Just back from a two day trip to Portland. Head up his ass (as usual), Bob takes the wrong fork in the road while trying to find his way home.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
It felt like Saturday was somewhat like the film Weekend at Bernie's. You know the one. . . Bernie dies, his buds prop him up and take him lots of places.
Bob's far from dead (contrary to the opinion of some who post comments here) but it did feel like the right thing to play dead and asked to be propped up yesterday. It was the AARP thing to do.
So, here are the girls first thing yesterday morning. They made a fort out of their bedsheets and blankets and they're basking under the finished product.
Wifey and the kids met Auntie Dawn for breakfast. They ate at one of those places that feature help yourself at the cereal bar for breakfast.
After breakfast it was off to the nature park.
The ladies saw a wildlife show that featured a red tailed hawk (seen here), a fox and a porcupine.
Three hours later the girls came home all tuckered out. But not enough tuckered out be to down for the count. The remainder of the day was spent running around the backyard, begging to use the hose for water fights, digging in the sand and mud.
I sat back, watched their fun and said out loud more than a few times, "Just prop me up, will ya?!"
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Grace's mom and step-dad are off this weekend to some kind of marriage encounter. As the story goes the weekend is to help enhance the marriage and serve as the stepping stone to problems in the relationship.
Well folks, they've been married since October and it's been one thorny bed of roses since then. Off the get go it was obvious that this was no match made in heaven. This couple can attend marriage encounter after marriage encounter till hell freezes over and it still ain't gonna last. You can quote me on that one.
Anyway, so the newlyweds could go off and patch things up we were asked to take Grace and her 3 1/2 year old step-sister Hanna for the weekend (Friday through Sunday).
The girls arrived around five Friday night and I wanted to make dinner an easy thing. What's easier than a KFC dinner? There's something about the Colonel's mashed potatoes and gravy that every kid loves.
I have a thing about putting anything and everything on my head. KFC buckets always end up on my head. I end up smelling like KFC chicken. Hanna, not knowing me well, probably ended up thinking, "Who in the hell is this guy?"
Grace just has to pull the bucket down over Papa's head. Having spent the majority of her waking hours in our home from 6 months of age to the present, Grace learned at an early age on how to get in on my antics.
My bucket list has a number of things to put on my head before I buy the farm. KFC buckets always seem to be at the head of the list.
Friday, March 27, 2009
A prescription I've taken for years is running out. When that happens I have to schedule an appointment with my female family physician to get it renewed. Nope, she won't renew on the phone and just has to see me. Apparently this is how some physicians make their money by demanding that their patients see them just to renew a prescription. This always pisses me off. Waste of money. Waste of time. Not needed.
Doc: I won't renew your prescription until you complete the blood work.
Me: That's not going to happen. I did blood work last year. Nothing has changed. The medication I take has no effect on my vitals or anything else. You've said that yourself. Blood work two years in a row is a waste of my blood, my time and my money. Just renew the prescription and I'll be out of here.
Doc: I won't renew your medication until you do the blood work.
At that point in our dialogue she's taking my pulse for some stupid reason instead of listening to her patient and attempting to come to some understanding of what his needs are.
Me: You can stop taking my pulse. This exam is over.
On the way out she looks back at me and says:
Doc: I'll see you later.
I'm thinking, "Huh? What a stupid comment".
Me: I don't think so. You will definitely not be seeing me any time later.
Adding insult to injury I was charged for an office visit. As I wrote out a check for the co-pay I thought hmmm, bet this chick gets a kick back from the lab for every series of blood work she sends their way.
Refusing treatment to a patient who has contrary beliefs is just terrible. I'm glad that I discovered what this witch is all about and not during a future medical crises. Better to know now that this person has no respect for what her patients want and need then to die from her neglect later.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
HELP! My mind is blocked and I can't write a thing!!!
This happens. I lose energy for writing here. Staying away from the computer, every one's window to the world, is a good thing. Yes, there are other tasks apart from the cyber community which are probably more important.
Take for instance yesterday. Wifey and I drove 40 miles west up into the Trinity Alps. Took the dogs. Took in the scenery. It was a nice interlude of sorts.
Later in the day and after school, Grace and I played in our backyard creek. Right after her bath, Zeenie joined us in the creek and promptly got covered in mud. She had two baths yesterday. This dog loves to get down and get dirty.
There was no time for blogging and I loved it.
Wifey's off this morning with Zeenie participating in a presentation on pet therapy dog programs to the Cowtown Newcomers Club. Zeen's a certified pet therapy dog who spends time with those in need in assisted living facilities, intensive care units and children's hospital wards. It's heartwarming to witness what a little dog can give to those who are in need.
You see here that Grace is adorning a soon to be published brochure. Robin has taken Grace's birthday picture on each of those occasions beginning with age one. She's like on the the family.
I'm fixing dinner tonight as I often do. It's a pretty simple dish - So easy Bob can do it.
CROCKPOT LEMON CHICK WITH CARROTS
"This delicious recipe has the most wonderful sweet and sour flavor."
Prep Time: 15 minutes
Cook Time: 8 hours,
6-8 boneless, skinless chicken thighs
1 onion, chopped
2 cups baby carrots
6 oz. can frozen lemonade concentrate, thawed
1/4 cup ketchup
3 Tbsp. brown sugar
1/4 cup water
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
2 Tbsp. cornstarch
3 Tbsp. water
Preparation:Place onions and carrots in bottom of 3-4 quart crockpot. Top with chicken thighs. Combine remaining ingredients except for cornstarch and 3 Tbsp. water in small bowl and blend well; pour into crockpot. Cover and cook on low for 8-9 hours until chicken is tender.
Remove chicken from crockpot and shred, using two forks. Return to crockpot. In small bowl, combine cornstarch and 3 Tbsp. water and blend well. Add to crockpot along with shredded chicken. Stir and cook on high for 15-20 minutes until liquid is thickened. Serve over hot cooked rice or couscous.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
During my college years it would be safe to say that I was a disciple of sorts of philosopher Alan Watts. I read. I listened. I attended everything Alan Watts.
I met Alan several times the most memorable being at a party held in his honor at a professor friend's home.
Into the wee hours of the morning Alan and his disciples talked. Talked. Talked. And more talk.
Lots of red wine in tall ice filled glasses as such was the favorite drink of my professor friend.
Guitar playing. Hippie dancing. Lots of smoke.
You get the picture. It was a groovy scene, man.
An excerpt from Alan's book, the Wisdom of Insecurity came to mind this morning and I took time to read this particular passage.
"What is the use of planning to be able to eat next week unless I can really enjoy the meals when they come? If I am so busy worrying about how to eat next week that I cannot fully enjoy what I am eating now, I will be in the same predicament when next week's meals become 'now.'
"If my happiness at this moment consists largely in reviewing happy memories and expectations, I am but dimly aware of this present. I shall still be dimly aware of the present when the good things that I have been expecting come to pass. For I shall have formed a habit of looking behind and ahead, making it difficult for me to attend to the here and now. If, then, my awareness of the past and future makes me less aware of the present, I must begin to wonder whether I am actually living in the real world.
"After all, the future is quite meaningless and unimportant unless, sooner or later, it is going to become the present. Thus to worry about a future which is not going to become present is hardly more absurd than to plan for a future which, when it comes to me, will find me 'absent', looking fixedly over its shoulder instead of into its face."
And so it goes.
Where are you living?
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Since 1991 there's always been a satellite dish alongside or on the house. Four houses ago we started out with one of those humongous dishes in the backyard. Once we moved to Cowtown it was easier to have a smaller dish installed on the roof.
I watch everything on satellite except porno. Porno just doesn't float my boat. It boils down to this: See one porno film you've seen them all.
As I surfed the satellite channels this week I unintentionally came upon the series of DirectTV channels that carry their line of adult films. The title of one film caught my eye and I thought what the hell is this? So I opened the channel guide to see what it was all about.
MEAT GULPERS 2: Gorgeous women have flexible mouths that love to be filled.
Oh brother. How utterly stupid. I scrolled to the next channel and read the description of the film there:
BOUNCING BOOTY FEST 5: Well-endowed women snap their bras from the jiggling of their bouncing breasts.
That kind of sounded interested but not enough to pony up the pay-per-view fee DirectTV required to watch this film.
There was one more that caught my eye.
BLACK GUYS ON LATIN THIGHS: Fresh curvy Latinas eagerly ride on huge black poles.
Who thinks of these titles anyway? You'd think they'd hire someone with half a brain to come up with more intelligent titles and film descriptions. Then again, porno usually appeals to men with half a brain.
Suddenly, the "why" of porno all makes sense.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
A week ago sailing Lake Meade.
Mostly it was motoring the lake. The only wind to be found was in a small inlet adjacent to Hoover Dam. And even then it wasn't enough for a decent heel.
If you've never been there Lake Meade a pretty lake a few miles from Vegas in the middle of the desert.
I'll sail Lake Meade again one day. Next time it will be in Bob's boat.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Yup. Had to clean the damn toilets again. Entry into my book of books this morning:
Dear Diary: I do not pee on the floor. Yet, I have to clean up the pee on the floor. Could it be from the milkman or the mailman or maybe the UPS chick who stops by when Bob's out of town?
DNA talks. Bull shit walks. I'm taking the next dropping of pee to the lab. Bob will get to the bottom of who's peeing on the floor.
Anyway, here's what I cleaned toilets to this afternoon. 2pac and Dre da men, dog! Get down, clean those damn toilets.
I fondly refer to Keith as our favorite son-in-law. Keith laughs it off knowing that he's our only son-in-law.
Yesterday, St. Paddy's Day, was Keith's birthday as it is every year.
Dinner at the house: Beef Stroganoff over egg noodles. Salad. Cake and ice cream.
In the first photo Keith is trying to decipher what Grace has written on her card. She writes small. Grace also runs her words together. It takes time to read what Grace has written.
Every guy needs a b-b gun. For some reason Keith and the gun from his childhood parted long ago. It was a natural gift to give.
An LED light for camping. Two shirts. Two gun magazines. Pellets. B-b's.
Grace is wearing her High School Musical eye shade on her head that's made for sleeping. She's big into High School Musical.
Keith unwrapped (the gifts). The ladies watched.
Bob took pictures and as usual there are no pictures of Bob.
This last photo pretty much says it all: Keith had a great time.
So did we.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone and especially to those who have more than just a "wink" of Irish in their gene pool.
I read in today's paper that our men in blue will be out in full force looking for Irish men and women driving under the influence. They do that every March 17th.
Don't you think that's ethnic profiling?
What if the cops did the same thing on Martin Luther King's birthday . . . prowling the streets looking for under the influence African American men and women? Try flying that one and see if your politically correct aircraft gets even a foot off of the ground.
With any luck of the Irish my brothers and sisters will celebrate the day and only suffer a big head tomorrow at home and not in the drunk tank.
I was going to hit a couple of the pubs today and wear this t-shirt. Wifey must have either hid or burned it for it is no where to be found.
With any Irish luck I'll find that damn shirt and be off!
The house is on the downside slope of a hill. Our city fathers saw fit to install drains on the uphill side of the property to keep water coming off of the hill out of our yard. A large culvert runs under our yard and comes out on the other side of the fence you see here.
When the culvert drain is filled this is what happens: The remaining runoff floods the backyard.
Yesterday four inches of rain fell on the westside of Cowtown in three hours.
What you see here is the failure of the drainage system to keep up with the buckets of rain that fell yesterday. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men run amok.
Run-off was held by the fence boards. As you see here it flowed under and between them.
Part of the runoff from the roof and landscape drains run into a faux creek bed in back of the house.
Then there's Zeenie who yesterday didn't have the sense to come in out of the rain. Here you can see that it is raining woof-woof-meow-meow (long for raining cats and dogs) and Zeen, soaking wet, is loving the California liquid sunshine. She spend hours in the rain before she was whistled into the house.
For a purebred Pomeranian Zeen loves to get down, get dirty and act like a mutt.
Don't you just love a dog like that?
Monday, March 16, 2009
Zeenie just loves to take her ball, plop it in her water bowl and then fish it out. She gets wet. The floor gets wet. In the end, Zeen gets her ball.
Just a year old this dog loves to play.
The other day while playing outside ball on her own, Zeenie discovered a fairly large sized hole with lots of water in it.
You guessed it: Time for put the ball in the hole and fish it out. This time the stakes around getting the ball out of the hole were a bit higher.
A. It took a while to get the ball out.
B. Zeenie managed to cover her underside and rear end in mud.
C. A game of get the ball turned into put the dog in the garage tub. . . the latter being this dog's least favorite thing.
There's something to be said about Zeenie: She's definitely not afraid to get dirty.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Wifey: There's pee around the toilet and it needs cleaning up.
Me: You're thinking that I peed around the toilet? I have you know that I earned a sharp shooters medal in the service. I aim. I shoot. Bob is deadly accurate.
Wifey: Get the bucket and mop and do what men do best: Clean up their own pee.
Me grumbling: Dam dogs. It has to be the dogs peeing around the toilet. Or is the wife peeing standing up again? Besides, I sit down when it's dark. Sharp shooters know to squat when there's no light. And hit their mark when there's light. Nothing to it.
It takes me 7 minutes to clean both bathrooms. I look for music. Everything But the Girl comes to mind and I find just the right song (this one). It plays on the "through out the house" music system.
I get down. I clean. Pee, I say, you're toast!
The job is finished and I figure out that I've got to take a leak. . . hmmm, lots of light. To sit down or not to sit down and mess up my clean job. . .
Oh to hell with it, damn the torpedoes, full stream ahead!
Which reminds me. During the stop over in San Francisco coming home from Vegas, BABY! I hit the men's head. Next to me was this poor old guy. Unit in one hand. Flush handle in the other. Looking to the sky and hoping for a stream. He moaned a bit. I like did my duty, washed my hands and this poor guy was still trying to take a leak.
So like any buddy I went around and turned on all of the sinks faucets and flushed all the toilets. Running water does a guy good, don't you know?
After all that the guy was still standing at the urinal, unit in hand, flush handle in the other and looking to a greater power for some help.
You too can clean the bathroom to this music. 7 minutes. That's all it takes.
One: Don't miss the boat.
Two: Remember that we are all in the same boat.
Three: Plan ahead. It wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.
Four: Stay fit. When you're 600 years old, someone may ask you to do something really big.
Five: Don't listen to critics; just get on with the job that needs to be done.
Six: Build your future on high ground.
Seven: For safety's sake, travel in pairs.
Eight: Speed isn't always an advantage. The snails were on board with the cheetahs.
Nine: When you're stressed, float a while.
Ten: Remember, the Ark was built by amateurs; the Titanic by professionals.
I arrive home from Vegas, Baby! and find that Grace has been at it again.
When she lost her first tooth Grace freaked out. Blood. A pearly white in her hand. "How am I going to eat?!", she screamed. It took a while to calm our little girl down.
About four teeth later losing a fang is no big deal in fact, Grace works on losing teeth. I think she kind of likes it. Grace also likes finding a couple of bucks under her pillow the next day all due to the Tooth Fairy.
When I left for Vegas, Baby!, Grace had a little hole in her smile. I come home to find that she now has a big whole in that little smile of hers. I'm thinking that Fang would be a nice nickname for Gracie: Fang of Cowtown!
Zeenie could care less about missing teeth. For her life is all about ball, ball and more ball . . . in particular her favorite red ball that squeaks.
It's good to be home and back to normal.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Me to the customer service rep in the process of booking a flight to Vegas, baby!
Me: I'd like to order an inflight sandwich.
Rep: No can do, There's no food service.
Me: Come on, you can make an exception. I want a ham and cheese grilled 30 minutes into the flight.
Rep: Okay, that would be our In Your Dreams Special.
Me: Cool. I look forward to that.
To the flight attendant during the flight:
Me: Okay, where's my sandwich? I was promised the In Your Dreams Special.
Attendant: That would be really in your dreams, Bob. No food service on this flight. But, I can give you the In the Butt Bob Special but you'll have to wait when we land in Vegas, Baby!
Me: I'm hungry now. No can wait.
Attendant: This is worth waiting for.
We get there. As I walk down the aisle I ask where my special In the Butt Sandwich is.
Attendant: Here it is. Listen up.
And Shake Your Booty music fills the cabin.
Me: What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
Attendant: That would be in the butt, Bob. SHAKE YOUR BOOTY, BABY!
And I did. That started Bob Does Vegas.
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