Musings directly from my muse

Hot Cross Bunnies!

And they lived hoppily ever after..

You had been warned that this might get interesting...but you'll have to stick with me.  It's a bit of a long story.

When I wrote my last post, a plot was afoot.   At that point, my girlfriend was not aware that a full-blown scheme -- with her as the target -- was already in motion, and a whole group of so-called friends were gleefully conspiring against her.    As she innocently packed for a trip to the northern part of the state, little did she realize that the clock was ticking down toward something that would change her life forever.    While she was packing for the local Toastmaster club's road trip to the Clear Lake Storyteller's Festival, she might have been hoping that something might happen; but, I think she was mostly unaware of what we had planned.

Friday night, I slept fitfully.   I woke up four times in the night with bad dreams.   I dreamt that she saw through the plan.   I dreamt that everybody else was on one plan and that I was on another.   In every dream, I dreamt that this plan -- this plan I had been working on for a month -- would fail in countless ways.

Saturday morning, we all congregated downstairs in the hotel lobby.   The consipirators were all jovial (except me who was unrested), and M remained blissfully unaware.   We were performing a skit at the Storytelling Festival (again, all according to plan), and we decided to go to the Airport Lounge to practice our lines.







Throughout breakfast, my nerves were humming like a tighlty stretched electric guitar string.   We laughed and joked as we read through the script.  I wasn't able to eat much, but managed to toss back three cups of coffee.   As you can imagine, it didn't help soothe my already-anxious state.







Finally, we were off to the Storyteller's Festival.  When we arrived, my friend (DN) and I headed off to the bar.   After all, we had an hour to kill, and I needed something to steady my nerves.   After all, this was my first time doing something like this, and I was just as nervous as I ever had been before any big stage performance.

Finally, our time on stage arrived.   We were announced by fellow conspiritor, J, and the all moments I had been plannin rolled out before us.   

It was a play -- a play named "The Frog Princes."    I had been planning for this play for the past month, maybe longer.   I wrote it -- every word -- and I knew that this would be the most important 10 minutes in my life.  







Here is a synopis:

Most people are familiar with the story "The Frog Prince," where a beautiful princess kisses a frog (who is really a prince under an evil spell), he turns into a prince, and they live happily ever after.

Not far from where that story happened, there was another pond where four frogs lived.   They weren't princes, but just frogs.   There was Rock Frog (played by DC), who worked out all day developing his physique.   There was Beefcake Frog (played by DD), who spent his time doing his hair and applying moisturizer to keep his skin soft.   There was Brainy Frog (played by DN), who spent all his time developing his mind.   Then there was little Hoppy Frog (played by yours truly -- Windhazel), who was too shy to talk to anyone.

One day, a beautiful princess (played by my girlfriend, M) from a nearby castle came to the pond.   All the frogs were very taken with her and asked her to go out with her.   The princess replied that she would go out with them one-at-a-time, but together they were a bit overwhelming.  They eagerly agreed.

The princess and Rock Frog had the first date.  Rock took her to his favorite place (Mold's Gym), and taught her how to work out.   At the end of the date, the Princess was very tired, so she decided to go home and rest.

The next day, the princess met Beefcake Frog.   Beefcake took her to his favorite place, the day spa, and they spent time doing each other's hair.   Beefcake gave the princess a nice neck massage, and the princess waxed Beefcake's back.   They decided that they should part ways before they ended up mussing up each other's hair.

The next day, the princess and Brainy Frog met and went to Brainy's favorite place, the local library.   Brainy tought her about his favorite philosophers, current events, and even the Harry Frogger series.   The princess found herself thinking thoughts that she had never previously considered. 

On the last day, the princess met with Hoppy.   Hoppy was so shy, he couldn't even ask the princess where she wanted to go.    After awkwardly standing there for a bit, the princess took the initiative and took Hoppy by the hand and led little Hoppy down to the water's edge.   In order to fill the uncomfortable silence, the princess told Hoppy about her life at the castle.   Hoppy didn't say anything, but just sat and listened.   With such a good listener, the princess soon found herself telling Hoppy about how unsatisfying it was being a princess -- everybody waiting on you hand and foot, without any opportunities to develop herself.   Eventually, the princess grew quiet and thoughtful.   Finally, she took Hoppy by the hand and led him back to the place where they met.   She told Hoppy that she had a lot to think about and would like to meet all four frogs tomorrow.

Tomorrow came and the frogs were late.   The princess was waiting, which was the first time she ever had to wait for anything...after all, she was a princess.

At this point in the story, my girlfriend's script, the one we rehearsed earlier, split from an alternate script I prepared.   As my girfriend stood there in her princess hat expecting al four frogs to appear, the narrator said:







"As the princess stood there and waited for a while, but eventually only Hoppy appeared.   He came up to the princess, looked her in the eye, and he said..."







And what did I say?   To be honest, I only had a vague idea of what I was going to say, but this is what came out (through more than a few tears):







"Princess, the time I have spent with you has been the best in my life.   My life is better by having you in it, and I want to be with you for as long as we shall live.  I may not be the best looking, the smartest, or the strongest, but I promise to be the best listener you'll ever know. "  

Then I got down on one knee and pulled the ring I had been hiding in my pocket all morning and held it up toward her.   I continued.







"M, will you marry me and be MY princess?"  

Through her own tears, she choked out.  "Yes." 







And then the narrator said, "It just goes to show that you don't have to be the strongest, smartest, or best looking frog to get the princess.   You just have to be the best listener...and they lived hoppily ever after."







So, that's how I became engaged last Saturday.   I asked my girlfriend of six years (with a little hiatus in there) if she would be my wife.   I asked wearing a frog mask (which I had forgotten to take off) in front of an initially bored crowd of Clear Lake residents on a hot Saturday morning.    At the moment that she said Yes, all the plans that I had been laying suddenly were successfully completed, and I could no longer announce M as my "fiancee-to-be," but now as my fiancee.   Or, as I prefer, the future Mrs. Hazel*.   And, as the play says, we intend to live hoppily ever after.







*I really need to make up a good codename for her.  "M" is a little lame.

Posted by: Windhazel at 18:51 | link | comments (6) |
relationships

Stay tuned...

...this channel is about to get interesting.

 Nothing much to report tonight.  I get home only to find out my cat has been sick in my blogging chair.   Nice!   So, for the past few hours, I've been calling him "Pukey" every time I see him.

Nicknames are something of a pasttime with me.   Moby is often called "Mopy" (due to his whiney nature), my aunt's dog is usually called "Fartbag" (due to the one afternoon I spent with her where she had brutal gas), and my girlfriend is usually called "Bunny" for a whole slew of reasons. 

I don't know why, but it is sometimes easier just to learn the nickname than the real name.   To this day, my ex-girlfriend's ulcertive colitiis remains osterich colonitis in my mind.   It's kind of catchy, and has a fun aspect to it.   Ulcertive colitis sounds like a drag, but ostrich colonitis sounds like a goofy bird flu.   Her dad had diverticulitis, or, in Windhazel terms, diving-tick-itis.   I don't know about you, but there's something fun about the idea of a bloodsucker in a scuba outfit that makes it almost enjoyable to skip cucumbers with seeds for the rest of your life.   I'll have the Coke with a hint of lyme (disease), please.

Anyway, this blog is fairly pointless, but I found that once I stared with "Stay Tuned...", I had to write SOMETHING.

But, seriously....stay tuned.    Sometimes my life is more interesting than the nicknames I make up for it.  So says Windhazel*

*Not my real name

Posted by: Windhazel at 21:48 | link | comments (1) |

Open letter to Hardees

Dear Hardees:

I've been holding this in for quite a while, but I feel that I must finally say my mind.   Here goes:

If you air the "Cheese Paper" commercial one more time, I will never, EVER eat at Hardees again.

Now, you may be wondering exactly which commercial I'm referring to.   It's the one where you have two New Yorker-type painters sitting there scarfing down Hardees cheeseburgers.   One wolfs down his burger, and then is eating the cheese off the paper that previously nestled his burger in aluminum foil goodness.   Then, when he has finished cleaning all vestigates of cheese off his foil, he looks over to the other guy and states, "Are you gonna each your cheese paper?"

 

Now, it isn't that this commercial is stupid (though, it is), but for a good fifteen seconds, I have to hear these two guys chewing and smacking their lips.   It's not like quiet smacking, it's oh-my-god-I-think-they-put-a-microphone-inside-their-mouths kind fo smacking.   It's like listening to a couple of two-year-olds eat.   By the end of the 30-second spot, the last thing I want is a Hardees burger!   In fact, I'm usually totally put off any kind of food.   It's gross.

 

Not that I didn't chew with my mouth open as a teenager, but these look like guys in their 30's and 40's.   Is that your target market -- 30-year-olds who have no social skills and eat like pigs?   If so, you've nailed it.   Although, I have a hard time imagining even pigs thinking "Man, listen to that guy masticate his food!   I totally want a Hardees burger right now!  Yum!"

 

Really, Hardees -- you've had some tasteless commercials in the past, and I'm sure you'll have more in the future, but let's draw the line at the graphic details of listening to people chew their food.    It's grossing me out.   I'm sure your next commercial has the guy pointing to the steaming, brown coiler that he's laid in the toilet, and saying "Damn, it feels as good coming out as it did going in."   Let's just leave that commercia in the can, shall we?  

 

In short, let's leave Hardees the home of the Thickburger, not the sickburger.   Please.   For me.   I beg of you.

 

Your friend and customer,

Windhazel

Posted by: Windhazel at 11:17 | link | comments |
rants

Hmmph!

Could we please get a blog editor that doesn't screw up all formatting when you cut and paste from Word?   Is that really too much to ask?! 

Posted by: Windhazel at 20:10 | link | comments |

Windhazel behind bars

Posted by: Windhazel at 20:05 | link | comments (3) |
reflections

Windhazel behind bars

When I told my cubemate that I would be coming here, she said “Are you crazy?!”   And, to tell you the truth, I was starting to wonder it myself.   Standing outside at the visitor’s station, my heart was pounding in my chest.

But, after coming to this meeting, I have to say that my mind is changed.   (At this point, someone clapped and said, “Yes!”) I am honored to have participated in this meeting.   You guys are a great group, and I would not hesitate to come back to this meeting again.   Thank you so much for having me.   I will be back.

Posted by: Windhazel at 20:03 | link | comments |

Pumped!

Well, I had a great blog half written about what it was like to be in prison over the weekend, but, because of a computer lock-up, you get to hear about my job.   Lucky you!

 

The other day, my boss called me into his office.   Actually, it was my boss's boss (known by me affectionately by me as "the b-boss," but not to his face).

 

Anyway, the b-boss asked me to come into his office.   Here is a synopsis of what he said (and my thoughts about it):

 

Windhazel, I've been working with management on the quality system for this company.   Because of my desire of a consistent message, I've made sure that I was the one delivering the message.   (Hey, I understand -- look how Jesus fucked up by leaving it up to FOUR people to write the gospels!   My boss writes his own damn books.  I knew he was a smart man.)

As we spread this philosophy throughout the company, I've been selecting people in the quality group to help communicate this message.   I needed someone who wasn't entrenched in their own particular quality background and who could think creatively.   I think you will fit the bill.   Can you help me... (blah, blah, blah).  Wow!   I'm flattered that the ol' b-boss thinks that highly of me.   Creative?   Me?!   Awwww...shucks, sir --- t'warn't nuttin!    You should read my blog about my vasectomy! 

 

But it gets better.   He continued...

 

If I may be candid, the first time I met you, I thought I had you pegged.   I thought you were a little out there, and more than a touch inappropriate.   (Yeah, I wrote about that in my blog.  Something about being "a crackhead for quality.")  

But, over time, I've changed my mind about you.   I've had lots of your [internal customers for quality projects] come up to me and provide unsolicited compliments about your work.   (It looks like my donations to my customer's get-rich-quick fund is finally paying off).

I think you have a future in this career (quality); and hopefully, in this company.   (Man, I'm sure glad to hear him say that!   Of course, a little extra cash in the ol' paycheck would tell me how I much I'm appreciated!  I'm glad to know that if you don't appreciate me enough, that I might be able to go somewhere else!   Good news for me!)

Overall, I left the office euphoric from the nice comments.   I was called creative, told that he appreciated that I work hard at my job, and insinuated that I may be able to move ahead in this company.   And, here, I told my cubemate to box up my stuff when he initially called me into his office.   Thank goodness she never listens to me.   

 

But when I get promoted and she's my lackey...oh, she will!  Oh, yes...she will.  

Posted by: Windhazel at 20:03 | link | comments (4) |
pointless

Look out, Tom Cruise!

Forget Bruce Willis.   Say goodbye to Toby Maguire.   And, Tom Cruise?   He's soooo yesterday.

 

Welcome to the future of action heroes.   He has better hair than Bruce, more clinging power than Spiderman, and isn't gay or a Scientologist like you-know-who.   What's more -- he can defeat an enemy over 20 his size just with his sheer cunning and athletic ability.  He may be small, but he's mighty...

I think the picture says it all.   Can you say Mission Impossible IV?

 

* By the way, this little acrobatic trick, and the ability to thwart Moby for over a half hour with his ability to squeeze into places the cat was afraid to put his paw, led to the future action hero's free pass to the outside via his very own Gladware container.   True greatness cannot and should not be silenced!

Posted by: Windhazel at 19:09 | link | comments (5) |
pointless, moby

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