That old lady smell

I'm not dissing old ladies, some day I will be one God willing. But I'd like to put it off as long as possible. So I need to know what that old lady scent is so I don't inadvertently buy one of it's products. I'm rather sensitive about my age at the moment.
Oh and just to let everyone know if you have a party for me I will kick you till your dead. Most of my friends and family know what expensive gifts I want but if you need a list just ask.
WalMart, you plethora a blogging fodder, I love you. I turned the corner to go down my next aisle and ran smack into a old lady smell cloud. Whoa. She had just come up the aisle I was going down. And on my way down she left a trail of her scent lingering in the air, dissipating the further I got. It isn't an unpleasant smell it's just one associated with old lady. Somebody has to know what these old ladies are dousing themselves in each day of their lives. And I need to know. I will await your responses. Thank you.

Remember the deck step is broken

These words resonated in my head as I gathered the necessary items for my venture into the backyard. All day I had heard something banging in the wind and I mistook it as noise from the work going on down the street. But as night fell and the backyard was enveloped in darkness the thump continued. Peering out the back windows of the house I could see our shed door had been left open. Will someone with in the sound of my voice close the shed that I didn't open? No, they are all deaf to the sound of my voice and as the old saying goes, "if you want something done, do it yourself."
I put on a pair of over sized boots because they were there, I found a non-battery needed lantern that had a crank and I cranked it. The dog always escapes out the backdoor, down the steps and runs like the wind next door, it's where her boyfriend lives. It was important that I didn't let that happen so I backed my way out the door onto the steps and shoved her nose back inside. As I turned I held up my cranked lantern to make sure the beast wasn't lurking below.
You can see I had many distractions, you can see how a broken step can slip your mind. Until you step on it of course. So through the step I went, dropped the crank lantern, got my foot tangled in the wrought iron plant stand stored under the steps, fell forward trying to grab the stupid lantern and cried a little bit.
You get to a certain age that before moving after such a tumble you assess the damage you've inflicted upon yourself. When you are 90% sure nothing is broken you start to climb your way out and close the damn shed door. This happened Monday and I'm still moving slow. And doing quite a bit of bitching and moaning.

I thought we had this Dry Cleaning drama under control

Everything was going fine. I was making quite a bit of progress getting over the loss of The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude blog fodder. My new dry cleaner, boring but competent, was just another errand. They gave me nothing to work with writing wise but when you have WalMart a bloggers life is somewhat complete anyway. So I dropped the husbands shirts off on Friday and picked up his shirts from the Friday before without incident. 

I have been picking up and dropping off shirts for years and years. One thing that has never happened is a dry cleaner telling me that the heat from the shirt press can make a shirt spontaneously com-bust because it's old. I may have been born at night but not last night. This isn't an old shirt, not new but definitely not old. My dry cleaner, see I don't even have a blog name for her, told me she'd patch it for me. I'll let that sink in.....patch it.

Okay, I do not intend to send the husband off to work looking like a hobo. I mentioned to her that in all my years of getting shirts cleaned I have never seen anything like this and she assured me that it happens all the time. Really? Huh. We had a five minute discussion over this problem, actually I dragged it out to she if she was going to charge me for the shirt she blew up. She did. I left my last set of shirts with her today and now I have to look for another damn dry cleaner. One that doesn't go on vacation to China and never come back, one that doesn't loose shirts and one that doesn't blow them up.

Lesson of the day - never get to comfortable.

Bitching and moaning about the weather, just to get it out of my system

On March 10th Northeast, Ohio enjoyed a sunshine and lollipop day with 50 degree temperatures. Native Northeast Ohioans know it's a cruel trick from Mother Nature. But we never learn and our biggest mistake is enjoying the warm weather in March too much. In the back of our brains where we store the weather memories there is a tiny voice telling us,
"Winter isn't over, pace yourself and Jesus, Mary and Joseph, don't do anything stupid."
I have compiled a list of the stupid:
1. Do not look for a pair of shorts and your flip flops.
2. Do not put any sweaters away, even the big bulky wool one that itches if you wear in a temperature above 7 degrees.
3. Look at the picture of my front steps. See the snow shovel propped up against the steps? That will be there until June 1st. Never put your snow shovels away in March, ever."
4. Snow blowers (see stupid #3) Cousin Mike, I hope you are reading this. You put your snow blower away, admitted it and now see what you've done. Part of this is your fault and I told you so. Pretty sure I swore at you too.
5. It's too early to play corn hole.
6. The rock salt that you have near the front door to keep from cracking your head open by slipping on the icy steps, leave it there all year. Just put an umbrella in front of it, people will understand.
7. When we are driving stay out of our way because we have only scraped enough ice off our windshield to see straight ahead until the defroster melts the rest. Seriously, we can't see when we are driving in March snow.
8. Rodents with cutesy names don't know there ass from a hole in the ground. Expecting them to predict the weather.....stupid.
9. If you have just moved to our lovely part of the fruited plain we expect a mistake or two the first couple years. But if you keep it up we will be at your doorstep with pitch forks and torches.
10. Don't enjoy yourself too much, this bares repeating.
There you have it, my expert non-jinxing weather advice.

Just one more thing. I had an essay published in the online parent magazine The Imperfect Parent. Go to this link and click on the thumbs up 'like' button: Let's pretend you didn't break your arm and go on vacation

Then maybe I'll look popular and they will give me more assignments. This will be the last time I bug you for this, probably.

Bears don't fit under cars

The past summer our area news stations were reporting bear sightings. I've lived here my whole life and have never, ever seen a bear except at the zoo. I was slightly concerned over this news. I didn't want to be on the television show 'When Animals Attack' and I plan to keep all of my limbs as long as possible. That being said when I heard a growl last night.........it freaked me out man. 
I'm lucky if I get to bed by midnight and one of the last things I do before climbing in bed is let the dog out. I am careful to check for other dogs being walked down the street, the deer and any other wildlife before I attach her to her lead and open the front door.
Here is where 'it isn't my fault' comes into play.
The husband complains that I don't leave her out long enough and when I go to bed and he stays up the dog bothers him to go back out. So last night, against my better judgement, I put her out and went to wash my face. Men, where do I start? Once they are in their recliners with the remote in their hand and their feet propped up they have a very limited reaction time. A dog barking past midnight doesn't phase them. So when the dog started barking I came down the hallway drying my face with a towel, headed for the front door and on my way said,
"See."
"Huh?"
"The dog is going to wake the neighbors."
Fifty percent of the time she goes out she gets herself wrapped around the light post or stuck on the corners of the front steps. I have to take my slippers off and put on boots to get her loose. Then she runs in and hides one of my slippers. But last night mayhem ensued.
I got to the door. Painting you a picture here. One of our cars is usually parked next to the front steps. The dog is stuck on the steps but has enough slack to get her head halfway under the car. She's barking and the hairs on her back are sticking straight up. I hissed her name to get her to shut up and she did. But then I heard a growl coming from under the car. I whimpered. The corner she was stuck on was closest to the car. Jesus, Mary and Joseph I'm going to die or at least loose a hand and get rabies. I'm holding the dog by the collar and trying to maneuver the lead off the corner that was right by the beast under the car while mumbling incoherently to the husband. Something came out like,
"There's a... it's... something is under the car... it's growling... the dog... something is growling... help... the dog is stuck... help... it's growling... under the car... help."
I was 100% sure it wasn't a bear but it was pissed. The husband and I freed the dog and brought her in, she was hopped up on the scent of the beast and ran from the front window to the front door, over and over again. She was protecting her turf. While she continued, the husband laughed at me for being such a girl. I blamed him for the dog being out that late unsupervised and for my wet slippers. I didn't have time to change into boots when I saw her head under the car.
This morning he was still making fun of me and I'm sure Brent already knows about this story but I wanted him to hear my side. And to the rest of my readers my side is enough as I am sure you all agree it's the husbands fault.

Yes, cabin fever has taken hold

They let me out of the house today. I really need to mingle amongst the general public a little more than just grocery shopping every Friday at WalMart. I talk to myself more than anyone else, I'm my own BFF. Usually I am a pretty interesting person to talk to, humorous, friendly and barely have any marbles missing. That's what I told myself the other day. But even I can get bored with me.
Yes, cabin fever has taken hold.
Today I went to the dentist. Let me ask, is it wrong to be jealous of the guy in the cubical next to you that is getting a prescription for Vicodin? I think you should be given a sedative the moment you walk into the dentist office doors. Or at least offered a cocktail. Instead I had to white knuckle the dentist chair arms while my teeth were scraped. There was a drill on the right of me and Vicodin talk to the left. There I was stuck in the middle fully alert.
After the torture I received my free toothbrush, travel size toothpaste and a mini dental floss. I made my next 6 month check up which will be in the summer and made a point of telling the ladies in the office that the next time I see them I will have on flip flops and please have the margaritas ready.
My next stop was to get my hair done. I just got it cut but I think I'm suppose to say done. This is another chore for me. I can not remember a time that I walked out of a hair salon and liked my hair. The stylist will give me a mirror when they are done cutting, twirl me around and ask if I like it and I always say 'yep it looks good'. But on the inside I'm telling myself 'I can fix this when I get home'. Because really what else can you do? It isn't like they can put your hair back on your head.
The next stop, mom and dads. I did this before I went home to fix my hair manly because it doesn't matter what I do my mother will not like it. I walked in the door and she said 'huh, it's short'. Told you. In all the pictures of me as a little girl my hair was in a ponytail stuck on top of my head, what did she expect from me as I took control of my own hair. I had nothing to look back on except to give up and look like a dork.
That was my day out of the house. Now I can only wait until I am let out again.

Sometimes you have to write stuff down

A couple years ago I snapped and wrote this scathing memo to my family. I'm sure everyone has had this problem, you need to write something down and can't find a piece of paper. I know I'm right on this conundrum.
I would place a pad of paper in the kitchen junk drawer. I thought, like many, this was a given. Pad of paper in junk drawer with pen and pencils. How could you go wrong? When you have to hurry up and write something down, bam, pad and pen at the ready.
But no, someone always takes the pad of paper leaving you running around the house, usually on the phone, trying to find a piece of paper to write down vital information. No matter how many times you scream at your family to leave it in its spot, it continually disappears.
I took matters into my own hands and threatened them,
"Bad things will happen if anyone removes this pad of paper from this spot!"
Exclamation point, underlined and I even drew a scary stick figure face so they knew I meant business. I left it there. It wasn't too long before they started to defile it, as you can see in the picture. And it has also become the paper on which you test a pen to see if it works. But with all the abuse it has taken over the years, it still remains in its spot. So yeah, they are scared of me, totally.

Farvel Cargo's Top 10 Best Posts of 2012

It's about damn time. January 2013 is almost over and I haven't posted anything anywhere. I could give you a list of excuses but I don't want to start the new year off whining. 

There are only 39 posts from 2012 to choose from as I missed my goal of 100 by 61. Doh! 

A great way to start off the list is with:

Farvel Cargo's most noteworthy and best top 10 posts of 2011

Planning for the End of the World I was really into the end of the world Mayan stuff in 2012, it made blogging easy.

From the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude Files #OMG - WTF Who didn't cry at least a little when they found this out?

Snot Preparedness Process I'm only into March but I've been sick on and off since the middle of October. I thought this was appropriate.

I never thought it would end this way Who could forget 2012 was the year I lost my Dry Cleaning Besties?

Don't make me get my flying monkeys I always think a post is good when I yell at my children.

Welcome to Kookamongaville, I will be your Captain I can't leave out the crazy neighbors.

The neighborhood is slowly spiraling out of control Perhaps in 2013 I will have a grip on the neighborhood.

I sat on a bee Bringing back childhood memories.

Elevator Conversations And inside my head conversations.

So there you have them, my top 10 posts. Actually I think they are all great. You shoud get yourself a cup of coffee and read all of 2012.

The voice inside my head

The voice inside my head was chatting me up today at WalMart. I think it's because of the flu Boy #2 so graciously bestowed upon me two days before Christmas. Not completely over the sinus infection and no time to go back to the doctor, I left myself vulnerable. But I'm still letting Boy #2 take all the blame. So with my brain floating around in snot, gently bopping against the walls of my skull it misfired quite a bit up and down those WalMart aisles.
I will try to remember what it was saying as I arrived and was desperately trying to contain it:

"No bell ringer today, gonna miss him."

"Thank you for walking in the clearly marked exit door. The record of some moron walking in or out of the wrong door remains intact."

"I need to go to the pharmaceutical aisle first. Maybe I can find a magical cure for the flu or just knock myself out with Nyquil shots."

"I shouldn't have left the house alone. I feel like hell and I just got here."

"Seriously? The whole family has to do the grocery shopping? Mom, dad and 2.5 children? They clog up the whole aisle. What do children contribute to grocery shopping besides annoyance?"

"What bra did I wear today? Why do the straps keep sliding off my shoulders?"

"Move out of the way, move your cart, move it now. I'm going to ram into it, I swear I will."

"Is my tea on the very bottom self?"

"Note to self: buy nothing on the bottom self today because standing back up makes you dizzy."

"I have to blow my nose."

"I can't believe mom found this little bottle of lavender scented hand sanitizer, I love lavender."

"Get out of my way."

"If you stop and text in front of something I want I'm going to give you a heavy sigh."

"These effing bra straps."

"I'm probably going to faint. Why is it so hot in here?"

"I will not sample whatever it is you are cooking in your little toaster oven, it smells bad. I'm avoiding eye contact and walking right by you."

"You haven't seen each other in years? That's wonderful, but would you find somewhere else to catch up? Preferably somewhere I'm not. You are hindering my progress along with the people that insist on bringing their entire family with them."

"This bra is coming off as soon as I get home. If I ever get home. I might not ever get home."

"Put your cart on one side of the aisle. Pick left or right, not the middle. The middle is stupid and you know that."

"Finally. They are getting rid of these Christmas decorations and putting up the Valentine's Day stuff."

"Get out of my way, damn it."

That is basically how my first venture out of the house since Christmas day went. By the time I got home I needed a nap and a shot of Nyquil.

Here's what happened

I'm not a wine person. Everyone knows I have a weakness for orange juice laced with vodka. And now that they started putting fruity flavors in vodka a whole new world has opened up to me but I digress. Let me explain the wine bottle and the events that followed.
I was baking yesterday, applesauce cake. It's an old family recipe. Quite a few of our ancestors didn't bother to write their recipes down on a little recipe card, I suppose they just thought we would channel the ingredients and amount from the great beyond. My mom managed to get the 'Christmas Applesauce Cake' recipe from my grandma and most of it is clear. Except for the vague ingredient 'small glass of red wine'.
Year after year I make the said cake because mom gave up on it, she really doesn't like baking and throws rolling pins across the kitchen if she tries to make cut-out cookies. Every year I buy a bottle of cheap red wine with a screw off top. So you can imagine my surprise when I tore off the foil wrap on my cheap red wine and found a cork. The pursuit of a cork screw began.
One year the husband received a gift at work with a cork screw in it. It was in a lovely box and also had a bottle topper and a couple other things I have no idea what they are used for. I dusted off the box and grabbed the cork screw. There were several people in the house but I felt confident that I could screw that thing in the cork. Which I did. The problem, yes we finally got there, I couldn't pull the cork out. After about five minutes of swearing and being totally ignored by the people in the next room, I gave up.
I took the bottle to the husband and ask,
"Did I put this thing in right?"
Without speaking he took the bottle from me. I didn't want to give up the bottle because I knew he'd try to open it while sitting on my couch but it all happened so fast. While he inspected, I looked up at Boy #2 and Boy #3, who were putting up the Christmas tree and trying to get the amazing invention of a pre-lit Christmas tree to, you know, light up. That's when I heard the glass break.
"Give me the bottle before you spill cheap red wine on my couch."
"I have glass in my hand. There is a shard of glass in my hand. I need my glasses and a flashlight."
This is when the almost daughter-in-law slash nurse got up, grabbed his hand and took the shard of glass out before the husband could ask for a band aid.
"Give me the bottle before you spill cheap red wine on my couch."
I went back to the kitchen followed by the almost daughter-in-law slash nurse who told me,
"I'm a wine drinker now."
I responded,
"Really? Grandma and Aunt Erv are going to be so happy."
My mom and my sister-in-law are avid wine drinkers. That's why I took the picture of the mutilated cheap red wine bottle with a happy smiling snowman head, to ease their pain. So I asked the almost daughter-in-law slash nurse if she would like a glass of wine. I'm not going to dump the whole bottle into 'Christmas Applesauce Cake' it only needs a 'small glass of red wine', she said,
"Let me just taste it first."
As I turned to get a juice glass out of the cupboard I bumped into Boy #3 who asked,
"Can I have my very first taste of wine ever mom?"
We gave him a 'OMG you are only 20 years old' fake surprised look and I got two juice glasses. I poured them each a glass. They both decided they were wine connoisseurs, they held their juice glasses up and swished it around, brought them to their noses and smelled the wine, took a sip and spit the cheap red wine into my kitchen sink. My kitchen sink!
"Get the hell out of my kitchen. I'm stressed. Holiday stress has sunk in. Get your fathers credit card and order Sunday dinner, I'm not cooking for you people."

Secret Santa. It was my idea, so I'm in charge.

My family is doing a Secret (I will use that term loosely) Santa gift exchange this year. Mom and Dad, Erv and his family and my crew decided to pick names out of one of mom's bread baskets when we had a family dinner early in October.
The idea being that Christmas has basically become a gift card exchange. Pretty much we give each other a gift card and say,
"Go get yourself something nice."
My brilliant and economically sound idea was to just buy for one person, spend $50, write your name and at least three things you want and keep it secret. We all wrote from the same pad of paper and I made a rule to not put down gift cards.
Before we left the dinner table just about everyone knew who had who. My niece folded the corner of her piece of paper, I yelled out "I thought I said no gift cards." Erv looked at his paper and said,
"I don't know what any of this stuff is. Is this English?"
That was a give away that he picked Boy #3's name. The geek, and we are not sure what language he speaks. He has had to provide a picture and a two paragraph explanation of each item on his list to me since he was about twelve. I could tell Erv wanted to put his name back in the basket. I looked at Boy #2 and his girlfriend, they were showing each other the names they picked and then they looked at me. My dad is a stickler for rules and stuck to them saying he wasn't going to tell anyone who he had. He put his name in his pocket and avoided eye contact with mom. A tell tale sign that he picked her. Had he picked anyone else she would have been given the name because dad don't shop.
The Secret Santa drama continued for a few more minutes and then we did the dishes. Time will tell if my money saving, brilliant plan will work. I think everyone is happy to cut down on the Christmas present spending. The secret part blew out the window immediately which isn't a surprise because no one ever listens to me anyway. I'm still in charge though.

Here's how it happened.....the phenomenon

It all started in the garage. The husband and Boy #3 were cleaning in there. Yes I know, cleaning the garage, it's one of those jobs that is more like a punishment. But they were just cleaning it for the hell of it. That's what they tell me anyway. I know it's because they can't find stuff when they are reconstructing my house.
So you can imagine my surprise when I saw a bag of rock salt next to the front door. And when I took a look see in the garage I saw the sn, sn....I can't say it, shovels neatly stacked in the front corner. Three of them, one for each kid, that's how it works, don't let anyone tell you different.
In addition to this all of my sweaters are out of the cedar chest, washed, dried and hanging in my closet. We are prepared. This is very scary for our house full of procrastinators.
Usually the first time the steps are iced over this conversation ensues:
"Did we have any rock salt left over from last year?"
"Can't remember."
"Have you seen any half filled bags of rock salt down there?"
"Don't think so."
"Well the next time one of us is out we need to pick up a bag."
"K."
"Are you listening to me?"
"Huh?"
The first time the driveway needs to be shoveled this is the conversation I have with the shovelers, which has dwindled down to one this year:
"Are the shovels in the shed?"
"Can't we just buy a sn.....?"
"Shovels. Where are they?"
"I don't know."
"You have to find them and start shoveling. I'd help but I have a bad back. And when your father and I made a list of the Pros and Cons of having children, shoveling was like third on the list of Pros. Don't make me regret our decision, get out there."
And when it gets cold, I put off dragging my sweaters out of the cedar chest. So I wear my gray hoodie every single day of the week, people start to talk. The phenomenon is that we are, as far as we are concerned, prepared for the winter season. The only explanation for this is that we will have a very light winter. Your welcome Northeast Ohioans.
There is another plausible scenario and that is that while watching the squirrels scoop up and hide a bumper crop of acorns, more than I can ever remember falling in our yard, they, the squirrels, have sent us telepathic winter warnings while running back and forth across our roof.
Time will tell.

It was probably a bad idea

In 1995 the husband and I went to see the movie Outbreak. This was my idea because I had heard an interview and review of the movie on the radio and thought it would be a nice movie and dinner date. But it was not to be. The movie freaked me out, I let it mess with my head and afterward at dinner I couldn't even eat. All I could think about was getting home and locking all the doors while armed with a can of Lysol. Eventually I calmed down to my normal germaphobe state of mind and even made some jokes about global killing germs.

This past Thursday the husband was watching football and I had a head pounding sinus headache. So I tucked myself in bed and watched a movie. Guess what I watched? Contagion. Because I'm a moron. This movie didn't freak me out but I did wake up sick and have remained sick through the weekend and still today. 

Hurricane Sandy saw to it that it rained everyday of last week, by Wednesday the dog was bouncing off the walls. She needed a walk so I took her both Thursday and Friday morning, in the rain. Yes we, the sissy dog that is afraid of rain and me the one with newly formed germs swirling around in my veins, walked in the rain. This is about three or four bad ideas already right?
 
I called my doctors office this morning, that hates me, my doctor doesn't hate me, the witches in the office however do not care if I live or die. My doctor is apparently 'booked up solid' the whole week. Which translates into 'we can't squeeze you in because that would involve extra work for us, we know we are in the health care profession but you sick people kind of throw off our day and we have stuff to do.' I was told to go to urgent care.

"Insert a string of profanity laced sentences here."

So now I sit and wait for my possible strep throat to mutant into a global catastrophic event. I, the host, plan to vote tomorrow come hell or high water or bubonic plague. So everyone watch out, I'm going out in public tomorrow and taking my germs with me.

Elevator Conversations

How the conversation actually went:
I stepped into the elevator on my way to my doctors office and pushed floor 3.
"The third floor? All the way to the top? What's up there?"
The old man who had pushed floor 2 smiled as he asked me. I responded,
"Girl stuff."
The elevator mercifully opened and he quickly stepped on to floor 2 shaking his head.
Hey he asked. I answered without elaboration.

How the conversation went in my head while I sat in the waiting room:
I stepped into the elevator on my way to my doctors office and pushed floor 3.
"The third floor? All the way to the top? What's up there?"
The old man who had pushed floor 2 smiled as he asked me. I responded in wide eyed disbelief,
"You don't know?"
And in turn the old mans eyes widened and said,
"Uhh no."
"Seriously? You're not fooling around with me are you?"
"No."
I looked at him and explained,
"I'm going to get my GPS chip inserted into my brain. Didn't you get your information packet?"
"Huh?"
I rolled my eyes and continued,
"Everyone is suppose to get a GPS chip in their brain. That way if you ever get kidnapped they'll be able to find you, no matter where you are, they will always know. It's just minor outpatient brain surgery. Actually they put it in the brain stem. They only have to shave a little bit of your hair and that will grow back but you'll still be able to see the tattoo."
"Tattoo?"
"You don't know about that either? They tattoo 666 on the back of your head."
"Who?"
"The global government. It's in it's early stages but should be in effect by 2015. You really should get up to speed on this, if you miss the deadline they put an extra 6 back there."
"Huh?"
"Hey? You're not one of those right wing Christian nut jobs are you, that think you're going to disappear and your clothes, jewelry and dental work will be piled neatly were you stood?"
The elevator mercifully opened and he quickly stepped on to floor 2 shaking his head.

See what happens when my words bottle up in my head? That elevator conversation will stay in my head unless someone really deserves it, like the man at the Cleveland Clinic. If I should ever run into that smart ass again, I'll try to make him pee his pants.

Sometimes life turns you into a different direction

Due to certain tragic events in my family I have lost my funny bone. I have no idea how long it will last. But this will give me a chance to work on some serious stuff and my novel. I will be writing to keep myself busy and will stay alert on the dog walks. I'll take notes and keep an eye on the neighborhood.
Until then my friends.

A new character in the Kookamongaville cast

The garbage man has managed to take a reoccurring role in the neighborhood drama I've created in my head. He is a Friday character as Friday morning is garbage day. My observations have revealed he is a real go-getter.
We live on a corner lot and he parks his garbage truck on the street next to the side of my house. This area is part of mine and the dogs route, nice guy, I wave to him every Friday morning. I can't speak to him unless I yell because the garbage truck is loud. And I never engage in conversation with anyone in the morning so I'm certainly not going to yell, just a friendly wave.
I'm sure this all sounds normal to you so far and it does to me too. Let's get to why I have classified him as a Kookamongaville character. It's the go-getter part that leads to his kookamonga tendencies. Apparently he has a certain start time but arrives early. Why does he arrive early? Well he has to apply his sunscreen. And then he has to do some stretching. Swear to God, hand on the bible he looks like he's getting ready for a football game. Running in place, loosening up his neck and swinging his arms around. This garbage man takes his job seriously and for that I admire him but he still fits well in my neighborhood.
The pajama man gave me a hearty 'Good Morning" last week which makes me think that he probably has a few good years left in him. We haven't been able to get to his street this week because there is a new dog walker that keeps getting in my way. He started down the pajama mans street and with it being a culdesac I didn't want to get trapped with our dogs barking at each other. And I prefer my arms in their sockets.
The Russian woman has me slightly concerned. I've mentioned before that she slowly swims laps around the perimeter of the pool non-stop, but I also run into her about once a week on the morning walk. I don't know if all Russians are taught to march before they learn to walk and it's a hard habit to break once you've reached the free world but she is a marcher. And this week she caused my eyebrows to rise. Dressed in a blue dress with a magenta sweater, tennis shoes and socks, she was marching around my beloved, now closed, pools parking lot. Her arms bent at her elbows moving back and forth in unison. She had her big sunglasses on and a baseball cap slightly a skewed and resting on her shades. She said good morning in her thick Russian accent. I could barely see her face, she's up to something. I will continue to keep an eye on her and eventually work up the nerve to ask her to say, 'moose and squirrel'.
So the garbage man has a guest roll in the on going neighborhood mayhem. Welcome garbage man, you crazy bastard.

She's a smart dog

A couple weeks ago the condominium people behind my house placed two Pet Waste Stations in their little condo sanctuary. The dog and I walk back there most mornings and I took note every time we past them. I told the dog,
"You know I have to blog about these eventually, right?"
There are instructions with pictures as to how to dispose of dog poop. I've seen these Pet Waste Stations before so it isn't just the condo people that are assumed stupid, it's the whole world.
This morning we past the first one and I decided I couldn't pass by the next, I had to take a picture and it was going to be today. Taking pictures of Pet Waste Stations and all the other strange things I see in the world don't phase me anymore. If someone looks at me weird I just tell them
"I'm a blogger."
They look at me with uncertainty and then look away. So I got my phone ready, because it takes me a while to find the right buttons to take a picture, especially when I only have one hand free.

With the phone in camera mode I started to center the Pet Waste Station in the view finder when I noticed the dog. I could not believe what I was seeing and could not believe that I got a picture of it. She was taking the Pet Waste Station seriously. So the picture is a little out of focus because I was laughing, to myself I didn't let her see.
I now have first hand experience with Pet Waste Stations and I can tell you that it's great to have some where to quickly dispose of a bag of poop. I do have one complaint. The bags that are provided are similar to those in the produce section at the grocery store and we all know how hard it is to open them. I'm still going to bring my own bag on our walks.
 

How much does a taser cost?

The early morning dog walking routine isn't working the way I had envisioned. I thought it would be the bright and sunny start of my day. The dog and I would stroll through the neighborhood, I would clear my head and ponder the day ahead of me. Instead terror lurks around every corner.

There are only certain streets we can walk on, the rest have been deemed unsafe. Because those streets have loose dogs. What can get your heart racing faster than a Chinese Badminton Olympian hell bent on loosing? A loose dog running out from behind it's house and heading straight for you. I've ruled out carrying pepper spray because it might get my dog too, so now I want a taser. Do you have to go to a special school to carry a taser? Do I have to get a permit? I'll look into it before I start tasering loose dogs. But taser them I will, if permitted.

Also I have to be ever vigilant for the fear of running into a bunny or a deer. They may seem harmless to you but the deer cross the street and never look both ways. Therefore crossing our path and putting the dog into hunt and kill mode. Same with the bunnies, if the dog sees one before I do, I will be caught off guard and she will literally take off after it and if she could, take my arm with her.

Then last week there was a new development on the pajama mans street. We save that street for the end of the week because it has the most promise for mayhem. It's definitely not a street for a Monday morning when I think I'm going to think of something brilliant to write. It's more of a Friday street, when I'm thinking of my grocery list. We made it past the pajama mans house without incident. Up ahead a few houses as we were walking the dogs ears perked up, she slowed her pace to cautious steps and she looked at it, and so did I.
Unable to make out anything but a silhouette, we saw an ominous form sitting near a mailbox. I could see what had to be pointed ears, they twitched first the right then the left and they were too for away from each other to be a cat. Unless it was a cougar, but the rest of the body did not fit a cougars physique. So I came to the conclusion it was some unknown species that escaped from a secret government facility and we slowly turned around, headed home looking over my shoulder every 10 seconds as we walked. The creature made no move. 
We made it home safely that day. But I feel that I should be armed with more than my cell phone and a plastic poop bag for our walks. How much do tasers cost and can I get them on eBay?

It's time to talk about what goes on in the bathroom?

I beg to differ. I don't think there's ever going to be a time to discuss, with total strangers, what goes on in the bathroom. But apparently toilet paper commercials do think it's time. I don't need to see cartoon bears with toilet paper pieces stuck to their butts. How do we even know if they use toilet paper. I highly doubt it, especially since we are not even sure if a bear actually does $h!t in the woods.
Is the toilet paper commercial subliminally using the saying, 'Does a bear $h!t in the woods?' By using bears in the woods in their commercials? You would have to admit that is a little clever. But a momma bear holding up a pair of underoos to inspect....
STOP!
Bring back Mr. Whipple.
He brought dignity to toilet paper commercials and never actually let on what toilet paper was for because we all knew. Just tell us it's 2-ply and soft, that's all we need to know. Listen to me toilet paper companies and listen good. I will not buy your toilet paper if you refer to railroad tracks, ever.

I figured out the Olympics

I figured out their crazy commercial system they have going on. No one had to explain it to me although it's probably common knowledge. I'd sit down to watch TV and of course nothing is on except the Olympics, so I decide to watch. Switching to the Olympic channel there is a commercial on and then another. I think I sat through 27 commercials before I saw an Olympic event.
Okay, alright, here we go, I'm watching the 2012 Olympics. I took a sip of my Pepsi and reclined in my chair. We were in the track and field area and I was hoping I'd get to see some big guys throwing stuff. But no they were getting ready to show us a race, the 100 yard dash. That's what I call it because I refuse to conform to the metric system like the rest of the world and I'm rock solid on this issue because math is hard.
Obviously the object of the 100 yard dash is to win in the least amount of seconds and milli-seconds as possible. The race is really, really fast so I ask myself, 'what will they show us next?'
A commercial.
A commercial? Hey! I just watched 238 commercials, 15 seconds of the Olympics and you're going to show me more commercials? I don't think so. I debated whether I wanted to get out the LOST DVD's, all 6 seasons, I've been saving them for a rainy day. It would be fun to watch from the beginning now that I know the secrets of the smoke monster. The problem is it just won't rain. I ended up on FaceBook.
I tried watching again a few days later, Men's Volleyball, I wrote about it here. We, the husband and I tried to figure out, well I express some interest in the game, the husband had his finger on the remotes 'change the channel' button. I realized as the game progressed there were no commercials.
Doh!
The network has to get so many commercials in during the airing of the Olympics. So race, commercial, race, commercial, vault, commercial, balance beam, commercial and then an entire game of volleyball. See how that works? I guess it makes sense but I'm not going to sit through 549 commercials unless Jesus is giving a speech.