How to make like you're lying about everything in one easy step

I'm a smartmouth at the best of times, I admit. I can't count the number of times I've been taken aside by various sundry sorts of authority figures and asked, "So I suppose you thought that was funny," to which I invariably replied, "No. People always spray Coke out their nose like that when I'm around. I think it's some kind of allergy."

It's usually after my father shows up and posts bail that I realize this probably wasn't the response these people were looking for.

Now, I have no problem being a smartmouth when I intend to be a smartmouth, but lately I've been stuck in smartmouth mode whether I like it or not. I've become permasnarked. No one in their right mind can look at me and believe anything I say, no matter what I say. I could tell them I just ran over their dog and they'd chuckle. I could announce I was dying of cancer and everyone would fall off their chairs laughing. Why is this so, you ask?

I have a tic.

No, not this:

the mighty Lyme Disease tick!


AGH!  My eye!

During the holidays, suspiciously around the same time my television became suicidal and decided to end it all, my right eyelid went *twitch*. Then *twitch* again. Then *wink*. *twitchwinktwitchtwitchwink* There is nothing quite so annoying as an eyelid twitch. Suddenly your entire world is presented to you in disco hall strobe format. You don't want to race across a busy street with an eyelid twitch - it would be just your luck that a garbage truck barrelling around a corner would blow a flat just as your eyelid goes *twitchwinkwinkWINKwinkwinktwitch*. It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye - and then has to go rummaging around for it in the local dump.

I briefly entertained the idea that my tic was a signal of an impending psychotic break looming on my cranial horizon, but really, I'm feeling perfectly sane at the moment.


I then dismissed it as lack of sleep. After all, eyelids are sleepaholics. If you don't give an eyelid exactly what it needs, somnolently speaking, it panics and starts sending out Morse code SOS signals to the universe. I did my best to ignore it, which of course meant I spent many hours grabbing my eyelid between thumb and index and twisting it like Silly Putty in a deranged attempt to massage the wee offending eyelid muscle into submission. You have no idea how extremely difficult it is to do much of anything with your life when your entire right hand is rooting around in your eye socket.

Two days went by. *twitch* Then a week. *twitchtwitchwink* Then the holidays ended and I went back to work. *twitchwinkwinkwinkTWITCHwink* I've slept and slept and massaged and poked and dug around and poked some more and dripped buckets of eyedrops and lid-stretched and lid-squoonched and lid-pushupped. I even performed eyelid Kegels, which may not have been very effective but did get me a few phone numbers on the bus last week. Yet every day, every minute of every day for three weeks - *twitch*

Then I went to the bank to deposit my pay cheque.

"May I see your bank card?"
"Here you go." *wink*
"Um, this is your bank card, isn't it?"
"Of course it is." *twitchwink*
"OK - I need to see some more ID right now, ma'am."
"What's the problem? I come here *twitch* all the time."
"Right. Sure you do."
"No, really." *wink*
"Uh huh."
"Look, here's my Social Insurance card. That should be plenty." *wink*
"I'll need to verify your signature."
"Hey, it's not like I stole someone's identity. *twitchtwitch* I'm not going to rob you." *wink*
"Do I need to call a manager over, bucko?"
"What the hell's your problem? Of course not!" *WINKwinktwitchtwitchwink*

Of course, the manager then shows up and takes me aside. "So I suppose you thought that was funny."
"No, no I did not." *winkwink*

I was lucky not to get taken down by a SWAT team, let alone deposit my cheque.

This is so not funny.


This is your last chance: The 2006 Bloggie Awards officially wrap up their initial nomination process tonight, so if you haven't voted for your favourite blogs of the year yet, now's your last chance to do so.

Speaking of awards, I suspect my long absences involving the coughing up of various body parts disqualified me and I must take my tiara off now - the Best of Blog Awards has snubbed me as a top ten finalist in both the humour and the snark categories. However, TranceJen did make it onto the top ten snark list. Go vote for her!

It is also the continuing saga of De-Lurking Week. Tell me you love me. After all, I love you. Honest.


make idle gossip (15 comments so far)

come hither - back off

Last 5 entries:
01.14.2007:Finally, a support group we can all get behind
01.09.2007:The City That Ever Reeks
01.08.2007:Waiter, there's a uterus in my soup
01.03.2007:Long Lost Mummy of Nefertiti Found in Smoog's Apartment
12.30.2006:New Year's resolutions we can actually keep

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