TMI Questions: Lost And Found?

Lost and found, lost and found…

I once was lost, but now am…

…found.

(Stay tuned.)

TMI QUESTIONS:

Questions designed to reveal Too Much Information

Link: http://tmiquestions.blogspot.com/

TMI Questions: Lost And Found?

Do you tend to lose things only to find them later?

I am the absentminded professor. 

I would put my dog in a blender and my strawberries on a leash.  Seriously?  I have no idea what is wrong with me… but recently I have misplaced everything at least once, including my mind.  Not that I was accomplishing much with it when I had it. 

Does looking at tumblr porn count?

Oh, your question?  Yes.  All the time. 

For example… my train of thought.

Have you ever gone "shopping" in the Lost and Found?

YES!  I love going through the stuff at my gym.  You never know.  I have this really neat, stretchy, foam rubbery, knee brace thing with a hole in the middle where the knee goes.  I kind of sort of want to stick my dick through that hole, but haven’t figured out how to do it.

I’m working on it.

Obviously, I am always on the lookout for the stray jock strap.  Unfortunately, the only ones I tend to find are for size 38 waists and above.  That, or they look like they are from the stone age. 

Stone Age Jocks: We protect your rocks!

I do like finding lycra bike shorts.  And, yes, I wash them before I try them on.

Usually.

Has a dog or other pet "followed" you home?

Yes.  And it makes me sad.  I hate having to turn them over to the animal humane society, but I gots three dogs and dats dah limit.  Unless I get a kennel license (see, remember what I said about losing my mind).

Usually it’s cats.  I win them over with tuna fish, get them in a small dog carrier and then call the dude from animal control.  They always promise they will find a home for them… but I always feel like I’m sending them off to, well… you know. 

Sort of related story: File under ‘Found’

I was hiking in the woods near the Mississippi river in fall, several years ago.  I’m stepping over this giant tree trunk that’s blocking my path when I hear this tiny ‘mew’.    I stop dead in my tracks.  Oh, must have been a catbird (are there such things?).  Still straddling the log, I’m about to move on when I hear another tiny ‘mew’.  I stay in place and start looking up above for the bird.  As my vision sweeps from right to left, there, walking down the trunk of the tree is a tiny grey and white kitten. 

WTF?

Of course I start talking to it right away.  And he starts talking back, very friendly.  Now this is not the typical kind of hook-up I am used to finding in the woods, but okay… I can work with this.  I look around.  This must be a feral kitten.  But where is Momma cat?  I search along the length of the trunk, trying to determine where the kitten came from.  No Momma cat.  No other kitties, either.  No people about, either. 

Damn.

I look at the little fella.  He is not a newborn, but he is skinny as a rail.  I go to pick him up and he digs his claws into my hands right away.  So all I manage is to get him off the tree trunk.  I keep talking to him and start to move away, toward a path I know will take me to my car.  Fortunately, the little guy is so lonely he automatically starts to follow me, mewing up a storm the whole way.  Incredibly, he follows me all the way up the steep river bank, all the way up this hill, to the bike path above. 

We are now twenty yards from my car.  I can’t leave him next to the bike path, for fear someone will not see him.  Also, there are several people with dogs about, and this park is notorious for people letting their dogs off leash.  So, I have no choice but to pick him up.  And he digs into my hands again. Man, those claws are sharp.   I have to put him down three times before we finally get to the car.  I open up the passenger door and drop him on the seat. 

Okay… so, now what? 

I know where the Animal Humane Society is off Washington, and that is a long way away, but I have no alternative.  Before I go, I do ask all the people present if anyone is looking for a kitten.  Nope?  Okay, good to go.

So this totally reminds me of the time I rescued a misguided turtle from the middle of a busy road and returned him to the Mississippi river.  Only the turtle was, while a bit ornery, a perfect passenger, staying pretty much where I put him.

The same cannot be said of this kitten.

So, in a scene worthy of Don Knotts, as I’m driving away, the kitten jumps down to the floor and then claws his way up my pants leg, digging his little claws in the flesh of my leg the whole way.  I am desparately trying to shift, navigate traffic, and shoo him off my leg.  Next thing I know he’s crawling under the pedals.  Can’t have that, so I reach down to move him.  He snags the sleeve of my shirt and digs in and starts clawing his way up my arm, and onto my shoulder, across my neck, all the way to the other shoulder where he perches himself, claws dug in deeply.

I can only imagine what the other drivers thought was going on in my car.

I get to the shelter and park.  Trying to remove the little critter, he takes a swipe at my left cheek, striking blood.  Suddenly I remember the pair of thick winter mittens I have in the trunk in case I get stranded.  Problem solved.  I wish I would have thought of them earlier.  Dumb bunny.  

I turn him over to one of the shelter dudes, who is surprisingly upbeat about his chances of adoption.  Really?  Feral?  A total claw monster?

But he’s cute and that will work in his favor.  I feel relieved.  At least he will get some food right away.  I assume. 

I feel so guilty, I grab my wallet and shove a twenty in the dude’s hands and tell him to please take care of the little fella.  Then I walk away quickly.  I feel so guilty. 

I’d take him, but my dogs would not appreciate those claws. 

So, instead, I cry most of the way home. 

Damn cat.

How are you at finding a bargain?

Great.  Unless I don’t care, don’t have time, or don’t want to bother. 

True bargain hunting takes a lot of time and planning. 

Not true of grocery shopping.  I love shopping with coupons.  Clip, clip, clip.  The other day I spent $65.00 on groceries and saved $63.00 dollars in coupons!  And it was all stuff I would normally buy.  Plus, the register spit out a ‘Save $3.00 on your next purchase’ coupon. 

So I came out ahead, right?

How many times have you lost your wallet?

For reals?  Just once.  It taught me a valuable lesson.  Never carry more than you care to replace/cancel/lose.  With that in mind I now only carry my driver’s license, one personal credit card, my corporate am ex, and no more than $100 in cash.

The last time I thought I lost it?  That shopping trip described above.  I got home and was so excited about my couponing success, I went to go look at that ‘Save $3.00 on your next purchase’ coupon that I remember sticking in the back of my wallet. 

Where’s my wallet? 

I search for 30 minutes before calling the store and asking them to look at the end of the lane.  Nothing. I look more.  I am now cursing myself for being so absentminded.  The dogs are upset.  I’m a wreck.   I search the car.  Nothing. 

Ready to call the credit card company, I pick up my stupid man bag/back pack and take everything out of it for the third time.  Nothing.  I hurl the bag against the wall and…

…there it is. 

It was under the bag the whole time.

Dumb bunny.

How do you find the time?

I make the time.  If I want to do something (or somebody) I carve out a chunk of time to get that thing/person taken care of.  I rarely have to say ‘no’ (though sometimes I should).  Especially when there is a Boodles gin martini in the mix. 

No, no… I really should start saying ‘no’.

Dumb bunny. 

Have you found your soul mate? Do you think you ever will?

Found him, lost him.  Found another, lost him, too.  Found a spiritual guru who claimed to be my soul mate and guess what?  Oh, hell no.  He was so wrong.

But… and not to tip my hand too soon, but… there may be something coming up in the mix soon.

And it does not involve a Boodles Gin martini.

Lucky bunny (wink).

Do you have a lost love?

Yes.

Next question.

When did you lose your innocence?

Now… that is a tricky question. 

Because I think we truly lose our innocence in a matter of degrees over a long period of time.

Example.  The first time I was horribly disillusioned and suspicious that life may not be the bowl of cherries that I envisioned was… get ready for this… when I was being potty trained.  I remember the scene vividly.

(turn on ‘Wayback’ machine… here.) 

You see, my mother, she of the uncontrollable hormones, had five babies  - bing bing bing bing bing.  We might as well have been a litter.  So she was always short on money, patience, and time. 

Apparently I was finally being allowed to wear underwear and I had an accident.  Much to my surprise, rather than receive any sort of sympathy for my unfortunate situation, I was instead hauled up onto the diaper table (THE DIAPER TABLE!) and wrestled into a big, old, cloth diaper! 

Oh, the outrage.  I was beside myself.  I had been demoted. 

I had been placed on the diaper table – which is for babies!  Babies!  My mother had no time.  She had my younger sister and a newborn (the only one that turned out half right), plus my devil of a brother, and my whiney-ass older sister. 

My mother had no time for me.  And I was in a fucking diaper.  How embarrassing.  I was beside myself with shame.  No, don’t look at me, don’t look at me…

So, a bit of my wide-eyed optimism was chewed off that day. And know what?  It was all downhill from there. Fortunately I didn’t become bitter until I was the ripe old age of… eighteen. 

Yeah, keep reading, pilgrims.

Dumb Mommy.

Bonus

When did you lose your virginity?

When I was… eighteen.   In the clouds above the stage during my first Summerstock season.  We were both part of the performing company that season and the crew.  I’d stayed late to help him reset a bunch of lights, as we were in a rep company, where every night we did a different show and we were at that one week where all four shows were in rotation.

We were sitting on the catwalk above the pit, side by side, when he put his hand on my thigh.

He was twenty years old, tall, black hair, black fur, thin, and full of himself.  Ugh.  Hated him.  A total dick.  Next thing I knew we were naked at his house and I was fucking him in the ass.  He’s the one that could not believe that I’d never sucked dick before because I was such a ‘natural’.

The next day he acted like I didn’t exist.

Actors are the worst!

Hate that motherfucker.

Damn catwalk.

Dumb bunny.

How many times have you helped someone lose theirs?

Never. 

I never play opposite rank amateurs.  

I have standards.

Dumb bunnies.