The Felon The Whore & new character enters scene

So I missed my birthday post yesterday. Mainly because I had planned an awesome post about skydiving and turning 36 @ 120 mph, but it wound up being cancelled due to low cloud cover. True to form, I had no back up plan and layed around all day nursing a sore throat and a semi-hangover (Nothing to do with each other - Note to self - build drinking muscle back up before Key West trip).

Last weekend Nanner brought the new man down for intro and inspection. There has been much, much debate about how to spell the name I gave him. (Of which I am just glad he didn't rip my tail off for calling him.) He didn't want any weird gay french spelling and try as we might we couldn't work cajun in without looking french so Boodrow (redneck as it looks, does not look gay) was agreed upon. So anyhow, Boodrow made it through the introductions and hellos and promptly rips Cow's ass off. I guess he wanted to go ahead and let us know up front what we were dealing with and that he was not to be f-ed with....kinda like in prison. As I held poor mangled Cow Rogo dog looks up and me with the look of "Dude...that guys is bad ass". Cow will recover with a few plastic surgery stitches but we all got his point...maniac.

Roger cradling poor injured Cow.

A close up of the carnage.

I think the most excitement came the next morning when she realized that he had not ran out of the house in the middle of the night....even after Beaver came out and went over the house rules. (I blocked his car in...limiting his fleeing options). Boodrow is officially approved of by all us crazies. Pretty much because he says "WDF...wet deck furniture" His forewarning to us about the possible butt wettedness on the deck. I can like a person looking out for my butt comfort (lets not talk about Cow right now).

Random - Is mosquito sex good? And exactly how long does it last? I lost interest and wandered off (for those who know me...know that doesn't take much) I figured it was just better to ask the question as to sit and watch it...seemed intrusive.

In other news - Mr Man's X has finally ventured onto the dating field. This in itself is AWESOME news. I hope it means that she's letting go of bad feelings and moving on to a happier place. Like maybe she'll possibly not call me a whore more than twice in a sentence now. Dude that she went out with is an acquaintance and cool guy. I ran into him recently and birthdays came up (I tell everyone hoping to get a present or at least a drink). Something he said didn't add up right to the age he had earlier claimed and I asked again. With no more provocation the WHOLE story came out. Without details I will only say felony was mentioned.

I've decided to let Beaver and all of his infinite wisdom have a chance to speak at the end of all of my blogs...you know, he can get by with saying so much more than I can...Beaver's quote for today "Felon trumps Whore any day".

What have I been up to you ask??

Yes, I am still alive and kicking. Kicking shit around a rental house (literally). So back in mid March after many many attempts of getting in touch with my renters (it seems every time you are late with your Cricket phone payment they just give you a new number...convenient.) Mr Man did a 3 1/2 hour drive by to see what was up. It was no huge surprise that they had moved out without bothering to tell me. (Can you say NO DEPOSIT FOR YOU!...I feel like the soup Nazi) So, no panicking, I took 3 days off of work and we went to do some cleaning and painting. I knew they let their less than potty trained dog stay in the house during the super cold part of winter but had already sent the registered "get the dog the fuck out of the house" letter and it seemed to work ok. Um...well...NO. My best guess is that they moved because it stunk so bad they couldn't breathe in there. No shit. Well actually...I had to bust out the scrapper blade on said shit in at least 3 rooms. And here's a question for you average americans...if you say drop gum on your bedroom floor, what would you do? Nope...wrong answer...apparently you step on it and pretend you have a fucking sidewalk in your bedroom. Dude. We made it to day 2 of cleaning before we had our first gag....it was me. I was in one of the bedroom closets and had to remoisten a petrified terd and scrape it...then it came....GGGAACCCK....GGGAACCKK. I made a formal announcement that we had our first gag. It seems my gag reflex is closely associated with the visual aspect of gross ass. Mr Man on the other hand apparently is more of a smell then gagger....which happened about 15 minutes later when something he ran into behind the stove made him almost call RALPH for a ride in the BBUUICK. The good news, if you can call it that, is that the bathroom was so OMFG nasty that we didn't even attempt to clean it. Its being gutted and replaced....someone would have yaked in there for sure...and it just wasn't worth the trip to the health department or the explanation to my doctor of how I managed to contract what ever funk ass disease that was lurking in there. Again I say...Dude. Trust me...the pictures do not do it justice. And I seriously think the dog pound might smell better.

I should have taken one after I took the drawers out of the refrigerator...I had to sweep it out before I could clean it...which required the scraper (most used tool of the week). Please bear in mind that this fridge is about a year old...I bought them a brand new one instead of a crappy used one...we'll call that one hind sight. And here's the scene from behind it...how the hell do you manage to get that much shit behind a refrigerator???

So needless to say, I decided this was not a do it yourselfer...I hired a dude to do it all...he "has a guy" that can do all that he can't. So far it looks like I am into this for about 6-7 grand. (You have to factor in the long term cost of living with whatever disease I could have contracted and I'm pretty sure paying dudro is still coming out ahead.) And another needless to say...I will going about the renting game with a new Super Bitch strategy.

ps. Keeping my normal zen like even keel outlook has proven to be a bit tough. Of late, I have used a little more of the sailor talk than normal.

pss. New awesome remodel pictures to come.

Random...more so than usual

So last night I decided to jot down the things I caught myself saying out loud to, well myself. Here's what we came up with in chronological (unedited) order. I'm sure that this wasn't all of them...I know Beaver spoke a time or two but it was before I started documenting.

"Tomorrow I may have Lucky Charms" I said and broke the silence between myself and Sailor Jerry (that'd be a rum in case I lost you there). The cat looked up but maintained unimpressed. No response from the dog.

"I can't believe I've watched an hour of this shit" About a celebrity look a like makeover that was actually one the rolling channel guide channel so you only get like half a screen. (Loser.)

"I'm pretty funny" - not sure what the hell I did to bring this one out but I made myself laugh before I said it.

"Stop sniffing that...Rocky the Raccoon was in that bush wasn't he...I'm troubled by that" really said more to Roger than myself but out loud without a human in earshot.

"Dang...I'm staggering...nice" while standing in the front yard looking up at the stars and waiting on the dog to pee.

"A trip...oh wow, I tripped and my hair fell" in response to the Tresome 24 hour body dumbass hair commercial.

"Oooo fuckin' A this shits gonna be good" about some leftover bread from work with the Promise cardiologist recommended butter stuff on it @ 12:45. I kinda missed dinner last night.

Other Randomness
I've got to google baked kidneys....I'm starting to worry that my time spent on the heating pad may be cooking my innerds. Now that I'm oh what...a 150 years old and stand for 8 hours every night my frickin back hurts so I come home and sometimes sit on the heating pad (like last night) and always sleep on it. It cuts itself off after like 2 hours but I'm thinking I could be slow roasting my organs...Is this a legitimate concern?? Or am I turning into one of those crazy f-ers like I work with??

The official oatmeal countdown is 17 remaining. To update those unaware, Mr Man bought one of those big ass boxes of oatmeal from Costco. 55 packs. 55. Me and my little twisted mind have been trying to conquer it. I have taken them out and counted wwway to many times so at 29 I wrote the number on the box and started marking it with a sharpie. So 17 after this morning. I could have this thing done by my birthday. Of course, Mr Man is never in the mood for oatmeal (imagine that) so I'm battling the sex oatmeal on my own. Until I started the new counting system I was convinced the little packs where screwing and making more little packs. I have dispelled that theory now.

I got a catalog in the mail yesterday and did an out loud YAY at the mailbox. I have pages already dog-eared and everything. I'm so stoked. Then I realized it may go along with my grocery store shoes fashion taste. Its the Bass Pro Women's collection. (Thats where I got my lesbanese camoflauge shorts that I wore like every other day last summer). So here's to more dike dressing this summer.

So this morning I talked to Nanner and told here I'd written down my outbursts last night...her comment "Let me guess, one involved a terd". See...I'm not as predictable as one may assume.

Ran across this in my journal...not sure if I've every posted it, so here ya go.
My individuality and free thinking are what make me, ME. If you are not aware of said individuality then you absolutely do not know ME. Beliefs and lack of normal beliefs are what define ME.

One Year

One year ago today I was witnessing the most horrific process of life, the end. I can still see it as if it happened 10 minutes ago. Mr Man would probably tell me that I've had a pretty good life if the safe confines of Hospice falls at the top of my worst experiences. And he would be right.

I guess I'm most surprised by just how fast this magically suspended ball is spinning and just how much can happen in what seems like no time at all. I would have been hard pressed to believe any of my current life if the future fairy had swooped in and told me. In the same breath, I realize now that I have absolutely no clue about the still just out of sight future either. We think we can plan and know and think things through but there's really no way. Jobs go away...people die before they should...the punches of the universe come when least expected and you either get the shit kicked out of you or you learn to roll. I am a self professed master roller. I just kinda keep in mind the big things I want and just keep taking the next logical steps. (Things I want = Love, happiness and getting by with what I have comfortably...not waiting for "someday" to be content.) What we really truly "need" can be compacted into the top drawer in a worn out nightstand at Hospice when it all comes to an end.

I don't think Daddy did what was the norm. He was 35 when he stepped off the path and went the way that felt best to him. It turned out to be exactly what he was supposed to do and it all fell into place. I guess even in our vast differences in beliefs, at the core we are very similar.
He was random and happy and his mind went a million miles an hour. He would finish a sentence out loud that you hadn't had the privilege of hearing the first part of. His boing-y Tigger like personality made him goofy and refreshing at the same time.

I've looked at life and the real reason we're here more in the last year than most I guess....and I haven't come to any earth shattering conclusions. I think I'll just continue my soul guided wandering at the casual laid back stride of living life in 3/4 time.

New Hair New Paint New Shoes

A picture is worth a thousand words...all adding up to the fact that I am a huge dork. I just bought shoes at Food Lion...and to make that matter even worse...I'm enthrawed with them. I made Roger sit beside them for a photo opp. You can see he is quite less than entertained...even he knew it was a cornball idea.

Noteables- The freshly stained and painted deck (the several week project Mr Man & myself have been working on)...my obvious kick ass fashion taste in shoes from the grocery store....and Rogo's new sporty sexy summer time dog hair cut, bandana and pink dick...strange how people quit asking "her" name post shave down.

Mr Man just told me to pack the cooler and make us a bloody mary...we're off to Provision Company to have the first shrimp burger of the year. Its not really a trek but no sense in getting thirsty on the way.

Crazy Crazy Everywhere

I don't know if there is a heavy concentration of crazy around the coast or maybe it's everywhere and I've managed to shelter myself, but we have a serious issue with the crazies running rabid here. I've adapted a new way of communicating with said crazies. I do something similar to a bobble head nod...divert eye contact and just wander away. They don't seem to notice that I've pulled an exit stage left on them. Or possibly they think I'm the crazy head bobbing wanderer....who knows. Let me give you a couple of examples. One dude told me about a pet tarantula he had with a sense of humor. Charlotte (which is about the least crazy part of the story) would crawl up and sprawl across his face when he was sleeping. Now I know to an outsider this is closely akin to my talking Beaver doing movie reviews, but trust me it ain't even close. He's also heard from several sources that there are giant tree spiders in Florida (like 2ft in diameter) and he wants one. It seems his childhood was scarred by the learning that giant spiders didn't exist....bobble...walk away.

And we have the 2 hour a day bottle juggling, Tom Cruise dreaming, $150 van purchasing dude that's considering jacking someone elses tags because the $30 it would cost him seems a bit elusive. Bear in mind "I worked 65 hours at my other job last week". All I can figure is all of that bottle slinging on the couch that he probably doesn't own, must be one sporty ass habit to support...bobble...walk away.

Standing at the end of the bar getting food to go I spotted him...not Jesus...Elvis. Apparently he works for one of those singing dancing tourist traps down here...hopefully. The one thing I can't get my arms around is why all the impersonators have to have the I'm fat as hell and about to go take the death poopie Elvis look?? Where are all the young good looking hip thrusting ones?? Not getting pasta to go @ 4:30 I can tell you that. I almost asked for a picture but thought better of it. Although it would have been a great blog post it would have no doubt involved the bobble.

Lastly but considered most entertaining in my book, Nanner called and told me about the Baptist church marque she'd seen on the way home the night before. It said "If Jesus comes tomorrow will you be ready?" Her first thought "Hell, why not, I'm just going to be on the couch...the calendar is pretty open these days".

Elvis is here, Jesus is coming and I'm rocking the high end of the totem pole.

Coastal Confessions

As I drove over the bridge to the island today I realized just how close I am to the big pond now and I had to wonder...is this what escaping feels like? I've always had run in my blood, and I've always wanted to step out of "life" as we know it, run away from everything and just get a bar tending gig somewhere on an island. This has been the dream since I was 20 years old and made my first trip to Bimini. The Kenny Chesney song Sherry's Living in Paradise comes to mind, every time I ever heard it, I just wished I could pull something like that off. Sherry's living in paradise, slinging drinks at a bar down by the beach, she's happy now it seems...Chasing something or running from something...had alot of lovers that were good for nothing. To me it sounds a lot better with my name in it.
This is the life that my Daddy lived for but never got to live. He always wanted to have a bike at the beach. The father's day before he died I bought him a huge tricycle...I was a year too late...he couldn't figure out how to get on it and when he did you had to run beside him and steer it for him. It seems easy enough in hind sight as most things do...I'm sure I'll never understand why he never just bought one. Sunday afternoon it was crazy warm for February and Mr Man and me put on shorts and rode our bikes. Then we sat on the deck in the sun and ate turkey burgers. You can see the waterway from right there in the chair and I've already declared it as my new favorite summer spot. So far as that dream I've alway had, I'd have to say I'm working on mission accomplished.