amour type universe. (Freaks Amour is by an old pal, Tom DeHaven� Do compare the name of that to another book called Geek Love, and then look at the story, and the chapter names, and on. Interesting at best. --Previous Readers Of This Entry May Notice An Edit. It was requested, nicely, by a pal.--]
Whoa, massive digression. But I like Tom and love the book Freaks. If you can find it used out there get it.
Back to tonight?
We did the Rx.
We headed out to get some TRIM together. For those unwilling to click and scroll to the final paragraph of the entry that is connected to the word trim? DaSauce will kindly snip it below.
The Acrylic Talon Club was full of spare parts wearing near-humans. Everyone had outsize bits and looked shuddersome. We�re talking Goiter-Sized-Extra Bits.
The gal next to us was an exact replica of Polly Purebred of Underdog fame. Right up to the nose and the voice�and she quizzed us incessantly. My normal over-polite self was stretched within an inch of snapping and telling her to pound sand and let us be.
T�was weird, Pholks.
Then, as things were getting late, dinner making is not an option. DaKiddo has a set 7:30 bedtime that never varies more than ten or fifteen minutes. So, we head next door to a place called WingNuts. I like wings. We'd never tried the place. They have like 50 types. We ordered take-out. It started well�in a creepy way. The cutesy Maitre d�Chicken-Parts dame (this is a restaurant/bar that probably does little take out biz) was sweet to DaBoy and fawned over my Silly Hat and earrings and then had to kneel down and touch the Escher-like ankle tatt that was barely visible above my Docs (yep. Shorts weather. Pfft to you frozen folks. I�ve done it. I�d rather be there. Thanks.)
Then we fought our way through the Star Wars-esque Mos Eisley Cantina basketball game drinkers to get to the bar to make our order.
We stood while getting frantic waves of soon from the �Tendress. Ten minutes of RUSH (and other falsetto bands later�Yech.) we got up to the bar and ordered a couple of different types of wings.
It took a half an hour. I felt like a complete moron/bottom-feeder-parent for just lugging my kid into the place.
Just so the other patrons would know that I wasn�t out drinking with a five-year-old at 6:40 in the evening, I kept offering to trade sips of my bubble water for his juice.
I tipped the Bar-Gal (20 percent) thinking that take outs phuck up her rhythm and certainly never garner enough tips and she was sweet as heck to us�and I am sure IS a really good and giving human and she doesn�t deserve the coming label (so I suck, OK?)
Spare Parts Club, again.
My polite son waited until we left the locale and got in the car.
�Dad?�
�Yeah, pal?�
�Um. The woman who helped us with our food and kept pouring al-Co-Hall for the people and did that neat stuff with the glasses where she put them in one thing and moved them up and down, and put them in another and did it twice, and then put them in a third thing and really moved them up and down a lot and then flipped them and put them on the shelf? Her, you know?�
�Yeah, Buddy?�
�What was wrong with her face, dad?�
�What do you mean, Man-O�-My-Heart�
�It was like a mask. It seemed like she couldn�t move it.�
[I did not want to get into the repugnant use of Clostridium Botulinum bacteria injections tonight. I told a white lie.]
�It was different, huh? But I'm not sure what that was about buddy.�
�An� her breasts� Why was there this weird lumpy stuff happening with them and why did she show them like that?�
[Yep. The thirty-something Skanky Stripper Titties. You know, where they are 48� E-Cups on a Ana-Fan bod? And the insertion of the sacks was done beneath the muscle to keep them in place� and there is this entirely weird ligature looking washboard muscle between said Saline Bombs? Those. And to be fair, some boys must like such, right? And the lowcut stuff was to get some tips, one would imagine...but DaBoy noticed the oddity.]
�Dunno, buddy-boy.�
�Hrm. Sometimes things are different and this evening�was extra different, dad.�
�Yeah, pal, it was. But we�re still the same and we�re headed home for PeeJays and wings and reading and Toothbrushing and a good night�s sleep. It�ll all be fine, little pal.�
�I know, dad. WE weren�t different. Things were.�
And man, when a kid is right, he is right.
--ShudderingSauceSlippedSolarSystems
--or�
Happy as hell to be home tonight, thanks!
---snip---
As a full-time-worker-single-parent-and-on, I always take myself and DaKid to get a manicure and a pedicure rather than doing the home variety. I am a klutz when it comes to delicate maneuvers�shit, who am I kidding? I am a Klutz-Bucket either way. But, anyway, I cut my son when he was just about two�and decided then and there that I would avoid cutting his little finger and toe-nails to avoid such in the future (all the while feeling like a rewarmed turd.) Thus, we go out together every few weeks to get our stuff trimmed by pros. You should see the looks from the Acrylic-Talon-Clubettes as we wander in and plunk down in the vibra-chairs with blue waters. And the questions? Key-Riced! So�now that he is five�he�ll as he puts it, �Gag �em with you, dad.� We never tell the same story twice in those places. Great fun�for a couple of idiot boys.
--DaSauceNeededSomeTrim
---snip---
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