It's Nice to be Back...

I really haven't written anything in a very long time. I guess the "urge to tell" just didn't happen to me recently, however today it is different. A couple of things happened to bring back the urge.

First, I was planning a trip to Costco today, for 2 reasons. I was out of a lot of things and second, pushing a cart with 105 bottles of water in it (3 cases of 35) is damned good exercise, particularly when it takes me about an hour to do my route around the store. Thank goodness for the ladies that give you free refreshments at the end of each isle.  Here lies my problem.

Men are notorious for not following directions properly and refusing to accept help when lost. Women are not given the gift of directions period. Here is an example. I wanted to go to the Costco around Arrowhead Mall. So the first woman that I asked told me it was at 75th Avenue and Union Hills. I didn't want to sound argumentative so even though I KNEW it wasn't on either 75th Avenue OR Union Hills, I just said thanks and figured I'd somehow find it. So when I arrived at said intersection and there was not a Costco to be seen, I really wasn't surprised, but I knew I was in the right neighborhood. After driving around for about 5 miles, I called another woman that lives close by and she told me it was on the street just West of 75th. Avenue. I said then that would be 77th, correct? She affirmed my statement and finished with, "You can see Dillards from there, when you get there." Well, perfect. So when I see Dillard's, I'll be at Costco. Got it. We hung up. I followed her directions to the T, but there was no Costco to be seen.

I'd been to the Costco at 27th Avenue on several occasions and I was really only looking for the Arrowhead Costco because it was closer, but I've already made it much farther by getting pretty lost. So I headed to the Costco at 27th Ave by default. I refer to this Costco as the BAD Costco, because they don't offer some of the items I use on a monthly basis, such as rye bread and Swiss cheese, plus it's not set up like the other Costcos, so I'm kind of lost in there. I did  load my 105 bottles of water into my cart first thing, to insure a good work out. Later, I will visit a friendlier Costco to pick up those badly needed items.

The very worst dating service known to mankind is Chemistry.com! No, I never joined this service, it appeared  on my computer some time in 2004 when I was a member of Match.com and was a free perk, as it was just being launched in this lucrative dating market. It, to my knowledge, is owned and a spin off of Match.com. At some point over the years since becoming a member, I checked to see when my membership would expire and it said the year 2050. Unfortunately, I will expire much before that! Here's the deal. Since the year 2004, this misdirected website has been sending matches. People, mostly women that they feel I may be attracted to. What I asked for has really nothing to do with my matches. I asked for women between the ages of 50 and 63, within 50 miles of me, that have posted pictures. Not a lot to ask for. Quite reasonable, I thought. What I get are women who have no picture posted that live in Tucson, Flagstaff, Prescott, Cottonwood and Sedona, along with a few from Phoenix. Today was the last straw. Today they sent me Robert. A firefighter who is 6' 1" tall and of average weight looking for a mate that is from 5' 5" to 5' 8" and an average to curvy figure. Do you suppose they actually sent me a man??? Around 3 years ago, I started sending Chemistry.com to my spam folder and occasionally look at it there. After receiving Robert, I think that's where it will remain!

A few days ago, I spoke on the phone with a woman named Tanami. From her picture, she looked to be European. She had made me a favorite on the website and wrote to me to let me know that she found me interesting. I can't imagine what would be interesting about me, but she didn't know better, poor thing. She offered me her phone number and so what the hell, I called. We spoke for an hour and 47 minutes. She spoke for an hour and 46 minutes, me about one! Here is what I learned. Let's face it, you have to learn something being quiet for that long. I learned that she was born Bonnie Lee Manheim, a Jewish girl, but married a Middle Eastern man and moved to Jordan where she took up the Muslim religion and was beaten and abused for 21 years when she abandoned her husband and 4 children to come back to America and become a teacher. On her profile she listed that she was a teacher, but at this point she was a full time student. She then married another Middle Eastern man who similarly beat and abused her, but not for nearly as long. She divorced him and is currently hiding in Phoenix, Arizona from him. Being the shy non-aggressive type, I decided not to take a turn and deleted her number.

Another Home Depot Disaster

Since I've lived at my current residence, the bathroom fan has been inoperable. Unless you call a humming noise emitted from it until it smells like it's burning, operating. With more ambition than ability, I headed to the "Depot" (that's what we regulars refer to it as). I had two items in mind. A red flapper for the bottom of the toilet and a replacement fan.

First, I asked an employee that was carrying a record breaking pot belly around, as he was pricing some mundane item. His orange shirt alerted me to his presence. Without looking up he blurted out isle 23 in plumbing. I headed over and found that the one that I brought in with me, the broken one, was out of date and was not going to be easy to replace. A little guy about 30 made the mistake of greeting me as he walked by, so I asked him about my fan replacement. Now is it just me, or does every Home Depot employee know everything in the world about repairing anything you need repaired. They just act so matter-of-factly about it, like they just completed the same job this morning. And I ALWAYS fall for it. This little guy, about 5' 6" said, "We don't carry that particular model anymore, but between you and me, just buy the cheapest one and remove the motor, they're all the same. Then he actually takes out the fan and shows me. I fall for the Home Depot trick and buy it, along with a toilet flapper, that he also knew exactly where it was, since he had just replaced his this morning too.

I proudly walk into the house, "Mission Accomplished" and in a record breaking amount of time. I change into my work clothes, which means I took off my shirt and began the job of removing the motor from one fan to install it on the old frame. After removing anything that looked like it could be removed, I suddenly realized it was not going to be possible to remove it completely from the housing bracket, because the fan portion was on the other side of the bracket and it was not removable!

Suddenly my mind went whirling back to the time that I needed a toilet top tank and a Home Depot employee told me that I can buy a universal top tank that fits all commodes. That was just NOT TRUE! This little short guy must have been his cousin! It's a Home Depot conspiracy!

When I realized my $15 new fan was never going to work, I went into the laundry room and cannibalized the fan in there, that fit the bathroom perfectly. Whoever uses a laundry room fan anyway!

The thing that bothers me the most is, I told the short kid how helpful he was.

Puppy News

I was awakened this morning from an unfamiliar crash. The crash was this 15 LB box of dog cookies from Costco going crashing to the ground, off the table that it was previously resting upon. The table just next to the mess. There in the middle of 500 cookies was Macy, laying on her back with as many cookies in her mouth as would feasibly fit. One look at me and she cam running over, proud of her accomplishment, even though I was giving her the old "Bad Dog" shame we all know. I was literally laughing my ass off, as Macy leaped up on the pool table to discuss this with me face to face. Did you know that 500 dog cookies will not fit in the same exact box they originally came in, once casually removed?

LJ bought Macy one of those fancy apparatuses instead of a collar. It wraps around her front legs and snaps around behind her. It's a harness for walking your dog, but I've always been of the belief that it allows the dog much more power in pulling, as if she has here entire body to pull with instead of just her neck. Every time LJ takes out the harness, Macy gets all excited. Even more excited than when she would go for a walk with just the collar. I just found out that LJ told Macy that it was really a training bra!

Homophobia

In my younger years, I was what you'd probably refer to as a little on the wild side. I did what I wanted to and didn't necessarily abide by laws and rules. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't dishonest but did have a full selection of fake ID's from the age of 17 forward. At late 17, already done with school, I found myself running around with a bunch that frequented the Rush Street area of Chicago, along with an area known as Old Town.

I'd drive my 65 Pontiac convertible down to the area and park wherever I could. Often times, I'd be alone and would walk as far as a mile to get to the mentioned areas. One particular evening, it was slow and not much was going on. I'd tried my haunts, Whiskey- A-Go-Go, and some other joints whose names have escaped me and it was early yet time to leave and head north to home. As I walked through a questionable neighborhood, I noticed that a man was walking right behind me and pretty much keeping pace with me. I picked up my pace, only for the follower to do the same. I wasn't really scared yet, but a sixth sense told me something was amiss. Keep in mind, I'm at almost a run now and not gaining on the stranger.

Stranger: Hi!

Me: Silence.

Stranger: Slow down a minute.

Me: Silence.

Stranger: What's your rush, I just want to talk a while.

Me: Silence at full speed!

Eventually the stranger stopped, yelled something insulting and went away. My heart was beating at a rate that was clearly off the charts and that's when I realized I was homophobic. Not with all gay folks, but certainly with the ones that have ME on their menu! That was 48 years ago and I remember it like it was recently.

Later, my younger brother confided to me that he was indeed gay. I laughed at him and asked why he thinks he's gay, after all he'd had several girlfriends (beards) in the past. He told me he thought he was gay, because he sleeps and has sex with men. I'm not sure how long the lapse of conversation was after that announcement, but it was lengthy. I did what any close, concerned brother would do. I ignored him for 15 years. Yep, it scared me.

At my mother's funeral we reunited and I learned that he was a nice person with a wonderful sense of humor and a rather high IQ. He taught the deaf sign language in his spare time and decided to turn his pudgy body into a body builder's physique. When we reunited, it was 1987 and he was a strapping 6' 3" and had muscles that made me envious, a shaved head, mustache and goatee and a powerful presence. I realized that his sexual orientation did not make the person and was merely a phase about him. I liked him, but it was short lived, as he had contracted HIV and it had developed into full blown AIDS. He passed away in 1989. I went to Chicago to visit him 2 weeks before he passed away and he was truly suffering. At that point, I believed my homophobia was behind me. I knew of some gay people and didn't shun them because of it. I believe in Gay marriage.

Last night, I was browsing through the local dating service, because I find as I get older, it's harder to find a mate. I was writing to a very pleasant woman that I have no interest whatsoever in meeting, when I get notice that TX Mustang has made me a "Favorite". How sweet, I thought. I continued that email I was composing when suddenly there was notice that TX Mustang wants to "CHAT" with me. Well, I'm really not a fan of the instant message or "CHAT" feature, but it also gave me the option to view the picture and profile of little TX Mustang. I clicked on it and below is what I saw!

Meet TXMustang, a burly 52 year old MAN that brought back my homophobia! I slammed the computer and ran for my room to hide under the bed. That really the only place you can hide from those guys, you know!

SpEeD FrEaK!

Today was a day not too unusual from many other days, except I received an Iron infusion yesterday and slept from midnight until 11 AM without interruption. That kind of scared me because I was due for another infusion today. I've never had Iron infusion, two days in a row and knowing the damage that one day does to my system created a little apprehension. I had to drive to the other side of town, because that's where Becky was working today and in order to get my Iron infused at the proper intervals, a little drive was required. It was a beautiful day here in the Valley of the Sun and the Mercury was hanging around 113 when I got to the car. Don't worry, as I reached my destination the car was almost cooled down.

I arrived about 2 minutes early and had to wait the customary 3/4 hour, before I was called in. The infusion took about 10 minutes and just to add insult to injury, there is a new alleged FDA law that requires them to keep you sitting there for 30 minutes AFTER your appointment to have your blood pressure taken to make sure it hasn't spiked. It took me back to my high school days where I had to sit for an undisclosed period of time in detention hall, with all the other rowdies. She came out, took my B.P. and it was noticeably low at 134/47. I was good to go and did. My car read 119 as I hit the starter and I took off. I pulled into the left hand turning lane and was about 5 cars back. A few seconds later the pickup in front of me crept up and it turned out there was no one in front of "her". That's just how she handles left turn lanes. When the arrow lit up and it was our turn to go, but she just sat there, no doubt not noticing the arrow. I tried to honk once and nothing happened. On the second attempt, the horn worked, but the driver in from of me just looked in her rear view mirror to see who was honking. By now the left turn arrow was gone and we'd missed our turn. I accepted that and waited patiently, what other choice did I have since I'd left my automatic weapons at home? Finally when the light turned yellow, she crept out into the intersection and completed her turn. NOTE TO SELF: Never leave home without a gun or heat seeking missile!

I got on the 101 West and started my ride home. I was going along fine when I reached the I-17 connection and a dark gray pickup truck moved over to the left lane and was going about 10 MPH slower than me. There was no reason for the truck to move over in front of me, as the third lane was completely clear. Frustrated, I casually pulled over to the third lane, using my turn signal and attempted to pass the dark gray truck. To accomplish this, I used my passing gear. Hey, I was PASSING! Just as I did this, I passed a DPS officer hiding behind a 55 gallon drum on the side of the road. He sure looked excited as he started his motorcycle and took chase after me. He commenced upon me in no time flat and I'll bet anything he was whistling the sound track to COPS, as he did this. He got right on my tail and stayed there. By the way, when I passed DPS guy, I looked down at my speedometer and it read 70, so it's not like I was insanely tearing up the road. Next, not knowing what to do, I pulled over a lane, using my signal just like I learned in class. He stayed right on my tail and I think that's when I realized it was a bad sign.

As we approached the 51st Ave. exit his siren and lights went on and he signaled me to exit. I complied, after all, he had a gun! He now signaled me to make the right turn and pull over. Again I complied. He pulled up behind me and that's when I lost him. He had sneaked over to the passenger side of the car and made the International sign to roll down the window, you know it. He then introduced himself and also identified himself, as well. Yep, I was right, cop! He asked me for my license and registration and proof of insurance. I had a license and proof of insurance, but I explained that my registration was on the back of my plate. He said, take it off! These are connected with 4 octagonal metric size 10 caps. I asked if he had a pliers and the answer was no. I also know that the registration on the back of that plate was from around 2001 and when I renewed my plates this year, I did it online and it said my registration was ready to print, but my printer wouldn't work and I didn't think any part of that story was going to endear me to the DPS dude.

By the way, this guy was no taller than 5' 4", with a shaved head and a bullet proof vest. In reality he was 5' 6" but I was mad, so I made him shorter. "Literary License", that means the author can lie!

Okay, did you know that cops don't "write" tickets anymore? They have a computer and they type in the info and then it prints out the ticket. Now, I've already told you how freakin hot it was and we're standing in the sun, me unscrewing my license plate with my bare hands and him waiting impatiently. Here's the part where God stepped in. I actually was successful at removing my plate and on the back of the plate, there was my registration from about 10 years ago, which should have gotten me an additional ticket, but the sun had bleached off ALL of the type, except for the form lettering itself. He then gave me a stern warning to get it replaced as soon as possible. I asked him if he knew how to do that, since our DMV is out of money and had closed just about all the locations and certainly the Dealer Section is obsolete. He did not. He handed me back my plate and I spent the rest of the time screwing it back onto the car, while perspiration dripped in my eyes. I mention to the DPS dude that it was about 113 when I last checked. He looked up to the sky, where the guy who erased my registration for me lives and said, "Hmm..... seems about right". I mentioned that I've been in AZ. for 37 years and it seems to get hotter every year. That's when we bonded and he said he'd been here since 95, but worked out in Yuma. (Must have been a guard at the prison).

Well, it was parting time for this pair. I had signed receipt of my ticket and asked if he knew how much it was going to cost me and he said, no. I wanted to be polite with my new friend and I knew that thanking him for his time might not seem sincere, so instead I said, "Well, see ya next time"! Shit, wrong thing to say. That prompted mini-cop to say you'd better not see me again. Unless you see me on the side of the road and wave me a safe day. I smiled and said, "Yeah, that's what I meant" and got into my race car.

I always worry about leaving after getting a ticket. I worry that cop will follow me and give another one for no turn signal or illegal U-turn. But that doesn't happen, does it??? You know, he might have been 5' 2"!

My First Carefree Mini Pad...

If you've been following the antics of this adorable puppy Macy, the innocent puppy from HELL. You'll probably be interested in Chapters 3 and 4 written within.

Chapter 3 was a week ago or so and it found me standing at the kitchen counter making a turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich . When one is doing so, you are pretty wrapped up in your creation and probably wouldn't be noticing a 65 LB puppy sneaking up behind you at about 9 PM in the evening. Well, Macy was that puppy and just to be close to her friend and owner, took up a position curled up in a ball behind me. (here it comes) When I took my first step backwards, my foot came right down on her and she yelped as if she were being butchered. So in defense, I start hopping with the Swiss cheese still in my hand and the next time my right foot comes down, it is upon Macy's little foot. In reflex, I continue hopping on my left foot and when I finally come down, it's on my poor ass from a distance about 10 or 12 feet away from where all of this started, with the Swiss cheese still in my hand! Now Macy, thinking I'm playing, is on top of me and her goal is the cheese. I give her the cheese, only to divert her attention, so I can see if I broke a hip and if standing is an option.

That's been about a week now since that happened and for the past week, I've been limping quietly around the house with an ass that's twice as large on one side, as the other. It still hurts like hell, but someone told me, if you can walk, it's not broken. As much as I hate doctors, I'll accept that diagnoses.

Chapter 4: Getting back to my mini pad. Fast forward about a week now and picture me just sitting on my reclining chair, something that I'm pretty much mastered. Here comes Macy to keep me company and steal a few pets. I stroke and pet her for about 3 or 4 minutes and then when I feel I've done that enough for one sitting, I stop and put my hand at my side. It's Macy's way to let me know she's not quite content with the 3 or 4 minutes of petting and that she wants more, by taking her paw, with now razor sharp claws and strike it an my resting arm, Slicing off a strip of skin in two places.

Because I take Aspirin everyday as a blood thinner, my blood will not coagulate like a normal person's and several hours later, at 10 PM I wanted to go to bed to read. Knowing I'm down to my last set of sheets and knowing that I've already gotten blood onto my white bed spread from an earlier assault of Macy's, I looked for some kind of a bandage or band aid.

Not knowing where such a thing might be in Julie's house, I inquired. She directed me to a first aid kit that only had a few of those little tiny band aids that you put on shaving nicks. Useless, because I'm kind of flowing here. Maybe it was the word "flowing" that gave me the idea, but next I asked if she had any of those Kotex pads or pantie liners. It was yes to the pantie liners and there you have my solution. I had her put Scotch tape around my arm and I was good to go until this morning when I ripped it off and it started bleeding much worse than last night. What do people with Hemophilia do? I just hope this doesn't happen again in 28 days!

August Snow...

Snow Dog

Having been acquainted with Great Danes for about 35 years, I thought I'd experienced every physical insult available to mankind. Once in the middle of the night, I was fast asleep and was awakened to the feeling of something wet running down my arm. It turned out to be my own blood running freely. My little female wanted my attention because she was having a hard time getting to sleep, so she walked over to my side of the bed and clawed innocently at my arm that was hanging down in the dark, tearing it open for about 3 inches. That's to be expected if you have dogs the size of farm beasts. Bogie, my boy was about 300 LBS in his prime and Zoie a lithe 120.

Enter Macy, a $93 pound dog. Was supposed to be a mix between a Doberman and a Shepard, but she's too small for a Doberman and too small a head for a Shepard. In fact her head is a little too small for her body, which has caused me some concern. She kind of has the head of a Dachshund, really! We laugh about it, but it's really of no concern, she won't be embarrassing us anytime soon with puppies, she's spayed.

Each dog had a talent of their own. Bogie was the best catcher I'd ever seen. He could grab anything out of the air without a moments notice. Once he grabbed a baby bird that flew too close to Bogie and swallowed it right out of the air. Zoie was grace personified. She ran like a gazelle and could jump like a deer, with perfect conformation. Macy has the ability to change the season. Yes, you read that right. She changes the season. As you probably know, we're having a heat wave here in the valley of the sun and it's been unseasonably hot around these here parts, similar to other parts of the country. Macy realizing that, has changed the season to winter in the Alps. Above is a photo taken just after one of her miracles. Notice how small her head is? Below is a likeness taken after her miraculous transformations of season. She gives you August Snow!