Charlie Hatton About This
About Me
Email Me

Bookmark
 FeedBurnerEmailTwitterFacebookAmazon
Charlie Hatton
Brookline, MA



All Quotes
HomeAboutArchiveBestShopEmail

  |  

Howdy, friendly reading person!
I'm on a bit of a hiatus right now, but only to work on other projects -- one incredibly exciting example being the newly-released kids' science book series Things That Make You Go Yuck!
If you're a science and/or silliness fan, give it a gander! See you soon!

Rose-Colored, These Bastards Are Not!

Plus le change, plus le meme blog.

Hey, everybody.

You returning visitors may notice just the teensiest of changes in the layout; I hope you like it, and that nothing’s broken. I’m afraid my desire not to look just like everybody else finally overwhelmed my natural instinct to do as little as possible when it comes to cosmetics. (Or cosmology, but that’s a different story.) And so, there’s a new look around here. Please, let me know what you think. How does this change make you feel?

And for those of you who are stopping by for the first time — well, maybe you’ll notice that things aren’t quite as ugly or as boring as they could be. Or maybe you won’t; who knows? If you’re just getting here now, then you’re awfully late to the party, aren’t you? What, did your car break down?

(Pssst! If you really want to check out the old layout, though, try some of the 100 Posts About Me. It’ll probably be quite a while before I get around to bringing them into line. Witness the conformity for yourself.)

Anyway, party down. I’m still tryin’ to figure out what the hell to put in the little light blue boxes in the top corners. If anyone’s got any ideas, I’d love to hear ’em. I’ve done way too much thinking about how to make this site ‘real purdy’ today already. Somebody else can take the damned reins for a while.

So, on to today’s bucket o’ words. Today got off to a rather inauspicious start. For one thing, I had to get up early (for me, which in this case means by about nine o’clock; eat your hearts out, nine-to-fivers). But at least it wasn’t genuinely early, so I was able to shake off the cobwebs and get down to the business of showering.

(If you happen to be interested, the shower was just fine. Plenty of hot water, clean towels, and no ‘surprises’ of any kind. Nothing got dropped, and nobody slipped on anything. I had no substances either unexpectedly go into or suddenly come out of any orifice. So all-in-all, I’d call it a rousing success. I don’t know how clean I got, and I may have left a Q-tip in my ear while shining up afterwards, but the shower itself was just peachy. And thanks for asking.

Now, if I could just find that damned Q-tip, maybe I could hear out of my left ear again…)

My real problems began when I tried to put in my contact lenses. Usually, this is pretty much a no-brainer for me. (Which is good, because before about eleven am, I’m pretty much a no-brainer, if you smell what I’m slingin’.) I’ve worn contacts for years and years, and I’ve got the routine pretty much down. Easy in, easy out. I’ve had nights when I couldn’t remember how the hell I got into bed, and yet I’d find my contacts the next day, swimming in solution in their little carrying case. I’m fully on autopilot with these things now.

Ah, but that’s with my old contact lenses, then, isn’t it? (Yes. Yes, it is.) If you read yesterday’s post, then you know that I lost one of my old contacts, and had to visit an optometrist to get a new one. And you’d also be aware that my old lenses are gas-permeables, from the dark old ages, rather than the floppy, wispy soft lenses all the kids are wearing these days.

So, my job this morning was to get a ‘hard’ lens into my left eye, and a ‘soft’ lens into my right eye. The former, I’ve done approximately seventeen million times. It’s like breathing now; it’s practically a reflex. The latter, I’ve performed exactly once, in the LensCrafters store yesterday, and only on my eighth or ninth attempt. Clearly, this little dance had all the makings of an unmitigated disaster. And, right on cue, that’s what I got.

Keep in mind that I had an appointment to make. I got up at nine; I had to be across town for a meeting at ten-thirty. And between my showering and blogging and playing karaoke singalong with Mr. Rubber Ducky in the bathroom mirror, it was about a quarter till ten when I started working on popping my contacts in.

(You know, speaking of Mr. Ducky, I’ve always been bothered that the one song we can’t play singalong together with is ‘Rubber Ducky‘. You know, the one Ernie from Sesame Street used to sing.

And why can’t we sing that together? Well, because I don’t know the damned words. See, I often — no, really, often, folks — get my wires crossed. My zigs zagged. My beans above my frank, if you know what I’m saying. I’m always starting off on one thread or thought, and bunny-hopping to another, sometimes without realizing what the hell I’m doing.

Why am I telling you this, anyway? You — of all people — know about my wretched affliction. Enough explanation.

Anyway, one of the longest-running examples of this disease is the ‘Rubber Ducky‘ song. I get just a few lines into it, and in my head it morphs into something else entirely. I haven’t known the real words for years, because I can’t get past doing this when I try to sing the damned thing:

Rubber ducky, you’re the one. (quack, quack)

Rubber ducky, so much fun. (quack, quack)

Rubber ducky…

Far and wide…

Ducky, I love ya, but gimme that countryside!

Yes, that’s right. My ‘Rubber Ducky‘ song has been friggin’ hijacked by the theme from Green Acres. This may be the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever written about. Oh, the shame.

Doo-do-de-doo-doo! Mind gone!

Doo-do-de-doo-doo! Mo-ron!

And people wonder why I lie awake in bed at night…)

Okay, where the hell was I, anyway? Ah, the contact lenses. Right.

I don’t know whether you’re familiar with how contacts work, or how different the hard and soft lenses are. So, I’ll tell you. The hard contacts are wee little things. They only fit over part of the colored part of the eye, and they’re fairly rigid. Think of them as thin pieces of plastic.

(Which is what they are, so I’m sure they won’t mind.)

Now, the soft contacts are just that — soft and saggy, like a grandma’s ass. Perhaps not coincidentally, they’re also much bigger. These guys cover the entire colored part of the eye, and a bit of the white area, as well. They’re at least twice the diameter of the hard lenses. You can think of soft contacts as big pieces of wet paper that have to be glommed onto the eyeball.

So, here I am, experienced and comfortable with plopping a tiny speck of rigid plastic into my eye. And suddenly, I’m being asked to maneuver this big clear doily onto the entire surface of one of my eyeballs. I probably don’t have to tell you that this didn’t go well. But I will, anyway — this didn’t go well.

The biggest problem was opening my eye wide enough to clear up space for the goddamned thing. It’s like shoving a freaking frisbee in your eye. But I finally worked out a method to hold the top and bottom lids with each hand, so I could properly access my right eye. And several inches of brain behind it, I think, but I left that shit alone. I got enough troubles as it is.

My next little conundrum was that if I was using all my fingers to yank my eyelids away from the places where they frigging belong, then I had no digits left with which to plop this coffee saucer of a lens onto the eyeball. I considered a couple of alternatives — using my big toe to place the lens in my eye, or sticking the contact on the bathroom mirror and just running my eye into it — but finally concocted a way to both completely expose my eyeball and have a finger free to jam into it. Fine.

The first three actual attempts to put the contact lens into my eye were met with your basic, garden-variety failure. The damned thing would get caught on an eyelid, or fold up on itself, and pretty much screw the pooch before things really got started. But I was learning some tricks, and was just about to get it right. I could just tell.

So of course, the fourth attempt simply sucked ass. Not only did I fail to get the mother-bitching thing in my eye, but it fell out of my hand, and onto the sink. Um, somewhere. But damned if I could find the frigging thing. I searched the sink basin. Nothing. The outer perimeter. Zilch. I got down on hands and knees and checked the floor all around. Nada.

(Well, not completely nada, I suppose. I was still naked at the time, and apparently, getting down on all fours is dog-speak for ‘Hey, get over here and sniff my ass, bitch!‘ So what I did get is a cold, wet nose halfway up my hoohah. What I did not get, however, was the fucking contact lens. Contact? Oh, yes, there was contact. Contact lens? No. Be careful what you wish for.)

So, by then, it was pushing ten o’clock. I wasn’t quite hopelessly late yet, but I was pushing it. And there was no way I could get to the place and get through a meeting with one eye. My eyesight’s just too bad to fake it. So, I did what any red-blooded American man would do in that situation. I cursed like a goddamned sailor. I bitched, and I moaned, and I whined, all of it profanity-laced and louder than the last. All the while, I scanned the sink and the floor, not really expecting to find the damned thing that I’m pelting with F-bombs and epithets.

(Really, folks, I was in the zone this morning. I was stringing shit together, making up words that didn’t even make sense. What’s a ‘shitpricking asscap’, anyway? I don’t know; just made it up. A ‘mother-licking fuck-a-bundle’? No idea. ‘Hose-shittin’ bitchapotamus’? Couldn’t tell you. But I said it. Ask the dog; she knows.)

I went on and on that way for five full minutes or more. Finally, I was running out of steam — and words — when I saw the stupid thing. Somehow, it had landed on the back of the sink, and was half-propped behind some eyebrow pencil doohickey of my wife’s. So, I retrieved the damned thing, wet it, and tried again. And dropped it again, and didn’t see it again, and lost the damned thing again. Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch!!!

Luckily, I started my search this time at the back of the friggin’ sink, and worked my way forward. The lens was sitting, perfectly balanced, on the faucet overhanging the sink. I’m surprised I even saw it, as unlikely a perch as it was. But I did, and finally — finally got the damned thing to suction onto my freaking eye and stay there.

So, in the end, I guess it worked out. I rushed out the door, made my appointment just on time, and haven’t had any trouble since. But I’m not looking forward to taking this bitch out tonight.

(That’s a whole other ordeal, where I squeeze the thing between thumb and finger, so it wrinkles up and comes off. I’m convinced that if I use just a little too much pressure, I’m going to shoot my eyeball across the room like a marble and splat it against the far wall. Probably with the demonspawn lens still on it, too. Friggin’ nightmare.)

Hopefully, though, a little practice will make perfect. Or at least better. My new lenses won’t come in for almost a week, so I’ve got to deal with this Baggie on my eye for a few more days. Oh, and I’ve got meetings before ten am on the first three days of the week, starting with an eight-freakin’-thirty appointment on Monday morning. I may have to pull an all-nighter just to make that thing, and start pawing at my eye at four am to get this stupid contact lens in there.

Man, will I be glad when I have my razor-sharp little pieces of plastic back. Sure, they may be dangerous, but I can’t remember the last time I had to make up new words because of them. This soft ‘dinglybitchenfucker’ is for the birds!

Permalink  |  3 Comments



3 Responses to “Rose-Colored, These Bastards Are Not!”

  1. Amy says:

    Oh my lord. While reading your post I relived my first contact lens experience.

    My situation was slightly different, as I had never worn contacts of any kind, and avoided sticking any objects in my eye at all costs.

    (And you know, the first time you fail to put it in, the worse it gets. You’re not just poking yourself in the eye once.. oh no.. over and over and over again. Yay.)

    A little advice:

    1. Contact lens solution is NEVER to be used for eye drops. It burns like hell. Don’t ask.

    2. Always have eye drops around, because if your eyes are dry you’ll never get the contact lens out. You’ll begin to wonder if you used solution to put the damned thing in, or if you mistakingly used paste.

    Good luck!

  2. jadedju says:

    The new format is great–and so much easier to read!! I vote for leaving the light blue alone–simple is always best for highlighting text.

  3. Suzette says:

    How tastefully done! Very easy to read and – most importantly – no reduction to the word count.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

HomeAboutArchiveBestShopEmail © 2003-15 Charlie Hatton All Rights Reserved
Highlights
Me on Film 'n' Stage:
  Drinkstorm Studios


Me on Science (silly):
  Secondhand SCIENCE


Me on Science (real):
  Meta Science News


Me on ZuG (RIP):
  Zolton's FB Pranks
  Zolton Does Amazon


Favorite Posts:
30 Facts: Alton Brown
A Commute Dreary
A Hallmark Moment
Blue's Clues Explained
Eight Your 5-Hole?
El Classo de Espanol
Good News for Goofballs
Grammar, Charlie-Style
Grammar, Revisitated
How I Feel About Hippos
How I Feel About Pinatas
How I Feel About Pirates
Life Is Like...
Life Is Also Like...
Smartass 101
Twelve Simple Rules
Unreal Reality Shows
V-Day for Dummies
Wheel of Misfortune
Zolton, Interview Demon

Me, Elsewhere

Features
Standup Comedy Clips

Selected Clips:
  09/10/05: Com. Studio
  04/30/05: Goodfellaz
  04/09/05: Com. Studio
  01/28/05: Com. Studio
  12/11/04: Emerald Isle
  09/06/04: Connection

Boston Comedy Clubs

 My 100 Things Posts

Selected Things:
  #6: My Stitches
  #7: My Name
  #11: My Spelling Bee
  #35: My Spring Break
  #36: My Skydives
  #53: My Memory
  #55: My Quote
  #78: My Pencil
  #91: My Family
  #100: My Poor Knee

More Features:

List of Lists
33 Faces of Me
Cliche-O-Matic
Punchline Fever
Simpsons Quotes
Quantum Terminology

Favorites
Banterist
...Bleeding Obvious
By Ken Levine
Defective Yeti
DeJENNerate
Divorced Dad of Two
Gallivanting Monkey
Junk Drawer
Life... Weirder
Little. Red. Boat.
Mighty Geek
Mitchieville
PCPPP
Scaryduck
Scott's Tip of the Day
Something Authorly
TGNP
Unlikely Explanations

Archives
Full Archive

Category Archives:

(Stupid) Computers
100Things
A Doofus Is Me
Articles 'n' Zines
Audience Participation
Awkward Conversations
Bits About Blogging
Bitter Old Man Rants
Blasts from My Past
Cars 'n' Drivers
Dog Drivel
Eek!Cards
Foodstuff Fluff
Fun with Words!
Googlicious!
Grooming Gaffes
Just Life
Loopy Lists
Making Fun of Jerks
Marketing Weenies
Married and a Moron
Miscellaneous Nonsense
Potty Talk / Yes, I'm a Pig
Sleep, and Lack Thereof
Standup
Tales from the Stage
Tasty Beverages
The Happy Homeowner
TV & Movies & Games, O My!
Uncategorized
Vacations 'n' Holidays
Weird for the Sake of Weird
Whither the Weather
Wicked Pissah Bahstan
Wide World o' Sports
Work, Work, Work
Zug

Heroes
Alas Smith and Jones
Berkeley Breathed
Bill Hicks
Dave Barry
Dexter's Laboratory
Douglas Adams
Evening at the Improv
Fawlty Towers
George Alec Effinger
Grover
Jake Johannsen
Married... With Children
Monty Python
Nick Bakay
Peter King
Ren and Stimpy
Rob Neyer
Sluggy Freelance
The Simpsons
The State

Plugs, Shameless
100 Best Humor Blogs | Healthy Moms Magazine

HumorSource

 

Feeds and More
Subscribe via FeedBurner

[Subscribe]

RDF
RSS 2.0
Atom
Credits
Site Hosting:
Solid Solutions

Powered by:
MovableType

Title Banner Photo:
Shirley Harshenin

Creative Commons License
  This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons License

Performancing Metrics

Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

Valid XHTML 1.0

Valid CSS!

© 2003-15 Charlie Hatton
All Rights Reserved