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Itchy
It was a super nice evening. The sun sank below the trees, it was crimson, yellow, and pink. The colors never cease to surprise me. It’s like a little gift each day just to see what color the sun will turn each night.
And there were only a squadron of bitey bugs that attacked me, compared to the army that swarmed and attacked in droves when I cut the yard. My legs are swollen and red from the thousands of bites – Im thinking a combo of chiggers and mosquitoes and blood sucking flies. They even nailed my neck. I look like Mina Harker.
There are two massive bits right near my jugular. Dracula would be proud that the flying leeches managed to snag a drop or two from my neck. However, I do not feel the need to eat spiders, nor do I have an urge to dig out a whole under a rock and sleep there. But I am having strange cravings for tomato juice with a big ol’ celery stick hanging out of it.
I now have shiny glossy legs because I have a ton of fingernail polish on my legs with the intent of killing the little chigger babies. I can’t wait to have at least a hundred dead parasites rotting in my legs. Yippee.
I love summer. Really. This is such a time honored tradition.
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Cherries
Today I did an important rite of summer. I ate way way too many cherries while sitting on my deck.
It was actually not blast furnace hot after a massive storm that killed the electricity for a while today. I grabbed my bowl of cherries and sat in my favorite lawn chair and kicked back. I’d snag a cherry out of the bowl by the stem, grasp the delicate fruit between my teeth and hold on while I pull loose the stem.
Then, ever so slightly, I’d roll my tongue around the red flesh of the cherry; feeling the dents and imperfections on the soft skin of the fruit before slowly sliding it between my back teeth. Next, I bite down softly while my tongue scoops out the hard pit in the middle of the burgundy soft tissue. Holding the meat of the fruit in my teeth, I let the pit roll onto the middle of my tongue, take in a deep breath and spit that puppy as far as I can. Finally, I greedily dig my teeth into the giving orb and savor the sweetness.
I must’ve repeated this procedure a hundred times today. Each cherry had it’s own texture and sweetness. Some were so sweet they made my mouth water, while others made my lips pucker with sour. So the eating of the fruit is always awesome, but here comes the rite of summer. My stomach is killing me. Way way too much fruit all at one time. It’s just like when I get oranges in November.
And, I’m really hoping there weren’t any worms in the cherries. That’s always unfortunate.
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What’s Real
I think I’ve forgotten what’s real and what’s just crap floating out of the arse of an unicorn.
The oak and Japanese cherry trees in my backyard are real because at the moment they’re losing all their leaves because it’s the devil’s playground here and I’ll have to soon rake the backyard; and it’s not even October. The leaves are just giving up and littering my already crunchy backyard with their shriveled chlorophyll lacking mess.
My car costing a couple of house payments to get fixed for the upcoming year is way a reality. So much so that I looked right at the service guy and did a forehead palm. Then I had to question whether I really needed the AC fixed – then said, yes, I don’t want to melt. And, apparently a tire falling off when Im driving could be a bad thing, so I had to say yes to fixing that potential problem. That’s a reality I could have passed on this week.
Almost falling asleep on the tattoo table as the dude ground into my leg yesterday was interesting. The owner walked in and asked how it was going and I was like, um, huh, what? She laughed because she realized I was pretty zoned out. The artist himself was quite proud that he wasn’t causing me pain enough to make me cry. It was actually a pleasant experience.
The not real is here. Everyone can be whatever, whenever and totally lie and make up randomness; or just leave and disappear to reinvent themselves as another personality. Here isn’t in my world; I can’t hear the birds chirping here, or feel the slight gentle motion of a preying mantis walking down my arm. Here doesn’t mean anything. Here doesn’t really exist. Too bad it finally took two types of hell to remind of me that.
The frozen hell, the one with 4 feet of snow created an interesting oasis – an escapist zone – the total sensory deprivation of the real world – the one not dependent on electricity. The hot version of hades brought me back to reality. It’s hard not to notice the real world when a black snake chases you through the yard; or a squirrel hangs out with you while you a book.
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Online dating?
Online dating is such a farce.
I’m just sayin’.
Chemistry.com had a free communication weekend. Im not sure what that means – but I didn’t communicate with anyone. eharmony has the same thing all the time. I signed up for eharmony a really long time ago, but don’t ever return to the site because I have no desire to slog through the tons of random guys some lame ass computer program determined would be my perfect match.
I have a friend who met his wife on Match.com. He swears it works. The company swears it works. I just swear when I see all the losers that are perfect for me. I don’t see how a 5′4 guy who is divorced with five kids from four different women who makes less than 20K a year and enjoys NASCAR and beats small puppies. That’s not me.
So, I’ve determined that free communication is basically a chance for all us losers to jump into the baby dating pool, take a piss, then get the hell out as fast as possible.
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It’s Not A Man’s Grill
My old grill died in a shower of flames and big ol’ “whoosh” of fire. Upon inspection of the strange and slightly terrifying noises – I found that the aging propane grill had rusted through where the propane is forced through the blower (Im not a grill expert so Im making this up as I go along). At that moment I was hit with a huge cosmic slap in the face – I need a new grill and I’m going to have to cook the the 12 pieces of chicken that are marinating in fridge on the stove – yuck.
The dead grill was about 8 years old, and bought by the ex after his first season of coaching. It’s appropriate that the grill chose now to enter the great grill heaven where it can romp with all the charcoal grills I’ve managed to explode through the years. It was time to employ and interview a whole new breed of grill. A much smaller and manageable grill which won’t take me 20 minutes and two pulled muscles to manhandle into the outdoor closet was the goal.
Off to Lowe’s I went today on a lark of just checking out which grills they had – because I was going to need to get my mechanical on if I had to put the grill together. I dragged my poor mother along for shits and giggles. I passed by the monster grills that could feed an army, and went to the cute, little one burner grills at the end of the row. I found it, and it was already assembled. Perfect.
Now, how to get it home, and here comes the annoying part. I stood in front of this grill for about 20 minutes – eyeing it one way then another, and then trying to decide whether it would fit into my mother’s vehicle. She kept saying “let’s get a man to tell us whether it will fit. A man will be able to tell.”
That pissed me off. I don’t need to friggin’ man to tell what i can and can’t smash and cajole and ram into the back of my mother’s suv. I told her it would fit and marched up to the counter and bought it. She was freakin’ out because she was worried it wouldn’t fit because a man hadn’t told her it would fit.
Oh, it fit, by the way – upside down and sideways, but it fit. I don’t need a man to tell me anything anymore.
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Cute Waiters Are My Kryptonite
Young, hot waiters with flirty eyes and a come-hither smile are a god-send when one is in a bad mood. Especially those fishing for a handsome reward at the end of the meal.
And I was lucky enough to cozy right up to one those types at dinner tonight. He was elegantly tall, not all gangly and all arms and legs, had a yummy ass, and big toothy grin meant to disarm even the tightest wallet, and a friendly southern demeanor. He was young enough to ooze that innocence of youth, yet old enough to keep me out of jail. Did I mention he even smelled like a bit of ambrosia had fallen onto his lightly tanned skin – just enough to hint at how intoxicating his skin would smell if I were nuzzled deep into his collar bone.
Luckily for me, my younger friend was with me and together managed to make total and complete fools of ourselves to the meriment of all the sane, normal folks around us.
First, my friend was so distracted by the waiter’s looks after he took our drink order that she managed to smack her eatiing utensils and like a fulcrum, send them flying onto the table next to us.
Then our drinks come, and she managed to laugh like a hyena in heat when he turned away from us, which meant he turned around to see what had lodged in her throat, and she blushed all red and managed to send her phone flying onto the floor. I upped the stupidity ante by spewing my tea all over the table because her phone shattered into a dozen little pieces.
Next, my friend discovered that he liked refilling my tea. So she was pressuring me to drink my tea faster and faster. Before I knew it, I had swilled five glasses and was ready to float out the door, just so we could keep him coming back to the table.
Then dessert. Mistake. I was ready to explode tea from every orafice, and she wants dessert. I have since passed the excitement of the cute waiter, since i was now the “idiot tea girl.” But, we got one of those cake things with the ice cream and way too much chocolate – the diabetic coma type. Of course, Mr. Perfect Ass Waiter had to do a big flourish and show of laughing and saying smart witty things as he put the cake thingy down in front of us. I was crying tea from my eyeballs now – but I managed to down another glass, so he had to come back. This time, my friend blatantly stared at his tight buns as he walked away.
I laughed at her, she got flustered, and with a sinlge swipe of her arm in an effort to throw her napkin at me, she sent her full water glass flying across the aisle and drenching the nice family who sat across from us. I was doubled over laughing and terrified the tea would pick that moment to make a grand escape – so I ran to the restroom as fast as I could laughing my ass off.
I get back and the check is waiting. It was my turn to pay, so I did, with a cc. As i was signing the receipt, she was writing the waiter this flirty, call me, you’re hot as hell note. She put her phone number on it, and we both agreed that he wouldn’t forget us.
However as i was walking into the parking lot a thought hit me like a ton of tea bags (not the icky boy kind). She signed her name to the note and left a number. i signed the credit card slip. She and I have the same first name.
I barely made it to a tea extraction area.
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Im Tired
Im so tired of stuff. And the sad thing is stuff can be categorized in a varied and random lot of things, ideas, or just life. I don’t even know which stuff to start with in this blog. Stuff is bogging down my life, and I think the world in general. Saying I wanna streamline my life could possibly qualify as the understatement of the year.
I think the most recent thing to complicate my overly used brain is the new Website. I made it for me, and then people got out of hand. No surprise. Is there a reason I can’t do something for me? There are too many Web sites out there as it is. Each one wants users and likes to steal, and bartar to get the best ones. I just did something for me, and people freaked out. They acted like I had killed their puppy. I don’t think so – so in the end, I just stole myself. I got unbanned, but am unsure if I even want to post somewhere I get treated like shite.
The second most recent thing is that I told a good friend to piss off, and never talk to me again. I may have over reacted on this one, but hey, if I don’t over react or overthing, then I’m not me. It’s the temper. I’m lousy with rage until I get some time to think about it. But, this time, I went off. This friend was describing how he had found the love of his life after a “fun” weekend. And, basically he told me that “thanks, it’s been fun sharing everything about my life with you, but I longer want you around.” He handled it poorly, and again confirmed my belief that men can’t really be trusted for anything.
The other thing is the weather. I hate cold weather. But I’m chained to my house with four-inch thick links. Stupid housing market bubble buster; and the ex who used the house to pay for his masters from which I no longer benefit. I want to be somewhere warm and sunny and problem free. I don’t want to have to think about scraping my windshield or shoveling my driveway by myself.
So, I’m tired of all this stuff. I need to find new stuff.
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So i took a huge leap
I decided to take a big ass leap. I’ve made my own site. I can blog however much as I want here. And, I hope others come to blog. I’m not so much into videos, but have at it if you want. There won’t be a lot of features, cuz I really don’t understand it all.
But I want a place for us to blog without the crap spammers, cuz I’ll just who ever pisses me off – cuz I don’t care, and as it says “because it’s really my world.”
Put up good stuff please.
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Hit it a little harder…
With a big explosion (not really, more like a dull thud), my bathroom fan gave up the ghost a week ago. I can’t live without my bathroom fan because I tend to steam up the mirror (um, no). So, I turned to trusty Amazon, and ordered a new one.
That said, tonight was installation night. Or as I now refer to it: Why won’t you miserable piece of rotted cow intestine fit into the hole that was preappointed by the previous owner? Just fit, right back where I had yanked you out of the ceiling. Reverse engineering, mofo, a simple concept, and yet, not happening.
After an hour of cussing, and throwing things, and cussing, and crying, and looking up ceiling fan motor installation on Bing, I drank a beer, and tried again.
Repeat above scene.
I sat the motor on the kitchen table and had a heart to heart with it.
Me: Motor, why don’t you fit where you’re supposed to?
Motor: silence
Me: Motor, why can’t you be a sweety and help me out?
Motor: silence
Me: Motor, I’m going to get the hammer and make you fit.
Motor: silence
Me: (pleading) Please, please, motor worked.I tried again, and used a hammer to gently help it into it’s hole, and in the process I knocked loose a torrent of nasty, gross, foul, decades old gunk from the fan casing. Who knows how many dead skin cells from who knows how many people fell into my face. Yippeee!
Pissed, I used the hammer a little more judiciously, and juuuuust managed to get it to fit. And now it runs with a weird clicking sound and has a hitch in the rhythm.
But no more steam. (um, no).