Painting Time

Momma's Little Baby Helps Momma Paint

Sunday, Bennie and I decided to paint the exterior basement window wells. Every fall I do some cleaning and prepping so that during the semester, I don't have to work as hard. And I've been down lately, so I've been trying to keep busy. I also had Bennie fixed last Wednesday, so he's been mopey and sad. So I let him go out on his leash near me. I say "near" because Bennie's very protective around me. In fact, he got mad at me while my parents were here. It was about 100 degrees out, and Mom and I wanted to drink wine in the cool side yard.

"Stay with Bennie, Dad. Just pet him and keep him company while you watch TV." Only Dad's not an animal person and ignored Bennie, who unbeknownst to Dad was saying, "I've got to take a dumper, Grampa. I need to go outside," and then shit on the floor, creating an interesting mosiac design in the kitchen as I stepped in it.

So anyway, there I am Sunday painting. "Bennie, stay there. Sit." And he sits and watches me paint for awhile. An hour later, as I'm sweating in the heat and applying the second coat of paint, he gets bored.

"What'cha doin' Momblee?" he asks.

"Stay. Sit. Sit and stay," I warn him. But as I start to get up off the ground and stretch my legs, Bennie divebombs the paint can with his side, coating himself with about a cup of white exterior latex paint.

"Sonovabitchcrapshitstain, are you freaking serious Bennie?"

"What Momblee?" he says innocent as a lamb. "I just playin'."

"Sonofabitchcrapshitterstain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I exclaim and do my "not happy" dance then spend twice as long washing Bennie's paint off him than I did painting.

A 3 year old Bichon is no different than a kid. I swear.

The Invisible Man

How does one Become an Invisible Man?

Get really close to a woman. Get to REALLY, REALLY know her. Don't jump into the sack with her. Shower her with genuine kindness. Make her laugh her head off. Talk hours on the phone. Talk even more hours in person, laying under the night clouds and holding hands. Be one of those "rare guys" that everyone admires. Keep no secrets and share your inner thoughts. Tell her that jumping into the sack clouds your judgement and you want to start off as "friends first" because you "really like" her and moreover, you respect her. Then, once you get really, really close and meet both sets of parents and things are going GREAT, then start to freak out. Pull back, shut your phone off and just freak out. Better still, freak out in the dark while the phone is ringing and you know it's her. Whatever you do, don't pick up that phone and call her. Distance from her is exactly what you need so you do not risk getting hurt.

I've been thinking about how I could make an angle out of it that's funny. Got any ideas?

Getting Hurt
I have my Ph.D in this from Cactus Man University. But have you ever been so UPTIGHT about the fear of getting hurt that it's limited (crippled) you? Doesn't everyone have this degree? Most people have at least an associate's degree. Unfortunately, I got a doctorate and graduated Magna Cum Laude from it.

The shitty thing about really getting to know someone, really spending time with him (like I've been doing this summer), is that the crummy stuff starts rearing its head and you have to decide if you can take the heat. And if you can take the heat, then can he?

I wish it could go like this on the first date.

"Carefully read all of the above and check the boxes that apply," I say as I hand the man who's "applying for my love" a clipboard as if he's at the doctor's and not on a date. "Put your hand here," I say as he must take a sworn oath in front of a judge that I've rented for the occasion. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

The Applicant nods, "Yes."

"Have you ever been in bankrupcy, beaten or hit a woman?"

"No, and no."

"Have you ever cheated on a girlfriend?"

"No, (stammmer)."

"May I remind you that you are under oath," replies the judge.

"Only once and that was many years ago."

"How many is many?"

"Ten years ago."

"Are you suffering from any sort of mental illnesses, including but not limited to: Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Pyschotic episodes, Depression, Severe Depression, S.A.D., Bi-polar? Yes, or no. Remember you just took an oath."

"Well, I do get tiny bouts with depression," says The Applicant.

"How tiny is tiny?" I ask. The judge reminds The Applicant that he is under oath.

"Manageable." The judge again reminds The Applicant that he's under oath. "OK. I get in severe funks. I won't hit you or anything, but I will turn invisible and dissappear for a week at a time. I will freak out if we get too close. I will become indignant if pressed upon and will not care about your needs or feelings."

"NNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEXXXXX"XXXXXXTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!" I yell, and the bailiff leads The Applicant out of the room and leads in a new Applicant.

If only it were that easy. But who ever comes clean early on before you don't have anything emotionally invested? Past hurts, ex-wives, ex-girlfriends, cheating, pain. I realize we ALL have our baggage that has hurt our hearts. I understand that. Yet can't we just move on?

We can't just stand there, stymied, terrified. If I can survive Cactus University and LIVE, LIVE to tell the tale, why can't a good man be just as strong as me and move forward? Sigh.

What if Cars Ran Like Computers? Pt. II

I had to get back to this question. What if they did? What if cars had all the hangups of computers and all their unreliabilities?

You'd go out to your car, put the key in the ignition, and guess what would happen? Nothing. No turn over. No engine starting, just nothing. "Oh, it's just a glitch in my car again," you'd say to yourself, so you'd take the keys out of the ignition and go have another cup of coffee then try again later and hope for the best. Maybe your car just wouldn't "feel" like starting that day. Just like a computer. Or maybe you'd have to "turn" your car off and on several times to get it working.

Unreliable.

Imagine if cars really did run like computers. Horror movies would cease to exist, because as the zombies stream out of the shopping mall, chasing after the poor victims who are headed for their cars to escape, none of them would start. Hence, the zombies would eat everyone. End of movie. The horror genre would cease to exist.

Also, if cars ran like computers, the term "get-away car" would also become obsolete, since if cars ran like computers, then you couldn't count on them. Of course, the upside would be there'd be less bank robberies, since if cars ran like computers, there'd be many a would-be robber sitting in his car thinking, "Great, I guess it's jail time for me since my car doesn't 'feel' like starting today."

Since it's been about 3 years since I've had to work on my bedroom PC, here's some nifty things I've forgotten about it.

1. Constant pop up window saying, "Do you want to debug now?" If you hit "yes" it goes into some nonsensical screen and starts "debugging" which ties the computer up for several hours and doesn't seem to improve the peformance of the machine anyway. If you hit "no" then it just pops up again assuming you're an idiot and just forgot the question, "Do you want to debug now?" it asks again. There is, unfortunately, no "FUCK YOU--NO!" tab to click on. Yesterday, I counted how many times that window came up while I was trying to get into my Yahoo account. 23 times. 23 fucking times I had to hit "No, asshole. I do NOT want to de-bug now."

2. Screen freezing up for no apparent reason.
Sometimes, the Yahoo email screen unfreezes itself, other times not and I have to hit Ctrl + Alt + Delete to escape. And the long email I've typed up for an hour a half also disappears as I jump up and do an amazingly little dance around my computer emitting a colorful tapestry of cuss words, including newly invented cussword combinations ("mutherfuckerfaceshitbrain asshole!")

3. The vanishing space bar function key. It's also about to wear out.
Sometimes it works, and sometimes I'll end up with a linelikethisandhavetogoinandputallthespacesbackin. Neato.

But I'll hang in there until I can find a fairly reasonably-priced crook, I mean techie, to fix my old laptop.

Sigh.

What if Cars Ran Like Computers?

OK, I see I've been remiss in my blogging. Reasons? Steamy affair? I wish! I still haven't told ya about the man I will nickname "The Invisible Man (which pretty much says it all)." More later. The reasons I haven't blogged include--1. Rally 2. Parents' visit. Pretty exciting. But there will be more "Camp Tales" later, so hold on to your hats, folks.

I type this new, facinating news-filled blog today on my 2000 model Dell "Dimension" series with Windows 98 on a big disco monitor. I'm so hip. Why am I on this slow relic that should be sitting in the Smithsonian?

The Christmas present Cactus Man gave me in 2008, his used laptop, is on the fritz.

What's wrong with it?

Well, firstly, it was a gift from Cactus Man, which should sort of say it all. Remember, it came to me basically wiped out with no software, and Basement Man had to reinstall everything. Secondly, at first the power cord shorted out, two weeks ago, which caused me to run, panicked to Microsolutions to discuss new cords. After picking myself up from the floor, receiving a mild concussion once they told me a new power cord was almost $80, they sold me a used one for $30.

"But this will only fix one of your problems with your laptop," said the sales manager quite gravely. "I'm afraid you have a compound problem."

"What else is wrong?" I grimly ask.

"Your backdoor gram-o-meter, power outlit version #56492100a.s.s.h.o.l.e is shot."

"Shot?" I repeat, dollar signs tentatively dancing above my head. I notice a sign taped on the wall that says, "$90 an hour minimum repairs fee."

"Of course we could sauter the sauerkrauter part #45588726255aaaafart back onto your mother board."

"Great. How much?" I ask. He points to the taped sign behind him.

"It's only a 10 min. job but we gotta charge you $100 for the labor and $50 for the dot of sauter." What is sauter, made outta gold or something?

"$150 bucks just to sauter one little doodad?" I reiterate tersely, spittle flying from my mouth.

"Of course, you could just buy a new 'used' laptop from us," he noted.

"How much?" I ask, my blood pressure hitting new and alarming levels.

"Ooooooooh," he says. "Anywhere from $200-400," he says.

"I'll think about it. I've gotta go rob a bank first." I pay for my power cord and run out the door.

So what am I gonna do? You know damned well a new "used" laptop isn't going to cost just $200 with all the hidden fees and add ons. What about all the file transfers, the software, getting it set up for the internet?

Why, I'll use my antique computer in the bedroom, that's what I'll do (even though it won't open up any kind of attachments anymore and can't open most internet sites). Until I get paid next. I was going to rant and rave and compare old cars to computers, but I'll save it for the next post. Oh, and my bleak dating situation with The Invisible Man is a real knee-slapper. Hang tight.