Category Archives: big fat mouth

How many toothpicks?

Rain Man: Toothpicks

The Boyfriend is a bit of a savant when it comes to Things Automotive. What others have to study and work to memorize, just comes naturally to him. Need a chart to figure an accurate bore dimension? No, all he needs is a caliper reading and the Pythagorean theorem. And a few seconds to calculate. Care to hear a list of the differences between a ’39 Ford De Luxe and a ’40 Ford standard? He can rattle those off in his sleep. Thankfully, he doesn’t. Or I sleep through it. Just last week, he had me pause a DVD we were watching so he could explain that the steering wheel shown in a Car: Interior scene could not possibly be from the car our characters were just shown getting in to in the previous Exterior shot. When he does things like this, which is frequently, I mutter “246. 246 toothpicks.” It’s in reference to the scene from Rain Man, linked above, in which Raymond is able to calculate at a glance precisely how many toothpicks had been knocked out of a box.

Fire King “Candle Glow” (1967-72) casserole dish with lid. This particular example is currently available from VintageLoveJunk

In the kitchen last night while I was serving dinner, The Boyfriend said that he liked the dish I’d put the mashed potatoes in. Without glancing over (because I knew what dish I’d used), I said “Thanks. It’s Fire King. The pattern is called Candle Glow.”

To which he replied, “How many toothpicks?”

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Filed under amusement, big fat mouth, cars, collections, romance, relationships, vintage

Unrelated to anything: My Most Embarrassing Moment

Side Note: Those hands-free mobile phone headsets? They’re very good at transmitting the caller’s voice, and also at voiding out most background noise like traffic, other passengers in your car, and the radio.

Once Upon A Time, there was this guy I liked. Giving you some background but maintaining his privacy, he’s a fairly successful local musician/singer/songwriter, and you can buy his albums on CDBaby and eMusic and iTunes and Amazon. For the rest of this story, remember that he’s a professional singer.

Okay, so we’re hanging out at his place one night, and he asks if he can kiss me. Asks. If he had just leaned in and DONE it, that would have been one thing. But no, he asks. Now, I had only very recently broken up with a long-term boyfriend, so I was still reeling from that. And even though I WANTED to kiss this guy, I fumbled and sputtered and told him “not yet” and blathered out some incoherent, long-winded explanation and when the dust settled and I wanted to curl up into a ball and die, we continued to stay in touch. I wasn’t sure if I’d blown it or not.

But that’s not the embarrassing part. Oh, no.

One night, I’m driving a coworker/friend home from the office. There is an AMAZING moon on the horizon, and I pop in my headset, flip open my phone, and call this guy to alert him to go outside. I get his voicemail. I leave a quick message, and flip the phone shut. My pal in the car and I start singing “I see the moon and the moon sees me…” and when we’re all done with the song, maybe a couple of times, we turn on the radio, where we start singing along with Linda Ronstadt, belting out “When Will I Be Loved.” I’m pretty sure that we got through the whole song by the time I hear my phone beep, and realize that my headset is still in my ear. And discover that my phone does NOT hang up the call when you flip it shut if the headset is plugged in. And that I have just left a 10-minute voicemail serenading this guy, asking When Will I Be Loved. Because he CANNOT HEAR the radio, or my passenger, and does not know that any of this was unintentional.

I never heard from him again.

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Filed under big fat mouth, friends, music, romance, relationships, Ultra Maroon

Overheard from my big mouth

On Tuesday night, I went over to my friend Scott’s place for dinner. He cooked a nice meal, I brought some not-bad beer, and when we were done, he turned on his giant TV so I could watch the baseball game.

But the digital cable was out.

So Scott called Comcast, and the tech support gal walked him through a few troubleshooting steps… at one point, Scott asked if she could hang on because he needed two hands to fiddle with some wiring. He hit a button on his phone, set it down on the floor between us, and as he was crawling under the TV, asked me if I’d colored my hair…

“Yes, actually.”

“It’s more extreme. It looks good.

“Thanks. It had better look good… it cost me (undisclosed) fucking dollars.”

(momentary pause, then me again) “I sure hope this nice, helpful lady is on mute, and didn’t have to hear me cussing.”

“Actually, she’s on speaker-phone.”

” … ” (Mind reels. Wait, this is Scott. He deadpanned it, so of course, he’s kidding.)

(Scott, a little louder) “Ma’am, are you still there?”

(disembodied laugh emanates from the cell phone sitting on the floor) “Yes, I’m right here. And it’s okay, I’ve heard worse.”

Dying. Just dying. Ma’am, I am so very sorry. I do occasionally pepper my language with such coarseness, but not usually in front of strangers… or while sober. Thank you for handling it with grace. Also, could you tell me where to buy some? Clearly, I’m all out.

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Filed under big fat mouth