I’m getting my bits and bobs massaged and buffed and polished today.
Man, that sounds dirty. What I mean is, I bought a Living Social coupon thing for a spa day with my girl friend and today we’re going to get a bamboo body scrub, volcanic stone massage, neck and shoulder massage, scalp massage with Wild Lime Oil and foot reflexology. See; massaged, buffed and polished. Anyway, I wasn’t with it enough to write a post last night – mostly because I went to a pickin’ party and sat in the back room chatting with the ladies not holding guitars while we were all holding wine or a pretty vodka grapefruit concoction and discussing the meaning of life and how we can win at it. So I did not write a thing when I got home late and wobbly. And now, with my impending buffing and polishing and all the preparations one has to make to be buffed and polished by a strange man – still sounds dirty, I know but I can’t help it – with this impending polishing, I have no time to write anything deep and meaningful and full of witty observations or whatever. This is really just a rambling version of “the dog ate my homework...” but with Wild Lime Oil. But look at it this way; I’m sure to have something to say about that oil tomorrow. And/or the dude that had to rub in onto me. And/or what Husband has to say about said oil rubbing dude...
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Two weeks ago we had our driveway ripped out and replaced with concrete. Actually that’s not quite right. That should read; Two weeks ago, we had our driveway ripped out, then it rained buckets, froze, snowed and froze again and then one muddy week later, the weather finally cooperated and they replaced the old driveway with new concrete.
For two weeks I’ve been parking in the neighbors driveway since I can’t get my Smart down the mucky hill. Actually, I think I could easily get my car down the hill though not necessarily upright; it’s up the hill that would be an issue. So I’ve been parking next door at the neighbor’s. The nice neighbors next door, not the dead ones on the other side or the Mayor of Our Street who very kindly TOLD me two months ago she’d told her house sitter to park in our driveway when they were getting theirs resurfaced. She, by the way, is the same neighbor who couldn’t understand why we would go to the trouble of blocking off half of the U-shaped driveway to prevent people from using it as a U-turn. “I’ve never seen anyone do that in all the years I’ve lived here.” She said. “We have camera proof.” We said. “It happens at least once a week.” “Well, I don’t know why they would use your driveway. It scrapes the bottom of my car every time I try to get out of your driveway.” Um… so you’re saying you’ve never seen anyone use it as a U-turn but just admitted to USING IT AS A U-TURN??? Even fake mayors suck at truth telling. Anyway, for the last two weeks, my morning commute to my car has taken me eight minutes; out the front door, through the dog bomb grass, onto the street, ducking to avoid school buses speeding down the hill with the goal of getting the bus airborne, and down the neighbor’s driveway to the car that has usually been iced over in film of dirty sleet. It has been a joy. But today, today I got to drive out of the neighbors drive and down our new shiny concrete drive and into the garage. Hooray! Thank goodness that’s over and done with. Right? Well, not really. I can drive on the new driveway but I can’t stop and park anywhere on the driveway. Why? Because Husband wont let anyone park on for another two weeks and then, he’s going to have an oil check spot at the mailbox so that there aren’t any stains left on his pretty new concrete. I’m not joking. He really will set up an oil check station at the top and direct people where to park if they have issues because he can’t handle stains. Stains other than the bird berry poop left all over the section under the tree by the birds on day one protesting the noise. And the stains left by the dead bodies from the mass salamanders suicide, the poor suckers that thought it was warm enough to come out because it was 70 degrees and that night, the weather decided it was November and froze and they all died sprawled out across the drive. And then there's the teeny tiny chipmunk feet littering the whole dang thing from street to garage. Yeah, a tiny speck of oil is really going to stand out against that mess. And while we’re discussing messes, riddle me this: We had fourteen guys on the property for twelve hours and not one of them asked to use the bathroom and there was no port-o-potty on site. So they went to the bathroom where….??? And yes, I know that means my yard but I'm very disturbed by the logistics of the whole thing. And the mess. Sorry for putting that image in your brain but it was taking up too much space in mine... Hello I'm the guy who sits next to you And reads the newspaper over your shoulder Wait Don't turn the page I'm not finished Life is so uncertain Here I am Yes it’s me Take my hand And you’ll see Here I am Yes it’s true All I want Girl is you Given that true intellectual and emotional compatibility Are at the very least difficult If not impossible to come by We could always opt for the more temporal gratification Of sheer physical attraction That wouldn't make you a shallow person Would it Here I am Yes it's me Take my hand And you'll see Here I am Yes it's true All I want Girl is you If Ford is to Chevrolet What Dodge is to Chrysler What Corn Flakes are to Post Toasties What the clear blue sky is to the deep blue sea What Hank Williams is to Neil Armstrong Can you doubt we were made for each other Here I am Yes it's me Take my hand And you'll see Here I am Yes it's true All I want Girl is you Look I understand too little too late I realize there are things you say and do You can never take back But what would you be if you didn't even try You have to try So after a lot of thought I'd like to reconsider Please If it's not too late Make it a cheeseburger Here I am Yes it's me Take my hand And you'll see Here I am Yes it's true All I want Girl is you This is one of my favorite Lyle Lovett songs. It makes me happy; the nonsensical lyrics, that piercing horn, his awkward drawl tempered with the bluesy wail of Francine Reed, the female vocalist, just laying it all out on the floor. Happy. I have a tendency to get quiet when I’m puzzling something out and I’ve been spending too much time lately puzzling something out. I don’t actually have an answer for the turmoil that’s been spinning about my brain. Or a solution for all the really icky things that people are doing to others out there on this planet. I just don’t feel like being totally quiet anymore. So here I am. If only life was as simple a solution as making it a cheeseburger… |
AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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