I Miss the Sopranos...

Tonight I watched 60 Minutes. It was the John Gotti Jr. Story. Watching, I immediately fell in love with that lifestyle. You know, living in the streets, prostitution, gambling, drugs, the mafia and people getting "whacked". Although John Gotti Jr was nowhere near the man that his father the "Dapper Don" was, he was still interesting. If that wasn't the case, the TV show the Sopranos wouldn't have been the box office hit that it was for HBO. Honestly, I couldn't tell where John Gotti stopped and Tony Soprano took over. One was real and the next created by a writer.

John Gotti Jr. was the only man ever to be released from the Cosa Nostra alive. In his 60 Minutes interview, that lasted an entire hour, he had to have his lawyer present to censor the questions he could answer and it was even mentioned that the FBI was going to watching his interview very closely.

Myself coming from Chicago, I married into a family that was heavily involved in Chicago, Mayor Richard J. Daly Sr.politics and I knew of things that took place that would make your head spin if you knew. Similar to the New York Italian mob families, Chicago had it's own private club, rest assured. It was called the Daly Machine.

The HORRIBLE Truth...

I genuinely feel that I may be finished with the online dating services. I know, that means no more stories about the horrors and whores of online dating, but in my defense, I've done my share to keep the economy turning in that area. I've noticed that both Match.com and eHarmony have spiced up their advertising, that's probably due to the rumor that I'm giving up. Here's what happened this time....

I'm just sitting there watching American Idol when a woman of the Jewish faith drops me a line and asks if I'm interested. She's absolutely gorgeous, 5' 4" and quite slender, BUT...... I've been seeing this same picture online for more years than I care to mention, so I reply the following:


Hi Robin:

I don't know how to present this delicately, but I'm afraid you just don't look your age. If I had not known because of reading it ahead of time, I would think that you were somewhere in your 40's. But for you to be 63 makes me think one of three things. Either you've defied nature, had face work done or last and worst, your picture is aged. I have had the good fortune of purchasing a portrait of myself, similar to the story of Dorian Gray and as I aged, the painting aged and I remained young. If you believe that, perhaps we should meet?

Mel
A Jewish boy from Skokie...

Her response was:

Hello Mel,
Yes, I have aged and I am more beautiful than ever as time has been good to me. I feel young at heart and am thinner. If you would like to meet for coffee one evening so we can discuss world events or just gaze into each others eyes let me know.............................
Robin

Now you have to admit, her response was perfect and everything said, all systems go! I knew in the back of my mind, that she's 63 and although I'm 64, I've been luckier than most as far as the aging process goes, in spite of my compromised health issues. What I'm saying here, is that I look and act like a man no more than 62 3/4... with gaut.

So I drive out to Tim-buck-too, somewhere on the far West side and meet the lovely Robin for coffee at a Starbucks, once again thanking MJ for financing this escapade with a gift card for Christmas. I was a few minutes early, so I wandered around this strange shopping center and decided to head back. Walking into Starbucks, just ahead of me was a lovely woman, about the right height and from the back and profile, (all I'd seen thus far), she could have been Robin? But she wasn't because this ugly, skinny, white skinned, dyed black haired, wrinkled woman, that looked like she'd just hopped out of the latest Vampire movie and formed a distorted smile on her poor face saying, "Are you Mel"? A million things ran through my mind and none of them were, YES!

Realizing immediately that I had no business being there, I said hello and admitted to being myself. The thought that I might hit her over the head and run out, occurred to me, but I ordered a small Carmel frapachino and decided to treat my taste buds, since my other senses were being horribly offended. That's when I noticed the tooth! Robin had this lower tooth that was right smack dab in the middle of her lower teeth and it stuck straight out at me. First I tried to decide if it belonged to the left side, then the right side, but it was equally at home right in the middle. As Robin blabbed about her 90 year old father and how she took care of him, I pictured her using that tooth to carry her key ring or a place to clip her purse when her hands were full. I COULD NOT TAKE MY EYES OFF THAT TOOTH! How does a person go 63 years with a tooth that, at the very least, should get it's own name! What about Snaggle?

I kept smacking my watch to see if it had stopped, but it hadn't, it was just moving VERY slowly. Finally, an hour had gone by when I blurted out, "We'd better get going" She followed me to the front door, where her car was parked in the handicapped spot. I asked why it was parked there and she replied that her father really owns the handicapped placard, but she likes to use it. That's when she started telling me the story of how she passed out driving and hit a wall. I interrupted her to say that she looked like she'd recovered well and goodbye. She insisted on telling me that she's had a plastic surgeon perfect her injury and all I wondered was why he didn't do something about that tooth?

I made sure she pulled out before I drove away, only to see her walk in front of me after parking her car in yet another handicapped spot in front of Ross where she was going shopping. I hope she found something to buy, so her entire afternoon wasn't a waste.

Viagra Birth Defect...

Never fertilize your tomatoes with Viagra. It causes birth defects!

Whackin' My Weeds...

Yesterday, Monday was a different day in many ways. I may have met someone. With all of my dating fiascoes, it was about time. This time around I've invested quite a bit of time searching and fine tuning my choice and I think that effort is slowly paying off, but more on that after I know more.

My new friend called me from one of her favorite restaurants in Phoenix. A place that I have been going to for about 3o years. It's located in the heart of the ghetto and appeals to a wide variety of the populous and more importantly, a lot of cops go there, creating a safer atmosphere and lets face it, the cops know their foods! The best place to get criminal relief is Crispy Creme and that ain't no coincidence!

I'm talking about non other than the famous Knocked Kneed Lobster on 32nd Street and Washington, but I used to go there when they were located at 24th and Washington, next door to the Canine Country Club, back in the 70's. So a couple of days ago, when this phone call took place, I began thinking about some deep fried Icelandic cod, cooked to perfection and coated with the crunchiest outer batter that you've ever tasted, dipped into their secret cocktail sauce that I personally have been trying to recreate for many years and got hungry. Go figure. I decided a trip to the Southern part of town was due and texted my new friend to join me there, if she wanted. I arrived at about 1:45 and noticed a text on my phone that said my friend was at Keirland, shopping, but next time for sure.

Suddenly they announced that number 955 was ready and in a trance I approached the counter, carefully lifting my 2 piece order and carefully carrying it to my table. I don't really remember the entire experience, as I went off into a cod induced trance, until I notice that the only think left was the fries. Realizing I'd already consumed enough old fashioned lard to last a lifetime, I stood and left, leaving deep fried heaven behind.

Driving up the Squaw Peek, I noticed that a slight sputtering of my cars engine, but it shortly stopped acting up and smoothed out. I'd had this same problem about a week ago, so I called Paul, my mechanic and he said it probably had a little water in the gas tank since it started right after I'd filled up.

Knowing that I'd had a $65 gift card from Sears in my pocket since last fall, as a rebate for the purchase of my new washer, I headed towards Paradise Valley Mall, determined to find something at Sears that I needed, although I'd tried already once before and they virtually had nothing I wanted.

Since moving into my new house, I now am the proud recipient of a backyard full of the dreaded grass. Although I have a lawn mover, I am in need of a weed whacker. I swore many years ago that lawn work was in my past, but evidently not. I walked along smiling at people that were anxious to assist me. The store was virtually empty of customers and I got a big laugh at some signage that said, "Customers, please line up here" in front of a cashier that was filing her nails. They wish, huh?

Now is it just me, or has everyone else noticed that Sears no longer has all of the things you used to get at Sears? Sure they have appliances, but the Sears catalogue has been gone for decades and when I needed a gift for MJ's granddaughter's birthday, I went to Sears and was told they no longer carry toys! Yikes, we used to love to hang out in the toy department as kids and wish we had all the stuff they sold. Gone, just gone along with the memories!

So I finally made it over to the lawn section where a rather fat guy about 30 years old with a greasy Mohawk haircut asked if he could help me. Well, you know what I wanted to say, don't you? But instead I asked for the cheapest weed whacker they carry. He said, I'll assume you want electric? I said yes, and he showed me one for $29.95. Without thinking, I said, I'll take it. He looked around and told me he was out of them. I said, good I'll take the demo and asked for a cool 10% off. With his gnarly smile, he said he's not allowed to sell the demo, but hold on. He goes to his computer and announces he's got 15 in stock. I say, good I'll take one. Standing there with his hands now in his pockets, he tells me he doesn't know where they are and calls Ralph, the pot bellied manager. Ralph, the peacemaker is informed of the problem and also takes his turn at standing there with a blank look on his face. They are both looking at me now.

I kind of felt it building in me, like a volcano about to erupt. I wasn't mad, just disgusted. Here is a store that's complete void of customers, with a staff that's lacking anything that resembles expertise, with a customer begging to buy and no one knows what to do. I said, "This is Sears where satisfaction is guaranteed, isn't it. So sell me the one that is marked $39.95 for the $29.95 price and keep your reputation intact."! Ralph and Mohawk man both agreed and did a high five. I continued to bite my lip not to burst out laughing, paid for my purchase and left. Here is where Karma bit me in the ass.

I go out to the parking lot with my purchase in hand, climb into my car and turn the key to hear a strong battery but a stumbling engine. It started but wouldn't let me feed it gas. It died, never to return. The fuel pump is my diagnosis and not for the first time. I just replaced the fuel pump at a cost of about $500 not even a year ago. I called Paul who told me to bring it in. Yeah, right. Standing in the sun and thank God we had a reprieve from the heat and it only for to about 83 yesterday, I shopped around calling tow companies for the tow to Paul's. Believe it of not, my AAA membership had expired and I refused to join again. I got prices from $125 down to $60 for the same tow job. The guy for $60 said he could come right over and I paid him an extra $10 for a ride home.

Today I assembled my new weed whacker, but I'll be damned if I can get myself to go outside and start "Whackin' My Weeds"!

Swatting my Mesquito...

You should know that the decision to tell these stories played long and hard on me. I finally decided that if you can't handle it, you can always stop reading and cleanse your mind out and return sometime when the topic is less, shall we say, human. I'm talking about something that we all do everyday and just take for granted. Urinating, peeing if you will? I'm sure that everyone has at least one unusual story about peeing and I have two. So offered for the first time on this blog, I give you..... P. STORIES.

The year was around 1969 and the location was Chicago. I was one half of a newlywed couple called Barb and Mel. Next door to us lived another newlywed couple name Steve and Carol and they had just moved to a place called Wilmington, Delaware, the home of DuPont. They asked us to come visit them and we decided that a long weekend would do fine for this road trip. Steve, in his unknowing wisdom, said the trip should be around 6 hours, but it turned out to be 800 miles, so you do the math. Six hours later, we were still leaving Illinois, or so it seemed. At some point, I notified my wife that we were going to have to stop so I could use the facilities, the restroom. We then saw a sign that read, next rest area 37 miles ahead. I knew I couldn't wait that long, so at some point, I pulled over onto the side of the road in a wooded area and wandered into the thick underbrush to find the perfect spot to pee. It was late spring if I recall and things were starting to bloom and the insect population was at it height. I found a rotting log and decided that it would be the perfect target for me to aim at. I unzipped and began peeing when from nowhere, the largest mosquito you ever saw, circled and landed guess where? That's right. I finished my business and zipped up realizing my pants were all wet. I struggled back to the car and told my (then) wife what had taken place and she said, look at you, your pants are all wet and that's gonna smell. She asked how my pants got all wet and I told her that at some point I had no choice, I had to swat the mosquito!

My next story takes place in Arizona around 1978. We had been here for a few years by then and were on a road trip to see the sights of Arizona and frankly it's quite beautiful. This trip was headed to Tucson, Tombstone and Bisbee. We knew another couple from Chicago that moved here and settled in Tucson, Fred and Lois. Fred and Lois were older than us but great fun. Fred was always a little crazy and made good company with Lois playing his straight man. We were pretty lost somewhere in southern Arizona when Barb, my wife announced that she had to pee. Why is it when you have to pee, you just take care of business, but when your wife has to pee, everybody has to get involved? A major production. We were in a wooded area around Rucker Canyon. We had a gun and were trying to shoot the bottom of the "R" off of the Rucker sign.

I told Barb to go into the desert where no one is around and just squat. She said she couldn't, she was afraid to go in there alone. I offered to go with her, but she felt that was a worse idea, she was shy, poor thing. That's when I had the brainstorm of ideas and since it was such an abandoned road and it was. The road we were on was just a dirt back road. I offered for her to just squat down next to the car, open the right rear door and make herself a little private stall, right there on the dirt road. Fred and Lois were off pioneering somewhere about 25 yards away and for arguments sake, we were alone. Barb agreed that that was the best solution to her problem. She opened the back door and started to squat down, dropped her shorts and and when she started, that's when the idea first struck me. My mother used to say that when I would get one of these devilish ideas, she could see a real devil form over my head. Suddenly, without warning or saying a word, I drove away, leaving my squatting wife, peeing right in the middle of a dirt road, so I started honking so Fred and Lois wouldn't miss it...

I still don't know why I can't keep a wife!

Clearing the Playing Field

I felt it was only fair to tell you what happened to the remaining dating candidates. When we left off there were 4 of the 5 still remaining, having lost a hyena to a laughing spell that concluded with Sally wanting to know what I was looking for after a single phone conversation. That left the playing field with 4.

So Terry, the one who went to Chicago to visit her dying mother and couldn't speak with me on the phone because she's afraid to drive and talk, lied. She told me she was going to Grand Rapids, Michigan where her mother laid dying in an email, but left me a voicemail and said it was Chicago and spent the entire weekend searching for love on Match.com. It's kind of like having your mother call the school and tell the teacher that you're home sick with the flu and then you go to the ball field and play baseball all day and your teacher sees you on the way home from school. It's a no no... Today is Tuesday and I still haven't heard from Terry. Terry was not too attractive, but wrote me a heartfelt email including how her husband had died and left her and she was all alone in Arizona and didn't know anyone and she was only 48. I won't miss Terry, since I never even spoke to her, except for her to tell me about her poor Mom.

Then there was Karyn with the "Y". Karyn wrote to me at about 1 AM one night and said something to get my attention, like............Hi. It doesn't really take much to get my attention at 1 AM. We wrote back and forth for about an hour and I went to sleep. Here's what worried me about Karyn with a Y. She had a blurry picture online and it had been online for as long as I have been single, which is 8 years now. Same picture. She claimed to be 59 but you never really know their true ages, as it turns out. She didn't really display anything that resembled a personality, something I seem to need. She didn't answer the phone, when I called on Friday night and when you're calling a cell phone, it's not like the recipient isn't home, it's a cell phone for God's sake and it's with you. She never called back on Saturday or emailed to say she received my cute message, just silence. Then, Sunday afternoon, I'd already been on one coffee date with Olive and was just relaxing after scheduling another date with another Karen, this one sans the Y.

Karyn rang in and I answered, hello. (Clever huh?) The caller, Karyn, (I had already entered her in my phone book) said hi, this is Karyn, how are you? You know, a person's first impression is without room for error. She used the voice of "Granny", from the Beverly Hillbillies, to do her talking. She suffered from "OLD LADY VOICE! This is something that cannot be corrected through surgery. All of the voice training in the world will not change that voice to something more acceptable. Now don't misunderstand me, that voice is perfect for a 3 year old child to hear, coming from a rather mature lady, it's called "Grandma" and is as well received as apple pie, but to this 64 year old single man, it's just not going to work!

We then entered into a little question and answer session. I asked her how long she was married and she said, not very long, she got divorced in 1980. I relied with, so did I. I got divorced in 1980, 1991 and 2002. Long silence..... I said yes, I'm what you might call "a professional". Longer silence...... Then she said she would have called sooner, but a friend's husband had a heart attack and she was worried about him all weekend. That's when I said, oh, I've had a heart attack too and they really slow you down... Longer silence yet........ She asked me what I did between marriages, innocently enough. I replied that I was in prison for a very long time during one break. This turned out to be the longest silence of them all. she said she had to do a little shopping and she'd have to call me back.. I said good-bye. Humph, she still hasn't called back, lol....

I got an email from Olive. She wanted to know if I'd like to join her at the James Taylor, Carole King concert on Wednesday. Before I answered, I wanted to check out the concert and how much the tickets would be. It's been many years since I've gone to a concert and didn't have a clue. And although I like James Taylor, to listen to on my CD, I don't think of him as a person that I'd want to go to see. Carole King...............Eh. I hit the Internet and found that the lowest priced ticket was $119. and they were probably sold out, but they had suites available for $3600. WTF? Olive offered to go Dutch treat, but still. That's a lot of money to see someone that I've already heard and hasn't made a new record since the Nixon days. And wasn't Carole King the lady that you listened to, waiting for the song to be over?

I told Olive I'd love to spend Wednesday night with her but if I spend $150, I want to be fed! She laughed and guess what she said. Gee, nobody wants to go! I got the distinct feeling that I was NOT the first gentleman she asked!

I went from a group of 5 to a mere 2. One in Glendale and another that wants to see concerts, oy vay!

It Takes One to Know One...

I'm not sure if I mentioned it before, but I was entertaining 5 different women on the telephone and decided to start my process of elimination. Sadly, one of my potential mates' mothers suffered an aneurysm and poor Terry had to fly to Chicago to be with her. My heart goes out to her as that's precisely how my own mother lost her life in 1987. That took the count down temporarily to 4, making my dating life 20% less confusing.

On Thursday night, I spoke with Sally, age 54, one of my Jewesses. She's got a Masters degree in Speech Pathology, but is retiring in a week and taking up her second love, Story Telling. I never knew you went to school for a Story Teller's degree, but why shouldn't the educational institutions take advantage of this topic like everything else. I just hope they don't find out that I've been telling stories without a license for years! Keep it on the "down low"!

Another strange thing happened while conversing with Sally, (not her real name). Suddenly without notice or reason, she began a deep and thorough laughing spell, where she couldn't catch her breath and was literally gasping for air. I got suddenly very quiet as I had not said anything funny to cause this. When she finished and I'm thinking maybe 2 minutes went by, I thought she would explain why she was laughing like a hyena. But no, she simply said, she hadn't laughed like that in a long time, thanks. Me? Thanks for what? I didn't say anything, but was glad I could bring her so much happiness, as a rather large question mark formed over my head.

When I hung up, I took the email address that she gave me and entered it and sent her one of my stories from 2006, entitled "Hauling Matzo across the Desert". I explained that since I needed to send her something to enter her into my address book, I might as well send something instead of "testing". The following day she complimented me on the story and that was that. The following day, she wrote to me saying, how was your day? I didn't reply.............yet. This morning, someone sent me a Jewish joke that I thought was funny so I forwarded it to all of my Jewish friends and Sally was included. It wasn't dirty or suggestive or offensive in any way, just cute.

This afternoon, after my other date for coffee with my other Jewess, I received this email:


H Mel,

Thanks for all of the jokes and letters sent my way. At this point, I am not looking for a talk/email friend. What about you? What are looking for?
Sally

Can you believe she left the "i" out of Hi? (just kidding)

Here's what I'm not looking for, a woman that expects a commitment after one phone conversation. I'm also not looking for someone who feels she has to tell me everything she's thinking after a simple joke. If you're not the type to enjoy an occasional joke, you can mention it during a conversation and I'll certainly stop that practice. Ask the Lovely Jules. She told me she deletes that stuff so she doesn't get anymore. Frankly, she's missing out.

So with all of the things I've thought of saying, I've simply decided to delete Sally from the list and just simplify my life. And what was that hideous laughing spell about?

Then there was my coffee date this morning. This date was with Olive, age 51 (again made up). Last night, as I lay in bed reading, at about 10:30 my phone rang and scared the shit out of me, naturally. I answered by saying, Who has the nerve to call me at this hour, Hello. I already knew it was Olive, but I didn't know she was under the influence of alcohol. She giggled something that I had a hard time understanding and she repeated: "I'm on my way home from a Match.com date and wanted to talk to you." Frankly, I was flattered. Some other guy stuffed Italian food down her Jewish throat and all she could think of was calling me. (I blushed) (not really). When I heard her pull into her garage and could hear the dinging of her ignition, I was relieved that she was safe. With a quieted background, she blurted out, "When are we gonna meet"? I simply said, name the time and the place and I'll be there. She said, Starbucks at 7th St. and T-Bird at 11 AM. I said okay, see you then and we hung up. That's when I realized I read until 3:30 AM and wasn't tired. I finally fell asleep, just because I knew I had an appointment in the morning, but only slept until 8 and didn't trust myself to go back to sleep.

I filled up the gas tank and pulled right into the shopping center, only to be cut off by a BMW X5, that took the only parking place. Just then, the car next to the BMW pulled out and I realized the BMW driver was Olive. I honked and waved as she ignored me and walked to Starbucks. Now MJ had given me a Starbucks gift certificate for Christmas, amongst a lot of other goodies and I did remember it. As I was leaving the house, I took it out and inspected it and saw that it needed to be registered before use. Well, you would have thought I'd made an offer to purchase the White House. So many questions and ID and passwords and what city are you originally from? My God and hooray for cash!

By the time I got inside, Olive had already bought her own, oh darn! I swiftly placed $1.68 on my new Starbucks card for my coffee and the employee of the month decided to tell me all of the features of being a Starbucks member. I told him, if I was interested I would have used this Christmas gift before May and walked away. Conversation with Olive was smooth and pleasant until she got to her second divorce and I could see some legitimate anger rising within her. She went on with her story and I watched her turn into a vampire with extended teeth and all. This woman was was STILL angry and as hostile, as if it were a fresh wound. I slipped in one question. When did you get divorced? I expected her to say, "Earlier this morning", as her wounds were still bleeding. She replied, 3 years ago! I tried pretty much to just listen and keep my opinions to myself, but you know me. I told her that by being this angry, still. She is empowering her ex-husband with that anger and I know it's hard, but to let be, what you cannot control. She listened.

I kind of liked Olive and would like to see her again, but we'll see... The playing field is unevened to 3 Christians and 1 Jewess.

And to you a good night!

A Well Deserved Day Off!

1999 Expedition 4X4 Baby

After working yesterday (not really) I decided to take the day off today. I needed to catch up on a few things. I spoke with my friend Barry yesterday and I told him of my plan to go back to work. He was in agreement that it was probably what I needed. He asked me what cars I owned and I told him, about 5. When I mentioned the Expedition, he asked me why I don't get rid of it. Of course that made me start thinking. I've had it since 2002 and I paid about $18,000 for it. I used it to transport the dogs when they needed to go to the vet and I always thought about how comfortable it would be on a long trip. But frankly, with the 15 mpg it gets on the highway, who could afford to drive it very far? So today I devoted to getting it ready for sale. I looked it up in the Autotrader and saw that they were bringing around 6 or 7 thousand, so I cleaned it all up and placed an ad for $7000.



Now for the dating portion of my life. MJ called me last evening on her way to meet a girlfriend for dinner. Somehow I moved the topic to women. I began by screaming into the phone, "I'm just through! I've had it." She asked me about the latest and although I didn't really want to bore her with my current qualms, I will take this opportunity to enlighten you.



First there was a lady in Mesa. For me to even attempt a relationship in Mesa takes a lot. I have to have a genuine interest. This lady was bright, informed and quiet. She claimed to be a writer, but was less than articulate speaking on the phone. She somehow discovered my blog before I ever told her about it, something that I don't offer to my encounters. She pulled back saying she did not want to be exposed to the world on my blog. I assured her that she would be exempt, as long as she was not a weirdo. Unfortunately she was though. She told me she was a widow, whose husband had died a horrible end including paralyses. I legitimately felt sorry for her and him, of course. Then she told me she'd never had a failed relationship and didn't want to take that chance now. She claimed I scared the shit out of her, not something pleasant to hear, but yet she stayed with me for a few days. One night rather late I called her and she told me she didn't want any kind of a relation, but to just date. Gee, that's NOT what I'm looking for at all. She was going on and on how she wanted to meet lots of men and all I could think of was, when was she going to finish this rant so I can tell her I'm not interested. I casually waited for her to finish and said, "since you and I are definitely looking for different things in life (and she lives in MESA), I wanted to thank her for her participation with me, but there was no point in continuing. I could tell she was getting that "I just got dumped" feeling and hung up. Mesa, Jeez!



Next was Rhonda. Rhonda was a little girl, about 5' 2" and thin. 58 years old, but turned out to be 59. (cuz lets face it, men are looking for 58 not 59) I spoke with Rhonda for about an hour and a half and I had to carry the entire conversation, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt because a lot of women are a little shy when they first speak with you. Rhonda had given me her home number which lead me to her street address and full name and age, so going in I knew she had fibbed. Not a very good reference for someone that the very first thing you find out about them is a lie. Moving ahead, she told me she was very tired that she worked for a living. When I told her it was about 11 PM, she acted like she had just been stabbed through the eye with an ice pick. We hung up. The next time I called Rhonda was on the weekend. There was no answer and no answering machine or voicemail. That's just odd! Was she on the other line and didn't want to switch over. Did she have called ID and could see I'd called?



I called Rhonda on Monday at about 8 and she answered. Again we chatted for about an hour or so, with her offering zilch to the conversation, aside from her New York accent. I was becoming more and more disenchanted. Finally I said, how about meeting me for a cool refreshing drink tomorrow evening? Long pause. Her answer was, I work. I get up at 4 AM to get ready for work and put in a 16 hour day. I asked if she delivered milk? She said, no. She was a paralegal. That's when I said, how about 7 till 8 then. Just to meet each other. She said, no she was too tired, but the weekend is fine. This was Monday. I'd already wasted 2 weeks on her getting to this point. Then she said, this weekend is no good. She was going away for the weekend, how about next weekend? I told her to call me when she returned from her trip and said good night. At some point during that conversation, I asked her how long it had been since she was married and she told me 20 years. I really knew at that point we were done!



More to come!

Back to Work...

On this my first day back to work, I was not productive but had an interesting time. I awakened at 5:30 AM, just 4 hours after I went to sleep, but in time to roll over and try again for 2 hours. I was successful. I went right to the shower, instead of drinking coffee for 3 hours and and even shaved. With my hair slicked back and wet, I poured my first cup of coffee. Dried my hair, drank some more coffee and was on the road by 9. Not too early, after all I didn't want to shock my system.

I lucked out and found a parking place the first time through the lot at the auction. My dealer card worked the first time through the ID machine and I was buyer number 507. In other words, 506 car dealers arrived somehow before me......... humph!

The first 2 guys I saw were old friends that I hadn't seen in years and we laughed that none of us had anything better to do than to come to the very place we dreaded going to each week for the past 35 years. I wandered around trying to absorb as much as possible.

People take what car dealers do for granted. But how do they know how much to pay for each car? How do they know when it's bringing too much? How do they know if they've got a bargain? The Blue Book used to help, but if you just paid the price listed, you'd be the biggest loser.

Strangely, Hyundais and Kias are bringing strong money. Who would have dreamed that they would be as strong as Hondas and Toyotas? American gas guzzlers were strong again too. It seems that the used car market is almost catching up with the new car prices, something that has never happened before.

When I first moved here about 36 years ago, one of my best friends was a guy named Bob. I owned a small used car lot on Scottsdale Road named Small Motors and Bob was the used car manager at Holiday Olds. When he got fired and all managers did, he came over and used my license to do business. His wife and my wife were friends and we literally did everything together. Bob was about 9 years older than me, making him 73 now.

Who do you suppose is standing next to me at the auction, but Bob? He keeps looking at me and then looking away. Me, I just keep staring art him, waiting for my identity to sink in. After bob looked at me for about 10 seconds without saying anything, I finally said, "Don't you say hello"? Slowly he started to recognize me and I realized how that 9 years plays hard on you at his age. After a couple of minutes he just walked away. I knew he didn't know my name.

Suddenly, I saw it. In line, over in lane number 1 was a 2001 Volvo convertible, silver with a navy top and only 61,000 miles. I owned the twin sister to this car a couple of years ago and really enjoyed owning it and selling it. I remember paying $7400 and selling it for over $10,500 after using it for a few months. This was a car that I knew something about. Sometimes it's difficult to understand the auctioneer, but it sounded like he was trying to get around $4000 for this vehicle, of course the numbers were going up in a hurry. I got on around $5000 and bid it all the way up to $6000 and decided that without knowing what the Blue Book was, I'd better back off. It sold for $6200. Immediately afterwards, I went into the office and bought a Blue Book, something I haven't owned in years. I looked it up and saw it only booked at about $5300 base book and was pretty glad I'd stopped where I had. This is one of the casualties of not knowing the market.

The weather was awesome and I got a little color today. I left the auction and called a friend to have lunch. After lunch, my car took it's head and I followed it home for a nap. That was a lot of excitement for this old coot.

The Farmer in the Dell, He can go to Hell...

If you don't keep an open eye on people that sell you things these days, I'm afraid you're in for some disappointments. With the most earnest attitude this spring, I went to Home Depot and purchased a tomato plant and to my surprise, it started growing grapes! That's right. It even had the type of tomato that it should have produced, but all I got were grapes that eventually turned red. They were shrivelled and and pathetic looking and nothing that I'd consider putting in my mouth. Where did I go wrong?

I placed my plant in a shady spot where it would plenty of sun and shade, so as not to burn out the little darling. This was my first attempt at farming and frankly, I quit! As far as I'm concerned the Farmer in the Dell can just go to Hell!

In other late breaking news, I've decided to give up on the dating thing. That's right. Currently, I've got about 5 different women that I'm in the process of bringing along to the dating stage, when I sat there last night and realized, I don't think I want to meet any of them. Perhaps I'm depressed or maybe I'm just desirous of the old way of meeting people, where they have to be who they are from the start. I remember the old days when you were fixed up with someone and they were awful from the get go. They didn't get to fool you with old pictures that don't show the latest in wrinkled skin. They don't show that extra 30 LBS that just appeared one day last month and they certainly don't show the evil attitude that some possess. I recall ringing the bell with an optimistic smile on my face and being terrorized to death from the very start. Then there was the unusual time, when she opens the door and she's absolutely delightful and suddenly you realize that it's YOU that are the disappointment! Yes, give me the old days anytime...

Starting Monday, retirement is officially over. I'm going back to work. Something to fill the daytime hours that's productive that does not include TV. I just know it won't be farming!

Life's Path...

This would be ME.

I am not a man, but a shell of a man, walking down a lonely path of loneliness and wanton. With my head held high, I pound out a path that few have followed before. It's a lonely path, but someone has to lead, so others may follow. I liken myself to a member of the Lewis and Clark expedition, leading others though a path of untamed land, not knowing what the next day will bring. I am that pioneer.

Yea, though I walk in the shadow of the valley of death, I fear no evil as I will soon have DirecTV.

It's true. I will no longer know where to find Oprah on a lonely afternoon and where is my beloved discovery channel? Though I will be at a loss without the button that Cox remote offers to show what's on and what time it's over and who's in it? I will trudge on in the proverbial dark with a remote that is foreign to my hand and the only person to turn to will be MJ who already has DirecTV... I am at her mercy... Bravely, I move forward!

On Today's Menu...

Recently I ran into a herd of Jewesses. Don't ask me why, I guess I'm one of the chosen ones. <-------(See what I did there?) They are drawn to my wrinkled face and comical personality. Me, I think they're sent by my mother. First is a tall thin 50 year old named Shana. She appeared and then as quickly disappeared. She wrote me a clever intelligent email, I replied and she was gone. I mean gone, even her profile is gone from Match.com. That means one thing to me. She joined the Israelis are to fight for her God given rights. Shalom Shana..

Next is someone, a short blond who only signs her emails "Me" How clever. In a response to some question concerning Judaism, I replied that I had thought all Jews made love through a hole placed carefully in a sheet, creating anonymity between the husband and wife. Come to think of it, it doesn't REALLY need to be YOUR wife or husband, since the whole affair is secret. (Just a thought). She replied that I was wrong, there is a tribe of one eyed cyclops, a chapter of the KKK that's using the sheet with a single hole. This sent me into a wave of laughter that caused me to almost fall off my chair. "Note to self", use seat belt when reading her emails. I still haven't met "ME" but I'll bet she's funny.

Third and certainly least is a woman from the tribe that in answer to my rather clever, lengthy email, simply replied. "Call me, 480 555-5555". I immediately went to my secret website where you put in a telephone number and are given the person's name, address and age. This 54 year old beauty turned out to be 62 as quick as a heartbeat. God I hate a liar. This being my first lengthy cell phone call since giving up my land line yesterday, I was disappointed to hear her TV in the background blasting louder than her voice. After 20 minutes of listening to her favorite TV show, I asked her to turn off her TV since it was creating feedback. You'd have thought I'd asked her give up one of her children. Finally she agreed to turn off Miami Vice and speak to me. Honestly, I preferred Miami Vice. I found her insulting, holier than Thou, condescending, aloof, common, and any other adjective describing bad. She was a main source of the poor reputation that some innocent Jewish women are given. I certainly wouldn't describe "ME" that way. She was from Boston and when I told her where I lived, she had the audacity to scream, "My Gawd, that's where my cleaning girl lives".. Well, that's all it took for me. I explained that my Herpes is active and I want to spread some salve on it before it festers. We hung up. I deleted her number and blocked her from writing to me again, "ich touhy".........

I didn't get a chance to tell you about the one that's only separated that lives in Glendale, owns a home in upstate New York and one in Spain... She's scheduled for tonight and is NOT a Jewess... I'll keep you posted.