If I had an idea for a title, I’d write it here.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a regular routine. Being self-employed contributes in a big way, and on the whole I think I prefer being irregular. Now don’t get me wrong, I poop nearly every day, but I think predictability is overrated. Even so, this has been a strange few weeks. I haven’t felt like doing much. The calendar marches on, and stuff needs to get done.

*****

Thanks for you kind words & prayers. It means a lot to me. I’ve been well-supported by friends, and I am thankful.

*****

We traveled to Michigan, made funeral arrangements, began sorting through the mountain of Dad’s stuff and papers, had visitation and a funeral, cried a bit, saw lots of family and old faces, racked up significant dollars on the credit card, divvied up inheritance items, and returned home. There’s so much that happened in that week, it’s hard to believe it all.

What pissed me off the most was the crass salesmanship of funeral homes and cemeteries. They seem to expect that folks will do whatever it takes in a time of grief, and never miss an opportunity to upsell. While having lunch directly after the funeral service, a lady walked up and showed me this lovely memorial plaque they had made, with a picture and little engraved nameplate. I munched on my ham sammich while she explained that ‘this one is for you, and you can order more, but they cost $40 each.’ I managed to remain polite, but it took strong filtering.

Dad had purchased a 2-place crypt 20+ years ago, but that didn’t include opening and closing. You know what it costs to remove 4 screws, slide a casket in, and put the granite cover back in place? $1652. And, they’ll charge that much again when it’s Mom’s time to go. They suggested we could pre-pay for her services, to ensure we wouldn’t have to pay more later. My sister, the vet tech, said they treat people with more dignity when dealing with the loss of a pet.

We found the most recent will was drawn up in 1984. Mom’s MS was not dominating her life, we kids were still living at home, there were no grandkids, and the estate was in a very different state. It would have been good to have a more recent set of instructions.

*****

On tap this month: Meet with a lawyer and write up our estate plans, play a couple back-to-back gigs with the band, immediately after the 2nd gig hop on a plane to Guatemala for a week-long visit with these folks, come back to Raleigh, and drive up to Michigan to help my sisters with the estate. Trips to Goodwill, storage, and various houses with furniture and stuff and more stuff. Need to fix up the house a bit, perhaps have an estate sale, and rent out the house. It’s daunting, but doable.

*****

Woke up at 4 this morning to rescue my shelter tent from the snow. We’ve got one of these that I put up on the back deck for parties and to keep my tools out of the rain during projects (we have a shower replacement underway), but they don’t tolerate nasty weather that well. This is my 3rd one, the first blowing over in a bad windstorm, the second collapsing under a freak rain event, and this one was starting to give out from a pile of icy, slushy snow. After knocking the snow off and bending a few struts back into place, I think it’s saved from this storm.

I got sleds, I got boots, but a snow shovel I don’t got. Time to see if there are any for sale.

 

Well this sucks

I just heard from my sister that my dad passed away last night.

He had gone into the hospital a couple weeks ago for a UTI and some issues with his diabetes. Last night he had a little trouble breathing, and after about an hour died of respiratory failure.

Dad was a faithful Christian, husband, father of three, grandfather of five, chaplain to prisoners, and genuine good man.

I miss him already.

 

Happy MMX Mother-Fathers!

And little chirlen too. I wish everyone a happy oh-ten, may it kick aught-nine’s agey, saggy ass to the curb.

I’m not complaining much, as last year wasn’t bad for me. Got married, made friends, have work to do and a loving home and insurance and health. However, I’m always more excited about beginnings than middles or endings.

*****

I’ve been ranting about this with little effect on Facebook and Fark, and can’t seem to get it off my chest. So, here goes the latest Drama from Thomas the Drama Llama. This guy cranks out more stories than the entire history of American soap operas, but I will spin out just a few recent highlights.

He moved into the neighborhood about a year and a half ago. I met him when I came home from work one afternoon while he and his helpers were moving furniture into the house. He paused from his work to introduce himself boisterously, often interrupting himself to scream obscenities at his help. From across the street. I knew right off this was a class act.

In this time, he’s had 2 live-in girlfriends, 4 engagements complete with ring, 5 different vehicles, a dozen space heaters (the gas company wouldn’t give him credit), and no less than 18 different phones and phone numbers. Not to mention at least 5 different business names. When we met, he told me he was an enlisted officer in the Army. Special Forces. His girlfriend, the Marine, had some boot camp photos and awards on display, but Thomas said all his awards were his scars and tattoos.

Once the Marine girlfriend moved out because she was tired of his shit, he announced that he was redeploying with the Marines. “What? I thought you were Army!” I exclaimed. He said I must have heard him wrong, he was always a Marine. He even got a shiny new globe & anchor tattoo to declare his devotion to the Corps. A few weekends ago, his new live-in girlfriend asked me if I knew where he was. I didn’t, but he called just minutes later to say he was in Germany. Just got back from a quick op in Afghanistan. He’d be back in the states tomorrow – total deployment: 4 days.

I’ve never been in the military, but this smells like bullshit to me.

Anyway, I’d gotten used to his style of loud and wild proclamations of plans to do this or that, how much money he brung in this week, or how badass he is. Disagreeing, questioning, or correcting didn’t work – just wasn’t worth it. Smile and nod, be friendly and neighborly, share a beer or a lend some help every once in a while. That was my MO, and it had been working until last week.

He was in need of some help in his tree business, and asked if I’d be game to be part of his crew the next day. I rearranged some things and told him I could do it, but had to drive myself so I could be to a 5:30 appointment. A few minutes later, he called back and said nevermind, he found another guy to take my place. After we had made arrangements. Pissed me off a little, but that’s Thomas. I found something else to do with my day.

Later in the afternoon, he called to ask what was going on at his house. This is not unusual, he’s paranoid of people messing with his stuff or stealing things, and he’s always kept a sharp eye out on the Tiny House. I reported what I saw: Nothing. One of his trucks with a rented chipper were in the driveway, nobody else is around. Several hours later, his girlfriend knocks on the door and says she has to run some errands, but doesn’t know how to disengage the chipper. It’s a big yellow beastly trailer that can chew up entire trees, so I go over and help unhook it. She drives off, and we go back to our TV marathon.

A while later Thomas calls again. He says he saw the law at his house when he was on the way home, so he kept on driving. He was gonna keep driving ’till he got where he was going, and he wouldn’t tell me where or why. I said, ‘whatever.’

Now, I hate getting ‘whatevered’ – it’s about the worst thing, IMO. It means you don’t care, or don’t believe the other person. It’s rare for me to say that, because I do care and want everyone to be happy… but I was at the end of my rope. He said, “Well I hope I haven’t pissed you off.”

“Look Thomas, I don’t know whatever you’re up to, but good luck. If there’s anything I can help with, let me know.” And that was that.

The next day, his house was deserted. No trucks, no chipper, no lights on. He called from a restricted number, said he was almost to Utah. His girlfriend must have moved out too, he didn’t know where she was going. Just then, I heard a mewling from the street – their two kittens were tentatively making their way across the dark street. Baby cats, maybe 3 months old. It was fecking cold, and would be below freezing that night.

“Your cats are outside,” I told him. “Oh… uh, she must have put them out. Can you bring ’em to a shelter?”

That’s when the switch flipped for me. I was done smiling and nodding, letting him think I believed whatever he spewed. He said, “Look, let me know if the law wants to talk to you. I didn’t do anything.”

As coincidence would have it, a Sheriff’s investigator stopped by shortly after I got home to ask if I knew anything about Thomas. I said sure, we’ve been neighbors a while. He asked if I knew his real name. I had to admit, I didn’t. He went by several names, but I never asked to see his driver’s license – who does that? Apparently, the Sheriff’s department didn’t know his name, or even what he looked like.

Thomas has called a few more times since then. Apparently he had heard the Sheriff had come to visit, and that he stayed here about 1/2 hour. I told him no, it was about 10 minutes – and by the way, who’s reporting on visitors to my home? He wouldn’t answer, but offered that he’s been charged with a felony, something about a trailer he bought. He’s in California, doesn’t know what he’ll be doing.

Last night, about 1:00 AM, he called again. As soon as I said hello, he began cussing me out, calling me a snitch. “What are you talking about?” I demanded. He said I helped the Law and I’d regret it. “Are you threatening me?” I asked. He hung up.

My fervent hope for the new year is that they don’t come back, and we get normal neighbors.

Anybody want some kittens?

 

Time Flies Like An Arrow

Fruit flies like a banana.  -Groucho Marx

I had a brazillion ideas for posts over the last *cough* weeks, but never wrote them. As you can plainly see. I did get in here and tinker with my llama a little (hey, that’s still legal in North Carolina) but that’s as far as it went. So here’s a glut of things, or a mini-glut. It might not even be enough to plug the pipes of a big man, but I’ve never let that stop me before.

Since I’m out of any sort of rhythm for writing, I will do a thing I shall call Things That Happened. It may or may not be in order of calendar or importance; if you care to know which is what and when I will take your questions following this ramble.

I wound up winning the band gig I mentioned a while back! Whoot! It took a while, as they were trying out other bass players. No problem, of course… but they said they would make a decision in a week or so, and after a month I figured I was out of the running. Turns out their drummer of 12 years was ready to not do the band thing, and was hoping the band would dissolve. The other members didn’t want to quit, so they wound up needing a bassist AND drummer. So they hired my drummer friend Phil and me at the same time. Sweet!

We’ve played together for a couple months now, did a big backyard party last month, and we played downtown Raleigh Saturday night. It was a blast, the place was full, and a fairly tipsy of fan even grabbed the guitarist’s mic and sang one of our songs. He knew all the words, woulda been great if he could have stayed on key…

***

A cuppa two tree weekends ago we took a tiny bacation in New Bern, NC. It was crummy weather, but we had a nice place right on the water (thanks Tiff’s Mom!). Three days of hanging out, practicing music, making Tiffoween costumes, and enjoying the amenities of resort living. Off-season resort living, to be sure, but we didn’t really miss the mini-golf course or the lack of open hours at the store. Except for when I needed a hand-operated needle for sticking some Velcro to my costume, which required a trip into Town to find a store that actually carried such goods. It was only 8 miles, but 25 minutes of driving over bridge and dale each way. We got to know the route since earlier in our trip Tinkerbell’s battery kicked the bucket. The good folks at the Auto Parts Chain hooked us up right speedy.

We extended our trip by a day in order to gain 3 valuable hours of sewing, plus which we couldn’t go on a waterfront vacation without doing something vacationey. So we went sailing. A nice lady with a big sailboat advertised afternoon cruises, and we hopped on it. There were neither wind nor other passengers, so we had a 43-foot sloop all to ourselves for snooping and riding and learning about the local waterways. I got to hoist the mainsail but other’n that we rode around looking at stuff and listening to the Cap’n.

***

I have a couple of teeth that are trying to kill me. As previously reported, my dentist wishes to extract maximum cash from my teeth. I wish to keep both my teeth and my cash (lest you be confused, I have more than two teeth), but I have a pair of upper molars that are so sensitive to cold that simply inhaling wrong causes pain at about 3/10. Last night I crunched a Tostito in the wrong way, which resulted in about 2 hours of 8/10 unrelenting pain. 2 ibuprofen, 4 aspirin, and a nap later, it was back to about 2 – which I can live with. I can’t wait until Tuesday, when they yank the suckers out and pack my jaw full of dead man’s bone powder. Why would they do that? So they can implant about $2k worth of new teeth. I hope Darvocet is as good as they say…

***

Tiffoween was a big success. We had a buncha party people, loads of fun, a photo scavenger hunt, a bounce house, and more food than could be eaten by a family of two. In a month. I just discovered this evening that all the beer in the little beer fridge is frozen solid, so no leftover beer for me. The decorations are mostly down, just have a spiderweb and ghost to exorcise and we’ll be back to normal.

***

If this post is a sailboat, it has entered the Bermuda Triangle of Doom. My arch-nemesis, Save-It-For-Later, has come aboard and is cutting the sails to ribbons, throwing my rum overboard, and pillaging my women. Time to buckle some swashes, back in a bit…

 

I’ll eat anything really, as long as it doesn’t ooze

Last night I woke up after a somewhat solid sleep of 2 hours. It was 1:24 AM or thereabouts, and after some water input and output I lay down to sleep again. Problem was, sleep eluded me. I reviewed the previous work day, the coming work day, and other relational obligations. I settled which things would be done next. I came to the place of thinking about nothing, which usually works to put me to sleep. Not this time, oh no. I heard the gentle, rhythmically inconsistent clicking of the ceiling fan. I felt the sweat on my neck even in the cool night air. I heard the steady deep breathing of my slumbering bride, just inches from me. I was as alert as a deer.

I grabbed up my jammies, my blankie and pillow, and tried the couch. No napping there either, might as well turn on some teevee. I heard from the late Billy Mays about his awesome auger, watched an infomercial on a tool I’ve actually used and would like to own, and another fitness infomercial about confusing my muscles. Half an episode of Cops, half an episode of Airplanes of WW2, a smidgeon of Comedy Central and VH1 Classic, and finally I was getting sleepy – only 3 hours later. I turned off the equipment, snuggled in, and sunk into a deep dreamy sleep.

For about 12 minutes.

That’s when the dog across the street really had to let it be known that there was something to bark at, earnestly.

Dogs sure know how to ruin dreams.

I drifted off again, only to be chased by a jealous husband for a crime I did not commit. He just wanted to be mad at someone, and I was his target. It came to nothing but a dream full of intimidation and defensiveness, and I didn’t much like it.

I awoke at 5:00 to the gentle caress of one I love, who was asking if I was OK. Going back to bed, we snuggled in for another attempt at snoozeville. Suddenly, the alarm rang – time to go jogging?!? Oh hell no. I stayed in bed until the last possible minute, went to work, came home, ate dinner, worked some more, and wrote this post.

I hope tonight’s better.

How’d you sleep last night?

 

That Time of Month

It’s time for my monthly blog post.

I appreciate the gentle and unsubtle reminders that I should write stuff. It’s just when I get done with 9 hours of working in heat and humidity that might rival the inside of the devil’s nutsack, loafing after a shower and cocktail sounds really good.

So why then would I want to become a firefighter? They deal with hot and wet times eleventy. While wearing lots of heavy clothing and carrying several stone of gear. Maybe it’s the cool factor. It may also have something to do with the excitement and indisputable importance. Could be the shiny trucks and fancy equipment. Perhaps the unique schedule contributes (24 hours on/ off/ on/ off/ on/ 4 days off). Doesn’t hurt that it offers a steady salary and good benefits.

A friend suggested I apply, and although I hadn’t considered it to be practical up until now (too old, haven’t had the proper training, etc), I submitted an application. It’s been received, because I got a ‘how to prepare’ packet in the mail. I’m gonna need to be in hella better shape by test time, which fortunately is months away. Some of the events:

• 1 1/2 mile run in 12 minutes
• Climb 5 stories of stairs while wearing a 50 lb vest
• Drag a 165 lb dummy 100 feet (I wonder who they get to volunteer for that?)
• Raise/ extend ladders
• Obstacle courses
• Pull ups (which I haven’t been able to do since 1986)

All of these things are timed, and it had better be like Rocky training to face Mr. T (or was it that commie bastard? I can never remember) around here if I’m to have a chance. Good thing I got a jump on it with my friends at the Shrinking Piggies. However, this morning I tested my 1 1/2 mile time: 21:12 (including 3 walking sections, for my brain thought my lungs could use a rest). Must retrain brain.

*****

Lake Week was fantastic. I wish to have 3 vacations like that annually, thank you. There be a journal of activities, piles of photos, and even a video of the family band playing the theme from Wallace and Gromit. But I’ll make no promises on writing a detailed post, for I am bad at sitting to write. I will say that a week is long enough to get into the rhythm of vacation for a day or two. The Europeans have it right with 5 weeks being the normal holiday (for an entry level position). Put that together with a beautiful setting, fun things to do, plenty of alone and together time, and a family that gets along well, and it’s my version of perfect. What’s your best vacation evar, and howcome?

*****

Today I discovered a new insect: The Industrial Machine Fly. I was using my circular saw in the aformentioned Crotch of Satan that was Raleigh outdoors, and everytime it would get up to speed a flock of great big black flies would swoop in and light on the saw. Or my hand. While I was cutting, they would get as close as possible to the noise and motion. One flew into the blade but was sadly unshredded, and flew back out. They disappeared whenever I stopped the motor, but showed up like magic when the sawdust started flying. Wonder if the sound reminds them of Mother? It’s a question for the entomologists out there.

*****

Auditioned with a band this evening. They play a bunch of cover tunes – danceable fun stuff that everyone knows – and work a couple nights a month. We went to see ’em last Saturday and enjoyed it. Their previous bass player got too busy with another project and quit after less than a month… I’ll keep you posted on whether you can see me performing in a Venue Near You.

*****

Time to loaf, seeya next time!

 

B’Cation!

OK, I’m a naughty bad slack poster, and there are far too many stories to tell in the time I have. It’s T-minus 7 hours until we hit the road for the Northern Mountains and a week of going nowhere we can’t float.

The highlights:
Our beach trip from months ago was a day trip. Meaning we rode 3 hours to the beach in our bathing suits, frolicked in the water and on the sandy shore, got some sun, got pounded by modest waves, played catch, got some beer, and had seafood at an oceanside crab shack. There was no hotel room, no cabana, no nice place to rinse and change. So, we changed in the icky public outhouse and rode home in whatever found its way into our bathing suits. For 3 hours. The phrase ‘sandy vagina’ takes on new significance for me since then.

Our birds have flown the coop. I have pictures to prove they were here, but there is no more contact from the schmumpins. There is evidence they WERE here, in little white splotches on the deck. But little else, and it is sad. I hope they’re still flying (literally, here on earth and not with little angel robes and halos and crap).

We were visiting friends in VA a cuppa weekends ago, and their adorable little girl decided it was her turn for stand-up. She addressed her mom, “Knock knock.” Dutifully, mom said, “Who’s there?”

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Orange.”

“Orange who?”

“Orange banana split eyeballs!”

And that, my friends, is the best knock-knock joke of the year.

Shrinking Piggies has finished its 6-month challenge! Go show some love and comment on the recent wrap-up stories, mine is coming after b’cation. Unless we find some wiffy up in them thar hills, in which case I might post mine, as I don’t have any unread books in hand. None of us except for the inimitable NCP have reached our stated goal, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t good progress. I’m proud of us Piggies, and for sticking to the program no matter what. I’m partway there, plus I’ve taken up wogging – so far so good still. We’re up to 5-3-2-5-3-3-2-5 for a workout (alternate walking and jogging, walking first), and it’s getting easier the more times we do it. Next week is scheduled to have a 20 minute jog, and there is much trepidation.

There be more stories, but I leave you with the one of the creepy pool guy. We were enjoying our local community pool a cuppa weeks ago. It’s a big pool with a very deep end, a diving board, dinky water slide, and several joyless lifeguards. The little kids and their attendant adults were in the shallow end, and the adventurous kids were doing daring dives into the deep, and we were in the middle playing catch with a frisbee ring. Between us and the deep end, lurking at the rope that marked the 6-to-12-foot point, was a young man in a swim mask. I say young, Tiff says he had grey hair. At any rate, he never took off the mask, was alone, and between occasional swims from side to side of the pool, he would spend great gulps of time underwater. Looking. Looking at my shapely, pasty, hairy legs for all I know. Trying to glimpse some bouyant bits perhaps. It gave us the serious jibblies, for he spent over an hour in this fashion. I contemplated flipping an underwater bird his way just to see what would happen, but I chickened out (get it?).

That’s all the news I have time for, because there’s miles of packing between me & sleep. Take care, talk amongst yourselves, and seeya in a week or so!

 

Stuck in my head

I’m pretty obviously bad at blogging. Must start keeping a notebook and writing in it.

There are a half dozen drafts in the hopper, with outlines to trigger my aging memory. The details get fuzzy, you see. My next post will feature a great many things, such as the best knock-knock joke of the year, the creepy pool guy, sandy vaginas, wogging, high-speed pursuits, working with dumb people, picking buggy corn, a lunchtime roadtrip and history lesson, ruining a perfectly good vacuum, drill sergeants as childcare workers, and the graduation of the schmumpins.

But for today, you get this lovely little tune which has been firmly stuck between my ears for about two weeks. You’re welcome.

 

Is there a non-fancy kind of ketchup?

Howdy from the Great Lake State, where it’s 20 degrees cooler than home, and full of the people and landmarks of my yoot. I’m on a quick visit to see some friends & family, hardly enough time for online shenanigans what with a dozen connections to make in 3 days. But my cousin and computer genius Jason is helping me get some stuff done, and I can wiffy while I wait. He’s for rent if you need yourself a computer genius – let me know and I’ll connect ya.

So why not? So, in no particular order, some nuggets of news:

Thanks to one of my most dearest friends, wordnerd, for new birfday wishes! Calendar schmalendar, eh?

We went to the beach a cuppa weekends ago, and there be some great times to report. Full details forthcoming if there’s popular demand. If anyone asks about sand, I may be forced to share some embarrassing details.

I’m driving a brand new rented Dodge Charger for this trip, since Tinkerbell was making ominous noises and Lurch both has very bad mileage and a problematic lack of cruise control. 13 hours each way calls for at least foot relief. Ass relief is another matter…

My dad invited me to stay with him for the trip, which is nice and generous. It’s no Bellagio, but the company’s good.

It’s graduation season, and I got to attend my niece’s 8th grade matriculation last night. It was fairly typical of the other middle school graduations I’ve experienced, having been through my 2 kids’ and my own. However, there was one enormous difference (besides the family behind me that talked nonstop through the entire event, despite repeated shushes from multiple annoyed neighbors): The assistant principal was the MC, and kept things moving pretty well, introducing the speakers and making good applause moments for staff and students. When it came time to hand out the completion certificates, he asked for people to hold their applause until each row of students completed the processional (about 1/3 of the class per row) – to ‘keep things dignified, and keep it moving.’ However, after certain names were called, clumps of the audience would scream ‘woooo!’ and ‘you go zameeka!’ and ‘you so hot girl!’

After 70 kids made their way across the stage, this was beyond getting old. Of course, some kids’ posses were obediently silent, so obviously the ones who received the whoops and cheers were loved more…

Is it just me, or are these events getting more unruly?

Time to git, I have a baseball game in Charlotte tonight. Tomorrow: Breakfast with dad, a date with my daughter, and a ball game and dinner with my boy, who graduates high school this week. Congratulations N, I’m proud of you!

 

Cracking Up My Shizz