Oprah, We Miss You!

Ever since Oprah retired from daytime television, my afternoon TV selections have been up for grabs. Then, to add insult to injury, they moved Dr. Phil, my only connection to sanity, to a new and different time slot. Suddenly, Anderson has a show and he goes from a respected news commentator to a rag seller trashing the city's back alleys. Katie Couric has a show now, but it's only geared to the female audience. What's a guy to do? Work?

One day while surfing the stations that I have, I settled on Anderson for a few minutes and some woman came on and told of an App that she felt was rather revolutionary. It's called SHOP SAVVY. Here's what it does. You download it to your smart phone and when you use it, it's shocking. I figured I'd try it. It's free, so after searching the web and coming up empty, I decided to try the App Store on my iPhone. It popped up immediately and after a few personal questions, I was ready to download it. It took about 45 seconds and it was ready to use.

Proving that I was now an active member of the 21st century, I was fearless! It offered a window and I was to hold it up to a bar code of any item I wanted to know about. It offers the price the item is asking and then it offers you options of where this item can be purchased for less in your immediate area. Wow! I tried a book that I had bought at Costco for $5.69, a Patricia Cornwell novel entitled Red Mist. It had it's bar code still intact. I held the phone up to it using the camera lens to view the bar code and within seconds it beeped and told me I could have bought this book at Barns and Nobles for $2.35 new and $1.19 used. It also listed a few other places that the book was available, for less than I paid Costco I might add. Now the purpose of this is not to save $4 on a book, although that doesn't hurt, but think about the big ticket items. I bought a 42" Vizio TV one day at Walmart for $450 plus tax. I thought that was pretty cheap and it was. A few days later I spoke with my friend Barry and he offered to me that he just bought the same TV at Costco for $500. That's 50 bucks saved. That was just luck on my part. Now with Shop Savvy, I may not need luck. 

*Martha Jane, you should jump all over this!

PS. The book was a big disappointment.

Who Remembers the Charge-It Card?

Sitting around watching TV, something I do way too much of, I waded through a commercial for Fry's Food Stores and suddenly an entire wave of memories started coming to mind. I'm REALLY old! I was around before they had supermarkets. Groceries used to come from the corner store, a place that had no name, that offered credit to people for the asking. They sent a bill once a month along with a delivery boy, that also brought you your groceries. As I got older, I was allowed to walk to the corner store and pick up a package of cigarettes for mom or dad. Dad smoked Chesterfield regulars and mom smoked Spring lights. Cigarettes were 24 cents a pack and an extra penny bought you a book of matches to go along with them. No note was required for a 5 year old kid that was required to hold his older brother's hand, all the way there and back. While you were there, you were allowed to reach into a large cooler that held cold water and pull out a bottle of your favorite soda (pop). They were a dime each and for that kind of money, you wanted to make sure of your choice. I was partial to Orange Crush, but also favored the Hire's Root Beer. One time on the way back, I gave my Fudgesickle to a panting dog just because he looked so hot. He sniffed it once and walked away. I'll never forget the loss I'd felt!

When I was 9 we moved to the suburbs and my mother used to wait for my father to take a morning off to go to the Jewel, she didn't drive. That was the end of the corner store for a long time. The Jewel didn't give credit either. Everything back then was cash. People spoke of a "buy now and pay later" society in a negative way. There was no such thing as credit unless you got yourself a personal loan from a bank. I remember my father's house payment was $104 a month and he paid it once a year for the previous year. No one spoke of foreclosure, just when can you pay. In January my father would get his fall commission check and get caught up then. No late charges, just a hand shake and a thank you from the banker.

Then one day and I think it rained, there in the mailbox was a letter from a bank and it was addressed to me. I was 16 years old and pretty surprised to be getting mail from anyone! Inside the envelope was a card that said "Charge It" on it and it had the same symbol as the MasterCard's of today. The two world globes that we're so familiar with today. Everyone who had a social security number was eligible for "Charge It". I read the pamphlet that came along with it and it said it was good wherever the "Charge It" symbol was displayed. I probably carried that thing in my pocket for several months before I tried it. I didn't trust it, frankly! Who was giving this credit to me and WHY? The news in Chicago was full of stories about Postal workers that were mugged for the Charge It cards they were carrying. They literally issued one to about everyone. I think my bill was up over a thousand bucks when I got the letter about making payments. OH payments, that's what this is all about. Well I started making payments and to this day I still haven't stopped! 

I really kind of miss the corner store and the mentality that made it work.

A New Free Dating Service

She looks normal, right?

Someone told me about a dating service that was supposed to be quite good and best of all, it was a free one. It's called OKCUPID. As my membership on Match.com comes to an end, I'll certainly need a replacement in order to continue the disappointments I currently experience quite often. Now if you think about it, the people my age and myself included, that are on random dating services are flawed in one way or another. They are not available for dating because they were such good partners, unless of course they are widowed and that's a different situation. Let's face it, we have proven to the world that we are not good at relationships, either that or picking the right person for ourselves.

So last week I filled out the questionnaire and was totally shocked by all of the questions and how personal they were. I answered 212 questions and never saw the end. One question wanted to know how many times a week I masturbated, gasp! (I skipped that one)

Now Match.com has a censoring system that keeps everything on the up and up. Trust me, you can't say shit, that they don't check. They don't allow arrows or other little pictures like this ( o ) ( o ). Obviously eyes. Match wouldn't permit me to use a picture where I was holding a cup up to my face. It violates some rule. On this new dating service you can use pictures of your genitals and no one seems to care. The legitimacy of the pictures sometimes leaves a lot to be desired. It's totally dependent on the honesty of the member posting the picture. All I know is that I continually write to and get the telephone numbers of women that seem to look like Jennifer Hudson and by the time we meet, Betty White shows up!

Last night I had a hard time sleeping. I was up several different times, bored with nothing to do. I'd go to the computer and browse, looking for something that interested me. I looked on OKCupid and saw a woman that had looked at my profile, so I decided to read her profile. The first thing I noticed was that it was long. The lady was rather attractive and 56, so I looked further. Her profile was really long, just what I needed to get sleepy, I thought. It started out talking about Atheism and how there should not be such a word, that it unnecessarily classifies people. Then it went on and on saying how God kills babies and so forth. After several typewritten pages, it stopped and switched to how she hates organized religions and how they cause wars and the creation of classes. Fast forward to politics and I'm no longer reading but doing an IQ test. I learned the woman was very articulate and had a fantastic vocabulary, but my test was not the usual IQ test. My IQ test stood for Insanity Quotient. Why in the world was she ranting to a dating service??? I wanted to write her and ask if she's had any comments so far, but that might start her going after me and just what I do not need is another loony!

Since joining last week, I wrote a few notes to women, then realized they were pretty inactive. After learning my way around their website, I decided to just wait for women to write to me. Naturally I've received my share of notes from overweight elderly ladies that are all of three to five words and one email from a rather attractive lady, but she lived in Mexico. This morning around 6 AM, I awakened to the sound of my phone vibrating, yes I downloaded the app. It was a 6 word email from the woman pictured above. I found her average to a little below. Well maybe a lot below. To give her the benefit of the doubt, I didn't read her profile beyond the address that showed that she lived 2 hours away, but did look at her other pictures and this is what I found:

I slammed my laptop closed and went to the restroom to wash out my eyes. If I had looked even a minute longer, I could have been blinded.

It Began in 1957.

Barry in 1972

I got some bad news a couple of days ago. It's almost the culmination of a story that began 55 years ago. The year was 1957 and having been born and raised Jewish, it appeared it was time to go to Hebrew school. I was 11. I wasn't thrilled about the whole thing. We had recently moved to a new neighborhood and all of my friend were playing sports after school and I was sitting at the curb waiting for the Hebrew School bus or van as it turned out. It pulled up and I climbed in, not knowing anyone and being sort of shy, I sat down in a vacant seat. Next to me was a guy about my age and the only other "cool" kid on the van. (you know what I mean) I recall him having a baseball glove on his hand, but I may be mistaken. Somehow we started a conversation, probably about baseball and soon we were at our destination and he went his way and I was just kind of lost. I eventually found my classroom and that's pretty much the end of that sequence of events. Probably due to finance reasons, I finished that semester and didn't go back. (I was thrilled) About 6 months before my 13th birthday, Bar Mitzvah age, my parents cut a deal with the Temple to let me take Bar Mitzvah lessons, so I could become a man when the time came. (whew!)

Fast forward to age 14 and now it's time to go to high school, so I did. at some point I saw my old buddy from Hebrew School and we renewed our friendship. His name was Barry and he lived a pretty good distance away from me. Remember, this before driving age. A bunch of we Freshman decided to form a social club and I asked Barry if he wanted to join with us. He had a lot of friends and pretty soon our club, the Dantes, was getting pretty big. We all socialized together and hung out and cut school together and pretty much enjoyed ourselves. After high school, again we all went our separate ways and most went off to college. I had no interest in school but was anxious to join the work force. 

The next time I saw Barry, he was getting out of his car, as I was getting into mine, in a parking lot of a Jewish deli. We yelled hello to one another and got out and chatted for a long time. We had both gotten married. Barry had married his high school sweetheart and I married the dreaded Barbara! Barry and his wife, along with their Saint Bernard dog, Brock, had just come back from a long trip on the road, travelling and living off of the land, so to speak. His hair was down to his shoulders and he had a beard. I think he had just passed the CPA exam and was going to go into business. By this time I had opened my clothing boutique, Up Your Legs and invited Barry to be my accountant. We got close again and spent all of our weekends together, along with our wives. Barbara and I had our first son by then and Barry's wife's parent owned a summer home up in Wisconsin and we all were invited to spend some time there, on the lake. Barry's wife, Debbie was pregnant with their first daughter and we all shared the joy of her giving birth.

Shortly after that, we moved to Arizona and still we stayed in touch. Barry and a partner opened their own CPA firm and found himself coming to Arizona a lot and we got to see him then. Because of the vast distance between our homes, we didn't get to see each other a lot, but stayed in touch by telephone about every other month or so. That went on for many years. I got divorced in 1980 and Barry was my "go to" guy for emotional support. We were always there for each other. We met in Las Vegas a lot too. Barry and Debbie divorced and suddenly we were both single again. 

We both remarried, I stayed here in Arizona and Barry and his new bride moved to Naples, FL. and had two beautiful children. In December of 2009, Barry called me to tell me that he had been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer and by the time they had found it, it had spread across his entire body. He was terminal, but started Chemo to try to hang on as long as possible. The doctor told him then that he expected him to live for about 6 months. He fought like a soldier with Chemo every week and even some experimental drugs that didn't seem to work. That was almost 3 years ago.

Barry called me a couple of days ago and again told me that he had some bad news. I knew what was coming, but listened to him explain that he had lost 21 lbs within a couple of weeks and his doctor thinks that he's now at the final stages and doesn't think he'll last out the month. The news hit me like a bolt of lightning, but I held my composure as long as possible. He said his goodbyes and thanked me for being his friend all of these years. I did the same. I tried to tell him that the doctors don't know everything and he may continue to hang in there. We both knew it wasn't true. We hung up and I finally let the tears run down my face, much like they are right now.

Understaffed!

Last week a lady friend of mine asked me if I knew where the DMV was. Boy, do I ever know where it is! After almost 40 years in the automobile business, that's one location that is drilled into my head. She told me that she needed to get her driver's license changed to reflect her new address. I did too, so I told her that I needed to get the same thing accomplished and if she wanted to wait until this week, I'd go with her.

So Thursday we headed to Paradise Lane, just east of Scottsdale Road and pulled into the old DMV. I felt like it was home. Normally I'd go to the back, where the dealer section is housed, but being a plebeian (commoner) now, I felt obligated to get in line with all of the other sheep. Abbey followed me. My goal was to get my 2 titles transferred from my dealership name to my private name, something that I knew was necessary. In spite of the fact that I renewed my license this year, I was in the hospital when the bond was to be replaced and I never got the notice and even though I've not been notified that I was in arrears, I knew it was the case. In addition to that, Paul, my landlord at the lot told me to get my license off his property if I wasn't going to pay rent and I wasn't! I really stopped operating as a dealer several years ago, but I've been reluctant to turn in my license because they're so hard to get now.

Back to the DMV: I was issued a number and told to have a seat and wait for them to call me. The place was literally mobbed and "people watching" was the game of choice. I literally saw the fat, the skinny and the good the bad and the ugly in my 2 1/2 hour wait. Suddenly, the computerized voice announce my number and for me to go to window 16. I ran to it thinking they'd skip me if I didn't get there promptly. There sat my plump clerk, with a fake smile and the look that told me she hated her job. Oh joy!

She began our acquaintance by telling how understaffed and overworked she is and no one seems to appreciate it. I nodded trying to display sympathy, but was really thinking how lucky she was to be working. I explained that I was a dealer and have spent quite a few hours right here in the dealer section over the years and my goal was to title my two personal vehicles in my private name. She took my paperwork. First she pointed out that my Volvo convertible title requires two signatures from the original owners and they are not both present. The owners chose to require it that way for some reason. In all the years I'd been doing this, I'd never seen that prior. So I needed to back to Peoria Kia, where it was traded in about 2 years ago and try to track down the wife of a Mr. Campanella (oh joy). So that car was off the board for titling today. Next she looked at the title of my 85 Corvette which was one of the old non-conforming titles from Arizona, because it was a one owner with only 43000 miles. 

I explained that I'm both the seller and buyer. She said, I needed a bill of sale saying how much I was selling it to myself for and just looked at me. I told her there was no money changing hands, I'm just giving it to myself! She said I needed to pay sales tax and I asked what price I'd be paying sales tax on if there was no money involved. She excused herself and went to her supervisor. After 10 minutes and she came back smelling like smoke, she said she was right, I needed a Bill of Sale from me to me showing sales tax. How absurd, I thought. I asked her for a Bill of Sale, I can fill it out right here. They don't supply them was her answer. Frankly, in all the years that I've been getting cars registered for my customers, who were total strangers, no one has ever requested a Bill of Sale.

She handed me back the paperwork but not the 2 1/2 hours wasted there. I told her that I waited for 2 1/2 hours and I'm back at step one. She told me to ask for a supervisor next time and maybe she'll feel sorry for me?

I went home and gave up for Thursday, I was totally disgusted with the results. Yesterday, Friday, I called what was referred to as the dealer section on the Internet and was told there was a 30 minute wait on hold. The gentleman who answered the phone call asked what it was about. I tried to briefly explain. He then told me if I had waited the 30 minutes, it was information on how to become a dealer, they would not be able to help me with my problem. I told him that I didn't know what price to pay sales tax on, since I wasn't charging myself any money for the purchase of my car to myself. He said hold. I hold 10 more minutes while he checked with his supervisor. I really felt like I was getting somewhere now. He came back to the phone and told me that I would be required to pay tax on the nada price. I said that's pronounced N.A.D.A. and he didn't want to hear it. When he said it was listed in the nada book, I suspected he didn't know his ass form a hole in the ground (excuse me). I was right. He then told me he looked it up and it was $16050 and that is the original list price of the car and of course I knew he was wrong. Then he told me that since I didn't have a price to charge myself, I should pay tax on that amount, $16,050. I told him that I didn't mean to be rude, but what he's telling me is just ridiculous. That's when he said, "then why are you asking me, I just work a switch board at a phone center"? What is wrong with this state's bureaucracy?

Abbey is Pregnant!

I've been living in the valley of the sun for almost 40 years now. Just about that entire time, I've been responsible for the maintenance of one pool or another, with the exception of when I lived with LJ. At that point she took pride in maintaining her own pool, but I feel I was extremely instrumental in showing her how. Where I currently live, the woman that I live with was paying some creep $100 a month to put chemicals in and that mindless job takes about 3 minutes a week. I made the mistake of telling her that I could do that job and save her the money. She never told me she fired the service, instead we just watched the pool turn green. Naturally I inquired and she reiterated that she fired them about 10 days prior. Liquid chlorine was to be purchased and administered immediately to bring the chlorine levels up to where they needed to be. That was done and the pool turned a beautiful crystal blue color overnight. Everyone was happy. However the pool cleaner took a crap and required a guy named Charlie to come to get it going again. Charlie also owned the pool service she had used. When he came, he did the job and left and never told anyone what was wrong, but it was fixed. I think he sabotaged the Barracuda, but that's just me. I asked her to find out what Charlie did to get it running, but that never happened. 

Now I'm using the old outdated chlorine that was already in the garage and for some reason the pool, even though the chlorine levels are high enough, has turned green again. Scratching my head, I went to Home Depot and purchased 6 gallons of liquid chlorine and administered it. I seemed to hear a faint laughter as it didn't do a thing to change the color of the green water and I think the pool was laughing at me, but again, that's just me. 

When the roommate got home, she took one look at the pool and said, "I'll call Charlie" and all that did was piss me off! I almost gagged on my Costco potato salad and demanded a few more days to get this bastard in order. It was agreed upon, because frankly no one really cares but me. Saving a plastic water bottle, I called around to find a place that would analyse my sample of pool water. Finding a place just a few blocks away and in the desert that's amazing, I drove over making sure not drink any of the pool water by mistake. I generally carry around a water bottle when I'm away from home and I could just imagine swallowing some of this sludge. 

When I arrived at the pool place, it had it's usual assortment of employees smoking in front of the place, that seemed to be on break. I waited my turn and was finally waited on by a guy that looked like he'd been dragged in by the cat, an expression my mother used to use. I had no idea the testing system had become so sophisticated. He carefully poured my sample into a beaker for analysis and a bunch of lights and bells flashed and rang when finally a computer sheet rolled out of the top and he tore it off, like one of the old fax machines. The dirty tech then put on his glasses and read silently to himself making hmmm........... noises.

He took off his glasses and said to me, "I have some bad news. Someone has been urinating in your pool!" WHAT, I asked. Completely shocked and appalled. There is a guest house attached to the 7 car garage and it was recently rented by a young woman named Abbey. Abbey is a quiet girl and was very timid to say the least. I slowly got to know her a little while grilling burgers, I'd offer her one occasionally. She'd quietly smile and say, thank you and that was about the extent of our communication. Lately, a young man has been coming by and I noticed that one morning his car was still parked by her door.

Getting back to my water analysis, the grubby guy said, "Not only is  it a female urinating in your pool, but she's about 6 weeks pregnant"! I couldn't believe that he was able to determine all of this from a water sample. Another thing that was pretty relevant was the PH level was way off needing additional acid. With the acid level that low, the chlorine was not allowed to work it's magic and if I can only bring up the PH level, my pool will clear up.

Now my question is, should I tell Abbey to stop peeing in the pool and let her know that she's pregnant, or just let nature take it's course?

Online Dating is NOT for Amateurs...

This is a series of 3 emails that I wrote to a perspective "date", that removed her picture from the service but left it there for what they call private viewing. In other words, she could send it if she felt you worthy? I was not worthy! Her picture was posted early on, but as I said, she removed it.

 It seems that perhaps I did not move quickly enough. I recall making you a "favorite" as I was tired at the moment and didn't think writing an email would make much sense then. Now you seem to be gone. If you receive this and have the desire to return my attempt, it might be nice. Until then....

 Dutch 

 A couple of days went by and I didn't hear from her, so I tried this: 

 Well, I'm not sure what's going on, but I can't seem to stop thinking about your eyes! Then I get hungry and can't stop thinking about getting something to eat, but I go right back to thinking about your eyes. I've also been thinking about the upcoming election a lot, plus your eyes, of course. Earlier I was watching the news when I wasn't thinking about those eyes and some poor jerk drove into the water and had to be rescued. Then it was right back to those eyes. Without your face, my "favorites" section looks like a waiting room at an old peoples home. We sure miss you there. I know, you're worried about our height difference. Well, the truth be told, I used to be 6' 1" but actually shrunk a little, down to a true 5' 11 3/4. My first wife was 5' 1 1/2" and the only problem we had was slow dancing, her nose wound up in my arm pit. Otherwise we were good until she moved out! To enhance this email, I enclosed a picture of a total stranger that does NOT look like me, but I thought it might put a smile on your face. Did it work? I hope you're having a great weekend and I'll just go back to thinking about your eyes... 

Mel

Now the weekend has passed and no reply from LaVonne. (What kind of a name is LaVonne, anyway???

Well LaVonne: 

 It appears that the weekend has passed and you are either very occupied or are not interested in writing me back. I'll assume it to be the latter. As my memories of your eyes fade, I seem to see something that I really hadn't noticed prior. The right one has a strange look to it and seems to be a lazy eye or sleepy eye, I think they call it. Looking at you head on, I now notice that your pupils rest in the lower portion of the socket and towards the nose, if you will? Kind of a cross-eyed look that I didn't realize before. I'm actually quite surprised that you haven't had that repaired surgically. Upon really giving it some thought, I'd don't think I'm interested in communicating after all. Not with those crossed, sleepy eyes. Another word that I might add to your short stature, is dumpy. The real reason that I divorced my first wife was not really because she was compromised in any way other than the fact that she was always in a bad mood from the pain she suffered in her buttocks. It seemed that every time she stepped off a curb, she bumped her ass! Good luck! 

 Dutch...