Annoyance 052

Cough cough cough ... hack hack hack ...

That's me after spending 5 minutes in a client's home.  After I got out of there and back on the road, I wanted to rip my clothes and my hair off and throw them all out the car window. 

Peweee!  I stink!  I rushed home to take a Claritin because my sinuses were leaking down my throat trying to choke me to death.  I next got out the Febreze and sprayed myself down to cut some of the smell.  Yes, I know Febreze is for fabric, not humans, but I'm dying here and I don't have time to take a shower.  I have plans to go to the early showing of Eat Pray Love.

I am totally allergic to cigarette smoke.  I should have caught the clue when I was hospitalized in the first grade with asthma and pneumonia, encountering nothing less than a near death experience, but I was too young to realize my parents' second hand smoke was an accessory to the grim reaper.  After leaving my parents home, and setting up house on my own, I refused to go back into their home unless they stopped smoking indoors.  Thank God they loved me enough to make the change.  Dear ole Dad completely gave up smoking at some point, and mother is still struggling to follow suit. 

If second hand smoke didn't exist, I would be a better smelling movie partner right about now!


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The dream keeper unleashed an intruder ...

Good grief ... I woke up before 6:00 a.m. from a scary dream (intruder in the house), and now I'm SLEEPY.  I'm not going to describe that dream to you, because all of you have had one of those intruder dreams, and you know how those usually go.  You either overpower the intruder, or in my case you wake up before the intruder catches you and unleashes his or her evil on you.  I miss my snuggle buddy and protector.

I'm now feeling out of sorts and I'm cold, but I am trying very hard not to turn on my space heater, because although my body likes to be warm, my face is allergic to heat and the heat always rises from the space heater to my face.  My skirt is wrinkled beyond my liking, so there will be no rest for the weary at the lunch hour. 

On the positive side of being up so early this morning, I had time to cook grits, and enough time to leisurely enjoy their warm and creamy texture for breakfast.  Now, I'm snacking on boiled peanuts that one of the co-workers cooked to salty perfection.  If those two treats don't scream SHE REALLY IS FROM THE DEEP SOUTH, then I don't know what would.

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Needed, some happy weekend fairy dust ... hurry, there isn't much time left!

Friday afternoon finally arrived, and I was stoked to go home so I could work on a music project that I have been promising to finish up for a friend.  I tooled home and hunkered down into my funky little home office which often resembles a pig's sty.  I was happily busy copying some music onto a thumbdrive, when I heard a knock at the door.  I rarely answer the door unless I am expecting company, but this person was insistently knocking, so I went and answered it, finding my friend B and her 6 week old baby on my porch.  I invited her in, and we hung out for a while, passing the baby back and forth.  She fed him, and asked would I burp him while she took an incoming call from her mother.  Sure, no problem ... I know absolutely nothing about babies, but I figured I could handle a burping session.  The burping session went fine, and I kept holding the wriggling little guy ... trying to make him happy.  He wasn't screaming, but he was definitely less than happy.  Since he had just woken from a nap, and his mother had just fed him, even novice old me suspected the obvious.  Pooping was in progress.  No problem ... right?  WRONG ... that little fella took a big grunt and poop burst through the legs of his pamper!  Poop exploded from both sides of the pamper, and littered not only my jeans, but also my BELOVED yellow sofa.   His mother was totally mortified.   I for once was completely calm and 97% unswayed.  If nothing, I am a great hostess ... and sane enough to realize that the little guy couldn't help it.  Now, if an adult had come over to visit and took a poopie on me and my sofa, then there would have been some serious butt kicking going on.  But, since it was a baby, I just shed my jeans and threw them in the wash, while my friend cleaned my sofa.  All's well that ended well.  We then went out to dinner, and the baby behaved himself like a perfect gentlemen we all hope he grows up to be.  


This morning, I was up to wait on the cable guy.  You know ... the cable guy who is scheduled to be at a customer's house to make a repair between 1 and 4 hours (most assuredly calling 15 minutes prior to his arrival).  OMG ... can I just cut this story short and say that I have spent the better part of this day feeling justifiably homicidal, so I am now trying to go ZEN and am pondering life without TV?  I think I am beginning to understand why people go postal.  Sorry, that line is totally in bad taste.  I'm just saying that life does have a way of pushing some mighty ornery buttons.  I have not stepped off the edge of sanity, so I'm not implying anything here other than I was beyond pissed this morning and that I am contemplating giving up TV.  My inner voice that is uptight about the "principle" of any and everything, is riding me as if I were a pack mule.  She said I have reached my tipping point, and it is time to take a stand.  I told her, that I really like to watch TV sometimes.  She told me, that TV is a huge waste of my time, and for me to think of all the things I could get done -- how much more reading I could do, how my yard could be free of weeds, how my kitchen could smell like lemons, how my linen closet could be effused with fresh lavendar, how my bedroom project would finally get done.  She made some very good points.  I told her I would have to talk with my other inner people and get back with her about my decision.  Damn that cable company  ...

The Land of Happy

Have you been to The Land of Happy,

Where everyone's happy all day,

Where they joke and they sing

Of the happiest things,

And everything's jolly and gay?

There's no one unhappy in Happy,

There's laughter and smiles galore.

I have been to The Land of Happy ---

What a bore!

Shel Silverstein

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Words

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I need to borrow a cup of shuga ...

I have a sweet friend whose very presence causes me to think of cotton candy, swizzle sticks and cherry coke.  She's a girlie girl oozing art from every pore of her sparkling imagination.  Our most usual "meeting" spot is our favorite grocery store.  Every time I happen to run into her, I walk away thinking .... dang God gave her an extra scoop of sugar, while I was busy sneaking two scoops of spice.  She's a real girl, the kind you men want to bend down and breathe in the smell of her hair.  By the way, her hair sometimes smells like "Love Spell" from Victoria's Secret.  A whiff of which is worth the smack you may get if you try to breathe her in.  I sometimes secretly wonder if she's an angel, and if God is sure he wants her hanging out with the likes of me.  If she's really an angel, there's probably no danger of my rowdiness rubbing off on her.  If I'm lucky, she will inspire me to put a little polish on my crusty temperament ;)  Or at least polish my toenails a pretty shade of fun. 

If that doesn't happen, and I keep being the same old rowdy me, well then ... yall are stuck with what the good Lord gave ya .... me, in all my rowdy glory ;)

What are little babies made of, made of?

What are little babies made of?

Diapers and crumbs and sucking their thumbs;

That's what little babies are made of?

What are little boys made of, made of?

What are little boys made of?

Snips and snails and puppy-dog tails;

That's what little boys are made of. And such are...

What are little girls made of, made of?

What are little girls made of?

Sugar and spice and everything nice;

That's what little girls are made of.

What are young men made of, made of?

What are young men made of?

Sighs and leers and crocodile tears;

That's what young men are made of.

What are young women made of, made of?

What are young women made of?

Rings and jings and other fine things;
Sugar and spice and all things nice;
That's what young women are made of. And such are...

What are our sailors made of, made of?

What are our sailors made of?

Pitch and tar, pig-tail and scar;

That's what our sailors are made of.

What are our soldiers made of, made of?

What are our soldiers made of?

Pipeclay and drill, the foeman to kill;

That's what our soldiers are made of.

What are our nurses made of, made of?

What are our nurses made of?

Bushes and thorns and old cow's horns;

That's what our nurses are made of.

What are our fathers made of, made of?

What are our fathers made of?

Pipes and smoke and collars choke;

That's what our fathers are made of.

What are our mothers made of, made of?

What are our mothers made of?

Ribbons and laces and sweet pretty faces;

That's what our mothers are made of.

What are old men made of, made of?

What are old men made of?

Slippers that flop and a bald-headed top;

That's what old men are made of.

What are old women made of, made of?

What are old women made of?

Reels, and jeels, and old spinning wheels;

That's what old women are made of?

What are all folks made of, made of?

What are all folks made of?

Fighting a spot and loving a lot,

That's what all folks are made of.

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xox Pookie!

"Move it, your box needs a good airing out." signed The Universe

If you invite me to go somewhere with you, I will want to know WAY more than where. I want a list of the full cast of characters. I want to know how far away it is. Will I need to bring money? How much? Will anyone be jumping out of a cake? I want the back story. So, don't try to polish the Buick and pass it off as a Maserati, I'm nearly as inquisitive as Holmes.

Soooooooo, my best friend called me the other day and the brevity ensued.

K said, "Hey, C and I are going to the local BBQ joint downtown tomorrow night. They are hosting the game "Battle Between the Sexes. Wanna join us?" For some reason, I detected a sparseness in the air. My instincts went up, and I pressed for more details. She insisted she didn't know much else.   I told her I would have to think about it.  That was last Monday.  I had two days to ponder whether or not I wanted to go.  Against my resisting instinct, I said what the hell, and agreed to go.

Here's looking at you kids ...

Ahhh, the weekend, time to shuck the sweet work wardrobe! 

I hate those glasses ... they hide the best feature of my silly mug.

Do you see my mischievousness?  It is never far from the surface.

I hope yall had a good weekend!



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Annoyance 051

My blood pressure is raised, steam is emitting from my ears, fire is rolling off my tongue ... and there is no obvious antidote.  I have counted to 20, double checked my math, and still feel the FIRE!!!!  If I were a drug taking, alcohol drinking sort of woman, I would take a Prozac, wash it down with a Xanax and then drink a bottle of Jack Daniels for dessert.  Since, I am not a drug taking, alcohol drinking sort of woman, I guess I will dig deep and go zen at some point!  Hopefully, before I say something to the wrong person.  I'm not really known for biting my own tongue.

This place is feeling a lot like an east coast Alcatraz wanna be.  I may have to plan my escape.  Anyone have a spare movie poster I can use for a while?

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Road trip! Sike! Okay fine ... Psych!

Over the weekend, I checked out and read Breakfast with Buddha by Robert Merullo.  It's a light and milding amusing road trip read.  If you are like me and don't have enough time to take your own road trip, but wish you did, you can always go read about someone else's trip ... true account or not.  I finished the book over the sporadic course of two days, and when I put it down, I thought to myself ..."Decent read, but I didn't get as much out of it as I did reading The Alchemist."  So, I chalked it up to pure entertainment and went on about my business, because being entertained has just as much value for me as does a life lesson.  However, being a bit more analytical than every third person walking by, I quickly found myself retracing my initial impressions and thoughts about Breakfast with Buddha.  


The theme which resonated with me the most throughout this book, was the nudge for disciplined balance.  If there were other themes in the book (and there may have been), they weren't talking to me.  I was however, repeatedly struck by the notion of disciplined balance while I was reading it, and it came back to me after I had finished reading the book.  So, I am again tuning my personal dial into the Universe, which I think is trying to tell me to back away from the potato chip aisle. 


I took this gentle nudge of reprimand from the Universe and mulled over it while gnoshing on some Lays Masterpiece BBQ Chips.  Hey, it was a small bag.  One of those 3 for $1.00 bags which hang out by the grocery store check out line teasing you as you wait your turn.  Gimme a break, an ounce or so of chips are harmless for pete's sake.  {What?}  The Universe wants me to tell you how many of those small bags I bought last week.  Although, I wouldn't normally ignore the Universe, I'm busy right now.


If I was being coy in any way in the above paragraph, I will now blatantly confess to an unhealthy fetish for BBQ chips.  BBQ chips think they own me.  I think they may be closing in on being right.  In an effort to save myself, I considered calling BBQ chips out to meet me on a dusty road, but then remembered that all I have is a Colt one shot pistol and that BBQ chips carry M-16s.  What's a girl to do?

Fast!  That's what the Universe and Breakfast with Buddha suggested.  They suggested that we attempt to conquer that earthly vice which holds power over us by fasting.  Too much food, too much sex, too much of anything is apparently hindering our spiritual being.  I actually agreed with the Universe and Breakfast with Buddha.  I think I should practice fasting.  I guess the Universe thought I needed an extra prompt to practice fasting, because Joyce Meyer reminded me of it when I was watching her on TV this morning.  If you don't know who she is, then you probably don't need your attitude adjusted like I do.  Taking heed (I'm not a total hard head), I fasted from the time I went to sleep last night until 11:51 a.m. today.  Then I broke down and had 3 M &Ms.  Man, that fasting thing isn't for sissies.  Wish me better luck tomorrow!


Sorry for any typos, misspellings, etc.  I can't always help myself.

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40 acres and a mule?

My brother, who is 7 years younger than me, called me the other day for lunch.  I also have a sister who is only one year and 10 months older than me, but I spend more time with my brother.  My siblings and I share many traits, but we also differ enough to make up our very own distinctive personalities.  Neither my sister nor my brother is fearless, but you wouldn't know it by their actions or demeanor.  They live much closer to the edge of risk than I would ever choose to do.  I'm the overly cautious one.  I admire their courage, but sometimes when I squint and look real close, I would almost swear that their courage looks an awful lot like financial suicide.

So, my brother mentioned during lunch, that he knew of 40 acres of property which was located very near to our city.  Near enough to tempt him.  He presently lives about 15 miles outside of our city proper.  He owns his own business, and wants enough land that it can be considered agricultural land, because agricultural land has the least restrictions placed on it.  He already owns approximately 7 acres upon which we (him, his wife, our family and his wife's family) built him a fairly nice house and shop.  A good ole house raising that was filled with blood, sweat and only a few tears.  We are the ultimate DIY family.  He wants to sell his current property, move and build himself a bigger shop and a smaller house.  Go figure.  

After almost 45 minutes of small talk over our salads, my brother wanted to know if I wanted to go in with him and buy this newly found 40 acres of property.  He didn't mention 40 acres and a mule, so I was hoping like hell that a mule wasn't part of the package.  Hmmmmmmmmm ... do I want part of 40 acres?  I'm not sure I do.  Hell, I'm tired of the 50x100 plot of city property I already own with its needy shrubs, cracking plaster and ongoing bedroom project ... see picture below ....

This is my ongoing DIY project.  It was quick going in the beginning, but the final stage has turned into a long haul.  I have been slowly (very slowy ... a turtle makes more progress than I do  ... perhaps even snail like would be too fast of a description for my progress) stripping all the paint from my bedroom's moulding and repainting it.  Can you tell from the bolt of fabric leaning against the window wall, that my passion doesn't reside in stripping wood off paint.  I have already re-decorated this room in my mind.  Part of my resistance during my final stretch of paint removal and re-application may be more psychological than anything, but hey ... you aren't Freud and I don't have time to tell you that part of my life story.  It probably is related to some past sexual encounter though.

Take your brains out of my bedroom affairs and go back to the 40 acres without mule with me.  I told my brother that I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to venture into rural (albiet near city) land ownership, but that I would go take a look at the property.  So, I did go have a look at it, late in the evening yesterday with a friend of mine.   While navigating the 1 mile dirt lane (hmmm I wondered where I would go if another car came along -- and clearly imagined the slip and slide it could become after a rainy season) to reach the property, we saw several horses on the properties bordering the lane, but no mules.   We shortly reached the promised land, and called my brother to ask if we were in the right place.  To my delight there was a grain bin and a few outbuildings already on this property.  I am a sucker for old buildings.  See above photo. 

So, now I tooooo am dreaming of green acres, even though I'm busy calculating all the risks involved.  That's my job between the two of us.  He's the real dreamer -- the risk taker.  I'm the one ... thinking to myself ... hmmm ... this job is looking a little less stable than it ever has ... hmmmm ... I really like my cash money.  Hmmmm .... am I up to the challenge of clearing a spot out for my dream bungalow to go?   But, smitten with the land itself, I'm back to dreaming ... I can already see my picket fence, my pet hawk snatching up any snakes (do they eat snakes?) that are hanging  around too close to my house, and a custom painted John Deere tractor to mow my field.  Man, I always wanted to live off the grid ... I wonder if my brother knows anything about solar panels and windmills.  I need to call him.

Maam, step away from the tree and put down the knife.

So, this man ...

http://pukkapurl.blogspot.com/2010/03/plucking-daisy-petals-is-little-like.html ... 

who is the same man mentioned here

http://pukkapurl.blogspot.com/2010/06/you-can-check-all-boxes-but-you-cant.html 

informed me that he is coming very soon to perform at a venue fairly near where I live.  I'm thinking of meeting him.  I probably shouldn't, but I am ready to get outside of my personalized box.  My box which has been monogrammed to isolated perfection.  I swear I could become a hermit, if I didn't have family, friends and a certain someone ... all who really like me and desire my real life company.  I often happily nuzzle into my little cocoon of a world until I hit the far side of reality.  Once reality bites me in the dark, I remember that I also love activities located beyond the realm of my brain.  When that happens, as it did yesterday, I turn around and go the other way.  I want to dance, I want to hike, I want to feel a sea breeze, I want to build a sand castle, I want to be silly and take pictures with someone that likes being silly with me, I want to sit beneath trees and whine that it's hot outside (all the while being joyful that I'm OUTSIDE).  That man mentioned above is high energy, professionally silly and always up for whatever I have in mind.  So, its house cleaning time .... maybe I will find my sand bucket, my compass, my whistle and my backpack beneath the rubble ... oh I can't forget my little red Swiss Army knife ... you just never know when a girl will need to carve a heart around some initials.  Would it be totally wicked if the initials didn't belong to my companion?  I save those only for true love and my heart refuses to acknowledge that Pookie and I don't belong together.   


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Are you there God? It's me Lickety Splitter.

Dear God and/or the Universe:

You definitely have me curious.   Even though I noticed again for myself the curious way of the world last week, you have now thrown the good book at me.  I often look around me for evidence of you, but you are apparently concerned that I am going to miss some sort of communication from you.  Call me paranoid, delusional or slightly wacky, but I think you have been sending messengers ahead of you to put me on notice of something.  What I don't know, but something, and it must be something that you really want me to hear.    (Note to readers:  See last two post entries readers if you are confused.)

During Sunday's sermon, you told me for the third time in less than a week that there is no such thing as coincidence and that all things are related.  You added that you DO send signs in the form of any and everything, because you control the Universe and that you are ANY and EVERYTHING.  You said I could see these signs in nature, in song, in people, in a simple phrase, in a sermon, in the bible, in a cloud .... in fact, in anything, and that even if the "sign" was inconsequential to someone else, that I would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the sign is for me.  Well, I hear ya God.  Loud and clear.  The thing I'm unclear about is what you are currently trying to tell me other than to LISTEN UP.  Let me assure you that I'm listening with eyes, ears and heart, because I'm actually always happy to hear from you.

Eminem -- Beautiful

Lately I've been hard to reach

I've been too long on my own

Everybody has their private world

Where they can be alone

Are you calling me?

Are you trying to get through?

Are you reaching out for me?

I'm reaching out for you.

God, I know Eminem is Mister Curse-A-Lot, but I actually like the "cleaner" version of that song and thought the lyrics worked here.  I wanted to post the video but I didn't want to offend anyone, especially you, but then, I'm thinking that I just might anyways, because there isn't much you haven't heard God, and you already know that Eminem curses a lot.




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Is that you Universe? Or is this just a lame Friday Postscript

Ok book ... stop being coy with me.  When I mentioned earlier that your author (Paulo Coelho), you (The Alchemist) and a line in you was a bit coincidental, I wasn't try to spark real conversation with you.  But no, your Englishman on Page 72 had to break open with this bit of dialogue:
...

"There's no such thing as coincidence," said the Englishman, picking up the conversation where it had been interrupted in the warehouse.  "I'm here because a friend of mine heard of an Arab who ... "

And you, the book go on to say,

But the caravan began to move, and it was impossible to hear what the Englishman was saying.  The boy knew what he was about to describe, though:  the mysterious chain that links one thing to another, ...

Wow, look, either that book was calling to me through a mysterious chain that links one thing to another, which I do believe I noticed and described through my own observation in my previous post, or we are just coincidently on the same page.  Isn't that sorta saying the same thing in a different way?  Never mind, I sorta see the difference.  I get it, hell I was already marveling at it on my own before you so sweetly verified my musings.  So, Universe, do you have something to add, or did you just want to remind me that you are always there brushing shoulders with me?

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Full circle ...

I am always amazed when my tidbits of interests come full circle.  You know all those "like this" suggestions on facebook?  Well, I'm a hard sell.  I rarely like anything on facebook, because I don't want all those sites cluttering my facebook wall. 

I have allowed a select few which include:

PBS (Public Broadcasting System) so that I can keep up with the world at large, and I like that they go off the beaten path of mundane news.

A regional zip line company, because I want to zip line through the falling leaves come fall (if they haven't dried up and died by the end of August).

Jennifer Haupt who sought me out because I also liked "Speaking of Faith" brought to public radio by Krista Tippett http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/index.shtml  Jennifer says on her profile, "I write about people who find faith beyond religion and use it to change their lives, communities, and sometimes even the world. I contribute to many magazines and I've recently finished my first novel, which I found in Rwanda three years ago."  Jennifer's been nothing but interesting for me and her writing about people who find faith beyond religion resonates with me.

And, oh gosh ... how could I forget I "liked" KRISPY KREME : )  Not me.  I mean really, come on, who couldn't like Krispy Kreme?  Besides Krispy Kreme holds sweet memories for me -- where's my secret signal ... hmmm ... I don't have one.  Don't try to understand that last part readers, its an inside poke.

My latest like is Paulo Coelho.  I didn't recognize Paulo Coelho's name, but he looked like a writer that I would find interesting.  So far, I have enjoyed Paulo's postings.  What I found surprising is that he is a tidbit of interest that joined another tidbit of interest to another tidbit of interest.  How did that happen?  Well, it's my habit to read.  It's also my habit to read between two to four books at a time.  The only book lately to break that multiple book reading habit was Stephen King's Duma Key.  I devoured that in singular.  After finishing that, I started Eat Pray Love and a couple of other books.  After finishing Eat Pray Love, my friend practically insisted that I add Pat Conroy's South of Broad to my reading rotation.  My friend is apparently a Conroy fan.  I tried to resist, telling her that I was already reading a few books.  She pushed it anyways, and I have been wading through its lovely but overly descriptive pages for the last three days.  I will finish that book, but as will happen, sometimes I need a break from reading what feels a little too much like work and seek something else to read.  So, I'm plundering my bookcase the other night, and I see The Alchemist, which I bought and read a few years back.  Since I couldn't remember much about it, I settled into the leather chair by the bookcase and flipped on the lamp above me with its discrete but swingy snowman dangling from the switch (don't ask -- but here's a pic for ya)

and started to re-read The Alchemist.  It wasn't until I was about a paragraph into reading that I noticed the author's name ...... PAULO COELHO.  Smack!  Smack right upside my interior radar ... huh ... hey ... I just "liked" Paulo Coelho on facebook.  Cool.  I liked him and didn't know I already liked him.  I read a few more paragraphs and was slightly surprised to see this line "The secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight" which practically jumped off the page at me.  I know that may seem like no big deal, but my brain registered an immediate recognition of those words like I would if I were greeting an old friend fresh off an airplane.  Guess what quote has been featured on my chalkboard beside my desk for months and months!

Well, just look for yourself ....  

There it is, "Fall seven times stand up eight." A quote which I really liked and snagged from somewhere (not from Mr. Coelho's book The Alchemist) months and months ago, but never knew who originally said it. Now I do. PAULO COELHO, I must really like you!

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Hey ... where's my bazooka?

Some days you should just kill the alarm clock and put yourself out of the misery waiting for you.  Take heart my sweet readers, life's not that bad for me.  I'm just fussing and plowing through the day's minor annoyances.  I'm trying to fly under the radar screen of the bad ass problems that I know are out there chomping at the bit.  Oh, don't be all Susie or Sammy Sunshine on me.  You should know by now that I am Susie Sardonic, and that I'm not being negative, I'm just telling it, like you and I know it really is.  

What today?

Oh let's see, I go home for lunch ... sort through the freshly delivered mail only to realize I am now the disgraced non prompt payer on one of my credit cards.   This news breaks me out in hives, because I am a pay as you go sort of girl.  I tend my business like no other business I have to tend.  So, after frantically trying to find last month's bill to no avail, I called the credit card company and turned on all my southern charms.  Yes, I possess a few.  Enough for Mister Credit Card Service Man to agree that I am ONE of their most fabulous paying users of all time and that I deserve a waiver of penalty.  Mister Credit Card Service Man goes on to say, "I hear it's hot down there (in the deep south)."  I was thinking to myself ... OMG, he speaks southern with an indistinguishable accent.  Happy that the smooth talker speaks my language, I sweetly say, "Oh yeah, its hot."  He asked. "How hot is it?"  I said, "I hear the heat index is around 110."  He asked, "Dry heat or humid?"  I said, "All we know is humidity.  But this year, humidity is sharing drenching sweat, not drenching rains, and our lush landscape is under siege."  He commiserated further and we finished business to my complete satisfaction.

Later, I wanted to tape an article I had cut from the newspaper to another piece of paper, so I laid the article and paper on my desk and looked around for my tape dispenser.  Hmmm ... where is that tape dispenser?  Did someone borrow it?  Did I stick it in the drawer?  Did I carry it to another room?  Is it under something?  I searched high and low, walked to and fro, fretted, blamed its disappearance on another.  And then, lo and behold, I spotted it quietly resting beside the article which was waiting to be taped down on the paper.  What the hell?  Now, I know I will never make a very discerning witness during a robbery, nor will I ever win a prize based on knowing what anyone around me is wearing at the beginning, middle or end of the day, and I know beyond doubt that I will never spot a new planet in our solar system, but I'm NOT LEGALLY BLIND.

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The American Dream

My friend just bought his first house.  A slightly overdue event if you give a tinker's damn about pursuing the "great American dreams" in their proper order or at all.  When people would ask him why he didn't buy a house, he always said he was waiting to find a good woman to settle down with before he bought a house.  In his meantime search for the Little Misses, he lived in an apartment.  Until recently that is, when another friend of his, a guy, told him that he needed to leave his college style behind and step up his offerings in order to impress and reel in any future Little Misses.  Having personally been in his sights as a Little Misses possibility, I never resisted based on his college like apartment.  If anything, that was a plus in his favor.  He had no home style of his own, and that would have worked out really well for me, because I have strong views on houses and their contents.  Soooooooooo, I sorta disagreed with the reasoning behind my friend's purchase of a house, but not the fact that he chose to buy one.  Whether one does or does not enslave themselves to a house is a decision everyone has to make for themselves.  Even if the reason seems a bit pimpish.

Let the slavery begin.  Last night was his first night in his new house, and he is already sending me e-mails wanting a reference for a good plumber.  Ha ha ... his real LOVE/HATE relationship has begun.  I asked him what the problem was, and he said his hot water wasn't hot enough.  I suggested he first try checking the thermostat on the hot water heater.  He said he had looked for the hot water heater, but he could not find it.  I told him to check the attic.  He was appalled at the idea of climbing into the attic (understated clue) and admitted he didn't yet know how to access his attic.  I told him I would come over and help him if he wanted, or he could call so and so plumber.  He then sent me an email telling me how long it took him to get his phone switched over his apartment to his new house .... 37 minutes.  "37 minutes just to discuss changing the location!  Can you believe that?" he asked.  "Uhhhh, yes, yes I can."   Next he wailed about the cable company's four hour window of waiting for its crappy service.  He was none too happy about that huge waste of time, but conceded that he is too dependent on TV not to follow through with the hook up.  Well, he's not actually dependent on watching TV so much (he reads more than he watches TV), but he likes it for background noise, else he feels a bit lonely.  I understand that need, and told him to embrace the initial suck.  Okay, that's not true.  I didn't tell him to embrace the suck.  I was nicer than that...I totally empathized with his plight.  And I graciously withheld news of all further home troubles headed his way.

The new house may or may not get him the Little Misses, but it is definitely providing a new relationship.  A needy, demanding, co-dependent sort of relationship.  I hope he and his house do find a Little Misses to join them in their struggle journey.  They are going to need all the help they can get.




Sorry that this video is partially CHOPPED off.  It's totally Blogger's fault.  If you want to see this video in all of its GLORY, you  can find it on YOUTUBE -- search for Mumford & Sons -- The Cave.  As you can tell, I dig some of their music and thought this one was a contending winner for today.


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