Friday, December 21, 2012

You're Fired

Twas the night before Christmas when all the house every creature was stirring, was it cat, rat, or MOUSE? It was all fun and cute when we talked about country mouse and city mouse...until they started dropping from the ceiling like MI 3.

When I found her she was on a ladder, a saw in hand, and a gaping hole above her head. She was crying a little, mumbling something almost indiscernible about Hantavirus.

I was glad to see the stain on the ceiling had finally been removed after months of complaining about it.  She didn't want to find the leaky pipe behind it. I didn't like the mold growing in it. They had no idea they would be evicted days before Christmas.

I wasn't sure I wanted to ask about the Virus. Turns out neither one of us was right. We should have listened to Parker. No wonder she hated coming here, the walls spoke to her. She thought she was going crazy. While we were all nestled and snug in our bed, full bladdered meeces pissed on her head. Poor Parker.

When I went back in, she was still on the ladder, now armed with a mask, gloves, and head lamp. Mouse poop raining down like snowflakes on a cold, crisp, winter afternoon. Fiberglass insulation floating in the air like angel dust. Actual tinsel and wrapping paper hung from the ceiling...with care. How sweet, they decorated for the Holidays.

And here comes the Grinch...all five feet of her....throwing the tiny family out on their ears on the eve of winter, the nasty blizzard blowing across the land. We discussed shoving Gus into the hole and leaving him there to feast. I'm pretty sure he'd eat through the wall. And really...what are these cats doing all day? I don't think they deserve the the presents we just bought.

Monday, December 17, 2012

Piece On Earth

It's family time in the country. I've come to learn that means Cookie Day. It's about as much fun as putting a puzzle together with a menancing Calico.

I had high hopes for Cookie Day, maybe it was my fault. I love holiday traditions and baking cookies is my thing. But this wasn't so much festive as it was Betty Crocker Hell. Every elf had its specific task and I made mine to stay out of the kitchen.

I'd rather chuck matchboxes at my young playmate than squeeze crisco through my fingertips. Meanwhile, the girl was knee deep in cookie dough. Actually, she too, found a way to escape most of the kitchen fiasco which didn't surprise me much.

What I learned about the girl is she is obsessive compulsive, as if this is something I didn't already know. And I can assure you she touched the cookie you are about to eat at least four times as she perfectly placed it atop the waxed paper upon which it was perched, again, again, and again.
She also does this with a jigsaw puzzle. She is lucky she is darn cute. You can scour the pieces, deduce from a slight white speck crosschecked with the box that that particular piece will reside in the upper left quadrant, and lay it there for future use. As you can see from the photo above, this is how I work. There is a method to the madness.
There is another method to the other's madness. The girl will come behind me and take all the pieces from the center of the puzzle and move them back outside the perimeter of the puzzle. She is telling me now "the pieces don't go in the center of the puzzle". No, no, I don't think you understand the point of the puzzle. That is exactly where the pieces go baby.
But this is love. This is how we will do a puzzle. This is our tradition. I will put them together. The girl's cat will push them on the floor. I will pick them up and organize them. And the girl will reorganize them in a completely irrational way. My step-father says 'the family that plays together, stays together'. Yes, and we will be working on the same puzzle for the rest of our lives.
I wonder if she realizes when I put the knives away I purposely turn the blades every other way...just to see how long they stay that way. To her credit, she hasn't touched them, but I guarantee she's seen them.

Thursday, December 13, 2012


Heavens to Murgeminid! Oh really? You're going to question that word? Because you have a particular fondness for the term, Murgatroyd? As if you even know what that is!

Oh man, I found something in the country that beats the city hands down! And it was right in front of my face the whole time.

I spent many hours sacked out on my deck in the city trying to catch a faint star shooting across the sky in some meteor shower or another in years past. Truth is I was never sure if I actually saw one or if there was just a floater clouding my eyesight.

In the country, the stars alone are worth the price of admission. They don't need to dart around at all. Wishes be damned. BUT, I did manage to catch a pre-show of the Geminids, which was quite impressive and the show hadn't technically started yet. There's something to the, lack of people...a lack of LIGHT.

Pop! Look at all those stars. There's one. There's one. Ooo that was a good one. Yeah, that's the life I wanted. Just staring up into the sky with the girl by my side. Hiding beneath a blanket, just the two of us.  Or...walking in the shadow of the Mormon Temple amidst their Holiday Lights show busloads of people around us.  It really doesn't matter, as long as we are together.

And yes, the stars in the country are still white, not green and purple like I've misled you in the photo above. It's not a recreation on my childhood light bright, but it could be....Exit Stage Left...

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Time To Lower The Bar

Yes you guessed it. The bike went back. Today. Before Christmas even arrived. And here I sit with nothing under the tree, or really, next to nothing. I still have the monkey.

I could promise to buy another one, but if you read the last post she had the smallest adult bike they make. I might be exaggerating, but I still had to face the chick mechanic at the shop and try to explain why this amazing bike was coming back. An no offense, but she's not ready for a $5,000 carbon replacement (the next step up).

There was talk of T-Rex arms and stand over centimeters...she looked at me like I was crazy. I said, she's afraid of hitting the bar. I told her I asked how many times that had happened...None, but it could said my girl. And I can't touch the ground.... Okay. Oh dear, your trail cred is dwindling fast my love. I feel a life of redirected energy a'fore me.

The girl at the shop just looked at me (again). I shrugged. I know the girl teeters on her motorcycle, but this is a 20 lb. bicycle not an 800 lb. motorbike. The last trail I rode had right around the estimate of ZERO red lights or stop signs. And really....Why are we stopping on the bike anyway, just ride!

I honestly can't remember a time when I wasn't 'coming off' the bike because I couldn't handle the terrain. It was steep, it was rocky, I was flying over the handlebars as I nosed into a log. There's not too many times when I can touch the ground and way too many when I was getting intimate with my bike parts. (what the neighbor calls the 'vagina bar') The girl in the shop agreed, she can't touch the ground on her bike and she said, if the bar isn't all up in your business something is wrong.

I rode it from my car to the curb and cried just a little. She said, we could fit you on one for you. To which I replied, if I could find a way to fit Sneezy onto my old bike you'd have a deal!

So the bike went back. It's good for the vacation fund...except the vacation won't include mountain biking. :( I believe her, the bar was high, but the price was right and the components bomber. I couldn't pass up the deal. Too bad, it just didn't fit Cinderella.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Boarders, Carried Alive

It has finally happened. There is a cardboard box in my attic. An empty cardboard box in my storage area. Please don't tell my neighbors.

 Maybe you don't know me, but this is a huge taboo. It happens. There are tools on the table and a box in the attic. What the hell is going on?

I am not a hoarder. I am not in denial. And I still think saving empty boxes is stupid. Unless it's a bike box. Or a bike light box. Then it's completely logical. I stand by my criticism of saved teevee boxes. It's not like the new ones will last long enough to be moved. And the old tank tubes could withstand a steamroller, I don't think it really needs a box.

And then there are the action figure boxes. And the Hallmark ornaments. Really? The box retains its value? Yes, I guess you could make $5 on that ornament you've been hanging on to from 1983 so you better hold on to that box. I bought a toy truck for $500 without a box, so I'm just saying box or no box it all depends on the buyer.

However, when you have a delicate, specially delivered, cool as shit beer bike sign, go on and keep the box. You're not gonna wanna risk damaging that in a move for sure. Oh, there might be a good shoe box or two in the attic too, I'm not gonna lie. Give me a nice sturdy Keen's box or a 5.10 and I'll hang on to it for papers or trinkets. I think I've actually got plastic Easter eggs in one of them so there! Holiday items do not count as hoard.

Okay, okay, I might have some old Panasonic tape boxes at the ready too. But those are superior ace boxes. And on the endangered list, not to mention I no longer have access to swiping them. I'm not making excuses. Just what are you trying to say? Okay, so I hoard boxes. It's not exactly Reality Show material.

Friday, December 7, 2012

Not Your Grandma's Oldsmobile

"That's a big". Why yes Parker, indeed it is. Such a big bike for such a bitty girl. Yes, yes, that's precisely why the girl is getting it early. That, and she doesn't much like change...and this is a big change. I'm already prepared to return it...:(

I know, I know, I am breaking Rule #1...NEVER buy a girl a bike. Never. It's what I tell all the boys. But I've got a couple things in my corner. First the girl can ride. And second the girl is mine.

But, back to that snag...she doesn't care much for change. She definitely doesn't do different. Same town, same job, same 80s polo...I mean the actual shirt, not just the style. The girl holds on. This looks good for my future, I mean I'm lucky she ever picked me in the first place, but she did. And maybe, just maybe she'll hold on to me...I did after all buy her a bike.
But it's not looking good for the bike. A 29er. It's big. It's different. What? She has totally earned it; she's a kick ass rider. She deserves the Lexus of mountain bikes. You wait, she'll jump on it and love it. I did! Truly, I hopped on this thing and it felt like a luxury car. She rolls smooth. Up and over the curbs like butter. Across the parking lot in a jiff.
What's that? It's not for me? I know, I know. Maybe she'll let me ride it. Oh, who are we kidding this thing will NEVER fit me. It's an XS (the smallest they make) WSD frame...they don't get any smaller. The next step down and we'd be looking at 20 inchers in the kiddie section. Would you like us to remove the training wheels ma'am? No, my monkey arms would never crunch into this geometry. Although I can ride anything.
But it is sweet. Makes me want one of my own. Wasn't I the one that said, 29ers? Pwah, just another gimmick to get us to buy another bike, who needs it. Me! Me! Me, I need it! There's plenty of room in the bike barn. Go Buy A Bike.
Wait, if a bike is as good as an engagement ring...and I already bought the ring...oooh, I am such a sucker. If you like it then you should have put a chain ring on it...
Whoever thought the name Oldsmobile was a good name for a car??