Ground Hog Day Lady Reappears...

My reply:

Dear Barbara:

On 7/10, a Thursday, you contacted me and I called you. We went to meet at the Pub for a drink at 7 PM, we were both  early. You ordered crab cakes and wine, I had a Coke. Our meeting lasted just over 90 minutes and we both fought the storm going home. I thought there may be something wrong with you at the time, as you seemed preoccupied. 

Saturday morning, 36 hours later, you wrote to me again as if we had not just met several hours prior. I ignored that contact but thought it odd. Today, less than 2 weeks later, you're writing to me again, kind of like Ground Hog Day. I don't know what your problem is, whether it's alcohol or drugs, but I'd get that straightened out before trying to meet someone.

Mel

Underwear Shopping, Ugh!

The time has creeped up again and it's come to my attention that it's time to buy some new underwear. There is nothing pleasant about this task, but necessary. As a man, I usually stand in front of a display showing the newest styles in men's underthings and between you and I, it's one of the worst jobs a single man has to perform, almost as bad as grocery shopping! I read somewhere that a man usually buys new underwear about once a year..........bull! That must be a quote from a men's underwear manufacturer. I get new underwear when the cloth separates from the waistband and you feel a draft. Enough about me...

Here's another reason that steered me to Marshal's for new underwear. It's close and things seem to be reasonably priced there and it's full of women shoppers to try to strike up conversations with, basically a men's hunting ground. Also I went to Marshal's because Costco's selection was rather limited, (Ya hear that Costco?) Plus I've been buying my underwear at Costco for many years and it seems that all they have are the semi-boxers made of cloth that come halfway down your thighs. It's summer in Scottsdale and that last thing I want is a second layer of cloth on my legs when it's 110 degrees. So, ideally what I was looking for were briefs in colors, not "tightie whities".

Once I entered Marshal's in North Scottsdale, it took me about 6 or 7 minutes to stroll through the women's things to even locate the men's underwear rack, then figure out the layout so as not to purchase size XXXL. I found my way to the men's mediums, size 32 to 34 and dived in. The first ones I saw were and amazing 5 pair to a box and were only $9.95. Bingo! Why look further? The picture above was on the front of the packaging and the whole thing was packed up neatly with a zipper around the packaging. I'm sold. I make it to the cashier's, pay and leave. 

Now I've been wearing underwear since I've been out of diapers and I'm 68 now. That's a long time in underwear. I wear them everyday, always unless I'm wearing a bathing suit, the only exception. My mechanic doesn't wear underwear and every time he squats down to check something, he shoots out a plumber's crack and I'm always sorry I didn't just look away...

So I get home with my new acquisition and go about my business, tossing the plastic bag on top of the dresser and make a sandwich. Shopping is tough work! Eventually, I go to the dresser and open the packaging to put away my new underwear and to my shock, my $2 briefs are made of nylon and DO NOT HAVE A FLY!!! Men's underwear ALWAYS  have flies! My mind floods with thoughts, but all I can think of, are men's panties. I can't return them because I am not going to have the conversation with a 17 year old high school girl that handles returns about men's flies and why they are suppose to have them! It was only 10 bucks. I've gone to the trouble of taking a photo of a pair for your inspection. How was I to know??? Plus I thought the six-pack came with the briefs!

Another Date from Hell... PART 2 (GROUND HOG DAY)

Just when I thought it was safe to go into the water again.... I woke up this morning and there in my inbox is a message from someone on Match.com. Getting kind of bored with the whole concept after only 4 days this time around, I checked Facebook before even getting too curious. It contained the usual blah, blah, blah and I read my emails. One was from my DIL, Julie suggesting I use Skype to meet new people. Although a good idea, I suspect that getting a woman in this age category to show herself on Skype might be a difficult thing? that's when I opened my Match.com email and to my total shock it was my date from Thursday night and I figured she was going to tell me off for being less than attentive during our 90 minutes, but no! I cut and paste it onto this rendering for your reading amusement. OH, before I continue, I know now why I couldn't remember her first name, because it was Barbara, the same name as my first wife. I must have blocked it!

chi-town49@talkmatch.com town49@talkmatch.com>	7:40 AM (7 hours ago)
to me

Chi-town49 64, Phoenix, AZ Seeking Male 58-69 A confident, strong-willed, independent woman who is looking to share with man of like mind. I am an independent, self sufficent woman who is looking for a man who knows how good he is and has the confidence to display it. (Not Conceit) I would want someone who can share his weaknesses as well as his strengths. … Read more » From: chi-town49 < chi-town49@talkmatch.com > / Received: 7/5/2014 9:40:00 AM

chi-town49 commented on your photo: I am from Chicago, too. Love to chat. Barbara 602-228-XXXX

Another Date from HELL...

See this woman? Well forget her! Take all of her facial features and lower them about 1/4 inch and wrinkle her up and make her into a bar regular. THAT was my date. The only thing missing was the cigarette hanging from her loose lips. I suspect that she was yet another victim of Botox as her face never cracked a smile. So you wonder how I wound up with this creature from below. It went something like this:

It was about 11 AM and I was just awakening. I was up until 4 AM reading a "can't put it down" mystery. After relieving myself and hopping back into bed, I reached for my iPhone to see what the news of the day was. Since rejoining match.com a few days ago, I've been inundated with emails, winks, likes, and interest shown, by a multitude of women, mostly between the ages of 70 and 85. The key word of inundated being "undated!"

I don't remember this woman's name or never knew it, but that's okay since I'm not going to need it. One of the emails I received was from this lady. It was short and brief and to the point and included her cell number. Now remember, I'm still in bed. When reading from my iPhone in bed, I'm on my back and suddenly I fumble my phone while trying to enter her cell number into my phone, fully intending on calling her later, not now! After regaining control of my phone, I can't help but notice I accidentally called someone, I wonder who? Oh, I called this old woman that I was trying to memorialize for a future conversation. You're probably wondering, if I don't like her looks or her age, 64, why am I keeping her number? Well, I liked the way she got right to the point and offered up her cell number, she might be nice? She wasn't! Instead of hanging up, which was an option, I felt, oh well, and waited for her to answer. She was in her car, 90 minutes late for work and what does she do? She's a principal at a West side Phoenix high school. After meeting her, I suspect a hangover might have contributed to her tardiness...

I asked her to tell me a little about herself and she did. She said she was from Illinois, actually Skokie, 100% Italian, moved to CO. for school, has one son and one stepdaughter, was married for 18 years, together for 20 and she asked about me. I simply answered, same as you! Then went on to tell her I was married for 22 years, but neglected to mention it was to 3 different women.

The she asked me to meet her for a drink tonight at the Keg in Desert Ridge, about 7. Here's what I liked about her, she took charge and women seldom do that with me. I'm not sure if I liked it, but was willing to find out. I didn't!

When I first laid eyes on her I was totally disappointed and thought about running out the front door waving my arms and screaming. I thought here goes another wasted evening. You know within seconds if the stranger you are meeting is going to be a hit or a miss and this one didn't even hit the wall the target was on. Prune Face describes her.

I've always wondered why Italian people are so proud her their heritage. When I think of someone 100% Italian, I think of someone tossing a pizza or laying bricks at a construction site. I know this is going to alienate some people, mostly Italians. Jewish people are doctors, attorneys, geniuses, head up the motion picture industry and are generally world leaders, yet you never hear a Jew say I'm 100% Jewish with a big dumb smile. Just sayin'.

At some point I told her that my son and I converted to Italian around 1991, mostly due to our love of the food and also Camaros! Now that line should have brought the house down, it always has, and she never even broke a smile and asked if I was serious and how one converts? I calmly explained that I'm of Jewish descent and you cannot convert from a religion to a nationality, you need to be born into it. That's when she told me that it was not funny. Around that time, she motions for the waitress and orders food. I told her I wasn't hungry and I was under the impression we were meeting for a drink, not dinner. She ordered anyway! I neglected to mention that the place she chose, The Keg, was mobbed with people and to speak I literally had to SCREAM! She didn't scream and I barely heard whatever she was saying and didn't care. At some point I asked about her children and she told me her son was in his 6th year pursuing a medical career and she doesn't know what her stepdaughter was doing or where she lived and didn't care. (How sweet?) That's when the check came and it cost me $23 for her to eat 2 farcockta crab cakes with wine and me to drink a coke! Oh, and she put ice in her red wine!

No kiss, no hug, just a warm nod goodnight... Ninety minutes seemed like a lifetime...

Near Death Experience

It was about 8 PM as I watched the 45th episode of Mad Men on Netflix. I think it was this past Monday night. As I watch TV, the temperature outside is coming slowly down from a record matching 110 degrees and in spite of the AC set at a reasonable temperature, it tends to get warm quickly near the outside walls and windows. To remedy this heat, as everyone in AZ with tell you, we drink a lot of water. I get my water at Costco in 16.9 ounces bottles and use a cool cup to hold the bottles, thus the contents are pretty much invisible to me, while the water remains cooler, longer. I took a long swig from the bottle making a mental note that there is about one mouthful left. About 6 or 7 minutes later, I'm ready for that last swig and lift it to my lips to drain it. While doing so, I THINK I felt something solid touch my tongue, but immediately decide it was a crumb leftover from the chocolate muffin that I ate about 20 minutes earlier and ALMOST swallowed it, when I suddenly pictured the annoying fly that has been landing on the TV screen and walking all over it. That's when I flung myself forward from my reclining chair and spewed the mouthful of water back into the plastic bottle missing the bottle opening with about half of the water. I ripped the bottle out of the cool cup and there before my very eyes was the annoying fly almost drowned in my bottle! That's right, I ALMOST  swallowed the fly! Certainly that would have killed me, right? And I'm not even a frog!

New rule: Always replace the plastic cap when the bottle is not in use!

My Day in India, Sponsored by Amazon...

Lately I've been doing a lot of reading on my Kindle. I acquired this means of conveying the written word about a year ago and since, it's made actual printed books pretty much obsolete to me. I'd say I read about 3 or 4 books a month. Yesterday, I was trying to order a book, which is a really simple procedure normally, but for some reason this time it wouldn't work. After several tries, I finally broke down and went to Amazon's website and struggled through the menus. After several minutes, a drop down screen opened up and referred me to a telephone number that started with 855. Frustrated, I dialed the number and was expecting at a minimum, some HELP! A man answered with an Indian accent and I don't mean a relative of Geronimo. I could barely understand him and told him so. He asked me some pertinent questions and then referred me to a telephone number that was to help me. I dialed this number and it was answered my Sony Electronics. I asked the operator if they manufactured the Kindles and she had no idea, but did ask me who I wanted to be connected with. Finally, the phone began ringing again and another lady of American descent answered and I asked the same question. She didn't know either. It was clear to me now that the first Indian gentleman was just trying to get rid of me by giving me Sony's number. I dialed the 855 number again and this time a woman from India answered and I just hung up. Ten seconds later my phone rings and it's the 855 number calling me back. 

I answered knowing fully well that I had been busted for calling and hanging up, but since I couldn't understand much of what she said, I accepted my lecture easily. Then, somehow, I understood her to ask if she could take control of my computer. I said, sure, why not? Suddenly the background color when from blue to black and she was whipping through my files like some computer wizard. At some point out of habit, I moved my mouse a little and was quickly reprimanded me, that she was now in control and to allow her to do her thing. She complained that my computer was too slow and that was a big issue on why I couldn't order a book. She showed me lists of failed tries and underlined things and circled things in red. I felt ashamed of my computer. It was old and needed replacing. She said, no. It will be fine. After about 30 minutes of her taking control of everything, she started talking about how she could make everything better, just like a mom might sooth a hurt child. Suddenly, it occurred to me that this is an awful lot for an emergency tech to be doing for free and I asked if there would be any charge for anything she was doing. She avoided answering me yet, but eluded to a one time charge. 

I'd had enough, just like I'm sure you have and screamed into the phone, HOW MUCH IS THE ONE TIME CHARGE??? Long silence, that frankly I was appreciative of. $259.99. WHAT, that's ridiculous! All I'm trying to do is order a damned book and you're trying to solve the problems of the world! She ignored me and continued on her spiel, explaining that this is NOT a sales call, it is technical support! Now I hope you have read all of this with a make-shift Pakistan accent, because that's what I was hearing. I told her that $259.99 was ridiculous and she dropped it to $159.99 but for a limited time only! I told her that I was going to hang up now and that if she continued to keep speaking to me, she would be on her own. I told her then that she had been of no help to me at all and hung up. 

But what about my computer, she still had control of it! Suddenly all of the colors changed back to what they were originally and my mouse was once again under my control. I looked at the time and about an hour had gone by while I listened and argued. Then I thought, how could Amazon allow someone to invade their website and did Amazon even know about this, but again, everything was so elusive, how would I explain it and to what avail?

I still had no book though. I tried Amazon's chat feature, where you text with a rep online and she (Caroline) explained after taking down my name and reading my ISP number, that the reason that I did not receive the book I ordered was because I had already ordered that same book probably 6 months ago and it's already on my Kindle, but about half way back on my list. She was right! I had ordered the sample of the book, had not liked it and never ordered the book itself. Somehow that experience exhausted me, as though I'd actually been to India!

How My Credit Card Put the Smile on this Man's Face

I think it was about Thursday of last week that I finally convinced myself to bring my car down to Paul's Shop to get the radiator replaced. I wasn't looking forward to it after spending the entire day there while he diagnosed it. Let me describe Paul's Shop. No waiting area and no place to sit. On top of that, Paul's a hoarder in his personal life and much spills over to his office. Junk mail from months and months ago, piled high on every surface. Dirty uniforms on every other flat surface and anything that he ever acquired packed in there as well. The outside temperature was right around 100 and no moving air inside the office and direct sunlight, outside the office

Then there's the shop with puddles of fluids on the shop floor and he and his assistant occupying every usable inch of space that is not storing things. Do not ask me about the rest room! Obviously he doesn't have air conditioning, but he does have an evaporative cooler that he was not using. At one point I scream, "Why don't you turn on the cooler at least?" "You want to wait the 30 minutes that it with takes him to turn it on for the season", was his answer? No... I guess not, was mine.

Getting back to Thursday, the weather was in the mid 80's and pleasant and I figured it's now or never, as I headed down to the bad part of town, about 33 miles away. It was about 11 AM and Paul was still not at work, although he lives on the property. His assistant/future son in law, a tall skinny kid that I thought was about 22, who is actually 28 and mumbles everything, was there ready to work. I asked if they got my radiator and his answer was "I donno". This is not pertinent to the story, but Chris, the assistant has a 2 inch growth of pubic hair attached to his face, but not as a beard, more in patches, wanting to be a beard, full of bare spots and not thick enough to be a real beard. I desperately want him to shave, but say nothing. I see a cardboard box the shape of my new radiator and once again ask if it is, but get the same answer, "I donno". When Chris speaks, he's bent over an engine compartment and his head is down and he appears to be speaking directly to the alternator, very hard to understand.

Paul comes out of his trailer, where he lives and immediately enters his office and cranks up the computer for instruction on how to install a new radiator in a Volvo. For this I'm paying $400! He goes out into the shop and he and Chris discuss how they're going to approach this job and "from the bottom" seems to be the answer, making me realize I could not do this myself. Pretty soon my car is lifted into the air with his hydraulic lift and I try to watch, but there is not room for me. I go into his office where I try to sit somewhere, but everywhere is occupied, as described. I clear off a spot and lean on a counter and wait, visiting the shop pretty often to watch the progress.

Time passed, it always does and eventually my car is being lowered to the ground and left running to test for no leaks. It seemed fine and I was anxious to leave. Time to relieve me of my money. We agreed in advance that he could accept my credit card, something new for Paul. He did tell me that they will charge him 3% for credit, but I didn't give it any thought. He presented me a bill and there it was, big as life, 3% charge of $12 for credit. This is a first and I told him it wasn't legal to charge extra for credit unless he had a banking license (I made this up, just rattling his cage). Pretty soon Chris sits down with his smart phone and looks it up and it turns out that I was correct in 40 states, but not AZ! I laughed and left, but only after Paul pulls out this gizmo from a drawer and sticks it into his phone to swipe my card. Four hours had go by and I wanted out of there! 

By the time I got into civilization, North Scottsdale, it was almost 4 PM and I hadn't eaten all day. The thought of preparing something to eat at this hungry hour did not appeal to me and I remembered a McDonalds that my grandson, Max and I had gone to before one of his hockey games, right before he threw up and decided to stop there. What were the chances that all their food was bad?

I entered and was pleased to see only a few people ahead of me but wasn't sure if they had already ordered and were just waiting for their orders or if they had not ordered yet? I asked a guy next to me who got very territorial and shouted, "I'm ahead of you"! I smiled and waited. I couldn't help but notice that the line was moving very slowly, actually not at all. Then I notice that the only girl working was probably on her first day and had to ask about everything, poor thing. Looking up on their back wall, I noticed that the menu was huge, so many things to choose from. I figured I'd be okay to just order a Big Mac, small fries and small drink. Suddenly, I was up! It was my turn. I said, I'll have a Big Mac, small fries and small drink. She yells, Harry, this guy wants a small Big Mac. Before I can say anything, Harry is on it. He explains the history of the Big Mac and how it got it's name when I interrupt him and say, I just want one with small fries and small drink. Harry says, $6.52 and once again I swipe my credit card and I'm asked to wait, but not before the new girl asks me my name. I say Mel, she says, Bill? I say, no it's Mike. (They never get Mike wrong) She writes Mike on my receipt and now I'm waiting with my three people that were ahead of me earlier. About 5 minutes goes by and she calls Mike, but I don't reply, not really being a Mike! Finally, I admit to being Mike and take my food. Not too long ago, about 55 years I think, didn't burgers used to be 15 cents? What happened? It's 2014 and I'm waiting about 20 total minutes, to eat a $6.52  burger under an assumed name! 

I already got my Coke and all I needed was a dozen or so napkins. That's the fewest you can grab from the dispenser. I look for a table and there in a back booth is a homeless kid, about 23 or so, passed out on a table. This is an affluent area, there are little children playing just feet from him in an elaborate playground and there he is snoring away. I did nothing, but unwrap my Big Mac and take a bite, finally. Only to realize my bun is stale. Complaining takes energy and I was too hungry and tired to complain, so I ate it and left. 

My car was parked right by the door and I climbed in and enjoyed "Mike's" full belly on the ride home. I pulled into my driveway and guess what! My garage door opener was GONE! How, what, why, where? Those were the things that went through my mind. How will I get into the house? Oh yeah, the keys to the front door. That's why I never leave the security latch engaged. I unlock the door without incident and go to the garage and open it from the inside and there under my car is this huge puddle of, not coolant it turns out, but power steering fluid. WTF? I pull into the garage, close the door and lay down on the couch and think, what could have happened to my garage door opener, but first a nap...

After my nap, I decide I definitely must find my garage door opener and begin looking everywhere. I even called Paul on his cell and asked and all I got was, "Nobody even got into your car", which was true. With the flashlight from my iPhone, I look under the driver's seat and sure as hell, there it is, tangled in the wires that lead to my power seat motor. In order for it to get there, it needed to jump up an inch, which is virtually impossible, yet there it was. Now I still thought the puddle was coolant at the time and perhaps according to Paul, he may have just overfilled it.

The following day, there was a huge puddle in my garage and I cleaned it up and went to pick up a prescription. On the way to the pharmacy, my car started howling like my 8th grade choir, two weeks before graduation. Again WTF? When I got home, I checked the power steering fluid and it was non-existent on the dip stick. It took almost a full quart to bring it up to full. On Monday, after not driving my car all weekend, I refilled it again and headed to Paul's to find my new problem and guess what? Only the assistant, Chris was there and he said, good news! I asked what and he told me, it was not anything that he did. That my power steering upper hose was just loose and it would be a free fix...........hooray!