As we know, one of the initiation rites from Yung'unhood to midlifehood is the colonoscopy/endoscopy. You just gotta do it when you turn 50, like opening your first AARP invitation letter. It means you've arrived. Instead of St Peter at the Pearly Gates, it's Dr. Asshole with a long tube and a smile.
It was SalGal's turn this morning, as she's skated past this deadline for SEVEN years. And, this morning's procedure was not the problem as anyone knows who has had a colonoscopy...hehehe. I gotta tell you that I laughed at her every time she jumped up to run to the bathroom last night. Those medical people sure know how to give you stuff that empties the system in a damn hurry. After she swallowed the last 8 oz glass of Miralax mixed with Gatorade (like that makes a difference in the taste (?)), I started singing the old Carol King tune that my girlfriend, Cynthia sang to me after I swallowed my first tab of Acid in 1972...and it goes a little like this, "Well, it's tooooo late, ba-aby, now it's too late......" The rest of the song doesn't matter, and I know those of you who know this song went right into the melody, yes? Hehehe.
Bless her Texas heart, Sal got up early this morning and showered first thing and then put on her Chanel No. 5 lotion so she would smell good during the procedure. When the fragrance wafted into our magic room where I was opening my emails, I put my head down on the table and laughed out loud. She shaved her legs and under her arms too. She said that she didn't want anyone who was going to be that close to her body to feel any stubble. This is how The Ancient One raised us, you see.
On the way to the clinic in the car, Sal just kept heaving these huge sighs like she was the most contented human being on earth, but I looked at her and said, "You're doing that so you can catch a deeper breath, aren't you? Because, you're scared to death, aren't you?" to which she replied, "I've never had a tube with a camera on it moving around inside my body, OKAY?" Bless her heart.
SalGal sailed through the procedure like a champ with no complications and a relatively clean bill of health. I asked the doctor afterward whether he was able to find out why her stomach growls so loud as to stop a conversation in midstream at the dinner table. He actually looked at me and said, "She did not come to me about growling in her stomach. If she wants the answer to THAT question, she can make an appointment and we'll discuss it."
After he awoke in the next cubicle on the gurney where they put him after I knocked him out with a right to the temple, I asked him if he wanted to re-phrase his original answer to me. See? THIS woulda been SUCH a great thing to do, wouldn't it? Of course, I didn't do it, but I almost had ya, didn't I??
Hehehe,
KK
********************************************************
I think it is perfectly obvious what a cold, bitch my little sister is. She didn't mention that she went to a 'Tasting party' the night I was 'prepping' for this debacle. Oh, how she delighted in describing the bar-b-que and tacos that were offered at the event. She got such great joy out of my angst. She's right about the actual procedure not being anything to be afraid of though. The drugs they give you are enough to make anyone have a colonoscopy every Tuesday.
It's the so called, 'prep' that's the killer. You wouldn't believe the amount of fluids and laxatives you have to ingest. When they finally kicked in in the late afternoon I started having thoughts about the levees in New Orleans during 'Katrina'. You start feeling like one of those French geese who gets food stuffed down their gullets every day so that the pate fois gras (their livers) is smooth and delicious. And you can't eat any food. Better not or there will be thingies in your lower intestine or bowels or something. I can see my little, measely doctor now; sitting in his metal, folding chair across the room as I sat with my feet dangling off of the tall examination table. "And you'd better do everything the brochure says or the next day in the operating room you will be wasting your money and my time". And he said it like I was a two dollar whore who just asked Bill Gates for a date.
I wish KK had knocked that stupid doctor upside the head. Who do they think they are anyway? Somebody who can have you put to sleep and do as they will to you in your most private and embarrassing areas...well okay whatever.
SalGal
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
What a Mess!
The construction crew showed up on our street this morning at 7:30 am. The man who works the jackhammer kept looking at his watch and at precisely 7:45 am (like everyone would be awake at that time)...7:44:59...ready? GOOOOOOOO...OOOOO....OOOOO....OOOOO! SalGal and I looked cross-eyed at each other and concurred that we are VERY worried about any and ALL people who choose this line of work! Have you ever watched a guy using a jackhammer? Sheesh! And, women could never do this job because if they did, their bosoms would wind up wrapped around their waists and tied in a bow in the front by the time they were 25! What a mess!
Infrastructure is basically a mess all over town...and I dare say your town too, right? You don't see the potholes until your back right tire is wedged two feet in there. Oh, they'll come and fix the pothole in about six months...by slapping some hot, sticky tar on top of it that oozes back out of the hole like toothpaste gel when the next car drives over the hump.
I would like to thank the city of Austin though for leaving the day-glo warning cones up on our street for over three months because SalGal and I woulda never thought to use them as barrels for our Jazzy Scooter Barrel Race video .
Because the road construction crews work for the city, their ambition quotient is nonexistent. It takes three of them to look in a hole and decide what to do with the hole after thirty minutes of debate, laughter, cigarettes and blank stares. We all know that they're usually not as careful as they might otherwise be if they had an elementary-school education because they ALWAYS seem to cut the wrong line...boom...no phone, water or electricity, but by Gawd the sewer line is complete! What a mess!
I do also owe a debt of gratitude to the crews for spending the last two months tearing up our street because it gives The Ancient One something to talk about and something to look at besides Fox News. Of course, she's deaf so she can't hear the jackhammer, but she can see the workers so we are then privy to a half-hour primer on what SHE thinks about construction crews. It's the same thing we think but we get to hear it again with painful conjecture about the workers private lives and what they might have done with their futures had they entered the country legally.
I can't wait for the paving crew next!
KK
*************************************************************************
Isn't that just the way things always go? You have to make a mess before you can make things pretty. You have your hair splayed out on layers of tin foil to get that highlighted look, you get your whole body covered in a mud pack to have smooth, soft skin and in order to have a beautiful garden you'd better take numerous trips to the mound of cow shit by the back fence.
It's not just right out in front of our house though. It seems like the whole city of Austin is being torn up and redirected. Lots and lots of people want to move to Austin and who can blame them? And in that case the streets have to be widened, the condos need to rise downtown and small businesses will die away to make room for Mariotts with fake hydrangeas in the lobby.
The kitchen looks like a tornado hit it when I've been cooking gourmet. What a mess. But wow on the acorn squash soup with sage/parmesan croutons. KK's desk at times looks like a whirlwind blew in the door. What a mess. But kudos to the graphic designs in her gorgeous affirmation books. The Ancient One sometimes reminds me of a disheveled mound of laundry. Sort through the lights and darks though and you will find at the core...what a mess!!
The noise goes on outside and the workmen jackhammer and pound the gravel and backhoe the street gutters. At least I know that some day the street will look clean and black and they will all be gone. That's why I can stand it. It's that infernal bird just outside my window and right next to my bed that goes, 'chewey! chewey! chewey! chewey! chewey! chewey!' every morning at 6am for 30 fucking minutes. When will he go away? Will I ever have peace from him? I think not. I think I have a shotgun in the garage. Overkill perhaps and what a mess. nyuck, nyuck nyuck.
SalGal
Infrastructure is basically a mess all over town...and I dare say your town too, right? You don't see the potholes until your back right tire is wedged two feet in there. Oh, they'll come and fix the pothole in about six months...by slapping some hot, sticky tar on top of it that oozes back out of the hole like toothpaste gel when the next car drives over the hump.
I would like to thank the city of Austin though for leaving the day-glo warning cones up on our street for over three months because SalGal and I woulda never thought to use them as barrels for our Jazzy Scooter Barrel Race video .
Because the road construction crews work for the city, their ambition quotient is nonexistent. It takes three of them to look in a hole and decide what to do with the hole after thirty minutes of debate, laughter, cigarettes and blank stares. We all know that they're usually not as careful as they might otherwise be if they had an elementary-school education because they ALWAYS seem to cut the wrong line...boom...no phone, water or electricity, but by Gawd the sewer line is complete! What a mess!
I do also owe a debt of gratitude to the crews for spending the last two months tearing up our street because it gives The Ancient One something to talk about and something to look at besides Fox News. Of course, she's deaf so she can't hear the jackhammer, but she can see the workers so we are then privy to a half-hour primer on what SHE thinks about construction crews. It's the same thing we think but we get to hear it again with painful conjecture about the workers private lives and what they might have done with their futures had they entered the country legally.
I can't wait for the paving crew next!
KK
*************************************************************************
Isn't that just the way things always go? You have to make a mess before you can make things pretty. You have your hair splayed out on layers of tin foil to get that highlighted look, you get your whole body covered in a mud pack to have smooth, soft skin and in order to have a beautiful garden you'd better take numerous trips to the mound of cow shit by the back fence.
It's not just right out in front of our house though. It seems like the whole city of Austin is being torn up and redirected. Lots and lots of people want to move to Austin and who can blame them? And in that case the streets have to be widened, the condos need to rise downtown and small businesses will die away to make room for Mariotts with fake hydrangeas in the lobby.
The kitchen looks like a tornado hit it when I've been cooking gourmet. What a mess. But wow on the acorn squash soup with sage/parmesan croutons. KK's desk at times looks like a whirlwind blew in the door. What a mess. But kudos to the graphic designs in her gorgeous affirmation books. The Ancient One sometimes reminds me of a disheveled mound of laundry. Sort through the lights and darks though and you will find at the core...what a mess!!
The noise goes on outside and the workmen jackhammer and pound the gravel and backhoe the street gutters. At least I know that some day the street will look clean and black and they will all be gone. That's why I can stand it. It's that infernal bird just outside my window and right next to my bed that goes, 'chewey! chewey! chewey! chewey! chewey! chewey!' every morning at 6am for 30 fucking minutes. When will he go away? Will I ever have peace from him? I think not. I think I have a shotgun in the garage. Overkill perhaps and what a mess. nyuck, nyuck nyuck.
SalGal
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Gambling!
And, speaking of swimming, SalGal and I are literally 'awash' in the gene pool of gambling. We just love it when someone asks us about our ancestry.
Our great grandfather was a rapscallion and scallywag whose destination of disembarkation upon arrival in America in the 1800's was NEW ORLEANS. Need I say more? He didn't figure there was a need to go anywhere else, for pity's sake and had an excellent stake to work off of since he'd won a BUNCH of money from his fellow travelers on the boat over.
The only traveling he ever did was up and down the Mississippi river on a steamboat playing poker. He was always able to handsomely reimburse himself for any business expenses along the way. And, he dressed the part, wearing spats, a derby and swinging a cane as he sashayed on the ship's deck.
Apparently he never saw it coming, but his future bride knew exactly what she wanted. They became 'the' couple of New Orleans (probably more as entertainment at parties rather than a high society pair). Instead of being known as Mr. and Mrs. Martin Lee Kelly (he dropped the O' when he walked off the transatlantic ship)...his moniker was 'Honey Bunch' and she was known as 'Gran Money.'
Although Martin's son and our grandaddy, Edward, tried to buck the gambling gene and become a respectable businessman in Lubbock, Texas during his lifetime, he could beat any oncomers at poker, with his little daughter (The Ancient One disguised as The Yung'n back then) glued to his side soaking up every flush and full house. The woman he married was like every other woman when she saw him drive up to her house in a CAR (a Model T). She liked both 'the good life' and a rascal with a car. We think that his lack of success at being a cotton merchant back in the early 1900's was in direct proportion to her demands that he give up any notion of gambling beyond trying to sell west Texas cotton. He usually lost his shirt.
All I can say now is...NEVER play poker with The Ancient One. She might not be able to remember her own name at times, but she'll bluff you up one side and down the other until you're pissed off and borrowing money from your own children to stay in the game.
I don't even know how to play poker, but I've gambled on dreams and goals and risky ventures my whole life. I can honestly say that so far, I'm well above breaking even, and woulda played the same hand in all but one instance. I never would have married, Number Two, Little BigMan!
KK
****************************************************************
Oh, it's so true that life is a gamble. Our daddy, Frank Jackson, gambled big time...on oil wells. He was a Wheeler Dealer alright. He would have loved the movie business too. Producers, directors, studio VIP's etc. often bet their fortunes and houses on a story they are convinced will be a big, honkin' blockbuster. Sometimes they win. Sometimes they end up selling maps to the stars' homes on Sunset Boulevard, serving burgers at Mel's Diner or married to Brittany Spears.
Yep, gambling is in our blood. I remember coming home from school on Wednesdays and there was our beautiful mother and four of her BFF's sitting around her octagonal, green, felt covered poker table. Cigarette smoke swirled in the air and the clay chips clinked on the table as the girls laughed, sipped on Manhattans and cleaned each other out of the milk money. It's no wonder that to KK and I the sounds of ice clinking in Waterford crystal, poker chips on felt and Zippos flicking open flames on Lucky Stikes meant life was good, the equivalent of living in a demented Disney Land. The whole scene had me at my mother's velvety order, 'Five dollar ante'.
I have to gamble. I have to gamble that life always gets better, that KK and I will age gracefully, and that Twin Liquors won't run out of Black Jack.
SalGal
Our great grandfather was a rapscallion and scallywag whose destination of disembarkation upon arrival in America in the 1800's was NEW ORLEANS. Need I say more? He didn't figure there was a need to go anywhere else, for pity's sake and had an excellent stake to work off of since he'd won a BUNCH of money from his fellow travelers on the boat over.
The only traveling he ever did was up and down the Mississippi river on a steamboat playing poker. He was always able to handsomely reimburse himself for any business expenses along the way. And, he dressed the part, wearing spats, a derby and swinging a cane as he sashayed on the ship's deck.
Apparently he never saw it coming, but his future bride knew exactly what she wanted. They became 'the' couple of New Orleans (probably more as entertainment at parties rather than a high society pair). Instead of being known as Mr. and Mrs. Martin Lee Kelly (he dropped the O' when he walked off the transatlantic ship)...his moniker was 'Honey Bunch' and she was known as 'Gran Money.'
Although Martin's son and our grandaddy, Edward, tried to buck the gambling gene and become a respectable businessman in Lubbock, Texas during his lifetime, he could beat any oncomers at poker, with his little daughter (The Ancient One disguised as The Yung'n back then) glued to his side soaking up every flush and full house. The woman he married was like every other woman when she saw him drive up to her house in a CAR (a Model T). She liked both 'the good life' and a rascal with a car. We think that his lack of success at being a cotton merchant back in the early 1900's was in direct proportion to her demands that he give up any notion of gambling beyond trying to sell west Texas cotton. He usually lost his shirt.
All I can say now is...NEVER play poker with The Ancient One. She might not be able to remember her own name at times, but she'll bluff you up one side and down the other until you're pissed off and borrowing money from your own children to stay in the game.
I don't even know how to play poker, but I've gambled on dreams and goals and risky ventures my whole life. I can honestly say that so far, I'm well above breaking even, and woulda played the same hand in all but one instance. I never would have married, Number Two, Little BigMan!
KK
****************************************************************
Oh, it's so true that life is a gamble. Our daddy, Frank Jackson, gambled big time...on oil wells. He was a Wheeler Dealer alright. He would have loved the movie business too. Producers, directors, studio VIP's etc. often bet their fortunes and houses on a story they are convinced will be a big, honkin' blockbuster. Sometimes they win. Sometimes they end up selling maps to the stars' homes on Sunset Boulevard, serving burgers at Mel's Diner or married to Brittany Spears.
Yep, gambling is in our blood. I remember coming home from school on Wednesdays and there was our beautiful mother and four of her BFF's sitting around her octagonal, green, felt covered poker table. Cigarette smoke swirled in the air and the clay chips clinked on the table as the girls laughed, sipped on Manhattans and cleaned each other out of the milk money. It's no wonder that to KK and I the sounds of ice clinking in Waterford crystal, poker chips on felt and Zippos flicking open flames on Lucky Stikes meant life was good, the equivalent of living in a demented Disney Land. The whole scene had me at my mother's velvety order, 'Five dollar ante'.
I have to gamble. I have to gamble that life always gets better, that KK and I will age gracefully, and that Twin Liquors won't run out of Black Jack.
SalGal
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Signs
SalGal and I were having a nice lunch on the balcony at Fino one fine summer day and across the parking lot came hopping a young man on those high tech stilts that are curved and bouncy. He had long, floppy rabbit ears attached to his head and a big smile of his face. Now, we know Austin is weird and we do see lots of strange people, but this one made us laugh out loud and we decided it was a sign. That's how suggestible and easy we are. We see signs in things that other people might suspect as just insanity.
We are in SEARCH of insanity under otherwise acceptable circumstances. That's our M.O., our raison d'etre and the cream in our tea.
Whenever I see a male red cardinal, I gasp! I know that something wonderful is about to happen to me, no shit...and it does. They're just my lucky birds. The rules of the 'sign' game state that you can't go LOOKING for signs...they have to come to you, and you have to have your eyes and heart wide open enough to be able to see them. They aren't going to knock you on the head...or maybe they will, but I'd be afraid that those kinds of signs are really God saying, "WAKE UP STUPID!"
I"m not sure if omens are the same things as signs, but you have to be aware of those things too. Like when a black cat runs across the road in front of you and you cross its path with your car...you have to stop as soon as possible, get out of the car, turn around three times and spit. The devil spell will then be broken and you may proceed.
Some signs are nothing more than the devil in disguise...like when you've driven somewhere with directions and on your way back, you think you're making all the correct turns (in reverse, of course, because you're on your way back...this will be confusing to you dyslexics), but you've turned the wrong way more than once and just get lost as shit. That's when you have to pay attention to the actual metal signs on poles.
A few weeks ago I wound up driving behind a man in a small toyota with a casket roped to the top of his car. My friend, Bill, and I decided that this was a sign of some sort, but we couldn't figure it out as we speculated that we'd better pump up our finances in a hurry in case we wound up like that and we couldn't afford a friggin hearse, for Gawd's sake.
KK
***********************************************************************
I think the crop circles are signs from aliens that they are coming. They assume we understand and are clearing landing strips in anticipation of their arrivals when in actuality, rednecks in England and Ohio are taking credit for these amazing signs.
I think it was Ladybird Johnson who got rid of all the billboards along the sides of the highways in Texas. She thought they were ugly and she wanted to beautify our great state with wildflowers instead of daglo, gigantic posters every 50 feet that gleefully prepare you for impending pancake houses, Mariotts and turquoise sold by Mexicans calling themselves Indians who got the goods from Taiwan.
It's a sign of the times that there are just too many signs everywhere. There are signs behind the counter at the cleaners, in the windows of local grocery stores and plastered on poles in front of every honky tonk on sixth street. There are signs behind bars, over our heads at the street lights and stuck in front of houses. There are so many signs that we don't see them anymore. That's not good because now if there's a sign that says, 'Don't open this door or you will die!', you won't see it.
The parking signs around Austin are so unfair, especially downtown. They usually say, 'You can park here from 5AM to 1PM and 2M to 5PM on Mondays thru Fridays except holidays for 30 minutes and at all other times for two hours except for street cleaning on Saturday mornings form 6am to 8am unless that is a holiday and then it will apply the monday after that.' It's so unfair.
I want to put up signs everywhere that tell everybody to quit putting up signs everywhere but there are so many signs everywhere I know nobody would see them and then people would just cover them up with more signs anyway.
SalGal
We are in SEARCH of insanity under otherwise acceptable circumstances. That's our M.O., our raison d'etre and the cream in our tea.
Whenever I see a male red cardinal, I gasp! I know that something wonderful is about to happen to me, no shit...and it does. They're just my lucky birds. The rules of the 'sign' game state that you can't go LOOKING for signs...they have to come to you, and you have to have your eyes and heart wide open enough to be able to see them. They aren't going to knock you on the head...or maybe they will, but I'd be afraid that those kinds of signs are really God saying, "WAKE UP STUPID!"
I"m not sure if omens are the same things as signs, but you have to be aware of those things too. Like when a black cat runs across the road in front of you and you cross its path with your car...you have to stop as soon as possible, get out of the car, turn around three times and spit. The devil spell will then be broken and you may proceed.
Some signs are nothing more than the devil in disguise...like when you've driven somewhere with directions and on your way back, you think you're making all the correct turns (in reverse, of course, because you're on your way back...this will be confusing to you dyslexics), but you've turned the wrong way more than once and just get lost as shit. That's when you have to pay attention to the actual metal signs on poles.
A few weeks ago I wound up driving behind a man in a small toyota with a casket roped to the top of his car. My friend, Bill, and I decided that this was a sign of some sort, but we couldn't figure it out as we speculated that we'd better pump up our finances in a hurry in case we wound up like that and we couldn't afford a friggin hearse, for Gawd's sake.
KK
***********************************************************************
I think the crop circles are signs from aliens that they are coming. They assume we understand and are clearing landing strips in anticipation of their arrivals when in actuality, rednecks in England and Ohio are taking credit for these amazing signs.
I think it was Ladybird Johnson who got rid of all the billboards along the sides of the highways in Texas. She thought they were ugly and she wanted to beautify our great state with wildflowers instead of daglo, gigantic posters every 50 feet that gleefully prepare you for impending pancake houses, Mariotts and turquoise sold by Mexicans calling themselves Indians who got the goods from Taiwan.
It's a sign of the times that there are just too many signs everywhere. There are signs behind the counter at the cleaners, in the windows of local grocery stores and plastered on poles in front of every honky tonk on sixth street. There are signs behind bars, over our heads at the street lights and stuck in front of houses. There are so many signs that we don't see them anymore. That's not good because now if there's a sign that says, 'Don't open this door or you will die!', you won't see it.
The parking signs around Austin are so unfair, especially downtown. They usually say, 'You can park here from 5AM to 1PM and 2M to 5PM on Mondays thru Fridays except holidays for 30 minutes and at all other times for two hours except for street cleaning on Saturday mornings form 6am to 8am unless that is a holiday and then it will apply the monday after that.' It's so unfair.
I want to put up signs everywhere that tell everybody to quit putting up signs everywhere but there are so many signs everywhere I know nobody would see them and then people would just cover them up with more signs anyway.
SalGal
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Home Repair
As a woman, and now as three women in the same house who don't know shit about home repair, we've been taken to the cleaners more than once, let me tell you...and we're not stupid!
It's just that electricians KNOW that no one will TOUCH anything electrical for fear of winding up deep fried. And, the plumbers helper is all I got for any plumbing problems. I heard that deep, slow gurgling sound in the toilet this morning and was immediately filled with dread. I don't even want to OPEN that chamber behind the toilet seat because I just don't want to know what's in there. I've heard it's just water...sure!
It's been so long since anyone cleaned the gutters on this house that there are wee trees growing in a row from the actual gutter. I try to sweep (because it's therapeutic for me which requires a whole nuther posting on THAT) but even a gentle breeze blows year's worth of old, decaying leaves onto my beautiful clean porch and deck. It's a no-win situation.
Lest you think we just don't try, we've called people who have come by and said, "Sure, I can fix that," and either never returned, didn't call back or quoted a price that even I knew was out of any reasonable orbit and we declined. When things went wrong in the house, we used to just sit in the living room and stare at each other as if an answer would pop up as a bubble above one of our heads.
We think we have now found our hero, however. We just had to replace our back deck because SalGal was starting to fall through the old, rotten wood whenever she went to water her precious plants and flowers. We found him through trial and error that would be too long to describe here and would probably shock you, but...
He drives a monster truck with a large trailer hitched to it with a sign on the back of the trailer that reads, "Anything I got ain't Worth Your Life." There is a gun barrel pointing at whomever is reading this sign. That's somehow comforting to me.
He is about 6 ft tall and weighs about 135 pounds. He wears a Harley doo rag tied in the back, has an enormous moustache and smokes a dangling Sherlock Holmes pipe. We have finally found our hero!
He built us a beautiful deck and when asked if he would handle any of our other Honey Do's on the list, he replied, "I'm all yours till I win the lottery, and then it's Katy bar the door."
Wonder who Katy is?
KK
***********************************************************************
God knows I love larry too but he is a character. Here's a man who's job is building decks and the day before yesterday he didn't come because it was 45 degrees outside and he didn't want to catch a cold. He will kill you if you try to steel his hammer but God forbid that he should go outside if it's not hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. In that way he is delicate.
Larry called today to say he is not coming to pick up the lumber from the old deck because it is drizzling outside and he doesn't want to get bronchitis as he is prone to it. You know, I'm okay with this and I understand and this is a typical example of how people deal with each other here in Austin. Can you imagine what a high-powered agent or businessman in Los Angeles would say to such excuses from a contractor? "What?! You don't want to get bronchitis? You hillbilly piece of shit-faced tobacco mouthed fraud - get your ass over here right now or you will never work in this town again!" But here in Austin we love the Larrys and they take care of us, fix our plumbing for fifty dollars cash and only steal a little from the cannabis plant in the back yard.
You stay inside Larry and take care of yourself and we will gladly wait for you to come and finish when the sun is shining and the football games are all over. He had to finish early the other day because as he said, 'Kick off is in an hour and a half and I have to go to the store for some supplies'. We 'A' type women are not helpless but I'm willing to put up with this as long as I'm not the one who has to unclip the dead rats from the traps in the attic.
So let's lift a glass of Shiner beer to the Larrys who's answer to our, 'That deck looks wonderful' is always a hat-tippin', 'It's my pleasure, ma'am'. God luv eem...
SalGal
It's just that electricians KNOW that no one will TOUCH anything electrical for fear of winding up deep fried. And, the plumbers helper is all I got for any plumbing problems. I heard that deep, slow gurgling sound in the toilet this morning and was immediately filled with dread. I don't even want to OPEN that chamber behind the toilet seat because I just don't want to know what's in there. I've heard it's just water...sure!
It's been so long since anyone cleaned the gutters on this house that there are wee trees growing in a row from the actual gutter. I try to sweep (because it's therapeutic for me which requires a whole nuther posting on THAT) but even a gentle breeze blows year's worth of old, decaying leaves onto my beautiful clean porch and deck. It's a no-win situation.
Lest you think we just don't try, we've called people who have come by and said, "Sure, I can fix that," and either never returned, didn't call back or quoted a price that even I knew was out of any reasonable orbit and we declined. When things went wrong in the house, we used to just sit in the living room and stare at each other as if an answer would pop up as a bubble above one of our heads.
We think we have now found our hero, however. We just had to replace our back deck because SalGal was starting to fall through the old, rotten wood whenever she went to water her precious plants and flowers. We found him through trial and error that would be too long to describe here and would probably shock you, but...
He drives a monster truck with a large trailer hitched to it with a sign on the back of the trailer that reads, "Anything I got ain't Worth Your Life." There is a gun barrel pointing at whomever is reading this sign. That's somehow comforting to me.
He is about 6 ft tall and weighs about 135 pounds. He wears a Harley doo rag tied in the back, has an enormous moustache and smokes a dangling Sherlock Holmes pipe. We have finally found our hero!
He built us a beautiful deck and when asked if he would handle any of our other Honey Do's on the list, he replied, "I'm all yours till I win the lottery, and then it's Katy bar the door."
Wonder who Katy is?
KK
***********************************************************************
God knows I love larry too but he is a character. Here's a man who's job is building decks and the day before yesterday he didn't come because it was 45 degrees outside and he didn't want to catch a cold. He will kill you if you try to steel his hammer but God forbid that he should go outside if it's not hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. In that way he is delicate.
Larry called today to say he is not coming to pick up the lumber from the old deck because it is drizzling outside and he doesn't want to get bronchitis as he is prone to it. You know, I'm okay with this and I understand and this is a typical example of how people deal with each other here in Austin. Can you imagine what a high-powered agent or businessman in Los Angeles would say to such excuses from a contractor? "What?! You don't want to get bronchitis? You hillbilly piece of shit-faced tobacco mouthed fraud - get your ass over here right now or you will never work in this town again!" But here in Austin we love the Larrys and they take care of us, fix our plumbing for fifty dollars cash and only steal a little from the cannabis plant in the back yard.
You stay inside Larry and take care of yourself and we will gladly wait for you to come and finish when the sun is shining and the football games are all over. He had to finish early the other day because as he said, 'Kick off is in an hour and a half and I have to go to the store for some supplies'. We 'A' type women are not helpless but I'm willing to put up with this as long as I'm not the one who has to unclip the dead rats from the traps in the attic.
So let's lift a glass of Shiner beer to the Larrys who's answer to our, 'That deck looks wonderful' is always a hat-tippin', 'It's my pleasure, ma'am'. God luv eem...
SalGal
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Business Cards
I figured that I needed a business card, but I wasn't sure what to put on it since I really don't have a 'business' per se, and then it came to me!
I used a very ornate ancient script and under my name is simply, "Lunch Enthusiast." Well, that got me thinking about other ideas for business cards. Like if they tell the truth about the holder or maybe even what the future holds for the recipient of their card.
I wish my last sweetheart had just put on his card, "Emotionally Unavailable," or "Not Destined for Greatness...even Mediocrity." I might have thought twice if he had handed me a card that said, "Walk Away Before It's Too Late."
Women who want children could have cards that read, "Have Sperm? Will Incubate." Men who don't want to or can't have children would have cards with, "Shootin Blanks, I Swear!"
If you were applying for a job, you should really give pause if your potential boss hands you a card that says, "Unable to Appreciate Subordinates." Or you might hand the person back your own card, "I buck Authority...Beware."
If I didn't have "Lunch Enthusiast" on my card, it would read, "Movie Slut." I also wish my second husband had given me a card that said, "Short With Napoleonic Complex."
Oh, and I could have used a card given to me that said, "Stop...If You Don't Rescue Me, Someone Else Will."
And, I would keep forever a card from my best friend that reads, "I've Got Your Back."
What would your card say?
KK
******************************************************************
I must say, KK, you have outdone yourself on this business card thing. I bet everybody's minds are just racing with this one.
I need a different business card for each thing that I'm doing. For my documentary I need one that says, 'Give me $65,000 dollars and I will get you an Academy Award.'
I need one for acting that says, 'Cast me in this role or I can't promise that your tires won't be slashed tomorrow.'
I should have one that says, 'This is not really my phone number but you won't stop bugging me.'
I like the card that KK and I have for the 'Midlife Gals'. It has our blog, email addresses and phone numbers and I designed it. It's very straight forward and just gives our motto at the end that is, 'Onward through the fog!'
And life is like driving in the fog isn't it? You know there's an asshole or two behind you thinking you could go faster, the guy in front of you doesn't know his left-hand blinker has been on for the last 12 fucking miles and your high beams don't do shit.
Everybody always tries to make their cards look professional. I look at them and they are boring. Two weeks later I find it in my purse and can't even remember them or how or where I got the card. But I can't throw it away. I don't know why that is. All these mysterious, boring cards are in the tray by the door for in case... In case of what?!! I don't know!
So if you've ever given me a card you might want to email me and remind me who you are. Then I can put your card in the 'I know this person' pile. It will stay there for about 6 months until I forget who you are again and then you might want to follow up and send me another card. I'm just telling the truth.
SalGal
I used a very ornate ancient script and under my name is simply, "Lunch Enthusiast." Well, that got me thinking about other ideas for business cards. Like if they tell the truth about the holder or maybe even what the future holds for the recipient of their card.
I wish my last sweetheart had just put on his card, "Emotionally Unavailable," or "Not Destined for Greatness...even Mediocrity." I might have thought twice if he had handed me a card that said, "Walk Away Before It's Too Late."
Women who want children could have cards that read, "Have Sperm? Will Incubate." Men who don't want to or can't have children would have cards with, "Shootin Blanks, I Swear!"
If you were applying for a job, you should really give pause if your potential boss hands you a card that says, "Unable to Appreciate Subordinates." Or you might hand the person back your own card, "I buck Authority...Beware."
If I didn't have "Lunch Enthusiast" on my card, it would read, "Movie Slut." I also wish my second husband had given me a card that said, "Short With Napoleonic Complex."
Oh, and I could have used a card given to me that said, "Stop...If You Don't Rescue Me, Someone Else Will."
And, I would keep forever a card from my best friend that reads, "I've Got Your Back."
What would your card say?
KK
******************************************************************
I must say, KK, you have outdone yourself on this business card thing. I bet everybody's minds are just racing with this one.
I need a different business card for each thing that I'm doing. For my documentary I need one that says, 'Give me $65,000 dollars and I will get you an Academy Award.'
I need one for acting that says, 'Cast me in this role or I can't promise that your tires won't be slashed tomorrow.'
I should have one that says, 'This is not really my phone number but you won't stop bugging me.'
I like the card that KK and I have for the 'Midlife Gals'. It has our blog, email addresses and phone numbers and I designed it. It's very straight forward and just gives our motto at the end that is, 'Onward through the fog!'
And life is like driving in the fog isn't it? You know there's an asshole or two behind you thinking you could go faster, the guy in front of you doesn't know his left-hand blinker has been on for the last 12 fucking miles and your high beams don't do shit.
Everybody always tries to make their cards look professional. I look at them and they are boring. Two weeks later I find it in my purse and can't even remember them or how or where I got the card. But I can't throw it away. I don't know why that is. All these mysterious, boring cards are in the tray by the door for in case... In case of what?!! I don't know!
So if you've ever given me a card you might want to email me and remind me who you are. Then I can put your card in the 'I know this person' pile. It will stay there for about 6 months until I forget who you are again and then you might want to follow up and send me another card. I'm just telling the truth.
SalGal
Friday, January 18, 2008
A RE-GIFT
We thought we'd better send this out one more time since it's primary and caucus time. We're sad that soon there will be only two candidates to duke it out!
________________________________________________________________________________
Politics...ouch!
I’ve made my decision on who to vote for in the next US presidential election. I’m going to vote for ClinBamaGiulCain. There…I’m committed. No turning back now!
I’m confessing, obsessing and thrilled with my choice. It’s a middle-of-the-road choice, I know, but that’s where I am at age 55. Here’s the deal…as a woman, how could I not vote for the potential first woman president? Why wouldn’t I support a possible first black president or the man who gave such comfort to New Yorkers on 9/11? And, who wouldn’t trust a man who spent years at the Hanoi Hilton and even gave up his turn for a fellow prisoner when it was time to be released?
The problem is this…how could I vote for a woman who didn’t have the courage and self respect to leave a cheating husband, one who cheated and lied all over the place and cozied up to every skirt he wanted underneath? And, why would I give my vote to an African American who looks like he’s a seventeen-year-old Eagle Scout with a bright future but who is so green behind the ears that I cringe at the notion of his high-level talks with a nutcase like Putin? With 9/11 a distant, horrible memory, how could I give my precious vote to a man whose son is supporting another candidate, for Criminy’s sake? What does he know that we don’t yet? And, the Vietnam vet is older than Gawd, so how long is he going to last?
I’m from west Texas where all the cowboys live, and they want a ball-bustin’, horse-ridin’ son-of-a-bitch who will do what they want him to. On the other hand, I live in the capital of Texas, an island in the desert sea that is often proclaimed, The People’s Republic of Austin.’ These constituents want every smoker hung, every non-recycler sent to prison and every conservative strung up by her toes. It’s tough around here for a middle-of-the-roader.
I have a confession to make, and I know that if we’re all honest at the end of the day, there are some out there who have sold their votes for love…been converted by a husband, wife, lover or the postal carrier. Yep, that’s happened to me. In my desperate cravings for love, I have been persuaded that my convictions can be switched for a large bottle of Chanel No. 5 or a hand to hold when fears arise, and I’ve sold my soul for a multiple orgasm. There, I’ve said it. I’m not proud, but I just love Chanel N. 5, okay?
When push comes to shove, here is my dilemma. I support every woman’s issue on the planet. I think stem cell research is the answer to all ailments of incurable dimensions. But, I like the way our American economy is going. I am totally on board in the ‘global’ war on terror and think that every terrorist should have to spend a few years in the Hanoi Hilton. On the other hand, I think the US health care system is a nightmare, but I don’t think Canada has the answer there either. I think that we should do away with health insurance all together…make the doctors have to compete with each other and give us service for pay…like whoever has to wait longer than 15 minutes in a waiting room gets their medical care for free.
I’ve worked for the daughter of a democratic President of the United States and that daughter is as much of a megalomaniac as her father. I’ve worked for a media guru who helped elect the same republican President not once, but twice. That person started his own political career as an anarchist, so who do I believe??
And, the television commercials haven’t even started yet! By the time they’re coming at us full speed, I hope there will be a law in place that blocks the ads from being projected on our TV screens the way they sent us all a number we could use to block all the harassing sales pitches at dinnertime. I’m such a middle-of-the-roader that I’ll believe each commercial which will further cement my decision to vote for ClinBamaGuilCain.
Go vote!
***********************************************************
I'm gonna vote for Barak Obama. I already know that. Hilary Clinton is fake and I hate her. She does a fake southern accent when she is in the south. KK pointed that out to me and I have hated her ever since.
People say Obama is young and naive. Well, so was Kennedy. If I had been old enough to vote, I would have voted for Kennedy.
If George Clooney ran for president I might vote for him...or Tony Bennett. Maybe Chris Rock would be good because he can find the joke in anything and the State of the Nation speeches would be hilarious.
Ellen DeGeneras would be a great Vice President. We could send her to Iraq or France or anywhere and she would make them laugh.
I would like to be the US Ambassador to Jamaica. Start a petition for me and I'll put you up for a week at Jake's on the south shore of the island.
Being President of the US would be a really hard job and I wouldn't want to do it. Would you?
SalGal
________________________________________________________________________________
Politics...ouch!
I’ve made my decision on who to vote for in the next US presidential election. I’m going to vote for ClinBamaGiulCain. There…I’m committed. No turning back now!
I’m confessing, obsessing and thrilled with my choice. It’s a middle-of-the-road choice, I know, but that’s where I am at age 55. Here’s the deal…as a woman, how could I not vote for the potential first woman president? Why wouldn’t I support a possible first black president or the man who gave such comfort to New Yorkers on 9/11? And, who wouldn’t trust a man who spent years at the Hanoi Hilton and even gave up his turn for a fellow prisoner when it was time to be released?
The problem is this…how could I vote for a woman who didn’t have the courage and self respect to leave a cheating husband, one who cheated and lied all over the place and cozied up to every skirt he wanted underneath? And, why would I give my vote to an African American who looks like he’s a seventeen-year-old Eagle Scout with a bright future but who is so green behind the ears that I cringe at the notion of his high-level talks with a nutcase like Putin? With 9/11 a distant, horrible memory, how could I give my precious vote to a man whose son is supporting another candidate, for Criminy’s sake? What does he know that we don’t yet? And, the Vietnam vet is older than Gawd, so how long is he going to last?
I’m from west Texas where all the cowboys live, and they want a ball-bustin’, horse-ridin’ son-of-a-bitch who will do what they want him to. On the other hand, I live in the capital of Texas, an island in the desert sea that is often proclaimed, The People’s Republic of Austin.’ These constituents want every smoker hung, every non-recycler sent to prison and every conservative strung up by her toes. It’s tough around here for a middle-of-the-roader.
I have a confession to make, and I know that if we’re all honest at the end of the day, there are some out there who have sold their votes for love…been converted by a husband, wife, lover or the postal carrier. Yep, that’s happened to me. In my desperate cravings for love, I have been persuaded that my convictions can be switched for a large bottle of Chanel No. 5 or a hand to hold when fears arise, and I’ve sold my soul for a multiple orgasm. There, I’ve said it. I’m not proud, but I just love Chanel N. 5, okay?
When push comes to shove, here is my dilemma. I support every woman’s issue on the planet. I think stem cell research is the answer to all ailments of incurable dimensions. But, I like the way our American economy is going. I am totally on board in the ‘global’ war on terror and think that every terrorist should have to spend a few years in the Hanoi Hilton. On the other hand, I think the US health care system is a nightmare, but I don’t think Canada has the answer there either. I think that we should do away with health insurance all together…make the doctors have to compete with each other and give us service for pay…like whoever has to wait longer than 15 minutes in a waiting room gets their medical care for free.
I’ve worked for the daughter of a democratic President of the United States and that daughter is as much of a megalomaniac as her father. I’ve worked for a media guru who helped elect the same republican President not once, but twice. That person started his own political career as an anarchist, so who do I believe??
And, the television commercials haven’t even started yet! By the time they’re coming at us full speed, I hope there will be a law in place that blocks the ads from being projected on our TV screens the way they sent us all a number we could use to block all the harassing sales pitches at dinnertime. I’m such a middle-of-the-roader that I’ll believe each commercial which will further cement my decision to vote for ClinBamaGuilCain.
Go vote!
***********************************************************
I'm gonna vote for Barak Obama. I already know that. Hilary Clinton is fake and I hate her. She does a fake southern accent when she is in the south. KK pointed that out to me and I have hated her ever since.
People say Obama is young and naive. Well, so was Kennedy. If I had been old enough to vote, I would have voted for Kennedy.
If George Clooney ran for president I might vote for him...or Tony Bennett. Maybe Chris Rock would be good because he can find the joke in anything and the State of the Nation speeches would be hilarious.
Ellen DeGeneras would be a great Vice President. We could send her to Iraq or France or anywhere and she would make them laugh.
I would like to be the US Ambassador to Jamaica. Start a petition for me and I'll put you up for a week at Jake's on the south shore of the island.
Being President of the US would be a really hard job and I wouldn't want to do it. Would you?
SalGal
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