Pussycats

There's a closed down resteraunt on Hwy 6. We pass it twice a day. It was a crappy Italian place, then abandoned for years before somebody renovated. They painted it blue and opened a Mexican seafood place. It was open for about six months before closing.

As the weeks passed after closing Zoey started lamenting how we had never gone. I think she felt bad for them because she mentioned more than once that maybe they wouldn't have had to close if we went there to eat.

Although she does get quite a kick when some local "urban artist" tags the place. She thought the bulbous letters looked like ghosts.

She asked me, "Why don't they open a new resteraunt and call it 'Pussycats'?"

Hmmm. Ok, I gotta know where this is going.

"And what kind of resteraunt would Pussycats be?" I asked. " Will they serve cats for dinner?"

"No Daddy. It would be a resteraunt people can bring their cats to. They'd have their own spot at the table with a plate and food. I think they should call it Pussycats."

Now there's a niche market for you.

I'm Gross

I take the girls to school every morning. About once a week I find that I have been remiss in trimming my finger nails and take the opportunity afforded me at one of Houston’s infinite red lights to give myself a little trim.

One morning I’m tossing the clippings out the window and Zoey says:

“You’re littering.”

Now hold on a second….

I explain that finger nails are not litter. They turn to compost and eventually soil that is good for the environment. Unlike the soda bottles, red bull cans and various plastic bags we often see. I thought it was a nice save.

“Well. You shouldn’t do it anyway.” Indignant. Yeah, that’s what she was.

“Why?”

She proceeded to give a disjointed argument against the tossing of fingernails out the window for about 10 minutes. I really couldn’t make sense of it. Something about garbage and compost don’t belong on roads.

I responded with an intelligent and well thought out question.

“What?!”

“You shouldn’t do it.”

“Why, again?”

“It’s just gross.”

Ah. The point.

A Response to Charlie Sheen

I saw somewhere on the internet where Charlie Sheen said, “Shame on you,”.

And I thought, “Wha?”

I looked into it further (really, it took like 15 seconds; research using the internet is EASY) and here is what he actually is quoted as having said (see what I did there?):

“By the way, two wars are in an endless state of sorrow. Egypt's about burned to the ground. All you people care about is my bullshit... Pathetic. Shame, shame, shame.”

Wow.

First of all, he’s right. Shame on the press, the public, and us in general for paying his life any attention when weighed against the plight of those in need of freedom. Secondly, I’d like to say, it’s hard to ignore Charlie Sheen.

I grew up with movies about Vietnam. I grew up watching M*A*S*H. A-Team. Red Dawn. Chuck Norris! Van Dam. Us vs. Them. U.S.A. vs. Nazis, Commies, Drug Lords, and Evil Doers in every shape, size, sex, and breast size.

I daresay, we’ve been numbed by it all.

I was in high school for Gulf War 1. I was watching CNN when the second tower was hit. I participated in the evacuation of downtown Houston 30 minutes later.

I smiled and said hello at the National Guard soldier holding an empty M16 at the IAH airport. I muttered a thank you to the money changer in Sydney when he expressed his sincerities while I vacationed in Australia in 2001.

Left and right we all see on the news how life is hard around the world for freedom and democracy. Freedom and democracy. It’s become and increasingly difficult problem to deal with as despots in those countries control how much I pay for gas at the pump. My balls are in there hands. So to speak.

Listen to the radio. Watch the news. Enjoy the fanatics on FOX or the cynics on CNN, you all see the same thing. Death. Mayhem. Oppression. Children dying.

Charlie, I’ve got news for you.

You’ve become a distraction. Many already know you’ve had your issues in the past. By now you’ve become a household name, you are more than just a TV show, you are a force. You might call it Tiger Blood or Adonis DNA; but I call it “Narcissism mixed with confidence.”

So, going forward, when I see your name immediately followed with “found with” or “arrested for” or especially “is looking for another goddess” I’ll probably stop and rubber neck for a few moments, shake my head, and move on.

Can't Wait for Summer

For nearly my entire life I have always loved winter. Even after we moved to Texas, where winter is terribly short, I loved winter. I loved the short days. Every day started early and ended early. Chilly nights, cold mornings, snug as a bug in a rug. Night time was good time. I loved the night sky and even memorized the winter constellations.

No pollen.

Then I started growing things. Grass. I have a yard. Two actually. A “front” yard and a “back” yard. Both have grass. The front yard pretty much goes ignored all year. It has plenty of sun. The neighbors water their yards so prodigiously it’s rare I’ve got to set out the water sprinkler.

The back yard, on the other hand, has become a bit of a project. I’m into my 4th year of gardening. I’ve managed to build 3 raised beds and a mound of odd compost. I’ve laid sod TWICE in as many years now and have only had moderate success. I’m already planning year 3 of sod… sodding.

Looks great until it rains for 10 days straight.

I realized, quite suddenly, just a few hours ago; not only do I have a tendency to use too many commas in a run-on sentence, but I was looking forward to Spring. I planted my garden. I spent hours weeding my lawn and cleaning the mulch beds. Which all, by the way, led to the mound of compost. And now I can’t wait for it all to GROW.

I checked my calendar and apparently I’m due for a midlife crisis. Average life span of an American male and all I’m right at MID. As in halfway there. As many years ahead as behind. Sports cars, booze, and all that “stuff”.

I have apparently bypassed that and have gone straight to “old fogey”. I want to see pretty flowers in my beds. I want to see tomatoes, squash, cucumbers and onions blooming.

I’m going to grow hops this year.

I’m impatient to see a green lawn and leaves on the trees. I actually hate that the medians on the roads have better looking yards than mine. Every day I come home my crepe myrtal looks accusingly at me, “what have you done to me!!?”

If my deed restrictions allowed it, I’d have chickens. In a coop. I do like eggs.

It’s only March 2, and I want things to grow.

And then there’s SUMMER!

All winter my girls have been pretending its summer. They dress-up in the bathing suits and pretend to swim.

They had even, at one point, turned the entire living room into a swimming pool. I had to walk around it. NO RUNNING!

So there it is. While there are plenty of things I hate about summer (110º for ten days straight, electric bills, sweat, sun burns… I could go on) I love happy children and growing things.

Car Air Fresheners

So I’m parked at a red light. Got the radio going. Got the A/C going. Checking out the ghetto gas station to see what’s going… and I smell it.

I get the sudden sensation like I’m sitting inside a Jolly Rancher.

Seriously. If I can smell the inside of your car, from the inside of my car, with the windows closed, it’s too much.

I once drove behind a car, tiny little Mazda WTF360, dude had like 80 pine trees hanging from the rearview mirror. My eyes were watering.

I remember too, now that I think of it, while sitting in the Social Security office beating the dead horse that is required to change my wife’s name to mine there were a number of people that not only smelled like cotton candy, but wore more make-up than a clown.

I couldn’t help but wonder: Barnum & Bailey? Houston Rodeo? Can I get a balloon animal?

Why. So. Serious?

Today...

Haven’t updated in a while and BOOM out of the blue, had two experiences today that I thought would look good online.

1.

Went to the Doctor today. Notice the capital “D”. That’s right. The kind of Doctor that has “been there”.

Neither here nor there, but this clinic requires I check in with a cashier before checking in with the D. So I’m standing there, patiently… heh, pun intended, and the guy in front of me is trying to pay.

Trying.

He’s wearing a blue suit that looks to be of non-J.C. Penny origin and the poor girl at the desk is getting flustered. They’re making small talk while I stand there bored to tears. Yeah, I showed up early, like I’m supposed to so it’s no big deal, but I also have an angry beard.

That’s right. My beard makes me look angry. I love it.

I can be grinnin’ a big dimple pinchin’ grin, and you’ll think I’ve got gas, cramps, or a barely repressible urge to kick your ass. Like Chuck Norris, except more cuddly.

Love the beard.

Mr. Suit is still trying to pay. He’s got a deductible like the rest of us, but he decides to pay in cash. He’s sportin’ the money clip with wads o’ Benjamins. “C” notes.

Hundred dollar bills.

She’s flustered because NOBODY pays in cash at the doctor. She needs to make change. They don’t have a cash till. They don’t have a cash drawer. They don’t have a cash box. They have, this is so funny, an envelope. #10. It’s got all the credit card receipts, about 5 checks, and maybe $20 bucks for the day.

The poor girl had to leave and GO TO THE BANK! I kid you not. So they call another lady over to handle me. She had a balloon.

It was a mylar balloon that said, “Happy Birthday.” Except it was crossed out with a Sharpie and written over with, “Get Well Soon.”

I had to ask.

“Does the other side say, ‘Happy Anniversary’?”

By this time Benjamin had left and order had been restored. She had two other co-workers there that hadn’t even noticed the balloon had been altered.

“Oh my GAWD!”

“Did you do that?” right, like it came that way.

Yesterday was her birthday. Today she has a sick friend and she’s going to visit after work.

“What!? It’s a nice balloon and I wanted to recycle…” she was totally serious.

2.

For the past 5 months there have been a small group of teenagers panhandling at an intersection in my neighborhood. Usually they’ve got their Ziploc containers and homemade signs advertising “AllStars For Jesus”. Originally it appeared to be a sports team, or a youth program of some sort.

They disappeared during the darkest winter days, but now the sun sticks around a little longer and they are back!

This time, there are only three of them. Two dudes and a girl who I’m guessing is about 5 months pregnant.

“AllStars for Jesus”

She boldly approaches each car waddling with her Ziploc container, “Donations?”

Shake the head.

“God Bless You”

She approaches me.

“Donations?”

I shake my head no.

“God Bless you.” Those may have been the words, but the intent behind them sound more like, “Fine. Go F*** Yourself.”

I looked. Only one dude had money in his container, two dollars and some coins.

Somebody please help me out here. Does begging really get you further than a job? Seriously. I’ve got angry beard to intimidate if necessary.

Rough Morning for Zoey

This morning I went to get Zoey, our soon to be 7 year-old, up and out of bed. I pulled the sheets back and rubbed her back gently, "Time to get up, Zoey."

She grumbled and mumbled but soon sat up. And then began to look around like she lost something.

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

"My ring." She went to bed with a ring on each hand. And there she was with only one ring.

She began to panic. Seriously. She started lifting pillows and animals and blankets, "I can't find my ring!"

I said, "It'll be ok, sweety. What does it look like?"

"It's round, and purple, and made in China."

We'll look for it later.