A Cute Little Bird...

Someone I heard from, raised an old memory of mine, that seems to make me think I've actually written about this in the past. So if you feel like you've already heard this story, forgive me.

Many years ago, in a land called Buffalo Grove, Illinois, there lived a family that owned a VW bus. The year was 1970 and this 24 year old man and his wife and baby were planning a trip to Michigan to visit their former next door neighbors, Vic and Janice and their 5 children. It was early winter, but winter none the less and very cold. That family found out the hard way that a VW bus in the cold of winter, was not the ideal means of transportation, but that young man had to learn everything the "hard way". We were planning the trip, not realizing how cold it was for a vehicle that had an air cooled engine and a very poor heater. He later would talk about how ice formed on the inside of the windshield and he had no scraper to remove such ice, but I digress.

I was finished packing for our trip and had already loaded the bus and moved it back out of our one car garage into the driveway, when out of nowhere, a cute little bird flew inside the garage and was confused about how to fly back out. Even though the garage door was wide open, the cute little bird flew to the window in the garage and kept flying into it, to regain it's freedom. Thinking quickly, the young man who shall remain nameless, picked up a rake and slowly approached the cute little bird that was now resting on the top of the bottom window. He was right where the window locking device was and the young man felt that if he could slowly unlock the window and gently raise the window, the cute little bird could fly out to freedom. Moving ever so slowly, so as not to startle the cute little bird, he gently moved the handle side of the rake towards the lock and tried to, again, ever so slowly release the lock, he could then raise the window rendering it "open".

At this time, I'd like you to appreciate the delicate situation that exists between man and animal and the elements of nature. As the man slowly moved the lock to the open position, without notice or warning of any kind, the top window came dropping down, like a guillotine, chopping off the cute little bird's head! All the innocent man could do at this point was to think, "Oh, I sure wasn't expecting that"!

On the ride all of the way to Michigan, that young man chose not to share that story with his young happy wife and new baby boy. No, he decided to just keep it to himself that he was a MURDERER! Man those VW buses can get cold....

Break-in, in North Phoenix...

After a typically quiet birthday weekend, I was laying in bed last night, reading a few chapters in a Patricia Cornwell book at about 12:30 AM, when I heard a motor start. In my mind, I quickly inventoried everything that could be causing that noise that I'd not heard before. I thought of the air conditioning starting, but it wasn't turned on. Next, could it be the refrigerator in my bedroom that has created this loud interruption of quiet? Was the spa acting up? Suddenly, with my feet not even touching the floor, I flew to where I'd put my gun. But where is that? I moved in here about 2 months ago and can't remember where the damned gun is hidden, so I can get my hands on it in a hurry when I need it and I NEED IT, RIGHT NOW!

The noise that I heard was the garage opening and when you live alone, the garage opening should only happen when you are either in the garage, or in the car. Not in bed! First I ran to the night stand where my gun would have been really handy, but it wasn't there. Next, still at a pretty quick clip, I ran to the living room coffee table and found it. Remembering to take off the safety, I ran to the inside garage door and ripped it open. There, as predicted was a wide open garage with the light on and an idiot standing in the garage wearing plaid pajamas with a loaded, cocked gun in his hand, ready to fire at anything that moved. Fortunately nothing moved. I felt like one of those TV detectives whipping my gun in every direction trying to cover myself. I went around the corner of the garage to see if someone was hiding there, but decided it was too dark, so I went in to get the flashlight. No one was around, however I could see a man walking about 5 houses down and across the street without a a jacket and looking pretty cold. I wonder if that was my breaker inner.

The next part confused my possible attempted break in. The garage door would not go back down, it was jammed in the up position. The controls just wouldn't work. I even tried using one of the remotes from the car...............nothing though. I disconnected the motor, checked the circuit breaker and everything looked to be in operating condition, except the garage wouldn't close on it's own power. I manually closed the garage and double locked the inside door. I tried to go to sleep, but didn't have much luck. I tried turning on the laundry room light, but it didn't do a damned thing for me, so I turned it back off.

This morning, my first piece of business was to investigate the garage and it was fine. I reinstalled the garage door into the electric opener that had the grace to work just fine this morning and all is back to normal. Perhaps YOU can tell me what the hell that was all about. A friend suggested I change my code for my garage opener, but so many garage doors are tuned currently to that code, I'm reluctant to do that. At least I know where I keep my trusty gun now...

You know, in 36 years that I've lived in Arizona carrying fire arms, that's the first time I ever felt glad to have it. I might even invest in bullets now!

Groundhog Day Syndrome or GDS...

It seems that Toothless in Tucson is a little more serious than I first thought (previous post). At first glance, she was light hearted, attractive (to her grandchildren) light on her feet, petite, and wouldn't require a lot of toothpaste. Now it seems, the problem is a little more serious. Since posting my little blurb about Toothless in Tucson, she's written me twice more and in each additional email, it doesn't make any sort of reference to any of the previous ones. In other words, everyday Toothless gets up, goes on the web, sees my profile and decides it would be a good idea if she made contact, in spite of the fact that she's done this now repeatedly.

Let me interject at this time, that I DO NOT have a medical degree, although by this age I've contracted most diseases and maladies several times and consider myself an expert in some areas, however no doctor with a medical degree has ever come to me for a consultation. That said, my diagnosis is that she suffers from Groundhog Day Syndrome, very similar to Dementia, yet different. GDS offers the carrier a wide eyed look, including an innocence and naivety that is often confused with Dementia, but is usually remedied temporarily by a short afternoon nap.

Now knowing that the problem lies deeper than just a simple senior crush, I dispense with writing about Toothless in Tucson, unless the subject suits me at a later date.

Thank you.

Toothless in Tucson...

Toothless in Tucson

Now let me ask you, the reader, a question. If you were going to have a picture taken for a dating website, wouldn't you either not smile, or wear your false tooth or place a piece of white paper where the missing tooth used to live? Well,it appears that Peggy, who is willing to offer a hug at any time day or night, doesn't agree with you. Peggy thought it would be novel to offer a dark spot where that missing tooth used to live, creating a very sexual look. Who could resist kissing Peggy after her hug, to play a game of hide and seek, in her oral cavity area. Sounds like great amusement... I know I sound a little sarcastic and cruel, but really people!

This lady wrote to me about 3 weeks ago and I wasn't interested then and I'm certainly not interested now. It seems that I've taken the liberty of changing my photo on her dating service and she couldn't handle the change, in addition to the fact that now I show up as a year older too. The following paragraph is her email to me. In my profile, I claim to be a retired Hokey Pokey instructor. Torturing cats??? Who do I report her to? Certainly not Joe Arpio, my completion is enough to get me deported to Mexico.

EMAIL: "It's been awhile since I've danced the Hokey Pokey and think I might need a few more instructions. I'm always the one who crosses the street and there is a cop waiting on the other side waiting to write a ticket for walking while intoxicated.
Being a small person and only having size 2 foot which means I can get my shoes in the kids' dept. Course, there isn't much a selection for ladies in this section.
The pictures aren't the best and are about 3 years old and I'm in the process of trying to catch my neighbor so I can load some new pictures on this computer. I dance, travel, torture cats, laugh, cry and more but it would take forever.
My email address is toothless.az@yahoo.com or at 520-555-5555 and I do answer both of these.

Hugs (always available) and dreams,
Peggy"

Note from author*** I changed the email address and phone number to stop readers from hitting on this poor lady. Also, she's 71 years old.

Are Birthdays Supposed to Suck?

Today was a long, strange day. Lots of weird-ass stuff happened. I guess I'll start with announcing that tomorrow, the 26th is my birthday. Here is a new phenomenon. Facebook sends out an announcement to all of your friends. Friends that became your friend because it was fashionable to have lots of friends on Facebook, not because they really give a shit about you. I received a congratulations phone call from a guy I went to high school with and never really knew. He wanted to wish me a happy birthday because we were buddies in high school, right? I reminded him that we really didn't know each other back then, but when I saw the name, I figured what the hell, he can be my friend. I must be doing better than him because he didn't even remember that we weren't friends. How odd. He seems like a pretty nice guy now and I promised the next time I was in his town of Boise, we'd certainly look him up!

Next I get a Birthday wish from Ruth Glovemaker. Ruth was that quiet little girl that always knew the answer to the tough math questions in 4th grade. Mrs. Hays was our teacher and she was way old then. Ruth's claim to fame is that she married one of my club brothers after high school, but he has sadly since died of complications during heart surgery, ouch! Ruth writes, "Happy birthday wishes, may you enjoy your birthday". Nice huh? Now remember, I really don't know Ruth, not then, not now. When she first came on board with Facebook, I offered my condolences and told her I'd love to be her Facebook friend. She asked me to tell her about my life and I gave her the Cliff notes version in about one long paragraph.

So in reply to her birthday wishes, I said, ..............ready? "Thx Ruth." I knew when I was writing "thx" that I should have spelled it out, because she unloaded on me with, "Could you spare the 2 words"? That's when I realized I was dealing with an old woman that has lost her life long love, so I replied, "Why the sarcasm and anger, Ruth"? Well, you would have thought I'd had called her mother a whore! She unloaded on me that she thought that by now I would have mellowed, but no, I'm still the quick mouthed prick I was back then. Needless to say, I cancelled out our Facebook friendship, Jeeeeez!

Next, there is a woman that I've been talking to for the past week or 10 days, but have not yet met. Every time I try to make a date with her, she is either busy or I am. We seem to get along great on the phone, except when the topic of age comes up and she simply explains that she will not talk about age. Well, I didn't think it was because she was really much younger and was trying to sneak in with the big kids, just claiming to be 57. The last one that was really 70 said she was 57 too. That must be the comfortable age for liars. At one point we had been talking about my school reunion and she volunteered that she had just gone to her #%^*$## reunion and it was awful. I asked her to repeat which reunion and she reminded me she doesn't discuss age. She wouldn't tell me the ages of her children or even her grandchildren. Not even her soon to be ex-husband's. I tried every trick I knew. What year did she move to AZ? How old was she when she moved here, but I waited 30 minutes to ask the second part of the question. Even her last name was an alias, as it turned out.

As a reader goes along, you're probably thinking, what's the big deal, all women lie about their ages? Well, they really don't. Not the ones with integrity. My age, as much as I'd prefer to be 57 is still 63, at least for the next 90 minutes! Getting back to lying Lois...

I called Lying Lois at about 1:30 and asked her if she'd had lunch yet. She said no, but was obligated to go to visit a sick friend in a nursing home. (Dead giveaway, right?) I never thought of it until I met Lying Lois. She said she'd be happy to meet me at Paradise Bakery at 4 PM though. Great, it was a date!

Promptly at 4, I walked into Paradise Bakery at Tatum and Shea and started searching for Lying Lois. She was nowhere to be found. She claimed everyone swore that she looked just like her pictures, but better, but I couldn't find her anywhere. Then, sitting outside, all alone on their patio was a woman waving to me. I had walked right past her on the way inside and she didn't alert me. I guess she wanted a closer look to see if I was going to be okay to drink a Coke with.

I approached her table and it was like 2 old friend finally reuniting, but I had never met her before. She did a quick twirl and even slowed down to let me view her butt. She asked me what I thought and I, always the gentleman, told her she looked great, but what I wanted to say was, "You look really good for a woman about 70, with a flat mushy butt and skin that hangs down everywhere on her body except her face that has recently been pinned back to stretch out all of the fine wrinkles that old age causes. She sat down and it was my job to objectively access the situation. As she spoke of the atrocities that her soon to be ex-husband put her through, I was observing the tissue like, paper thin skin on her face was was clearly pulled towards her ears. Her hair was that dark brownish red color that you see on died hair and there was a full inch of white hair at the part. When she held up her hand and smoothed out something on her face, the back of her hand resembled a man's freshly shaved scrotum. Everything sagged on her and I knew I'd be erasing her name from my new Blackberry on the way home.

Happy Frickin' Birthday, huh?

Why I'm Thin...

My experience yesterday reinforced my belief in education. I was dangerously low on both eggs and motor oil and I'd promised the Lovely Jules that we would have an oil changing party soon. We'd gone to the trouble of squeezing in, in front of her Chevy pickup, that she keeps tightly stored against her garage wall, to check to see what size engine she has, and now all that was left was to buy the oil and filter.

Costco near Paradise Valley Mall was my destination. I chose that one because I was going to spontaneously call Noel and ask her to meet me there for a mid-afternoon rendezvous, but once I got there, I forgot all about her and started shopping. Suddenly I remembered that I had my Costco year end check in my pocket and I'd be able to use it to soften the blow of my bill. As an Executive Member, Costco refunds 2% of my annual purchases at the end of the year in a Costco check, rendering the $100 charge for this membership economical.

When I checked out, my net bill was like $40 and didn't seem to bother my finances too much. Hell, the case of oil was $30! My next stop was Checker, where I have a wholesale account, to purchase the oil filters. Here lies the reason for this story. I thought you'd be wondering.

After waiting my turn at the back counter, a young man that had not taken time to brush his teeth for quite some time, greeted me.

"May I help you sir?"

"Yes, I'd like 2 oil filters for an 01 Chevy pickup with a 5.3 engine and an 04 Toyota Corolla, they all have the same 4 cylinder engines and it's for resale."

That's when the young man walked away from me to chase down those oil filters. He quickly walked to a shelf and with each hand took one off the shelf. I noticed this young man from the rear, that he was extremely thin and wore his Levi's so low that he had to keep his legs apart, to keep his pants from falling to the floor. He had prison issued tattoos covering his arms with the ever popular spider web around his elbows. I marvelled how he kept his pants well below his buttocks and they didn't fall down. I suspected they were safety pinned to his underwear (if he wore any).

He returned, handed me the oil filters and remarked that the big one was for the truck. He then said to me, "That will be $9.98" and I handed him a 20 dollar bill and he made change and gave me my receipt. I inspected my receipt and was shocked to see that he had not given me a discount or waived the sales tax, as I am a wholesale customer and am registered with the state accordingly, with a resale number. That's when it happened.

He put his hands on his hips and acted like he wanted to fight me. He turned all red and screamed that I can't just walk in here and claim to be a wholesale customer and expect him to issue me a discount. I have to give him my resale number and other things. I was going to say, "Yes, I can" when I realized this dude was out of control and was not really meant to be in a job where he deals with humans. He needed to be in a machine shop somewhere AWAY from people, but with the economy the way it is, this is the result. I calmly told him that I did indeed have a resale number and WAS indeed again, a wholesale customer, but it's fine and not worth the extra work to correct. It only meant a $3 discount or 1/3 of the cost to correct, but I could see him coming over the counter to kill me to satisfy his needs and simply left. I COULD have gone to McDonald's and ordered off the dollar menu, but instead went hungry :(

Thank God for the Internet...

I can't say that my visit to Match.com this time around hasn't been productive. Everyday I get at least one or two messages from perspective matches, hoping to meet their last and greatest love. Some are old and some are actually too young. For example, as I approach 64, I received an email from a girl 45 that was pictured with a Rapper that she represents, as she is an agent for entertainers. I no more knew who this Rapper was that the man in the moon, although I'd seen him on TV in the past. That, in and of itself, tells a lot about me. That means I'm not impressed with Rappers and yes, I'm too old for her!

One lady I speak with almost every night for about 2 to 3 hours and we seem to get along very well, but we never seem to meet. I've asked her several times and she always has plans, but calls me the following evening to burn up my batteries. Go figure.

Last and my scariest contact is a woman named Barbara who I've been communicating with since the very first day on Match. She always writes to me at anywhere between 2 AM and 5 AM in the morning and it's not because she gets up early. At first I thought she was an insomniac, but have since changed my diagnosis to "Vampire"! Here is what I've figured out. During the day, she sleeps in her casket, filled with soil from her homeland, probably Indiana or someplace like that. Then, when the sun goes down, she roams around Cave Creek looking for fresh blood. Honestly speaking, she seems to have the sharpest personality and say some pretty cute things in her emails. I've grown quite attached to her for a sparring partner. This morning, after a lot of prodding, she finally offered me her telephone number and said she'd finally like to go to second base, talking on the phone. I called her tonight and there was no answer. I left a voicemail and then did my research, thanks to my friend Barry, who gave me a website that offers everyone's vital information. For some reason, Barry has sworn me to secrecy in giving out the web address. He feels it's our secret.

The following is the course of search I took and discovered that Barbara is NOT who she claimed to be. In her profile, Barbara claimed to be 55 and who was I to doubt it, although she did look a lot older in her photo. I entered her phone number on a Google search and it gave me her address in Cave Creek. I then clicked on her address and it offered me her full name, Barbara Smith. I then entered Barbara Smith in my secret website and the first thing that popped up was her date of birth and it was 1940! I was so upset, I couldn't do the math as quickly as I wanted to and finally, although I was alone, screamed out, "She 70 years old! Jeez Louise! It's a good thing I 've got caller ID, because she's bound to call back!

The First Full Day of Spring...

Just because someone dies, doesn't mean that you stop celebrating their birthday, right? I mean you don't necessarily get them a present, but it's okay to think of them on that special day. So with that in mind, today is my mother's 93th birthday, in spite of the fact that she died on Feb 5th in 1987, just a little over a month before her 70th birthday. This may sound funny to say, but as vain as she was, perhaps it's better that she didn't have to see how she looked at 93. She would have been pissed!

It was sort of a quiet weekend that just passed. It started with a visit from the spa repairman. When I left for Florida, the spa was full and warm and happy, but when I returned, it was what you call empty. No explanation, just missing the hundreds of gallons of water that I left in it when I took off. No puddles or obvious leaks, just missing. I was threatening to call 911, when rational thoughts took over and I called Spa Guts instead. The Spa Guts repairman came out and suspected a leak..............brilliant, huh? He'll be back next Friday with a replacement pipe for my spa.

Having been neglectful of picking up my mail on Saturday, I moseyed down to the mailbox today, Sunday. To my chagrin, there was an envelope from the HOA association chastising me for having weeds in my front yard. It rained while I was away and I didn't hop right on it when I returned and 7 days seem to have passed with me being neglectful. It must have taken a day or 2 to get me the letter and I was a day late picking it up from the mailbox. That means the HOA must have issued the letter at the first sight of a seedling popping it's spring face up towards the sun. Instead of them delighting in nature, they chastised me for not yanking the mother out, along with it's baby roots. Well, fear not people, I got on the job today and yanked that little mother out! Mother nature will do well to think twice, before trying to display another of her children in my yard.

Airline Stock Prices Soar...

Around 1974, early in that year, I sold "Up Your Legs" my pants store in Palatine, Illinois and was offered a job by Bluebell Manufacturers, makers of Wrangler jeans for their new Sedgefield line. The job paid a whopping $17,250 salary plus an expense account, something I'd never heard of back then. They ushered all of us to El Paso Texas for our first national sales meeting and showered us with perks and gifts, one of which was a little money clip with a nail file and a tiny pocket knife blade in it and inscribed on the Florentine finish was the company logo and Sedgefield. I told you all that, so I could tell you this. For the many years since and there have been 36 of them, I carried that money clip as part of my personal effects. I learned many years ago and I might ad, the hard way, that cash loose in your pocket easily gets lost.

While in line for the airport security, I did everything I was told. I offered my driver's license along with my boarding pass and when asked to practically strip down to my skivvies for security, I did everything as told again. I removed my shoes, emptied my pockets of anything metal and placed it all in the basket supplied. I ran my suitcase through the ex-ray machine and even offered my new cell phone at the proper time. My 36 year old money clip was in that plastic basket, as well. As it turned out, that would be the last time I'd ever see my money clip. When my personal items came out of the ex-ray machine on the conveyor belt, like everyone else, I rushed things back into my pockets, slipped my shoes back on and traced my belt through my loops, while hopping on one foot all the while. When finished, I played the role of a sheep and followed instructions to my gate awaiting take off.

I had already been seated and was waiting outside the rest room, about 30 minutes after take off, when I first placed my hands in my pockets, when I realized my cash was loose in my front left pocket. I probably looked pretty funny searching my front left pocket for my money clip, once I realized it was missing. When suddenly I had an "ah ha" moment when I realized that Homeland Security had confiscated my money clip, as it was rendered a threat to national security for me to be able to trim my nails while on board an airplane. You should all know that the world is now a safer place having me being disarmed by Homeland Security. You may all sleep better knowing that this 63 year old man can no longer hijack the plane with my 1 inch threatening blade. Good job, Homeland Security! The thing that really pisses my off is, that no one said anything to me. They simply stole it. Now I understand how they can sell these plane tickets so cheap. It's their side business selling money clips, that's supporting the airlines!

Sardines in a Can...

Having just flown back from Florida, a plane trip that is about 3 hours too long for a man about to hit 64, I reflect upon something that is quite funny in hindsight. With some pretty bad luck, I was destined to fly from Ft. Myers, Florida to Atlanta, Georgia in that center seat that we all dread. It's the sardine seat that leaves you with your shoulders scrunched in and your elbows at your side in hopes of not making any physical contact with the dreaded human next door.

I was assigned seat number 20E, a rather benign seat assignment until you realize that you're about to be sardined between two perfect strangers. As I approached seat 20 E, I did the usual count down, 17, 18, 19, ah, there it is and sitting in the window seat is an extremely petite woman, quietly looking out the window. A woman about 55 years old, a frequent flyer as it turned out, that had already removed her shoes for the 2 hours fight to Atlanta. I announced, Hello, I'm your new roommate, as she smiled a warm hello and then proceeded to mind her own business, which was perfect.

As I sat there in my assigned seat, I analyzed who should be my next seat mate and as young pretty girls would pass me by, I'd think, "Hmm..., she would have been perfect", not over a hundred pounds, I'll bet. Strange how certain shapes take on a whole new purpose when you're shopping for a seat mate. Next was an over sized elephant, with a drop of sweat on his brow and his clothes disheveled and his carry-on bag coming open and I prayed he'd just keep walking. He did, whew! That's when I spotted him. He was enormous and he was doing the same countdown that I did, God no!!! He was travelling with his wife and fat daughter. His teenaged daughter was bigger than me and he was like the size of a doorway! What did I do to deserve him? 17, 18, 19, here he comes.... He smiled and sat down next to me. Both my petite seat mate and I went airborne for just a second from the impact of his sitting. He was about 6' 6" and wearing shorts and a jersey shirt with his favorite player's number on it, along with his baseball cap for travelling, you know, the good one..

At some point during our flight, my teeny seat mate offered me her uneaten peanuts and I declined. Then I heard the roar come from my other side, "I'll take them", he answered. The peanuts were passed to the giant and all was quiet again. When they announced that we should prepare for landing in Atlanta, about 2 hours later, I was one happy sardine!

22 Years and 150 LBS...

In or around 1988, three guys that were pretty good friends in high school met in Las Vegas for a mini reunion and we had a ball. We drank, got plastered, chased around and gambled. The same three guys that were so close in high school were still pretty good at having fun. We tried to keep in touch over the years, but with me in Arizona, Barry in Florida and Harvey in Connecticut, it presented a problem. This past week, those three crazy guys rendezvoused in Naples, Florida for a week of partying again, only the partying consisted of lunches, dinners and sitting around the pool. For some reason, the quality of our partying has subdued itself, pretty much without us trying to calm it down. For your viewing pleasure, I present those three guys, both in 1988 and 2010. I'm the only one that still looks the same..........right?

A Slight Case of Alzheimer's...

One of the things that I still pride myself with is my memory. As time goes by, certain things slow down a tad, but my memory has never let me down....................until today! The story goes something like this....

In or around 1967, I dated a girl named Sheila Kosmeirski. Sheila was a girl of Polish descent, but was as lightning quick mentally and pretty easy to look at too. We dated for around 3 or 4 months and I really don't remember how we parted, but we did remain friends. One night in 1968, while out with my fiance' who later became my first wife, we bumped into Sheila at some night spot in Chicago, where we lived. We were already engaged when we ran into Sheila and my soon to be wife and Sheila really hit it off and my fiance' suggested that Sheila attend our wedding. With that "Holy Crap" look still on my face, I wholeheartedly agreed that it would be a GREAT idea! In my mind I was really thinking, wtf?

As time went by, we shot off an invitation to Sheila and low and behold, she actually attended, sans a date. The presence of Sheila went pretty unnoticed and we moved on with our life and eventually moved here to AZ in 1974, along with our 2 sons, ages 2 and 6 yrs.

One Saturday, my wife sent me to the grocery store for a few items and while browsing the isles completely lost, I happened past a woman that was deciding between Sugar Pops and Cocoa Puffs in the cereal isle. Suddenly, I stopped dead in my tracks, when I realize who this woman was, 1800 miles from where I expected her to be. It was Sheila! Neither of us knew what to say and we both explained how we wound up in a place called Arizona. Sheila lived with her new husband, a little guy that we soon met. We exchanged phone numbers and promised to call one another and get together with our respective spouses.

A few days later, we got together to go out for dinner and we met Tony, her husband. He was kind of a loud mouth type and my wife and I decided we didn't need to get too close with the new couple, in spite of the fact that we both liked Sheila. Years passed, about 30 of them and who do you suppose is involved in the class reunion that's taking place right here in AZ next month? Right, Sheila (formerly) Kosmeirski. Only we're both now divorced...

We start exchanging jokes online and occasional comments to one another. I like to write sometimes and Sheila edits writer's works for a living. She occasionally reads my blog and shares her thoughts with me, online... Today, we exchanged some emails and this is a portion of our exchange:

Me: Question, did you move to Scottsdale from Glendale? And yes I'll be your friend, actually I thought I always was??? I even invited you to my wedding, lol.. How the hell did that happen?
Dancing, not country and not so much. My heart surgery in 05 left me with compromised stamina for long periods of dancing. I tried dancing and it required a lot of breaks between songs, to breathe!
I'm leaving for Florida on Monday, but when I return, perhaps we can talk?

Sheila: So, I don't live in Scottsdale and I have not moved from where I am. I've been here since 1983 and wish I could get the hell out - back to Davenport, IA. For the record - I take everything for face value and now I realize that the story about us in the Alpha Beta over sugar pops is just a fantasy for fun! See, I am so gullible - aren't I. That's from being an Aries. Call me before you go to Florida - I want to argue with you.

Right around this time I was suspecting something was wrong. Why is it that she doesn't remember bumping into me in the Alpha Beta at Tatum and Cactus? I called her!

Not only did she not recall going to my wedding, but she never lived in Scottsdale with Tony. Then I started thinking, "Well, it's finally going"! My mind had let me down. I remember things that were actually a different way than I recall. I wondered if I was getting Alzheimer's. By this time, I was hardly listening to anything she was saying... I asked her if she had to wear a back brace after breaking her back in her sophomore year and she said, no she never injured her back. Things just weren't making sense to me, duh!

While still trying to make sense out of my memory completely letting me down, I heard her say, almost though a fog, "Maybe you're thinking of the other Sheila Kosmeirski that went to school with us! WHAT, that's right! There WAS another girl with exactly the same name as my Sheila and that's who I was talking to on the phone and by the way, we talked for 2 full hours. That's when I realized that the reason that I stopped dating the first Sheila was because she was kind of dull. This Sheila had a GREAT personality and was full of life and according to the photo that she sent me, fared pretty well over the years. Actually she looked pretty damned HOT!

You can probably imagine what I'm thinking. I didn't do so well with the first Sheila Kosmeirski, romantically and now I get to try a "DO OVER"!

Moving Out of the I-10 Underpass...

In 2008, after being dropped repeatedly by Alltel service for no reason, I cancelled my contract, with them begging for me to come back. Eventually I was handed over to "Extreme Customer Service", who actually offered me $150 to return to their company, sighting my 12 years of faithful bill paying. I explained that I did my part by paying the bill, but I was repeatedly without service, thus my decision.

Not wanting to sign up with a new 2 year contract with a cell company that would give me equally poor service, I heard about Cricket, that did not require a contract. It was a month to month plan, but after I sunk $300 into a new phone, I kind of felt like they had me. Soon after my very first phone call I realized the service was poor at best and everyone agreed that I sounded like I was calling from within a tunnel. Eventually, I started explaining that I lived in the I-10 Underpass that was built several years ago and the acoustics are poor, but the rent was great! As time passed I started to just accept the poor reception and transmission features of this service and stopped even mentioning it. Then this past fall, when I took a trip across country, I discovered that Cricket did not have ANY service as soon as I left Phoenix. It was truly the hometown cell company. All of the way to Chicago and back, I carried my Cricket phone as a paper weight, because it sure as hell was useless for a telephone. With my upcoming trip to Florida next week, I was hoping to secure service with a different company and alas I did.

Today I moved from my home in the underpass of I-10. I now live with the wonderful world of AT & T with rollover minutes. I bit the bullet and caught up with the 21st century by purchasing a Blackberry phone. I have the Internet and vibrate and ring tones and minutes. Now the only way I can miss a message is to claim I lost my phone for awhile, because my service with be more than adequate. Hooray for Blackberry and AT & T. I never rally liked living in that tunnel anyway!