A Cute Little Bird...

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

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

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

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

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

Break-in, in North Phoenix...

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

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

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

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

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

Groundhog Day Syndrome or GDS...

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

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

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

Thank you.

Toothless in Tucson...

Toothless in Tucson

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

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

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

Hugs (always available) and dreams,
Peggy"

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

Are Birthdays Supposed to Suck?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Frickin' Birthday, huh?

Why I'm Thin...

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

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

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

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

"May I help you sir?"

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

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

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

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

Thank God for the Internet...

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

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

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

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