Thursday, September 11, 2014

Fear of FALLing Pledge



I enjoy all the seasons though a mild and balanced Spring is my favorite with Summer running a close second since I can finally shed my brown flannel-flapped insulated drawers n’ boots in favor of  breezy green jungle undies over ashen glutes. Winter signals a slow hunkering down, more work, and risk of injury but it also brings the fellowship of the holiday season and a new year marker for yet another chance to live life more thoughtfully and try  ‘again’ next time to get it ALL right. But Fall is indeed the wolf in sheep’s clothing since beautiful lush, flowing foliage turns auburn and drawn overnight, wilts, and drops millions of reminders of the work ahead and the loss of once warm temps and long lazy days left behind.

Yes I fear the crispened cool air bearing down and the change of color that so many flock to see and  celebrate because it represents a half year of hideaway hibernation ahead. Though I know it is good for me in many ways, I don’t relish the relentless ‘exercise’ it takes to clean up all of those tree leavings, comings and goings. I can’t ignore the encapsulating blanket of leafy convergence upon the doors, cars, and LIFE so something has to be done with them or my wife, post office guy, and vandals WILL surely notice when they can’t get near the house to do their bidding. 

Oh sure I prepare by stocking up on all of the right tools to help blow, suck, and grind-up whatever I can but in the end, there are more piles of debris than there is pavement to pile it all on. Sometimes I lament my life because it seems so unfair that I have a monopoly on a truly coveted cruddy leaf commodity. Why should others only dream of the wealth that I have amassed - so this year I have a generous plan to make life ‘more fair’ and share my leafy-luxury with the 99% of my community who are less fortunate and haven’t yet FALLen for the benefits of true socialism.

Why should I be so selfish and uncaring to my fellow man when most people aren’t lucky enough to live on the cusp and breathe in the warm and welcoming mildewy-musk, of a giant forested mulch pit? My generous and overly sensitive nature shall no longer know the fear of falling toward the dark side (even under the cover of darkness) and staying self-centered and greedy like in my shady past. From now on I vow to do my best by bulking-up bags of leaves, sticks, and pine needles to gift to each of my neighbors, trick or treatsters, or charity solicitors and help all who must face Fall - longing, leafless, and in genuine need.


Thursday, September 4, 2014

Hot Auction Heaven



For recreation and divine perspiration my wife and I bid and spirit stuff from all types of auctions. It’s not that we need anything in particular but we enjoy perusing through other people’s junk and paying a premium for heaving their leavings. What better way to embrace my life’s short history than being crammed into a small space with an OLD bunch of hunched  sweaty coots rubbing up and competing against me for dusty, rusty, and musty stuff-ty.      
         
Being raised by wolves I guess I am compensating for the fact that I survived a ‘hairy’ repressed childhood where the value of most ‘things’ was gauged on how they tasted or how good they felt to sleep on. My folks never let me beg for leftovers at mealtimes or settle for broken chew toys when growing up in a hut, so now I’m forced to seek out and make up for those lost experiences as an adult. At least my heritage explains my Husky size, the constant panting after a walk to the refrigerator, and my persistent dog breath the dentist so often complains about when scoping out my blow hole.   

I fit in well with the auction scene – where else can a saddle-burr like me give somebody the finger and they simply raise the price rather than beat in my face or cuss me out. Fortunately most of my twitchy TICks come from my watch rather than the forest, but I do have to be mindful to avoid conspicuous emanations, gesticulations and random bump scratching during furious bidding. When the wife risks prosecution for leaving a minor unattended, I do all the major work myself like folding the bid-card into an airplane, so it’s obvious that until she returns I have no one to do my bidding. 

I’m dangerously distractible and easily mesmerized by expensive shiny objects, so most lowly estate auctions are a safe escape since there is little risk of finding anything chrome toned or pit-free except for a few buffed n’ bald heads. Generally at most auction gatherings the only thing more weathered and craggy than the junk they’re hawking is the stuffed seizure-geezers who glue themselves, and defend rabidly, centered front rows of orderly padded seats. When my number’s ultimately up I hope heaven is just like this, except instead of white shrouds and wings, the ‘auction enlightened’ will proudly ‘peacock’ their rough stubble, patinaed pitch forks, patched pants, and dirty denim vests … and oh yeah,  since I’m there it will be LOTS hotter if that’s possible!


Thursday, August 28, 2014

Crowned King



Since I have very little need to greet people on a red carpet, I have resorted to dosing my choppers in a regular bath of black coffee and diet soda. Yes while most folks spend heaps of their piggy treasure whitening their vamp-snackers, I darken mine to match the clotted parts of my heart. Still since I prefer to chew rather than gum Trident or other fishing equipment during my Poseidon adventures, I dutifully brush my food funnel frequently to ensure a glossy glare from my snappers as well as my peepers.

Unfortunately from time to time after gnawing on bones, toenails, or other waste can wonders, I will crack a hidden tooth deep down in my craw of awe. Rarely do I notice such events since I have 31 more back-ups and the only requirement for being a Chupacabra anyway is to howl, wear goat’s clothing and wolf down anything – not grin or bear it. Sadly however, my chops suffered a chip in the family that was hard to hide as I inadvertently nicked a corner off of one of my big upper front and center porcelain chew toys. 

On the plus side, I can open cans now without a church key and I also have new-found kinship for that bowl-cut dude in the Dumb and Dumber movie. Straws seem to feel far more streamlined and efficient too as they seamlessly slide inside my remaining teeth rather than clenched in between. Clearly my dream as a dental floss model has to be put on hold for awhile and yes, whistling is a thing of the past -except for the when the wind blows between my ears.

Fear not I still have a sliver of pride yet to extinguish so I donned my best red vest to obscure blood loss evidence, popped in a curiously strong mint to hinder halitosis, and saw a dentist to fix my malady. After my tooth fairy dissuaded me from breaking off the corner of the adjacent tooth so I could have a matching pair of bookends and face a hillbilly Dracula’s dental deliverance, I consented to a cap. Admittedly eating corn cobs without leaving a row behind is easier now and so is cat-calling ice-cream trucks from construction sites, though the next time I get crowned I hope it’s at a fat pageant as the creepy burger KING!

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Fasten Nation

Given just the accidental food palette of mucilaginous messes that I retrieve nightly from my bib alone, I’m amazed at the number of ways I can stick stuff together when I really want to. Oh sure Superglue is the top glutinous glop fastener but it’s too expensive to eat so I stick with paste for most meals. My wife prefers I give Gorilla goo its due since it better befits my personality, monkeyshines, and bad habits of breaking ‘hard to glue things’ like bread and wind.

Since they take so long to grow, I rarely nail anything except for the flies that try to ride astride my hide. I prefer using screws whenever possible if working with dense wood - though it’s true as I've been accused, that a few have come loose in my head. Though I’m good at stringing people along, I was never a Boy Scout so I am not skilled at tying knots except in extension cords, earbud cables, and mobile phone charging dongles.

I flip over staples instead of clips because even though I like trigger clicks, I prefer lots o' butter over guns, especially if I have to store them for long periods of time. Zip tied bread bags and those fancy ZipLoc leftover storage sacks are useful as hats, but often they make me breathless and blue when diving for snacks. Sadly breaks in pipes won’t disappear even when I try transparent tape instead of solder, so I usually use the opaque duct stuff to do the job yet oddly the mend still leaks water. 

Is it any surprise that I’m vexed by Velcro especially when it comes to keeping my shoes on tight during shock therapy and my white jacket straight and linty free? Zippers, Pins, and Clasps can be helpful too but more often get hung-up or de-railed instead of doing their job – I guess I need a more detached attorney firm. Since I push them so often, clearly buttons still fastenate me for shirts and Polo tops, but I despise them on garments further down South since they ‘pop’ n' drop at inopportune times and often cause mouths to DROP!


Thursday, August 14, 2014

Map DEAF Jam



It’s widely known that I am a GPS fan who uses high tech mapping devices daily to navigate from bed, bath and beyond. So even with a few flaws and some occasional misdirection worthy of a slide of hand magician, it takes a lot o’ poxes for those l’il black boxes to get on my Ox-cart’s bad side. But this week I had the (dis)pleasure of trying to navigate with a new-fangled voice-programmed satellite map instead of the old fashioned punchy numbers go-car-go show. 
  
No doubt it’s fun technology to be able to yell back at the GPS and finally force an inanimate robot screen to listen to me be mean after so many years of being ignored by the rest of my family. But the problem is the thing just glows and knows I can’t punish it for misinterpreting everything I say and seizing up unexpectedly anyway. Is it that my rust-bucket car is too noisy or is it my sloppy speech is so slurred that the command ‘Highway’ stops traffic and really sounds in a way like ‘Hives n’ Whey’?
  
At least when the alive members of my tribe ignore me or are coma-bound they try to LOOK moderately interested as they turn pale and their eyes glaze over easy to sound. The irritating dash-top roadie doesn’t worry if I’m in a hurry, it just drones and bleats, objections to my questions with constant repeats. Who pays hundreds of dollars to coax a stupid machine to berate and badger, when spouses will happily do that job for free but louder?

Though it’s true the blackend box made me blue, it DID eventually route me to where I needed to be, still witless, mapless, and no worse for the wear. I honestly think I can already do all that stuff too but better on my own, since I take up little more real estate while sitting on the dash and don’t need plugging in so long. I just hope when my gray matter gets even softer and my ear canals miss more calls 'bout boatloads of free eats for geezers, my friends and family will be as patient with me as I am with this deaf and dumb GPS with frequent seizures.