Not really sure where this thing is going but I know that in the end I will probably piss someone off and that is not my intention at all.
There’s just something I feel the need to talk about and my blog is the best damn place to do it.
Because I own the joint.
Being happily married for almost 30 years you get to know every little thing about your partner.
By partner, I mean ‘the Love of your Life’.
Many guys will laugh at that statement but I will stand behind it every step of the way.
No surprise to the readers here that I love my wife unconditionally.
Always have, always will.
Knowing how they like their tea, their steak done, their burgers done, their bed made and their shoulders rubbed, you just know how they like it.
You don’t ask, you just do.
Biologically, they change through the years (as do us guys) and you have to be a sport, a team player.
But sometimes the games get rough though.
I have never been able to figure out why they call it ‘Menopause’.
1872, from Fr. ménopause, from Gk. men (gen. menos) “month” + pausis “a cessation, a pause,” from pauein “to cause to cease.” Opposite of menarche “onset of menstruation,” 1900, from Ger. (1895), from Gk. arkhe “beginning.”
There’s MENopause, MENstration, MENtal Illness and so on.
How about WOMapause, WOMstration and WOMal Illness?
1am this morning the blanket and sheet covering me were violently ripped off.
Okay, I get it, the AC is blasting and she was cold.
I’m fine with that.
I was shivering my ass off until I could grab enough of the blanket and comforter to get warm and back to sleep.
2am, the blankets and comforter are shoved over suffocating me while she lays there uncovered.
This happens on a nightly basis and I’m fine with that but really?
I understand on a biological and physiological basis why it happens but I still wonder what the hell?
Damn you, you hormonal hungry bastard!
Several years ago me and Pam went for an autumn drive through southern New Hampshire to view the foliage.
Some nice Jazz was playing on the radio and the heat was on low with the outside temps in the mid to upper 50’s.
Suddenly, the windows were opened, the heat was shut off and I couldn’t hear the music.
“What’s up? You okay?” I asked.
“Hot flash, sorry.” She said.
The phrase, “Hot Flash, sorry!” should be a bumper sticker requirement for any woman beyond the age of 50.
I don’t say that in a nasty way just as a reminder for the younger folks driving behind you with no clue as to where you’re going.
[Insane. Wanna come along?]
It could explain a lot.
The rest of the ride was basically, AC on, AC off, Heat on, Heat off, windows open, windows closed, ad nauseum.
Do I feel for you women thrashing through this tumultuous time in your life?
Please believe that I do.
Should this thing should ever come full circle, know that us guys would rather rip our genitalia off.
If that’s what it takes . . .
Is it me or is it all of a sudden hot in here?
[with sincere apologies to my wife for me talking about this. It is fascinating. And yeah, I’m losing my blankie tonight]
[fair dinkum, as they say in Australia]
I saw Orion this morning (6:15) while retrieving the morning paper.
The constellation told me/reminded me of several things; Autumn has arrived here in New England,
and there is one more constellation I need to see before I die [Southern Cross],
and that another year has passed and my wife is one year older.
Happy Birthday, to my always.
From your forever.
And the stars continue to sparkle.
Just like your eyes . . . [green Orion]
See you for Indian tomorrow night . . .
I run into many interesting people during the course of my day in Boston.
This morning a customer took me by surprise with a true story that was just too damn funny not to share. I am not making this up folks.
May not be suitable for reading the kids before bed either.
I made mention of the fact that I had made chili on Wednesday when BLH said, “I gotta good chili story for ya.”
In the (somewhat) paraphrased words of BLH:
“This was several years ago when I was living next to two gay guys.
Great guys, too.
They did their thing, I did mine, ya know?
Live and let live, I say.
Anyway, my kitchen window looked right into theirs as it was less than 15 feet away.
So this one summer day, I’m making chili.
Beautiful day, windows open, music on and I’m chopping up onions and garlic and Habanero peppers for my chili.
I leave the kitchen for a minute to go and take a piss and resume my cooking.
It’s not even 2 minutes later that ‘Mr. Willy’ starts to heat up.
Like really heating up.
I look at the Habanero peppers now nicely chopped and look down at my crotch and think, “Dear God, no.”
Within 5 minutes, I realize that ‘Mr. Willy’ needs some serious medical attention.
This is getting painful.
And really hot.
I get a facecloth, soak it in cold water and drop my pants right there in the middle of the kitchen.
It didn’t take long to realize that all the wet facecloth did was move all the hot stuff down to my
two soon-to-be ‘Hot Mexican jumping beans’.
I was in too much pain and making too many oohs and ahhs to realize that I was also gathering something of an audience 15 feet across the way.
With my crotch turning into a smoking Mojave desert, I was getting desperate.
(Is that steam?)
Christ, I’m on fire down there!
I suddenly remembered buying a big container of sour cream for the chili and
waddled like a penguin over to the fridge.
I ripped open the container like a madman, took a fistful of the cool white stuff
and began rubbing it in gobs into the raging fire down below.
My oohs, ahhs and general sounds of relief were obviously misinterpreted by my now smiling neighbors across the way.
There I am with my pants down, breathing heavy, and sour cream smeared all over my crotch.
A proud Kodak moment for me, ya know?
I’m close to my mother so I told her the story, and man, did she laugh.
Two weeks later, I’m out to breakfast with her at a place she frequently goes.
The waitress brings my breakfast of fried eggs, home fries and bacon
but on the side of the plate is a small tub of sour cream.
I asked the waitress, “What’s up with the sour cream?”
She winked and said, “Your mother says you really like it.”
(I am laughing hysterically now)
You’ll be thinking about this every time you make chili now, right?”
Yeah, BLH, you are sooo right.
Was it a funny Thursday morning for me?
You betcha schweet bippie.
Thanks for a great tale, BLH
You have total attribution.
I just hope I did you some justice.
(BLH’s version is much funnier but has a different rating)
Hopefully ’Mr. Willy’ has found some cooler climes by now.
And, BLH, I hope you were using low-fat sour cream.
That regular stuff is just plain nasty . . .
Monday rolls around way too quick these days.
Where did the week go?
Welcome to Malarky Monday!
This is the day of the week that a group of us (teh blogocracy) tries
to get you to giggle, spit, put a smile on your face or all three.
After reading my post, please visit my fellow cohorts for more Monday Mayhem.
This is ‘crazy shit’ week for me.
A potpourri of oddness and funky humor.
Sorry in advance about the f-bombs
There is nothing funnier than a cat wearing red sox.
Oh, wait a minute.
There is . . .
This is pretty much self explanatory but funny nonetheless.
Illegal downloading is a problem these days.
Still trying to download an English Bull Terrier . . .
Is this cat’s name Rocky?
And in closing a footnote to our wonderful government
(currently buried in 2ft of snow. cool, huh?)
((screw ‘em, they deserve it))
Now please visit my MM blogging buds!
This is the latest web/ YouTube sensation called Miranda.
Is she a Dancing Queen?
A singing sensation?
Maybe not on this planet.
Either way, she rocks my world.
I gotta talk to her about how she applies her lipstick though.
Maybe she needs to be in one of those Little Caesar pizza commercials . . .
I have caught up on most comments and commented on many blogs.
But I will admit, I have been a bad blogger lately.
Not the worst but definitely not the best.
A very long work week combined with a busy life in general has grabbed me by the cojones.
I am taking a vacation starting at 6PM tomorrow. (EST)
I will be around and plan on posting a few things during the week but, in the words of the AWB,
I have work to do.
I thank all of you for the visits and the comments.
I will visit my folks on the blogroll as well.
See you all on the flipside of the blogosphere.
Gonna take Frankie’s advice for now . . .
I’ve been something of a Steve Winwood freak for many years.
Probably has something to do with his use of the Prophet-V synthesizer from my dinosaur days.
(I had one as well. Go HERE to YouTube. The instrument doing that neat solo line is a Pro-V)
Winwood has maintained something of a clean career far away from the major spotlight and sounds as good
today as he did years ago with Traffic, Spencer Davis Group and Blind Faith.
His newest album called “Nine Lives” is simply amazing.
Maybe it’s because the man has taken care of himself.
Winwood plays Hammond B-3 and guitar (with some help from E. Clapton)
I am just so damn impressed by this man that still keeps on creating after all these years.
Had to let you guys know about this incredible album.
Please check it out and check out the video above
‘Dirty City’ is a gritty and intensely memorable song to listen to.
That’s all I got for today but if I can turn one person onto this incredible musician,
the post will have done its job.
ps. I would have posted the actual video but embedding was disabled. :0(
If you’d rather watch that CLICK HERE
I actually like this better and it’s only 4 minutes versus 8
I’ve been busy updating my “pages” and doing some sorely needed blog maintenance.
The Ghosts and Poetry pages have been updated.
I’ve also posted a short story I wrote 6 years ago.
Just click on one of the corresponding tabs above to get there.
Thanks to Moe for all her help and guidance when I was absolutely freaking out.
She is a dear friend and a most awesome blogger.
If you haven’t visited her yet (or blogrolled her) you are really missing out.
Got some stuff planned in a few days.
Please stop back.
In the meantime, please browse my “pages”.
Soon . . .