For Sale: 1999 VW Cabrio Red Convertible

Before agreeing allow someone to come out to look at one of my cars, I ought to interview them, just a little. There was a time when I had less patience than I do now, that I would tell middle Easterners that the car in question was just sold, therefore avoiding a frustrating interaction with someone that I don't want to deal with. However with the economy as it is today, I can no longer afford myself that luxury. These days, I'll even deal with the Asians! ( The Asians are notorious for wasting a lot of your time and then buying from only another Asian.)

Last evening, I got an email from a Dan Dorkman with a Honeywell domain. This is a good clue that Dan is an engineer, another group to shy away from, but since I used to deal in Volvos, I learned to deal with engineers, because that's all I ever got. It would be safe to say that when you sell Volvos, you stand a good chance of dying from second hand pipe smoke. In addition to the signature pipe, they usually have beards and really thick glasses, but I digress...

When Dan wrote, I answered very politely to call me and offered him my cell number. Lately, I've spent a little too much time exchanging emails with people that never call and without the phone call, people don't feel a commitment to come to see the vehicle. About 6:30 PM, my phone rang and it was Dan, however I was in the process of installing a new printer/fax machine and the call was rudely answered by the fax. He was conscientious enough to call right back, saving me the embarrassment of calling him and apologizing for giving him a fax number to reach me at. We chatted about the car for about 2 or 3 minutes when he asked me if I was from the Midwest. I said yes, Chicago but I've been here for 35 years and had hoped my whiny Chicago accent had left me. He told me that he could still hear it, that his wife was from Chicago and sounded just like me.

Dan was inquiring about my 99 VW Cabrio red convertible for his daughter. I took him through the 50 cent tour on the car, but realized that the car was at my new friend's house, Mean Mona. Mean Mona and I had had words earlier yesterday and she was about the last person on the planet that I wanted to talk to about then. It seems that Mean Mona is in the battle of her life against the dreaded hormones and occasionally is not fit for conversation,l if you catch my drift. I explained to Dan that the car was elsewhere in a nice clean garage and I needed to collect it. He agreed to waiting about an hour before coming out and by the way, he was coming from Gilbert,AZ, quite a drive. When someone comes that distance and comes immediately after making the contact, they are usually pretty serious buyers.

Grabbing a bottle of water and calling Mean Mona, to arrange for the car switch, I found her not answering. (More stress) I called no less than 10 times, trying to indicate to her that it was important. She was outside watering her yard and didn't hear the phone, but did call me back about 10 minutes later. By then I had already called Dan back to tell him I was unsuccessful at rousing Mean Mona. My perfect scenario would have been for Mean Mona to drive here while Dan was doing the same and everyone rendezvous here. Mean Mona wasn't in agreement to that plan, so I hopped into the car, after calling Dan back and arranged for me to meet him at my house at 7:30.

I sped down the 101 to Mean Mona's and when I arrived there, Mean Mona had put the car outside and was leisurely watering her front yard, in an extra mean way. She yelled that I look like a fag in that car, flipped me the bird, I flipped one back and split. I TOLD you Mean Mona was a mean one! I was only half way through my road race back to my house to meet Dan the man. I showed up right on time and blown to smithereens, having driven at 75 MPH speeds with the top down. I backed the red convertible into the driveway and got Bogie out to help me wait for Dan. Bogie laid down in the driveway and pretty soon Dan and his daughter Courtney arrived making a big deal about Bogie, my Number 1 salesman. Bogie schmoozed for awhile with the buyers, the first thing I taught him and excused himself to the house.

Any kind of a red convertible is a "passion buy" and poeple buy them because they feel they have to. It's not a "need", but a "want". Knowing this, naturally I use it to my advantage. Dan introduced himself and somehow within the first sentence mentioned he was a Desert Storm veteran, creating a whole new respect for him. Courtney was a chip off the old block and the two of them read the owner's manual for no less than 90 minutes, asking about a gazillion questions that I couldn't answer. The top went up, the top went down, the boot went on, the boot came off. Does it have a pass through for her skis? Has it been washed by a car wash or by hand? How many miles to the gallon. Dan found that it had a power top that was disconnected, but worked. I had to stop him from rolling up his sleeves to repair it, right on the spot. I told him not to, it works fine now, manually. I didn't want to be rude and tell him that the new ones are $35,000, this one is almost 10 years old and in EXCELLENT shape. When he asked me how I want to get paid, I thought it was going in my direction, but then he told me he had to run it past his wife, who is probably the decision maker. I think Dan and Courtney would have stayed all night had I not started making going away noises. They would have cozied up with a lamp and that owner's manual and been good for the night.

It's traditional with that type of purchase, if the buyer doesn't leave at least a deposit, he's not going to buy the vehicle. My guess is that Dan is going to do some more research on the car and call me back with an offer..............Or he might just be happy with that owner's manual???

Mel
6/12/08

Why I Live Alone...

My Relaxation station.

( About a month ago I threw out an old 6X9 rug that got too disgusting and you wouldn't believe how many pairs of shoes I found that I thought were lost!)

There was a time in my life that I considered myself a rather neat person. A place for everything and everything in it's place. Well, that's mostly over now. Over the years I've learned by living alone, that the best place for things are where they are easiest to get to.

I was raised in a family that thought cleanliness was secondary to many other things and it revolted me, the confusion that existed within the household. I went out on my own at a very early age and set a new precedent of immaculate cleanliness. Here was my problem. I couldn't find a woman that lived up to my rigid expectations and although I was willing to make the effort myself, I found their messy habits a hindrance.

I lived happily in my almost perfect bachelor palace until I was 22, when I met my first wife. She was 23 and had lived her entire life with her parents, her mother being just the type of person I wanted. I thought certainly that the apple didn't fall too far from the tree, but I was wrong that time. Although I still maintained a healthy clean personal environment, my wife's personal areas looked as though we'd experienced a disaster and worse yet, she was too lazy to do anything about it. As children came along, they were raised in throes of chaos. If you were hungry, you looked in the fridge for food. If you needed clean socks, you looked in the dryer. Towels were piled up in a mess on the dining room table. One time I turned on the oven to heat up a pizza. To my surprise, that was where she hid dirty dishes when her family visited. Can you see the grounds for divorce forming yet?

One time, one of the kids spilled a Coke or Pepsi on the kitchen table and it was the type where you could put a leaf into it, meaning it had a crack down the center of the table. The soda dripped down onto the floor and was never wiped up. Eventually dirt, dog fur, and slow moving insects would get stuck in it. It became a dark spot on the floor in my kitchen. Each day when I'd come home from work and enter through the kitchen door, that was the first place my eyes would settle and I would begin to seethe.. One day, after many months of looking at that spot, I came in and exploded. I insisted she take the kids out to a movie or somewhere, so I could clean the house. Naturally, I began with the spot under the kitchen table.

Eventually the Princess of Dirt and I parted company in a court of law and she went her way to destroy the homes of several other men. I met wife number 2, the Queen of Clean. This girl couldn't go to sleep if there was anything out of place. At first I thought this was amusing that I was able to find my match for housekeeping. After awhile, it really got on my nerves having her wash the screen on the TV as I watched the Suns play. That marriage didn't last too long unfortunately. I think it was when she packed the Windex to take with on vacation to a 5 star resort that ruined it for me. Would you believe she used it to clean our hotel room window? That divorce happened in 1991.

In 1992 I bought the house that I currently reside in. It was my dream house. Although I know there are bigger, better houses out there, to me this is as good as it got. At the time, it was just my son and myself needing a roof over our heads, but I had worked hard and could afford it at the time, so I figured why not? It's a sprawling 3500 square feet with exotic island landscaping, a billiard room, a master bedroom that you can bowl in and 4 other bedrooms that have never been used, really. The dogs and I wander around this house aimlessly looking for homeless people that have taking up residence here. It has a swimming pool that I haven't used in years and the cover hasn't been off of the pool table since I got these dogs 10 years ago. (Bogie grabs the balls and runs away.)

I bought this house new and designed it myself, adding tile floors and window treatments as desired. I kept this immaculately. I was washing something or vacuuming something else, constantly.. I was happy, content, had tried marriage and it didn't work for me. I think it was my son that pointed out that the chances of me meeting a woman in this house were rather remote and that perhaps I should venture out into the world. I did. In Feb, 1996, I met my third and last wife. We married in November of that year, waiting about 10 months to get to know one another. During that time, I learned a lot about myself as well as she. I felt that I really knew her when we moved in together as husband and wife. Although we had spent probably about 4 or 5 nights a week together, you really don't get to know a person until you live together. I knew that Debra's house was truly messy, but she had me convinced it was her dirty sister that kept it that way and within their family circle, Debra was known as the clean freak. This pleased me, truly. Debra moved in on 11/02/1996 and NEVER lifted a finger to help with anything aside from occasionally washing the dishes after me mentioning repeatedly that I do all of the cooking she could at least help with the dishes. One day, I went upstairs to get something and there was my lovely new wife who had just gotten ready for work. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that we had 20 different cabinets in our master bedroom bath and every one of the cabinet doors was ajar and towels were hanging over them and her make-up was thrown around the counters and about a week's worth of dirty clothes were strewn onto the floor and Debra was ready to leave. With a quick kiss on the cheek, she was gone. I stood there over my once clean bedroom bathroom, planing my next move. Whatever move I chose, must have been the wrong one, because that marriage ended in November of 2001, after right at 5 years..

I've been single for about 7 years now. No one bothers me with their messes. If I don't feel like doing the dishes at night, I don't. I pick up the yard almost everyday, after all, they're Great Danes. Some times I make the bed, other times I don't. I have become what you might call sedimentary and I just don't care!

Mel

6/08/08

My Two Best Friends...

My two best friends in the whole world both circle before they lay down. They each have 4 legs and no arms, yet they maneuver beautifully. With the rare exception of needing an opposing thumb occasionally, they can do almost anything. Bogie, the boy, even knocks on the door to come inside and lets me know when he wants to go out by opening the door with his nose and gently letting it shut, looking back to see if I got his message. He speaks to me and asks for things. It's not like he asks for outrageous things like some of my former wives, it's usually just a cookie. They don't know how to tell time, yet they always know when it's time to eat and gently nudge me if I'm busy on the phone or preoccupied with business. By the way, they will not subscribe to daylight savings time and I agree that it's just silly. My two friends are Great Danes, also known as Gentle Giants. You really wouldn't know that by the way Zoie, my little girl, a mere 120 LB ran at me at full speed in a playful way. I thought certainly she's break to the left or right and miss me, but no.... She hit me at full speed wanting to play. I doubt that they feel pain the same way a 62 year old man experiences it, hmm..... I limped away wishing she were a Yorkie, but she never knew it. Zoie is Bogie's girl. Bogie is my big boy. He's an amazing 300 LB of harlequin poetry. He was lonely and so I searched high and low for a female for him and finally selected Zoie. The have been in love since the day they met and shared a tug-o-war with a rope. It was love at first sight. Although they've never tied the knot, they've been engaged for the past 9 years. That crazy pair just won't set a date! Recently, mirroring real life, they asked for separate beds. It started out, if he was in the bed, she insisted on sleeping on the couch. I went to the goodwill and bought a second bed. Now they're sleeping in twin beds. He says she stinks, she says he snores. Now everyone is happy. Bogie's 10 and Zoie is 9 and I know when they turn 16 they won't ask for a car!

Mel

6/07/08

We're fencing off Mexico, but what about South America???

Today started out like any other day here in beautiful Scottsdale, AZ. We were delighted to have a rather breezy, clement day, a break from our triple digits. It must have been declared Palm Tree season by our visitors from the South. I've been bombarded with anxious Hispanics ringing my bell, dropping a card and leaving. Many can't speak any English and are hoping their interpreter is home when the calls start coming in. I make it a practice to ignore most of my front door guests, as I've learned long ago, that people ringing my front door bell seldom have anything I want. Another reason is, I seldom wear a shirt around the house in the summertime and it seems rude to answer the door half naked. The biggest reason is the Dynamic Duo. That doorbell rings and there is a sudden rush to the front door by 400 LB of Great Danes and everyone coming to visit aren't necessarily ready to meet them. Most going backing down the 4 front steps tripping and mumbling something about their mother calling them, making a quick clumsy exit.

Today I was in the mood to teach an illegal a lesson and just opened the door and let them out saying, yes, can I help you? Do they bite? That's what I usually hear in a heavy Spanish accent. My reply is, "only when they're hungry". Then I mention it's their dinner time. Anyhow, this dark skinned gentleman managed to get out the words Palm Tree in his sentence and I told him yes, I'll pay $25 a tree and there are 9 of them. With a combination of Spanish, English and sign language, he told me to wait, he needs to ask his boss. He then returned for the details again, I must have confused him. With his third return, he told me they would do it. Two more men jumped out of the truck and it seems I've made myself a deal.

Right around that time, my guy became the social director of the operation and told me his name is Vinnie and asked mine. I told him Mel and he said, like the actor, Mel Gibson? It seemed that Vinnie's English was better than I thought and playing the dumb Mexican must work for him. While the working end of the operation dressed in spikes and other climbing apparatus, Vinnie and I bonded. My first question was, are you Italian Vinnie? Yes, was the answer to that, although it turned out that his great, great grandfather was from Italy and settled in Honduras where he met his wife and raised a family. The other two workers were Guatemalan and everyone knew of Sheriff Arpiao. His name would be heard in the middle of a sentence in Spanish and then laughter would ensue. I guess some people are a universal joke.

The Dynamic Duo got a lot of attention and then I thought it wise to put them in the house where it was cooler. First Vinnie asked me for some 2 stroke oil for the chain saws. I referred him to Home Depot, just 1/2 mile away. The little guy went. I forgot to tell you about the little guy. He was the boss. He hopped out of the truck and couldn't have stood 4 1/2 feet tall. He had jet black hair and lots of it. He turned out to be 63. He walked up that tree as if there were no gravity. I was amazed. My trees are 40 to 50 feet tall and he never got tired. He was the only climber. My buddy Vinnie and another guy did the ground work while shorty resembled a 10 year old boy with his gusto. Shorty went to the store for the oil while the helpers took a break. When the boss got back, there was another truck following him. It seems while Shorty was 50 feet up in the air on a really windy day, he took a telephone break and called his girlfriend, a woman that more than tripled Shorty's stats for weight.

Let me describe my gardener's truck. It was a Chevrolet, mostly. It said Chevy on the red front half, but the bed was a white Dodge with a lot of homemade devices welded onto it. Behind it, he towed a bed from a Ford, just the bed. Shorty's girlfriend drove a brand spanking new Toyota 4 door, Tundra. Out of the Tundra climbed out about 1200 LB of women. All about 40 years old, all really, really fat. Some spoke a little English but most didn't. I was beyond trying to figure out the relationship, but suddenly I had about 6 women working to finish my job. Everyone was working. they were quick, efficient, and clean. No one lit a cigarette and they had their own drinks. If they needed a bathroom, I never knew about it. These people were GOOD!

At one point I called Vinnie over and told him, whatever they do, DO NOT get any loose fronds on the Creepy Neighbor's side, on my B side because that guy's an asshole. Suddenly Vinnie switched to English and yells to his amigos, "Don't get any leaves on the neighbor's yard, he's an ASSHOLE!" So much for keeping secrets...

Not to try to second guess anyone, but I got the feeling the girls were a house cleaning crew that had just finished a job and they just happened to be in the neighborhood, but Bogie was in Seventh Heaven with them all making a big deal about him. Yep, my Babyboy likes the women. The bigger the better for Bogie....

In addition to the job they were there to do, they also removed an old tree stump that had been bothering me. They did it for free and did it within 2 minutes. That was the same tree stump that my ex-girlfriend Julie wanted to trade me a brand new treadmill for, straight across. If I gave her the treadmill, she would ask her son-in-law to remove the tree stump, some deal, huh? Then, it turned out that I have 10 Mexican Palms, not 9, like I said. No one seemed to count them besides me and since I last counted them, one more grew out of my reach.. They never mentioned it, so I decided with the good job they did and as fast as they were and didn't argue about anything, even Vinnie, that I'd just give them $300. Vinnie grabbed the money and put it into his pocket and immediately Shorty came over and started getting upset in Spanish. I'd bet anything that Shorty wanted the money and Vinnie is going to give it to him, but only $225. I yelled, "come back next year" and went into the house....

Mel

6/04/08

Farewell to St. Jules...

Ever since the Lovely St. Jules and I parted company, I've been worried about meeting someone that would be as good a fit as Julie. Seldom do we meet people that we "click" with the way that St. Jules and I did, but that is over now.

Enter Mona P. Fisher.... Mona is a friend of a friend and the moment that we met, I knew it would be a long relationship. Where Julie was crabby, moody, and sometimes less than accommodating, Mona is happy, charming, always in a good mood and open for anything and everything. She's open minded, attractive and built like a brick shit house, to coin a phrase from the past. Mona is fashion aware, a great cook and happy to be spending time with me. She's career oriented and has a great work ethic. Although Mona is pushing 50, she looks and acts like a much younger woman. She's well balanced and knows a little bit about most topics. You can take Mona anywhere and be proud of her.

Be prepared to be hearing a lot more about Mona in the future...

Mel
6/03/08

More Trouble in Tuba City...

Today was 104 degrees. Hot huh? I went to my car lot to spend the day there washing cars and putting things in order. Another of my motivations was to get Paul, my mechanic and landlord to start working on some of my cars. Recently I bought several cars that require a lot of mechanical work. One in particular is a head gasket job, that will pay somewhere in the area of $3000 in repairs, yet tomorrow marks the 30 day period that it has been sitting there. My office of my car lot does not have air conditioning. It used to, but one day when I came to work, it was missing. When I inquired, Paul told me he removed the unit to install in his new trailer. His kids are going to spend the summer and I don't want them to be without AC, do I? I couldn't believe at the time he had cannibalized my trailer without even giving me notice. I decided to move out, without giving him notice. Paul always justifies what he does and makes it seem like he was always right. He insisted that I was wrong for moving out without giving him notice and if I wanted AC, I should have said so.

Casually, one day, I told Paul that keeping a refrigerator running in a hot trailer is probably coasting him $50 a month. The very next day, he unplugged my refrigerator in the trailer. Me and my big mouth. Last week, I spent about 90 minutes in my trailer without AC and without a refrigerator to even keep a bottle of water cool, while waiting for my insurance man to come. I broke down and turned on the fridge to cool my water and decided to keep it plugged on and brought a case of water down. Today, when I arrived, I saw my case of water in Paul's fridge and he explained that he was awfully disappointed to see I had plugged in the fridge. If I want water, I can come to his office to get some and keeping the fridge plugged in is asking too much. I guess I'll be moving again, soon...

Mel

6/02/08

Darned $5 Dog...

I went to a friend's house last night to watch a little TV. I don't seem to see enough of the thing here, so when I go out, I really enjoy watching the tube a little more. We were laying in bed, as that is where her newest TV resides and we were watching cage fighting. I'd never really seen this type of sport before and was quite impressed with it. These maniacs go into a cage with a like minded opponent and literally try to kill one another. Blood is everywhere. The mat is even coated with an even layer of plasma. One guys ear was practically ripped off before our very eyes.

My friend was so engaged watching the teeth fly, that she was screaming at the top of her lungs, "Kill the bastard". I didn't really expect her to react that way, as she's usually quite demure and never even let's a curse word escape from her well made up mouth. You'd have thought she was a cheer leader for the winner! Well, without warning, her pet dog, a 65 LB fellow, that was purchased for the mere price of $5, leaped from his position on the floor and attacked me. He tore his 4 canines into my arm at the fleshy part of the forearm and tore the flesh off. With a quick swallow it was gone and he was after me again, this time he engaged his teeth into the stub that was left and was ripping again! I went into immediate shock as my friend kept screaming STOP, to her $5 dog and then repeatedly asking if I was going to sue... She ran for the first aid kit and put 2 of those small band-aids onto the oozing flesh, saying that ought to hold it. Then she took her index finger, pointed it directly into her $5 dog's face and said, "Bad doggy", sending her pet outside for punishment. Then she resumed screaming as I almost bled out, watching the cage fight.

I passed out and looked over at my friend who was also asleep. With my one good arm, I let myself out and drove over to the Emergency Room of St. Kylie's Hospital, where I was tossed onto a gurney and wheeled to the OR for life saving blood transfusion. Suddenly, my cell phone went off and I answered it and it was my friend whose $5 dog chewed off my arm. She was hysterical finally. I barely made out what she was screaming, but it sounded like she was saying, "someone had better plan on paying for her comforter that was literally soaked in blood". I agreed to fork over the necessary cash as soon as I was released from the hospital. She said, I'd better or she was turning it over to her lawyer. I hung up and the staff prepared me for surgery where they were going to graft a hunk on flesh from my ass and attach it to my abused stump of a right arm. They assured me that it may smell bad from time to time, but should function okay.

My friend, feeling pretty bad about everything, invited me over tonight to take her $5 dog for a walk with her. I'm going, but I'm wearing armor!

Mel
6/01/08