living with spies and wooden hands

Okay, so I made another mistake on the Super Bowl entry. Pippen now plays for the Rockets. I tell you, it’s hard to keep all of this sports stuff straight in your head. I was at dinner with Eric on Friday night and we were discussing the entry. He hadn’t read it, but I was telling him about the “Do you think they’ll go for two” rule.

[scripty]
ERIC
It should be a good game, though.

PAMIE
Oh, who cares about this super bowl, really?

ERIC
I don’t know.

PAMIE
I mean, it’s just going to be like last year.

ERIC
Well, last year Denver was the underdog.

PAMIE
Yeah, but it’s going to turn out the same way. Denver will win, Elway will cry and we’ll have to sit and listen to them debate if he’s going to retire again this year or not and– why are you looking at me like that?

ERIC
I think you know too much about this game.

PAMIE
Huh?

ERIC
You know too much for your own good. It’s scary. How did you learn so much?

PAMIE
I pay attention when you guys talk.

ERIC
I had no idea.

This is a little technique I like to call the “feminine mystique glare”

PAMIE
You know, I just want you to know something. Even when you think I don’t know, I know.

ERIC
Excuse me?

PAMIE
I’m just saying, in the future, when you think to yourself, “Oh, she won’t know, she’ll never find out.” I do know, and I will find out if I don’t know.

ERIC
Are you okay?

PAMIE
I’m just letting you know, so you don’t do anything you’ll regret.

ERIC
Have I done something?

PAMIE
Have you?

ERIC
I asked you that.

PAMIE
Right.

ERIC
What?

PAMIE
Oh, you know.

ERIC
Nooooo?

PAMIE
Exactly.

ERIC
Am I in trouble?

PAMIE
I don’t know, is there something you should tell me?

ERIC
No.

PAMIE
Okay.

ERIC
What?

PAMIE
No, okay. If there’s nothing that you need to tell me, there’s nothing you need to tell me.

ERIC
Yeah, okay, I think I’m ready for you to go back to smoking.
[/scripty]

We used to tease Eric for being secretive about his whereabouts or why he was doing things, and say that he was in the CIA. He has since said he gave up his membership, but I like making him think that perhaps I have been granted his badge in his absence.

Now I was just kidding around here, I didn’t know anything about anything, but it got to be interesting watching Eric try and figure out if I was mad about something that he didn’t do, or if I was mad about something that he did do but he didn’t know that I would be mad about it.

[scripty]
YOU
Man, pamie, when did you become such a sicko?
[/scripty]

Anyway, Eric used to just be mysterious. He’d get up all of a sudden from the couch and leave the room when there’s a bunch of people over.

[scripty]
PAMIE
E, you okay?

ERIC
What? Yeah.

PAMIE
You need something?

ERIC
I… well… I’ll be right back.

PAMIE
You okay?

ERIC
There’s things… I… just… I’ll be right back.

(a little later)

ERIC
Okay.

PAMIE
Where’d you go?

ERIC
Oh, it’s nothing. Everything’s fine. Kisses?

PAMIE
Where’d you go?

ERIC
I just had some things I had to take care of.

PAMIE
Okay…. you okay?

ERIC
I’m fine.

PAMIE
No, really, what did you go do?

ERIC
What does it matter?

PAMIE
Did you put itching powder in the bed or something?

ERIC
No. Why do you think it’s about you?

PAMIE
Because you always think things are about you, and you like to talk about you, so if you aren’t talking about something I assume it has something to do with me.

ERIC
No.

PAMIE
Well, if you would just tell me what you did I could go back to feeling safe.

ERIC
I can’t believe this is such a big deal.

PAMIE
JUST TELL ME!

ERIC
I wanted to make sure my pants for tomorrow were clean.

PAMIE
That’s it?

ERIC
I swear.

PAMIE
Why couldn’t you just tell me that five minutes ago?

ERIC
I don’t know.
[/scripty]

But really I’m sure it was just a tiny power play. Keeping a part of himself to himself, you know? Not all of his world is my world. That’s okay with me, I understand. Sometimes I like to do it back to him, though, so he knows what it’s like.

Relationships. It’s all about keeping the paranoia in check.

Eric fell in love with an object in our house this weekend. It’s a wooden back scratcher. It’s long, and at the end it has a tiny wooden hand shaped just for scratching. I’m sure you’re thinking: “Oh, I have one of those, I love it too. It reaches all of the right parts.”

Well, this isn’t exactly the same kind of love. And no, it isn’t that kind of love, either. Eric has found this thing to be the funniest object in the world. It is his new best friend. I really cannot describe the love here. You just have to see it. You see, the hand extends and retracts, and it does look like a tiny hand, so it has become the source for many jokes. Perhaps you might want to get one for yourself. I had no idea how many possibilities were loaded into one tiny wooden hand. Why you can:

• High five with a tiny wooden hand
• grab objects from across the table with a tiny wooden hand
• caress your lover’s cheek without having to move from the couch
• give someone “dap” with a tiny wooden hand
• scratch your chin like an intellectual with a tiny wooden hand
• pose like the thinker with a tiny wooden hand
• put a tiny wooden pinkie to your mouth and say “one million dollars”
• scratch the cat with a tiny wooden hand without having to get fur on you
• smoke a cigarette with a tiny wooden hand without having to bring your hand all the way to your mouth
• drive like a low rider with a tiny wooden hand
• brush back your hair with a tiny wooden hand
• have the world’s smallest wooden hand stroke the world’s tiniest penis
• rough someone up with a tiny wooden hand
• “raise the roof” with a tiny wooden hand
• smack the back of someone’s hand with a tiny wooden hand
• give tiny wooden handshakes

How could I possibly think of all of these possibilities for such a seemingly simple creation? Why, put the tiny wooden hand in a room with a bunch of comedians and a pile of beer and watch what happens! And if it’s on a Friday night? Well, then, my friend, be prepared for the height of comedy:

You can pay for pizza with a tiny wooden hand.

Somehow during the course of the evening, Eric put on his engineer’s cap and these coveralls he keeps in the closet (that’s our business), and his old glasses. We had ordered pizza earlier. Of course, in our state of wooden hand giggles, the next logical progression was to share the love of the tiny wooden hand with perfect strangers, so they too can see what a genius invention this is. The scenario:

There is a knock on the door. Everyone hides in the kitchen, except for Eric in his outfit, tiny wooden hand in… well, hand, and I was lying on the futon with an engineer whistle in my mouth. Everyone is silent. It is amazing how well this is going to come off. Eric opens the door, the pizza guy doesn’t even bat an eye. He apparently delivers pizza to train conductors each and every day. He stares at Eric, and starts to hand him the pizza. Eric flicks out the tiny wooden hand, which has the money in its tiny wooden grip. The arm extends, and the hand reaches out to the pizza guy. This is too much for Eric, who knows the comedic power of the tiny wooden hand, and he begins to giggle. He giggles in front of the pizza guy, who now just wants to leave. Eric invites the pizza guy in, which forces me to hide my face in the futon. I mean, come on, I’m a performer. This pizza guy could be at the Velveeta Room next weekend and be like, “Her and her freak train conductor boyfriend tried to seduce me with a tiny wooden hand.” Eric eventually closes the door and the party comes out of the kitchen laughing and blaming Eric for ruining what would have been “The Ultimate Pizza Guy/ Tiny Wooden Hand Joke.”

See, you probably thought that the lives of comedians are very glamorous. Full of beer and drugs and sex and wild parties and interesting people and getting home drunk at the crack of dawn, thinking about how great the thunderous applause was that night on stage. Basically we all sit around on a Friday night and try to figure out how to play tricks on the pizza guy. And we go home drunk at the crack of dawn, thinking about how great the look on the pizza guy’s face was when we extended a tiny wooden hand with a twenty dollar bill crammed into it at his face.

Really, the hand is funny. But Eric finds this thing hysterical.

Also we have a cooler in our living room now. This is so when we all get together to drink, Chuy and Eric do not have to walk the ten feet to the refrigerator, but rather just bend over and grab another beer. They didn’t even pee all night so that they never had to move. Want a beer? Here, catch. Want a cigarette? Here, let me extend my tiny wooden hand.

But see, to them, it isn’t being lazy, it’s being incredibly clever.

And now, as I sit here typing, I sort of long for the tiny wooden hand. I want something to stir my tea with.

And for those of you keeping score at home, I still haven’t had a cigarette. I applaud each and every one of my friends for not killing me this past weekend. Every once in a while, I just got really depressed. I was sad. I was yearning for a cigarette. I never really thought I would get depressed without nicotine. When I was first diagnosed with asthma I was put on an inhaler that I had to take every six hours or so. It said on the inhaler that when I stopped taking it every day I could suffer from depression and anxiety. And I thought that was so funny, that I’d be walking around and someone would be like, “What’s wrong, Pam?” and I may answer, “I miss my inhaler.”

But you know what? I miss my cigarettes.