my upper lip

throughout my childhood, my upper lip was the brunt of many olfactory jokes. older siblings and friends alike led me to believe that this body part was the source of every bad smell we encountered. in turn, i was often left confused, wondering how my supple, bare lips could bring dissatisfaction to so many people.

"No it's not," i'd cry. "My lip don't smell like Uncle Rodney's feet!"

when i hit puberty, however, the insults began to make sense. my once hairless wonder had blossomed into a bed of mustache sproutlings. i had begun to grab the attention of the older, ridiculing friends, but unfortunately, i was also taking with me their body odors and a host of other smells the world had to offer. my upper lip was beginning to stink.

all along, people had been preparing me for the inevitable stenchs that my lip would soon bear. it was like some weird, comedic clairvoyance . . . a punchline that took six years to develop . . . a double snare kick with the drum stick dangling hovering over the cymbal. as i grew older and my mustache thickened, i learned to depend on it as a sort of short-term time machine. what would losing my virginity be without my upper lip and its trapping the smells of my girlfriend's bedroom? what would that starry-eyed drive back home have been without her womanhood painted on my fine hairs? (they too swaying to the tunes of 112) what would my first college house party and first alcholic beverage be without my 'stache? those fumes of perspiration, fading deodorant, and Bacardi Limon all combining to make a twilight exlier. my moustache catching specks of vomit after drinking too much and going wild on the dance floor.

now, at the age of 26, i've grown so attached to my upper lip that i refuse to shave my mustache, even in corporate settings. years of graciousness and intrigue have provided fertile flesh for my current handlebar-style 'stache. from tip to tip, it extends 17 inches in length, not including the sharp curls. by taking a deep inhale of one end, i can vividly recall the gourmet mustard i used to add to my sandwiches in faculty dining hall during law school. taking a whiff of the other end, i recall the tour bus exhaust blown into my face while signing autographs after my band's first show in Chillum, MD.

yes, my upper lip does stink -- and i fucking love it.

" . . . and the Mexican man jumped out and yelled, 'Supplies!'"

the bevy of yacht-rockers burst into laughter -- the women, leaning backwards, and the men, slapping their knees.

meanwhile, Juan Carolos was toiling in the shrubbery when he heard the punchline. he clutched his shears tighter and gazed at the now uproarious group.

little did they know . . .

election day mayhem

having suffered through a long client meeting yesterday afternoon, i didn't make it to my polling place until 5:30 PM. i knew i'd be in for a long night when i saw that the parking lot looked like that of a county fair. i parked my truck and started walking towards the school. there was a steady rain falling and a passerby brought even more gloom.

"How ya' doin', man?" i said.

"'Sup, brotha," he replied. "You got a loooooong wait ahead of ya'!"

i stepped inside and saw a mess of people littering the room. there weren't any signs to advise people on the three-step voting process, and each of the election judges was too tired to walk around and provide assistance. with each clank of the heavy metal door being opened, the lines coiled more hideously. before long, people were craning their heads towards the check-in desks and grunting in disapproval.

the last time i voted, those fancy Diebold machines had just hit the scene. a far cry from the lever-based, curtain-veiled machines of yesteryear, i personally thought they were a welcome addition to the digital age. baby boomers and similar groups, however, found them utterly confusing. yesterday, i saw a woman in her late 70s attempt to re-heat her grilled cheese sandwich atop the screen while reading one of the referendums. a judge tried to explain to her that the machine did not double as a microwave, but she waved him off, saying that she was almost finished with the "capacitator".

as she strugled with the machines, so too did others, which caused the impatience in the room to multiply. trying to curb the effect, lots of people tried to hold brief conversations on their cell phones, despite being asked by one of the male judges to leave them off. some, including myself, countered the command, stating that we were only using the data features. a woman beind me, who was talking to her kids at home, would periodically jump on her phone to give dinner instructions. she was in the middle of explaining how to prepare the stove for beefaroni when the judge caught sight of her talking.

"Ma'am, can you please turn off your phone? Thank you."

"But, sir, I--"

"Ma'am? Thank you."

after standing in line for and hour and a half, nearly everyone that came in with me was restless. we were all hungry, irritable, and mentally cursing out those who appeared to be idling at the machines. to make matters worse, small crowds were holding forced, awkward conversations with the people near them. mine was fine, but i overheard lots of chatter about bad parking spaces in the lot and family members who attended P.G. Community College. then, a strange thing happened. a calm began to fall over the room, as the lines began to move better and the election judges became more active.

. . . that's when the lady's cell phone went off again.

the irate judge didn't hear the ring, and the lady tried to conceal her conversation under her coat, but he still busted her.

"Did you tell Danielle to add a cup of water to th--"

"MA'AM," he interjected. "I've asked you once and I don't want to have to say it again: PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR PHONE! Cell phone use is illegal in polling places and we would like to stay in compliance! Thank you!"

this time, however, the woman wasn't as cooperative.

"Well, you, to feed my kids, motherfucker!" she said, charging directly at him, one word per stomp.

she made contact wtith his chest and knocked him to the floor. that's when all hell broke loose. a host of angry women began to beat the judge with their phones, the elderly pummeled him with their canes, and a few others tossed chairs into the mix. luckily, i was casting my vote at the time, but i did manage to complete my ballot and toss a plastic panel in the air for good measure. a news reporter, who was packing up to leave when the fight began, got caught at the exit and strangled with the cord from his earpiece. his cameraman didn't try to save him.

the event didn't make the news, but all who were there knew what happened. i found it shameful, honestly; so much so that i lost sleep last night. in fact, the madness was still heavy on my mind this morning as, after parking my truck at the subway station, i accidently hit the panic button on my remote instead of the one to lock the doors. as i fumbled to turn off the blaring horn, i noticed the old lady who tried to heat her sandwich on the screen. i stepped over her on the way out of the voting place, and i noticed that she had bandages all over her face this morning. perhaps she put a curse on me -- just punishment for fleeing the scene.

stinking up the joint

yesterday, i think my dog peed on the floor of the Largo Petsmart. if she did, it would mark the third time such an accident has occurred.

the first time was when she was but a wee pup going in for her first check-up. we walked into the store and were greeted by a host of adoring women, who were absolutely enamored with her tiny paws struggling to grip the tile floor. when i went to sign in, however, she had sniffed around in a circle, squatted, and sent a pool of urine cascading in front of the desk. i discovered it when i dipped a few of my knuckles into it while picking her up to get weighed.

"Oh fuck."

a mother and small child heard my agony and shot me a scowl. i pulled my dog across the store and grabbed a few paper towels from one of the cleaning stations. as i kneeled to wipe up the mess, i looked into my dog's eyes and asked, "Why would you do something like this? What have I done to deserve this?"

the second instance of my dog leaving waste in the Largo Petsmart was during another vet visit. this time, we were going in to get her rabies shot and wait for the doctor was pretty long. knowing she was poorly socialized, i wanted nothing more than to sign in and get a seat far away from the other dogs. this time, however, we didn't even make it to the desk. while passing the guinea pig, my dog stopped abruptly in her tracks. i thought she had been frightened by a large dog in the distance, so i turned back to console her. i looked down and she was in shit position, depositing her dinner on the floor. i tried tugging at her, perhaps to leave the remainder of the shit in the cat food section, but she locked in tighter to the floor and gave me a look that said i'd have to wait. when the fourth chuck plopped free, a group of kids leaving the grooming salon noticed what was happening and let me have it.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

i turned red with shame and, once again, started tugging my dog to the cleaning station. i grabbed a handful of paper towels and went back to the now steaming pile. kneeling, i looked deeper into my dogs eyes and asked, "Just what the fuck is your problem? Are you trying to ruin me? Is this some sort of punishment?" a few onlookers, disturbed at this display, began turning up their noses and angling themselves away from me. i screamed "Fuck you all!" and scrubbed away the last of the brown streaks. when i went to throw away the package, a Petsmart employee approached me about an easier way to clean up dog shit. for some reason, he thought that i'd be grateful to hear his groundbreaking technique rather than see him put it in action. i removed one chuck of shit, wrapped it in a fresh paper towel, and shoved it down his shirt. that's when i was escorted out of the store.

anyway, yesterday, my dog received four vaccinations and a blast of some brown liquid up her nose. the doctor had to draw blood for her heartworm test, too; so by the time we were set to leave, she was weak and ornery. my dog was trying to pull away when i was signing my receipt, so looked down to tug her back. there was a HUGE pool that was spreading from my left foot to the far edge of the desk. now, i didn't exactly see my dog take a squat, and i think the urine was already there, but more than likely, she did it. i think it was an act of spite for subjecting her to that massace of needles.

you know what, though? i didn't clean it up. i rushed the nurse through her spiel about my dog's next appointment and rushed out of the store. when i reached the exit, i heard another nurse yell, "What th-- SIR! SIR!"