I sat on a bee

There are a few childhood trauma's I can think of that have stayed with me throughout the years. Getting lost is one because I got lost when I was a kid and the whole neighborhood was looking for me. They found me.
The dramatic incident that still freaks me out to this very day is when I stepped on a bee's nest. It is all somewhat of a blur, I just remember running in my red cowgirl boots. I had seen the cartoons, so I knew a funnel shaped cloud of angry bees was right behind me. There was a bee in my boot but I kept running towards the safety of my house. I'm sure I was screaming and I have no idea what happened to the kids I was playing with. I scared the crap out of my parents and grama as I reached the door, letting in a couple bees with me. 
Bees freak me out. Not so much seeing them, I can swish them away with my hands, that doesn't bother me. But getting stung is another story. Perhaps it's because it's such a shock that the memory comes flying back to the front of my brain. Out of no where instant pain. A violation of my space, the bastards.
Friday the husband, Boy #3 and I went to pick out flooring for the renovation of Boy #3's downstairs bedroom. He's been waiting for this room for years but had to wait for his two older brothers to move out. The joy on his face as being the last bird in the nest is bright enough to light up the deep dark depths of a coal mine. Back to me. We used two cars to load up this stuff so of course my doors were open for a while. Once loaded, I jumped in my car like I always do and I felt a pinch on my thigh, not my butt. It intensified and I freaked out as the husband and Boy #3 watched.
Their brows furrowed as I stood in the parking lot holding the back of my thigh, crying and swiping away invisible bees that I was sure were swarming around me.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
That's all I got from them until I told them I sat on a bee. The husband tried to look concerned and Boy #3 checked the inside of my car. He told me it was clear and said,
"Get home and take some Benedryl, I'll be right behind you."
One of the longest 7 mile trips I ever drove. I drive a stick so there's a lot of movement involved in driving. I could feel the bees venom seeping into my veins. I didn't even know if the stinger was out. The last time I got stung I couldn't take the stinger out, the husband had to do it. So I cried some more.
By the time I got home I was convinced I was going to loose my leg. The boy was right behind me just like he said he would be. But I had to wait for the husband, who adheres to the speed limit, to inspect what I was sure to be a gaping wound on the back of my leg.
"I don't see a stinger."
"Are you sure?"
"It's just red and swelling. Did you take Benedryl?"
"Yes."
He smiled a little, he knew I'd be whacked out on the couch soon.
"Put some baking soda on it and calm down."
He left me there and couldn't help thinking about that day my mom took my red cowgirl boot off and a bee flew out. I clinged to her as my grama chased the bee with a rolled up newspaper. She smacked the crap out of it, knowing I wouldn't relax unless I knew it was dead. And then they both, my mom and my grama fussed over me, covering me in baking soda goop. I guess part of my paranoia is knowing I have to take care of myself. I guess I miss being a little girl running around in red cowgirl boots.

A head clearing, light hearted stroll

First of all somebody tell this dog that our early morning walks are suppose to be head clearing, light hearted strolls. Yesterday she took off after another bunny, whereby yanking my arm almost out of it's socket yet again. This time I wasn't able to hold on and the dog became perplexed. Maybe it was the words coming out of my mouth so early in the morning or she really loves me and would rather stay with me then kill. It's hard to say but she didn't make me chase her through the neighborhood and for that I'm grateful. I do fear though, the next bunny we encounter may be when she finally rips off my arm.
And I thought my neighbors and I had an unspoken early morning, dog walking schedule, apparently not. The 9:30 walker was right in front of my house at my scheduled time of 7:30 and all hell broke loose. The dog has her favorites in the development, like her boyfriend next door. He escapes regularly to visit her and pee on our bushes. I think it's a sign of affection when he hikes his leg up and leaves her something to remember him by.
But he was part of the mayhem outside my door this morning. An unscheduled dog walker with one of my dogs arch rivals, in front of my house and an escapee trying to impress her by boldly jumping up the steps to wiz on my flower pots. She didn't know what to do, caught between emotions and all. On one paw she had to bark to defend her territory, she couldn't show weakness but I could tell she really wanted to take a whiff of those flower pots.
This is all happening and I'm barely awake. We waited on the steps for the unscheduled one to pass by and the barking from both sides ended. Then we herded Romeo back to his yard, secured him inside his fence and continued what we started, a head clearing, light hearted stroll.

I'm probabaly not going to let this end of the world thing go anytime soon.

I've figured out what's going on with this drought. It's all part of the events that lead up to the end of the world. If you will notice your lawn and the affect the drought has had on it, you'll smack yourself in the head and say, "Doh" too.
The lack of rain and the drying up of our lawns has made the earth start to recede from the edges of the sidewalks, driveways and streets. Some parts of earth are starting to form cracks, the jagged ones you see on TV. Obviously this is the start of the earth breaking up and swallowing mailboxes first, then cars, houses and finally large buildings. The 'step on a crack and break your mothers back' saying from when we were kids takes on a whole new scary meaning here. Stay away from the cracks!
I'm not sure where the Zombies fit into the earth swallowing everyone up, perhaps they will be roaming the earth before it is destroyed and fall in the cracks with the rest of you. And if you were wondering in case of Rapture, yes you can have my fries.

A Chapter from the Poolside Chronicles

"You should probably put on sunscreen."
And she didn't even take her nose out of her book. Get right on out of here. I heard this mom tell her kids at the pool and it warmed my heart. Those of you who read my blog regularly know I have pool/sunscreen issues. Here is a link to my rant last year about this time.
It just makes way too much sense to put the sunscreen on the children before you get to the pool especially the really young ones that can't do it themselves. But once they develop some motor skills they should be able to handle sunscreen. And this mom understands it. She told them once and if they chose to listen or not, so be it, burn kid I have to finish this chapter.
What we have here is a mom willing to let go just a little bit and let her children take on responsibility. She's not a helicopter mom, a hoverer of offspring. It's refreshing to see a mom indifferent to whether her kids gets sunburn. And I'm guessing her kids are quick learners because they took her advice and used the sunscreen. Or she rules with an iron fist and they are scared of her. Either way she totally gets my need for some peace while poolside.

Garage Sale Hell

Well now my tan is uneven. Two days of sitting in my driveway with no shade, selling my wares has ruined all my hard work at the pool. I'm not basking in the glorious sun while poolside. I'm sweltering amongst my tables of household item, tools, old fish tanks and a Sega Video Council with 6 games for one low price of ten bucks. What a hoot. Somebody pinch me I think I've died and gone to heaven. But why is it so hot here? Huh. I must be in Garage Sale hell. 
Yes, that would be the way to describe it. I guess I shouldn't complain we've made $5.50 so far today. I can buy a Venti Mocha at Starbucks with that kind of cash and leave a tip. The glass is half full.
By popping up that Garage Sale sign I've also left myself vulnerable to the kookamonga neighbors. I'm a sitting duck. We just had a lady here that instead of parking her car on the side of the road, which is Garage Sale protocol, she decided to pull into the driveway. Normally a car fits in a driveway, it's what they are for. But as I said earlier we have tables full of crap on each side. She thought, well maybe she didn't really put much thought into browsing while still in her car. She just did it. And she drove into our fish tank. Doh. This is a Garage Sale without a drive-thru. I don't know what she's use to in her own little world but I'm pretty sure my Home Owner Association forbids drive-thru windows.
Shortly after that woman a couple stopped by to shop and they spoke in another language while discussing the items on one of the tables. If you stop by my Garage Sale speak English the whole time you are here not just when you want to know if I'll take 10 cents for something that is priced 25 cents. And what do you want that pocket knife for anyway, you know they aren't going to let you on a plane with it.
Garage Sales make me cranky.

When Deer Attack

They don't do that do they? Just the other day my mom asked me if I see any deer out on mine and the dogs morning walks.
"No mom, never see any in the morning. They walk the streets at night but stay in the woods during the day."
And when I say they walk the streets at night, I mean it. If I'm out on a bike ride at dusk Deer Crossing takes on a whole new meaning. Several times I've had to slam on my brakes because deer have decided to run across the road. And they don't look both ways.
You can imagine my surprise when out on our walk this morning I saw a deer. I cursed, really bad words because I know the dog doesn't like the deer. I've been paying attention more during our walks ever since the bunny chasing incident. But I do have my daydreaming to think about, it's an important part of my morning.
Every time I've turned a corner this summer a new threat arises. The kookamonga list is growing and I'm constantly on guard. So again I'll ask, if a dog gets close to a deer and starts barking does the deer run in fear or attack? If I survive a deer attack imagine the blog post I'll get from that.

___________________________________

Our website is progressing. Take a look at my ad in the left column and click on it. Let me know what you think of my creation. www.tapettreasures.com
 

The neighborhood is slowly spiraling out of control

I don't think anyone has notice the subtle yet alarming signs that the neighborhood is loosing its grip on reality. Either they do not have the astute sense of awareness that I do or I need to get out more. I've lived in this development for 19 years, have been poolside every summer and never have a couple of ducks landed in a crowded pool for a swim.

I took my face out of the book I'm reading to help make me a more better writer and saw the second one land. Since I see old men walking down the road in pajamas, people carrying canoes on the sidewalk, mailboxes being slaughtered and my neighbors partying in their boat that is still parked in the driveway, swimming with ducks shouldn't surprise me. But like a good blogger I got up and said,

"Well I better take a picture of this."

They are hard to see because I couldn't see the screen on my phone. I had to crop out my fingers and I circled them in red but for some reason the red circle is not showing up. But that's them by the second black line in the pool and yes that's a kid underwater swimming towards them but he's not in a pool of blood it's the blur of one of my fingers.

 

The dog's trying to kill me

"The dog's trying to kill me."
These are the first words the husband hears when he wakes up this morning. From me in the shower as he enters the bathroom. Because something as serious as this can be said before coffee. Not much can be said before someone rolls out of bed and hasn't even approached the coffee maker but the dog is trying to kill me. I saw no problem in breaking protocol. He responded,
"Okay."
He knows that I know that he knows I'm going to tell him what happened no matter what he said so he kept it simple. I knew the dog was outside of the bathroom door listening but didn't care. I began to tell him about my morning.
Forty-five minutes before my alarm was set to rouse me from my slumber the dog jumped up on the bed. This woke up me and my bladder. I laid there thinking that maybe I could just fall back to sleep. The dog found a comfortable spot, half of my pillow, and waited for the alarm while I drifted off. Unfortunately someone dared walk past our house, ears perked, low growl, the dog took off to the living room using my stomach as her jumping point. I've never been punched in the stomach before but I kind of have the gist of what it might feel like now. I then had to get up to pee.
I didn't fall back to sleep but I was pissed so I made the dog wait until my radio went off. This is her cue to start the "we're going on a walk" dance. Our walks are a time for me to put my day together, think out loud with the dog as my sounding board. She doesn't listen to me because she has to sniff everything. But at least it looks like I'm talking to someone, not just wandering the neighborhood talking to myself. We have a few different routes we take in the morning and this morning we went off the beaten path, because that's the way we roll, and walked around the tennis court, by the pool and the woods.
I had my walking flip flops on because its June and I won't put a sock on until sometime in September maybe. We rounded the corner and she saw it before I did. A bunny. They must be an easy prey because to really likes to chase them with vengeance. She caught one a few weeks ago and now has the taste for bunny blood coursing through her veins. I, on the other hand, have no desire to chase bunnies.
What started out as a lack of communication ended up with my arm yanked so hard from the leash that my feet flew out from under me. I landed on my left side and was dragged about a foot on the moist, from the early morning dew, grass. I don't know how I managed to keep hold of the leash as the dog continued to yank trying to get into the woods to hunt her some wabbits.
After the initial shock, I regained my senses and stood up. That was a good sign, being able to stand. I got the dog under control and away from the woods. Also a good sign, I could walk. I ruled out the emergency room on our way home. Everything on my left side hurts but I don't think I have a torn rotator cuff or will need Tommy John surgery.
At some point during the retelling of my morning the husband had snuck out of the bathroom and I was in the shower talking to myself. When I walked out he asked,
"So are you okay?"
"No. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"Sure."
"Okay, just let me go Spray and Wash the grass stains on my jeans and hoodie and I'll be right back."
As the day goes by the left side of me becomes sore and stiff. You just don't fall down like that and bounce back after a certain age. So far the dog and I have been getting along, we are just staying out of each others way. But I am avoiding going near the steps.

FaceBook, What's for dinner?

I'm cranky today.
Swear to God, hand on the bible, if one more person on FaceBook posts what they are having for dinner I'm unfriending them. Unless they are one of my CastleVille neighbors, then I have to put up with it because I need five more people to recruit for the crew in my Royal Manor. But the rest of you......
I really don't give a flying rats ass what someone is having for dinner. It's all they post, 
"Chicken and mashed potato's with a salad tonight yummy."
That is the extent of their post. Who the hell cares? Bring me a plate and then maybe I'll click the like button. But if that's all you have to write just stop yourself and go eat. And yes Mr. Spell Check I am quite aware the word unfriending perplexes you but in the FaceBook community it is an empty threat used often.
I'm really glad I got that off my chest, it's been bothering me for some time. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go amerce myself in the wonderfully aggravating world of Search Engine Optimization. Yes I am building a website and would like it to been seen not just sit in cyberspace. It isn't launched yet but I will shamelessly plug in now, www.tapettreasures.com.
And if anyone is interested as what I plan for dinner tonight, it will be Ho Ho's and Pepsi, yummy.

How about that yard work, huh.

I'm moving to a condo because yard work sucks. Boy #1 is helping me with the weeding, raking, shoveling and sweeping clean up, we're having such a great time.
At this very moment we are both hopped up on Benedryl. He started sneezing and something bit me, three times. I have three huge red welts, two on my elbow and one on my leg. I'm quite certain I'm inches from death. I don't know if the reason I can't straighten my elbow is because of the bug poison coursing through my veins or my tendinitis.
I really need to meet with writing success soon so I can hire someone to do this shhh...stuff for me. Benedryl in the middle of the day, what a dumb idea. I need a nap. Boy #1 has already succumbed to it's woozy side effects.
I'll start another paragraph but I forgot what else I was going to write, huh.

Welcome to Kookamongaville, I will be your Captain

The neighbors are practically writing this blog for me. These guys moved in during the winter or they've been here a couple years, not sure. But they bought a boat this spring. It isn't uncommon to see a boat in a neighbors driveway, it's a lake community. What is uncommon is to see the neighbors and their friends sitting in the boat drinking beer.
For the past three weekends the neighbors have had their friends come over, we know this because of the extra cars parked on the street, and party like it's 1999. In the boat while it remains in their driveway. I don't care what anybody says, that's going to draw some attention, specifically mine.
"I have to get a picture of these guys."
And then I heard a collective,
"NO!"
"But................"
"NO!"
"You don't see this sort of behavior often, it needs to be made fun of, pointed out and on my blog."
"They're drinking and they out number us, mom put the camera away." 
They had a good argument, so I took a picture of it empty on a Monday morning and decided to paint the rest of the picture myself.
That is a Pontoon boat, which is also know as a party boat. People, most people, float out to the middle lake and party. I've never seen one of them driving very fast, they usually just meander to a spot, drop anchor and pop open a few cold ones. Swim a little, eat some snacks and pop open a few cold ones. I'm pretty sure when you buy one of these Pontoons they come stocked with beer.
I'm not sure where my neighbors heads are going with this new boat/driveway concept but you can be sure I will be keeping an eye on the situation as it unfolds. I am the Captain of Kookamongaville after all.

The home of the strange and the land of the weird

There are times when I need to leave the safe confines of my neighborhood to find inspiration for a blog post. WalMart. But not in the last couple weeks. Seven kinds of crazy have been wandering around in bathrobes, mailboxes have been flying through the air and now people are walking canoes down the street. I love my neighborhood and all the kookamongas that live here.

We live in a lake community so it isn't really, really weird to see people taking a canoe for a walk it's just that they are going in the opposite direction of the shore. I'm sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this type of behavior and I've seen stranger things walk down my side of the street, but who wouldn't take a picture of this?

And then make fun of it?

So I have a new mailbox now

I believe there was a hit taken out on my mailbox. Under the shroud of darkness Saturday night the unmistakable sound of my mailbox being smacked startled me at 10:30 pm. Boy #3 and I were the only ones home. We both knew what happened as soon as we heard it and ran out the front door. Because that's the way we roll, him with his golf club and me in my slippers. We saw nothing but the remnants of our mailbox scattered on the lawn with only its post sticking out of the ground. We looked up and down the street, remained outside waiting to see if anyone would come back to confess but it was not to be. It was a vicious assault nothing more.
Because of my outspoken posts of mailbox vandalism here and here, I believe my mailbox became a target. My freedom of speech is under attack! I guess I'm reaching more readers than I thought. Which is a way to look at the whole experience in a positive way I suppose.
As you can see in the picture, having three boys is coming in handy, the husband didn't have to lift a finger during the installation of the new mailbox.
It's has been a pleasure to wake up in the morning and see that it is still standing too.

The man in the pajamas

I couldn't help myself. I see a man walking in his pajamas and it's like a huge magnet pulling me towards the unknown dangers that might be waiting on that street. And it's a culdesac I could get trapped there. But the dog and I have been back twice since we passed the man walking down the middle of the road with his bathrobe belt dragging behind him.
We saw him both times at his house. The first walk by was Friday. On our way into the foreboding culdesac he sat in a lawn chair, pajama clad, smoking a cigarette. Now that's a normal look to me, obviously he isn't allowed to smoke in the house. We all said, "Good Morning."
Really after just rolling out of bed, throwing some clothes on while the dog bounces off the walls, Good Morning is about all you're going to get out of me. Even if we're related and haven't seen each other in 25 years at old Uncle Ned's funeral, Good Morning is all I have until coffee and a shower. I won't even understand you nor remember what you said, don't even try.
Our second walk into the abyss, today, we didn't see him until our way out. He must have finished his cigarette and he was in the process of putting his American Flag in it's post. Good Mornings were exchanged. And I took note that yes, he was in his bathrobe.
I have deemed him a non-threat and reasonably sane. I think we caught him on an off day when he looked like he had just escape a nursing home walking down the road in his jammies and light jacket. He has the presence of mind to know how to take care of the American Flag. So cut him some slack people.

_______________________

Now I will attempt to post this. Blogger has decide to screw with that which isn't broken. All my buttons and whistles are cut-off so I'm just guessing at which one says save or publish.
I'm also posting from an undisclosed location. I needed to get out of my office for a few hours and I needed a mocha.

I'm treading very carefully here because I understand how Karma works

Apparently it's perfectly acceptable to take an early morning walk on Clipper Cove in your pajamas, robe and a light jacket. I might be avoiding that street on future walks. Let me tell you why.

1. The elderly man in his pajamas with his robe tie-around dragging on the ground and knit hat haphazardly a skewed on top of his head was a bit unsettling.
B. The dog looked back at me and I know she was thinking about all the time we could save in the morning if I would just stop looking for a pair of jeans and go out in my PJ's and a light jacket.

As we passed each other he said good morning and I the same. I processed the vision for about 50 feet then looked back and he was gone. I'm treading very carefully here because I understand how Karma works. So instead of being faced with the situation again I'm going to ignore and avoid. And focus my attention on the mailbox mayhem.
Two days after I found evidence of my mailbox being assaulted (see mailbox mayhem link) my neighbors was too and I have pictures. You don't take out a mailbox on my street and not get your picture taken. Especially when you give me 3 chances to get my camera. He kept driving back to the scene of the crime. Once to get his mirror and then to pick up the mail that had burst out of the mailbox, shove it back in the box and try to place the mailbox back on its perch. So that's 2 mailboxes in one week. I have things to do and can't be taken pictures of evil-doers. Keep your eyes on the road when you're in my neighborhood. We have children playing, people walking dogs and old men wandering around in their pajamas for God's sake.

Don't make me get my flying monkeys

You smack your cars driver side mirror backing out of the garage one time and you're labeled for life? A Car Drivers Side Mirror breaker? Labeled by those that you carried in your womb for nine, give or take, months?
The dog and I went out for our usual morning walk. We both took notice at the remnants of a cars side mirror. The dog sniffed the mailbox and I inspected it, we deemed it fit. Somebody had hit our mailbox with their cars side mirror. Being somewhat of an expert on the plastic pieces and parts that make up those mirrors I deduced that we had all the outside parts and there is somebody driving around the neighborhood with only the guts of their passenger side mirror and 7 years of bad luck.
With my one time incident, I only popped off the big plastic piece on the back and broke a few pieces around the mirror. The mirror remains intact and so are my next 7 years, hopefully. I gathered the fragments of the late night assault on our mailbox and left them on the grass, thinking the out of control driver might want them back. I even thought that if it was a little warmer outside I might set up a lawn-chair to see if anyone drove by looking suspicious and without a mirror on the right side of their car. I wanted to say 'hey what the hell'...... in a non-confrontational way. But like I said it was a little chilly out.
The day then carried on as usual with me striving to meet with writing success and the dog napping. I then began to prepare dinner for my beloved family. First to come home from work was Boy #3. He walked in the door with a smirk on his face and asked,
"Hey mom, what'd you do to your car?"
I looked his way as he tried to suppress a smile, I pointed my finger at him and said,
"That isn't from my car. Some moron hit our mailbox. Why would you think it was my mirror?"
"Uhh... because I'm the one that put your mirror back together the last time you crashed into the garage."
As I was explaining my almost perfect driving record while slaving over the stove Boy #2 walked in the door, grinning and asked,
"What uhh.... what'd you do to your car mom?"
"It isn't from my car! Some idiot hit our mailbox!"
They both continued to grin. This was going to go on all evening, I know my boys.
"Go back your car out of the garage so we can see for sure."
"Wait! Maybe you better let one of us do it."
I continued to cook my gourmet meal for them and shook my wooden spoon in there faces. My eyebrows came together, my eyes narrowed into two menacing slits on my face and I started to ramble while swinging the wooden spoon,
"You two are alive because of me, carried you in my body for nine months. Labor, don't get me started on labor. 12 hours for each of you and no epidural. Tell me I'm a bad driver will ya? I taught you two how to drive."
They slowly started to plan there escape, well it's the same plan they always use, they separate. Every man for himself kind of plan. But before they were out of earshot I shouted out to them,
"Don't make me get my flying monkeys!"
I retold the story to my mother about finding the broken car part by my mailbox and she said,
"Oh I thought you were going to tell me you hit it."

Don't worry, I have everything under control

My obligatory Easter post is HERE on www.skirt.com, it's called Rockin' with the Jesus Hippies. So I didn't forget Easter or Jesus, they're just on another blog because I want to post about the Russians today. Is there a Russian Easter Bunny? Let's stay on topic.
The dog and I have several routes we take in the morning for our walks. Sometimes we run into the Russian Lady from the pool, she's branched out from her swimming regimen and has taken to walking. This makes me nervous because she can be anywhere any time of the day, just walking or spying around the neighborhood. I say "Good Morning" when I see her and she replies back in a thick Russian accent. I'm thinking of making friends with her this summer at the pool just to see if I can get her to say Moose and Squirrel. And if someone double dog dares me, I'll record it.
You have to admire a woman that will swim around the perimeter of a pool for two hours, not taking a break. She doesn't move very fast but she's got a slow and steady pace that one would think would take off a few pounds. And now I've been running into her on her morning walks and she still the same size. The only logical explanation is that she's a Russian spy. So I'll keep an I eye on her and perhaps she can fill the void that The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude left.

I never thought it would end this way

Risking the chance of blowing a gasket in my brain and smoke coming out of my ears, I will write my final post from The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude files. As you know if you have been following the files, The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude and 'her' have moved back to China leaving their incompetent relatives to run/ruin their business. They lost my four shirt.
I understand mistakes can be made. But am a customer, paying for a service and expect to be treated as though I have several active brain cells working simultaneously, therefore distancing myself from idiot status. In other words I know what the husbands shirts look like and I'm positive I know what size they are.
I picked up four shirts from my new dry cleaner. She's an Indian woman and easier to understand in person than on the phone. I've had conversations with her, in fact I think I've spoken to her more in the two times I've been there than I ever did at that old place. Not counting the recent yelling. She remembered our first phone conversation and knows me by name already and I think she is trying to recruit me as a volunteer salesman in my community. She's asked me to spread the word around about her Dry Cleaning. Anyone within the sound of my voice take her some dry cleaning. I don't want to search for another dry cleaner if she goes out of business.
I waited a week for the incompetent ones to call me. No call so I put the cleaned shirts in my car, these are the ones I had on the counter ready to drop off and pick up. But if you lose my shirts, I'm not going to leave you more to lose. I walked in the old place and the moment Incompetent Girl saw me she immediately gave me the four shirt she tried to pass off as mine originally. The ones that are 2 sizes to small and brown. The husband never wears brown. So I looked at her and in a loud but calm voice said,
"How many times do I have to tell you these are not my husbands shirts before you believe me?"
She responded by talking down to me,
"These are your shirt. My brother saw the sizes on the shirt you had on the counter and they are the same size as these."
So there you have, she struck a nerve, I blew a gasket, they started talking Chinese behind the counter and pointing at me. I went to my car, showed her my freshly washed and pressed shirts from my new dry cleaner and the size on each one. I looked her in her eyes and said,
"You are going to pay me for the four shirts you lost now."
And she wrote me a check.
It was a sad way to end my relationship with The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude files. I never thought it would end this way.

They lost my four shirt!

They lost my four shirt! Damn it, they lost my four shirt! I went to the dry cleaners formally known as The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dudes and their distant relatives that took over the store lost my four shirt. I knew something like this would happen. And I knew I would be forced to find a new dry cleaner. Gah! I have things to do.
I'm in the throws of a raging sinus infection and the antibiotics aren't working. This is nothing new for me but I feel like hell. So don't give me 'four shirt' that are 2 sizes smaller than the ones I dropped off and ask me if I'm sure they are not mine. And then don't ask me that two more times, cause I'm cranky.
Now apparently these distant relatives of my beloved Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude gave my 'four shirt' to somebody else. I have to wait to see if somebody else realizes he has the wrong 'four shirt' and brings them back or decides they are nicer than the ones he dropped off and keeps them. Since I'm not scared of these new dry cleaners I told them,
"You are going to pay me for 4 new shirts if I don't get these back."
Notice there wasn't a question mark punctuating that last statement. She responded,
"Yes."
If worse comes to worse I get to go shopping. Four new shirts for the husband and I should get myself something nice too. For the trauma I've suffered and the strain on my already weakened state.
Now the good news. I got on the internets and found a new dry cleaner, not to far away. But the best part.....wait for it........the woman that answered sounded ethnic. I could barely understand her and I don't think she understood me either. I'm so stoked.

Margarita-ville

I blew out my flip-flop. Stepped on a pop-top. Cut my heel had to cruise on back home. But there's booze in the blender. And soon it will render that frozen concoction that helps me hang on.
I don't visit Margarita-ville often and I suppose there's a reason. I like them, a lot. They are de-licious. I found myself in a Mexican restaurant, seated around a table with family and friends and a glass of that wonderful liquid in front of me. They go down so easy. We arrived hungry, a margarita on an empty stomach goes to work quick. So I shoveled down chips and salsa as fast as I could. I wanted a slight buzz and to also enjoy my dinner. But you make one slip like slurring your words or grinning and not being able to stop, friends and family pounce on your inebriated state and order more drinks. Before you know it you have a new full glass of de-licious frozen margarita with the salt around the rim of the glass waiting for you to slam it down.
Two of us at the table had no problem slamming them down, it was the standing up part that proved to be a challenge. Right Diane? We don't know who the people in the picture are but they were celebrating something and some dancing was involved, it wasn't me. I took the picture but was jealous I didn't get a hat. I would have liked a hat. I remember eating a lot and have a good time. Once in a while a trip to Margarita-ville is a really good idea. Right Diane?