Goodbye Vespa...

If I ever agree to try to sell something for someone else, please drag me out to the alley and whip my ass. With an opening like that, by now you've deducted that there's news on the Vespa. There is, I SOLD that MFer, finally. Vespa's are the wimp of the motorcycle world. There are scooters and there are Harley's and they will never be alike. Vespa's attracted a clientele that let's say, wanted to clean up, but wouldn't take a shower. There were the sponge bath of bathing. They wanted the wind in their hair, but didn't want the rumble of the engine to sway their beliefs. As you can see, I'm having a difficult time describing the group that I dealt with. Just weird. For years I specialized in Volvos. They attracted the engineer types of pipe smoker that wanted facts, not excuses. I did well with them. I shot from the shoulder and found when they were pleased, they reached deeply into their pockets and paid. No so, with the Vespa crew. I met every creep and weirdo in the Valley of the Sun and a few out of towners. One lady yelled at me on the phone that she lived in Tucson and just how was she supposed to get it home if she wanted to buy it???? She scared me pretty good.

Enter Alex, a normal young guy from not far away that just wanted a Vespa AND a Harley. The Vespa was for his girlfriend and he rode a Harley. He, I could understand. He called rather late on Sunday night and wanted to come right over in about 10 minutes. All week, I'd been hearing about the Craig's List killer that made appointments with unsuspecting prostitutes and when he showed up, he just killed them and robbed them. Although I have nothing worthy of stealing here in my humble abode, I knew I would be dealing with one or two young guys with a Vespa in mind, so I reached into the drawer that I keep my little Beretta 25 caliber hidden and decided my right front pocket would be a good place to keep it. About 10 minutes later my door bell rang and there was a truck parked in front of my house.

I decided to get the drop on my visitor and came from the backyard and snuck up behind him. Whoa, he said as I surprised him! There stood a completely normal looking young guy about 25 years old and me with a gun in my pocket. He followed me into the backyard and we investigated the scooter and he explained his wants and needs. He asked if he could take it for a ride and of course I said, yes. Somehow you don't go far when you test drive a scooter. Alex drove around the block and said he had $2000 in cash in his pocket and would pay that much for it. All I had was my gun and decided NOT to hold him up as I felt he may know where I live. Ya think? I laughed heartily at his meager off as I was asking $3500 and had just dropped the price to $3000. I told him that I thought that Marsha was pretty tired of dealing with it and might agree to $2500, but he stayed firm at his $2000 offer. Still laughing a little, I decided to give Marsha the option of taking the $2000, although I knew she wouldn't. After 4 attempts to reach her, she finally answered as Alex was leaving and I gave him the "hold" sign. I never knew that I knew the "hold" sign, but he recognized it. While Marsha's end of the conversation was hidden from Alex, she was saying that if that's all he'll pay, then sell it to him. I looked at Alex and said she's says she'll take $2250. Alex again declined claiming that he only has $2000. I make believe that I'm trying to talk Marsha into it, Alex not knowing that Marsha had already hung up at $2000 with an okay. I hang up the phone and tell him he's one good bargainer, she'll take it. That's when the inspection began.

Alex, the naive young kid, started going over that scooter with a fine tooth comb. He thought he saw indication that it had been laid down. GASP! I assured him that if indeed it had been in a wreck, more than a chip off the hand grip would be evident. Eventually, about 15 minutes later he agreed. Whew! Man, that was the toughest $2000 I ever earned and didn't get to keep a penny of it. That's when Alex asked if I could drive the scooter to his house and he's drive me back. I burst out laughing and said, it's YOUR scooter, YOU drive it to your house and I'll follow you in your truck and you can drive me home. With a scared look on his face, he said he wasn't sure of himself on the scooter yet and didn't have a helmet. I said, I'll follow you to your house in my car, we'll stop by Marsha's house, you can BUY a helmet from her and I'll bring you back to the scooter. Who would have dreamed that my Harley riding friend really was a scared-e-cat!

On the way from Alex's house and by the way, I had already redeposited my hand gun in it's drawer, we chatted in the car. Alex is the food and beverage manager at Raws and he not only knew Marsha's 2 sons in CA, but knew of her younger boy who is a waiter at Raw's. Inquiring further, he didn't know, but knew OFF my son who is also in the wine business. When we got to Marsha's house, it was like old home week. Alex bought both helmets from Marsha and the ride to my house was like riding with a friend. We parted good friends and I hope to run into Alex again some time, but not while he's on that scooter!

A Night of Gaming...

So I'm sitting home watching American Idol, what else is new? Right in the middle of the elimination show, when anxiety is running highest, suddenly out of no where, they start bringing old people singing old songs, off key and making me feel that twinge of embarrassment you feel for someone not as fortunate at you. They brought out some old African-American women that I was worried might fall and break a hip, while singing the songs that they made popular back in the 70's where they belonged. It was pathetic. Then, I think it was Spanky and the Sunshine Boys that finished the 4 song disaster and once again I was embarrassed for him. He was old, balding, overweight and off key. He moved like a whale that had been beached all week and when he clapped his hands, he missed once.

After Anoop was disqualified, and I really thought that kid was good, I wandered into the room that the builder advertised many years ago, as my "BONUS" room, to see what could be picked up or cleaned. There is this rather large table in there, that over the years has become a catch all for old things. My old fax machine was on it, a case of Gator-aide that I bought and never liked the flavor of. It was some attempt at orange, but always reminded me of some medicine my mother forced me to take when I was a child. So 23 bottles of the stuff has been sitting there for about 18 months. I moved it into the laundry room, another place I seldom visit. I found the extra toner for my new copy machine that the Lovely Jules bought for me for no reason. I'm such a gigolo! I found piles of blank paper that I must have filed there a few years ago and some caller ID lists that my old fax machine made for me regardless of me not wanting them. The brush I used for dusting and deposited there back in the 90's, along with some rags and general junk, exposing a framed picture of the Lovely Jules that I must have tossed there in a fit of.............. unrest. With the table top cleared off, I noticed that it had what appeared to be a cover, made of a vinyl or leather of some sort, but it had been on there for so long, it was form fitted to the contour of the table. I peeled of the vinyl cover and this is what I found beneath it!

(Genuine 4 X 8 official sized pool table)

I remember now, I used to play this game before I got the dogs, but after Bogie took a look at those 16 balls rolling around at eye height, he couldn't resist but to grab as many balls as he could and run off with them. That pretty much put an end to my pool playing career. Now that the Dynamic Duo aren't here, I can play pool again. Frankly, I'd much rather have my old friends, the dogs.

Wild Vespa Weekend...

This weekend I spent it's entirety trying to sell this scooter. When I awakened on Friday morning, there was a voicemail on my cell, a text message from the same lady, Monika and two emails. This all happened at about 7 AM, but I never got up until 8. Seems like almost an urgency to speak with me about my scooter. I texted her back that I'd be available all day for her shopping needs and she finally called me around noon. She told me her story, that whenever she's in Europe she likes to rent Vespas and decided to get her own for here in town. (Hey, whatever floats your boat, lady) She's an extremely busy woman and is it okay to come over tonight around 7? Sure, I told her I'd be here until the funeral. What funeral she asked? Mine, I replied. She never showed up and at 8:30 PM, I texted her that she was a no-show. No response. By the way, during our first conversation, she asked if I thought the Vespa might make her ass look big. I shyly replied, I'd don't know, trying to turn the conversation back to the scooter.

Saturday morning, I hear the cell indicate there was a text message, knowing full well who it might be, after all it was 8 AM, her time to start calling. The text read, "I woke up thinking about you, call me. Monika"... WTF? I texted her back, "need a little time to let my wrinkles hang out and shower, I'll call you after". After my shower I texted her, showered, not shave, coffee almost ready. She texted back, address plzz. I called her to give her directions and she took them with the first try and hung up.

At this point let me interject. I don't think I've run into a stronger personality since my Jewish mother was alive and she was chasing my father around the kitchen with a frying pan in her hand, referring to my poor father's lazy ways. (I'll continue).

A car pulled up in front of my house about 20 minutes later, but stayed there, in the middle of the street for about 20 minutes, while the occupant talked on the phone waving her arms and flailing. All of a sudden my cell phone rang and in a sweet feminine voice, she said, Mel, it's Monika, I'm here, Sweetie. (Again, WTF?) Sweetie??? I told her I was watching her out my window and told her I'd greet her in the driveway. I hung up and walked outside, past the scooter that was parked between 2 cars in my garage. She walked up to me, passed the scooter and asked if I could get her a cup of coffee before we did business. I invited her in and got her a cup of my freshly brewed coffee. I offered her a chair at the kitchen table and she started talking and continued to talk for 2 non-stop hours. The coffee pot was empty and she was still going strong. She told me about how wonderful she was and how EVERYONE loved her and how she brings light into everyone's life. She told me of her 3 divorces and what dogs men were and all I wanted to do was sell my friend's scooter! Let me give you a description of Monika, not her real name, I checked.

About 55 to 60 years old, but claimed to be born in 1955, making her 53 or 54. A little overweight, about 20 LB. I could see that she was once attractive, but the double chin left that years behind her and she had a big unattractive chest, with a big butt. I wanted to go back in time to tell her the scooter wouldn't make her butt look big, nature did it! Monika started a sentence with the following words: "One time when I was going down on my husband, I saw bugs crawling on his pubic are and knew he was cheating on me then"... She must have sensed from the look on my face that I was shocked, to say the least, so she explained she didn't have a problem with talking about sex. I shook my head with acceptance.

Next Monika said I should take her for a ride on the scooter. ME? She told me she only rides in Europe and it's been awhile. I got on the thing and Monika climbed on behind me, holding me tightly. A little too tightly for a stranger. After the ride, I'd had enough. I took the conversation to a business level, probably too late. I tried to pin her down and all I got was I've others to look at. I felt sorry for those gentlemen. Monika finally left and a friend came over with some lunch and we laughed about my weird morning.

Not much happened for the rest of the weekend until last night. I got an email from the guy that I wrote my last post about and his email read, "I'll go $2500". Well shit, that'll buy it! So now I've got a bonifide (online) offer of $2500 from someone who's been pestering me for about 10 days. I go to bed.

When I awoke this morning there were about 7 emails for me, one said, "You know I won't be buying a coffee mug? I burst out laughing and waited a full 2 hours before responding that I understood. Next there was an offer for $2000 from a total stranger and how he was going to do me a big favor. I told him I had a $2500 offer but thanks. Next I get a call from this guy Abe that offered the $2500, that he wants to come over but his father is in the hospital, can we make it tomorrow? I tell him sure and offer my best wishes to Dad. Who do you suppose calls next? Right, Monika. I tell her it's time to poop or get off the pot, I've got an offer for $2700 and he's coming to get it at 5 PM. She blurts out that she'll go $2750 (perfect). I tell her to get her overweight butt over here with some money to bind this deal and she says she'll call me back in 15 minutes. An hour later she calls and tells me she's not getting it. I tell okay, goodbye. I'm completely worn out with her and really didn't want to sell it to her because it would mean further phone calls, I knew it. Thirty minutes later I get a text from Monika, "Do I want to get together". I ignored it. So, after all of that, here I sit with the Scooter in my garage and my only prospect is Abe. Thanks for listening...

It Takes All Kinds...

As I outlined previously, I'm trying to sell a Vespa Motor Scooter for a friend. To me this is no big deal, over the years I've advertised and sold literally thousands of vehicles and mostly to good people that just needed a new "ride". Some had been saving for a long time to get that first used car, others were the victim of a fender bender. Occasionally I'll get a family that's growing and needs a vehicle with a little more room and last there are the people that have had their vehicle stolen. Here is how this particular ad read.

Divorce forces the sale of 2006 Vespa Motor Scooter, $3500, JUDGES ORDERS!

It takes all kinds of people to make up this world, but the gentleman that contacted me regarding this Vespa Motor Scooter will always stand out as the most creative scam artist, scoundrel on record. To my disappointment, he turned out to be a fellow Jew named Abe. I cut and pasted our interaction for your inspection.

Abe: Are you willing to take a low pay on the Vespa as you are likely required to split the proceeds, and then sell me something else for a few bucks?

Mel: I don't understand your question. Could you explain what you want in more detail?


Abe: with 14k miles the thing is worth 2000 to 2500. If you can sell it for that you will pocket 1000 to 1250 assuming the judge orders a 50/50 split on the proceeds of the sale (I may assume too much). If I am wrong disregard this. If you were to sell the scooter for $1000 you would receive 1/2*1000=$500. If you were then to sell a coffee mug, or spare lugnut for $1000, you would end up with 500+1000=1500 in your pocket rather than 1250. the buyer would get a discount to speed the sale. All parties would find an advantage. just a thought. It may be unfeasible.

Mel: I've given a lot of consideration to your "scheme", but in order to make it work for all involved, you're going to have to buy at least 3 coffee mugs! Good luck with your idea...

Mel

Wild Rant...

Have you ever noticed how when your world is cut off from reality and you live in a place that dumps tons of isolating snow on you personally, that your world gets smaller? Well, you probably think I'm talking about you, but alas, no it's right here in Scottsdale. Not the kind of snow that gets you up in the middle of the night to shoot raccoons with a BB gun while wearing just your underwear, but the type of isolation that makes you go off on a rant about something as insignificant as your envelopes being stolen 7 and 1/2 years ago. Granted, I don't use a lot of envelopes since the Internet is so prevalent, every month I have to send in a sales tax report to our state and city and only the city provides us with return envelopes. Therefore the state in their cheap ass way, requires us to provide our own envelopes. That amounts to 12 envelopes a year. Here is what happened...

In past years, when we used a lot of envelopes, about 15 a month, I bought them at Costco (naturally) for a gazillion of them for about $7.77. Now that we use so few envelopes, I took out about 30 or 40 envelopes and placed them on the corner of my desk. Last month, after almost 8 years of being divorced from that thief, I ran out of envelopes on my desk. So I went to the closet where they lived in their proud Kirkland box and low and behold, with a shocked look on my face, as I reached for the Kirkland box, knowing full well that I placed it there just 8 or 9 years prior, it was GONE! Just missing. I did a quick inventory in my mind on where it could have gone to. I thought, did I place it in a different closet shelf? Did someone break in and steal my Kirkland envelope running away with them tucked under their arm, leaving cash and jewelry for another day? No, it was an inside job. Suddenly the blurry image of Debra came to mind. I saw her as she really was, an office supply FREAK! She LOVED her office supplies. She would gather her white out, her erasers, her type writer ribbons and just sit there giggling.. I know it was her, or she. (a matter of grammar). I called our local police, but they told me the statute of limitation on envelopes ran out years ago and to just forget it. So I did. I just returned from no other than Walmart, where I found envelopes on sale for 40 for $1.50 and I don't have to lick them. I just pull off a strip that has a secret layer of glue under it. I feel so 21st century. Plus, I thought by going to Wal-mart, I'd at least run into something blog-worthy, but no, nothing ever happened to me. The place is so big that the parking lot was almost full yet the store looked empty. I found employees to be helpful and polite. I was shocked.

I feel better now, thanks....

Memories...

I was just reading a blog that shall remain nameless and it talked about Indiana and why the author loved Indiana so much. And it pointed out, not the weather or certainly not the scenery or the attitude of the people, but it pointed out that Indiana was where the author's memories lived. I looked up from the written page and stroked my chin and thought back to my own past and settled on a time when I lived outside of Chicago around 1973, as I recall.

We were headed back to our suburban retreat from my in-laws home in the inner city and it was Christmas night. Brad was only about 7 months old and my older boy Stuart was around 4. We were kind of sad because my wife's father had just suffered a stroke and was only a shell of his old self. All he would do was sit around staring into the distance and then drop off to sleep without a moment's notice. The mood was solemn and somber. I broke the silence with an idea. I casually said to my wife, that grandpa didn't hardly seem like himself until one very special moment. That was followed by a long silence. Finally she bit. What do you mean, she asked? I explained that I tried to talk with him, in an attempt to spark some recognition in him and wake up the "old" Grandpa. I told everyone how I told grandpa the story about how I got robbed at gunpoint while working on Chicago's south side, by a masked gunman. He surprised me while I was getting out of my car and took all of my cash and jewelry. Suddenly, out of a deep sleep, I noticed how grandpa had suddenly shook to consciousness and just stared at me. I could see as the seconds skipped by, that his ability to absorb information around him was growing stronger and stronger. Then, with anticipation, I watch his face start to form a word or two that was about to come from his mouth. At first his mouth just trembled and formed an N sound. What, what is it? What are you trying to say??? I looked over at both my wife and my son and recognized intense interest. They both looked like they were watching a horror movie and the monster was about to break into the house!

Finally my son said, what did grandpa say? I timed it perfectly and waited until their anticipation would wait no longer and slowly formed an N with my mouth and sang out, NAH, NAH NAH NAH, NAH NAH NAH, NAH NAH NAH, NAH NA NAH, If you know how to pony, pony-y-y-y-y......

I've Got Some Good News and Some Bad News...

Oh how I hate to hear people start their conversations with me, with that as an opener. I was smack dab in the middle of my late afternoon nap. You know the one that you never plan, that just happens, when you're over 60? When suddenly I heard a screeching annoying noise. Who set the alarm clock? Oh, it was my cell phone and it was Dwayne, the guy that has my Toyota Echo. He announced it was ready, buuuut...... he had some good news and had some bad news. The good news was that it was ready and the bad news was that he lost my dealer plate during the ride.

When Dwayne arrived some 30 minutes later, he was right on both accounts. The job, my primary concern, did come out beautifully and the plate was indeed gone. There was no point in reiterating about it, gone is gone. Dwayne acted as though he really felt bad about it and assured me that he was going to re-track his steps and search for it. The plate was attached to said vehicle by a strong magnet. That magnet, although I used to worry that it might fall off a car, lasted over 20 years successful staying attached to wherever I placed it. More likely, I suspect somebody knowing that alot of dealer plates are attached only by magnets, pulled it off for their own private use. The magnet, not the plate. The plate will be reported lost or stolen and cancelled. Dwayne did manage to convey to me that he was worried for his life driving that car on a windy day, such as today. I assured him that I shared his thoughts on that. I do find it awfully strange that he managed to drive this dangerous little car 103 miles in the time that he had it, however. I thought it wise to remember the mileage before he left.

Bottom line is, I'll definitely use Dwayne again. He did everything he was supposed to and I'd say the job came out better that I'd hoped for. He was polite, knowledgeable, and prompt. I just won't be using magnets around him again...

( 2003 Toyota Echo, one ugly mother)

An interesting day. I'm almost afraid to post anything after my last post's barrage of comments. I'm just not used to people reading this stuff and to get 9 comments, even if 2 of them were mine is unheard of. I think my readership may be going up to at least, oh 10?

As I mentioned in a past post, I bought an 03 Toyota Echo. This was one of the early attempts at hybrids. While the car gets like 45 MPG on the highway, frankly it's one unpleasant ride. I only drove the thing back from where I bought it from and kept getting the feeling that if I turned too quickly, it was gonna turn over, like flip. It certainly doesn't give you the secure feeling that you like to have when being hurled at 75 MPH down a crowded freeway. I know it's mine and I have to sell it, but the buyer had better want one, because the performance of this vehicle surely isn't gonna do it.

It seems that the Lovely Jules has disappeared from my life. Here is what I think. I think she was innocently gardening in her Glendale home's backyard, when a car pulled up representing the Bell Pepper Growers Assoc. of AZ. grabbed her and tossed her into their trunk for blatant and wasteful use of Bell Peppers in every color imaginable. She will surely be missed, but at least I have my burps to remind me of her.

So getting back to my 03 Echo, Toyota's tiny mistake. Although mine is low mileage, showing only 50K on the odometer, it really needs to have it's rear bumper cover repainted. The clear coat in our rather inclement climate tends to be start to flake at temps over 110. Toyota knowing full well that such a place doesn't exist, didn't allow for our temps, so repainting of rubber parts is fairly common. This is not my first bumper cover to paint. I felt a hundred dollar bill ought to be plenty for such a 3 hour task, yet when I started calling around, I got quoted as high as $300. A friend suggested I try Craig's List for out of work painters. Great idea!

Well, I found an entirely new sub-culture out there. After speaking with multiple rapists, murderers, general thieves and one transsexual, I finally called a kid named Duane, who seemed civil, anxious, polite and generally wanting my business. Before I could tell him I wanted to pay $100, he asked if a hundred bucks would be okay? I blurted out, a resounding, YES! He told me he got off at 3 from his regular job and would be at my house at 3:15 to pick up my Toyota and could he please leave his car with me? He arrive delightfully prompt, offered me his driver's license and references and promised to have it back in 24 hours, completed. After looking at the job, he told me that $85 would be plenty, but I insisted he take the hundred and I'd be happy to pay more for a good job. I'll keep you posted on how it comes out tomorrow AND if I ever see him or the Toyota again... An occupational hazard

In the meanwhile, let's all pray that the Lovely Jules initiates a clever and expedient escape to boil, saute', grill, steam and otherwise abuse Bell Peppers for years to come!

Dodged a Tall Skinny Bullet...

A couple of months ago, I contacted a woman on the dating service. Her name was Nancy and she was from Chicago and was a Jewess. Self employed and here for quite some time with a quick stopover in LA. From the picture and the specks, she seemed like a pretty good match for me, although since I've sworn off Jewish women. After writing to one another for a brief time, she asked me for my phone number and I was happy to give it to her. She called when she said she would and we chatted for about 3 minutes when she blurted out that she wasn't feeling a connection and quickly hung up. With my mouth agape, I took the phone away from my ear and just looked at it, wondering what had just happened. We were still at the point in our conversation discussing what parts of Chicago we were both from. In utter amazement, I just kept looking blankly at the phone and eventually put it down. I couldn't help but wonder what really happened to cut our call and potential relationship short. Oh well, I moved on.

At the beginning of this post is the picture that I called from and at the end of this post is the picture that she posted today, WHEW!!!! Could that be the same lady???

(Warning: The Surgeon General warns that dating this woman can be dangerous for your well being).

Crock Pot Cooking...

So it's a little after 8 and I started cooking this shit at about 4:30. I'm starving, can you tell? Some wife from the past left this crock pot here and I've been moving it around for several years. It's not really big enough to make anything like pasta sauce in and it looks brand new, so I feel bad about throwing it away. Today, around 4 PM, I started feeling hungry and after grilling a burger for lunch, I felt kind of silly lighting the grill yet a second time for the day, so I defrosted a steak, a New York strip and decided to use the celery stalks I bought last month, along with the carrots, potatoes and onions and make beef stew. I've never made beef stew before, but it's something cowboys eat on the trail, so I figured how hard could it be?

So I cut up all of the veggies and tossed the steak in there, knowing full well I was literally abusing a good steak, but variety being the spice of life, what the hell? I'd say I started checking at about 5 PM to see if it was stew yet. It was still cut up vegetables with a steak in cold water, hmm.... By 6 PM it was starting to warm up and at 8 PM, it doesn't look like I'm going to be eating any time soon.

Conclusion: This contraption is rightfully named, a CROCK!

Taking a Chance on LOVE...

It's a rainy overcast day here in beautiful Scottsdale. We enjoy an occasional day like this because we have 364 days of sunshine. Perhaps I've embellished that number, just a tad? It was an indoor day of Internet and phone calls and boring TV on in the background. It was a good opportunity to catch up on laundry and emails owed. So there I am contemplating whether to read for awhile or clean out a closet, when the computer alerted me that there was new mail.

It was an email from a woman on my dating service that didn't have a picture posted. Oh no you don't! I've fallen victim to that in the past and on only one occasion was I ever pleased with who was writing to me and SHE knows who she is (wink) :). The entire bunch of them either drag whithered limbs behind them or are missing one or two important teeth. One lady was a genuine "little person" standing about 4 feet tall. Another had a tear drop tattoo close to her eye, celebrating the murder she was so proud of while in the joint.

Because I was bored and pretty curious, I bantered up and back with this lady for the majority of the morning and early afternoon when I finally got pretty insistent about seeing a picture or going back to doing laundry. This was what she offered for her private showing!

I Love You, Man...

I stopped going to the movie theaters some time in the late 1970's. Here are my reasons. A lot of total strangers telling their significant others what they thought was going to happen next in the plot. Body noises that people are supposed to do privately. Crowds of people that I don't know, sitting waay too close to me. Strict rules within the theater about smoking and drinking, both of which were my everyday way of life. Primary reason was, I was ALWAYS working. In the very early 1990's, I dated a woman that had a young boy and she wanted me to go with them to see The Santa Claus. Although it was entertaining and pleasant, it still didn't turn me on to movies. I made it all of the way through my third marriage without having to see one single movie, in spite of the time that I was literally dragged to a Scottsdale theater to see Air Force One. By the grace of God, that movie was SOLD OUT leaving me a quick and verifiable excuse. Whew, that was a close one. Today the Lovely Jules asked me if I wanted to go to the movies and I DID! All of the reasons that I had to boycott the theaters were gone. I don't smoke or drink or work and now I'm the one making body noises that should be done privately. As was proven today, more than once I whispered to Jules something pertaining to the film. Now I'm the reason people don't go to the movies.

One thing that I noticed that I really didn't care for was the seating. The seats, in an effort to fit more in the theater, are now set up in a very erect fashion. It reminded me of a recliner in it's erect status. I kept looking for the release on the side until Julie finally thought I was getting fresh. I was!

In general the movie was GREAT. I must have LOLed about 10 different times and even shed a tear when the plot ended in a marriage. I might just be a quart low on Testosterone.

Patio Vespa Scooter Sales...

Once upon a time, there was a woman that I met on one of my dating services. Let's call her Martha, not to be confused with MJ-Martha Jane. Martha was an attractive 52 year old woman who lived close by and shared my religion, which is not too common in these here parts. Although I liked Martha as a person, not so great a romance took place. Fast forward about 3 years and I find myself once again searching the classifieds for a potential wife and whose picture do I run across, but Martha's? The reason that this is so shocking to me, is because Martha met Timmie and 40 something guy that not only swept her off her feet with his long curly hair and charming ways, but he was Bohemian enough to actually LIVE in his truck, that by the way, didn't run! Any superficial person might think of this guy as a bum, but not Martha, she saw romance. Timmie, an unemployed wheelchair repairman (who knew), pretty soon was spending all of his time with Martha at her Squaw Peak abode. Timmie really started feeling at home here at the base of the great mountain and was making some pretty strong moves on Martha, that by this time saw nothing but Bluebirds circling her poor confused head. When Timmie moved in and proposed marriage, Martha just melted and said, "I do"!

They actually had a big shindig, inviting family and friends to the nuptials. A good time was had by all. Particularly Timmie, who by this time was marking things he wanted to find the value of. Although Martha was wise enough to protect her savings, the thing that she worked so hard for, but one's credit is as valuable as their accumulated wealth in some cases and marriage created a merger where they were suddenly both equal. Whatever Timmie charged was suddenly Martha's liability. Like that bar bill at a local tavern for $2500 in just 2 weeks and that $5000 Vespa motor Scooter that sits on my patio waiting for a buyer.

By the time I finally heard back from Martha, she started our reunion call with a long 5 minute cry, telling me in a nutshell of all that she went through, including the divorce, after only 8 months of marriage. I consoled her and told her I thought everything would be okay. Martha is under the impression that I'm some super sales person and can sell anything and has literally begged me to sell her Vespa scooter for her. I told her I would try, if nothing else, I'd at least get it out of her sight, so she doesn't have to look at the reminder everyday. So here the scooter sits on my patio and I field inquiries about it almost everyday. The only legitimate buyer that showed up to see it, was only looking to see if it was something her husband and she would enjoy. She was a very feminine woman and the scooter is black on black on black. Not the cutest choices of colors for a lady. We waved goodbye, my knowing full well that I'd never see her again.

What prompted this story is, I just finished a transaction on the scooter that went something like this: All of this occurred by email, so it took awhile.

BUYER: I'm writing about your scooter for sale. Would you consider $1000 down and $5-600 a month"

ME: Yes, but I'd need to keep possession of the scooter until it was paid for in full.
(ten minutes later)

Buyer: That's fine, I'll need that long to save up a little more money, as I only have $800 and need to get my license.

ME: What is your age?
(ten minutes goes by)

Buyer: 17, why?

ME: Because I need to be dealing with your parents or guardian, as we will be entering into a contract!
(10 more minutes goes by)

Buyer: Okay, thanks for your time.

Back to the patio lot, humph....

Picking Up the Roach Coach... and Breeders.

(Grazing)

After 35 years of begging, finagling, conning, and promising things to people, once again I found myself on a side trip while picking up my latest purchase in an attempt to support myself. Asking a friend (LJ) to give me a ride to the Kia dealer entails a quick trip to Whole Foods for her to purchase lunch for her Vegan mother tomorrow, as she has planned a visit. Whatever! Grocery stores in general have never been my favorite places, in fact they represent one of the reasons that I got married 3 times. Add the carnival atmosphere of Whole Foods and I think I could arrange a full blown panic attack! My driver/friend was roaming around going ouu and ahh over this and that, while I was ever cognisant of my surroundings. One thing that caught my eye was a Hybrid taxi pulling up and two morbidly obese women getting out and racing to the front door to get in. It kind of reminded me of children rushing to get into Disneyland. They reached the carts and fought over who got the first one. As I watched with a look of amazement on my face, I just couldn't fathom why anyone could so excited about just food. As they prowled the isles and grazed on free samples, I got the idea for this blog entry. My friend snapped a picture with her camera phone and I was ready to write and roll.

Concluding our business at the grocery, we headed to Peoria Kia. On the ride, LJ and I discussed her quickly growing pile of photo speeding tickets and asked my advice on what to do about it. I explained that my friend Marsha has her own collection and she uses them as place mats for when guests come to dinner. We continued driving West. Arriving at our location, I asked LJ if she could wait while I made sure everything was okay and that the car actually started. We went back to look at the creature and LJ's first reaction was, "Are you still gonna buy it"? In this business, when we see a car like that we refer to it as a RAT. This car was a rat, but my word is my bond and once you back out of a deal for whatever reason, they stop calling you. With my heart in my mouth, I went into the office and paid for the beast. That's another thing that's changed in the car business. We NEVER had to pay for cars in advance. It wasn't unusual to have $50,000 worth of someone else's inventory in your possession and until they had a clear title, you weren't expected to pay for them. Now, if you even slam the door on a car, it had better be your car that you were slamming the door on.

Although this car looked like a family of goats lived in it for the past 6 months, I climbed in and drove it off. I'm going to have to repaint the rear bumper cover and detail the living hell out of it, pinstripe it and the next time anyone sees it, they'll think, "ah clean"... and of course I'll explain how I like to "Cherry Pick" the dealer's inventories. It's amazing what a little soap and water can do.

After finishing cleaning the car for a little while, I got on the computer and searched for a perspective wife and I felt that I had to share this beauty with everyone. Isn't it amazing what is allowed to breed? This charming lady claims to be 46. Her 2 sons look 46! Back to the drawing board...

(Breeders)>>>

Just Twitter...

I stayed up rather late last night, trying unsuccessfully to finish the book I was reading and was abruptly awakened by an annoying ringing of my phone. It was the 800 Service calling me. Just curious as to who they are service to, certainly not me! I didn't bother listening to the recorded message, but instead tried focusing on the clock that was screaming at me, 9 AM! Yikes, I overslept. Overslept for what though? Today's goal is to pick up the car I bid for a Kia dealership last Friday, assuming it's made it through the credit process. In past days, dealers would make a deal and there would be 30 banks waiting to "take" the contract. They'd actually compete for it. Now, there are 5 lonely banks doing you a big favor to cherry pick the finest of the credit worthy. The people with "iffy" credit can no longer get bought. With no message from the dealer saying the trade in was ready to be picked up, I started my day.

Brush my teeth, put on yesterday's jeans and let gravity take me down the stairs, feeling the shock from each step. Turn on the radio, lift the cover to the computer and turn on the coffee that I make the night before. Open the shutters and go to the computer to see who sent what, after I turned in for the night. There was a cute little "youtube" from the Great Dane lady and a message from some woman on the dating service. I read her email and she was 55 years old, rather wide for my taste and a distinct gash down the middle of her head, as if she had been hit by a woodsman's ax. In her email and I really didn't catch the gist of it, she compared herself to the "Girl from Epwenema". I think she was either lost at sea for way too long or she was delusional. This island boy deleted it.

I went out to clip a few palm fronds and was taking a break when I saw the trash truck coming. As I leaned against my next victim of clipping, I watched a rather unusual phenomenon. The garbage truck spilled the contents of my creepy neighbors on the "B" side's garbage and actually stopped, got out and picked up every piece, tossing it all into his truck. Not only did I find out that the moron that lives next door to me that takes it upon himself to cut down my trees, doesn't pack his trash well, but that he wears adult diapers too! But how about the city employee that went above and beyond the call of duty to pick that stuff up? I wanted to give him a standing ovation, but settled for a friendly wave.

Well, I finished my book and found that I only had 6 pages left when I passed out last night. Ya think I would have slept any better having finished last night? I'll never know!