Rats

Never should have washed the car. It needed it, but never shoulda dun-it.
I discovered that the passenger side fog lamp lens was shattered.
Ignorance is bliss.  Now it's off the search Algore's intertubes for a replacement.
My source for every hard to find auto part, Rock Auto.com, doesn't have it.
Rats.

Well I'll be....

I heard "old" people say that when I was knee high to a grasshopper. I still don't know what is supposed to come after the three dots.

Considering I didn't get arrested, or have to acquiesce to the secret TSA two finger vaseline hand shake, naked and shivering, in a room with the furniture bolted to the floor and a one way mirror on the wall, frankly I didn't care if I never saw it again.

But I'll be damned if it didn't finally arrive in the mail today.  Frankly, I never expected to see it again.

The mag on the left is the one the TSA found in my bag at the airport, resting on the bubble wrap envelope.  It arrived today.  The mag on the right is my backup mag...loaded.  Hornady critical defense hollow points in case you were wondering. (hey it's a 9, I'm looking for all the whoop-ass I can get out of it.)

And, yes, I do carry in my own house.

When I get to the point where I have a gun in every room, I won't have to be so anal about it.

Everything is Better in Texas.

Even the TSA.

I think I need a Tattoo

I'm thinking a battle ship firing all its big guns, 8 x 10 inches or so right in the middle of my belly.
If I lose weight it will shrivel to 5 x 7. If I gain more weight it will blow up to tabloid size.*

 I hear that the endorphin rush from getting a tattoo is quit the shit.  All those little points of pain from the needle pricks over an extended period of time causes the endorphin release into the blood stream.
I can see why some get hooked on getting tattoos, the natural high and making you look all edgy and stuff.
Maybe not. Whichever way my body mass happens to go at this point, tattoos are just likely to make me look blurry.

It might be time for another Duval Crawl.**






*after thought - also might end up looking like a sinking ship.
** google Duval Street, Key West.

Plural is plural

Either that, or whoever wrote this had Popeye teaching their ESL class.

Someone wrote this. Presumably, someone else reviewed it and approved it. Someone else received the copy to be printed on the sticker.
None saw anything wrong with it.
This is on a gas pump in front of a major grocery chain down here, not a one off stop 'n rob run by recent Pakistani immigrants.


Oh screw it.  Actually I couldn't care less. Just another symptom of the entropy consuming this country.  I'm so damn tired I can't even find my indignation and my lower grammar processor has totally gone tits up.

Yeah I know...right?

I bet you are hungry.
(talking to the cat while she does her sexy kitty feed me roll on the kitchen floor)
I fed you your horrendously expensive canned cat food when I got home just like every other day.
I even gave you a tiny bit of milk on a saucer.
In short order, you horked it all up over there by the front door.
Don't look at me like I don't know what I'm talking about. I got to clean it up because Belle's gag reflex tends to exacerbate things.

The kitchen is closed.

watching the sprinkler

You know it's been a long and yet unproductive week when you find watching the sprinkler in the front yard meditative and comforting.

.

World War Z

Another behind the curve book review. Well, not much of a review actually. This is completely analysis free.
I picked it up in an airport bookstore last week.  I got done with my meetings early-ish and had a 7:30pm flight.  I read half the book while cooling my heels in the airport.  I really like the survivor interview format of the book. I read another 1/4 of it this evening and find I haz a sad because I'm almost done with it.
I give it two thumbs up.
I did see a movie trailer for World War Z the other day and the Sonnage and I will be going to see it in an actual movie theater. I'm looking forward to that.  I rarely do movies in a bonified movin piture theater.
The only thing that gives me pause about the trailer was the zombies were moving rather fast (think cheetah) in the trailer, which they did not do in the book. So I have my fingers crossed that Hole-e-wood hasn't totally screwed up another good story.

DOH!

Left a Ruger Sr9c mag in the inside pouch of my travel bag.
TSA found it for me.
Fortunately it was empty.
That went better than I had anticipated.
Mag is in the mail headed home, I'm on my way to Nashville.

What did you want to be when you grew up?

As a little kid, I wanted to be a hermit or a mountain man like Jeremiah Johnson. When I was a teenager, I wanted to be an auto mechanic. My mother was having none of that, so you can guess how that went.
I used to be an Architect. Technically I am still.  What I am, and what I actually do are two completely separate things.  Now I go to meetings about architecture, write agendas and meeting minutes, write and respond to email, oy gevault the email, ride in planes and taxi cabs, have the life force sucked out of me in conference rooms and hotel rooms, and spend my life waiting in airports. Glamorous, no?

I hate my commute on the few days I'm actually home, yet find myself wanting to move further out* to some acreage with a double wide surrounded by a massive wood deck and trellis over head.
Some place I can take my 9mm out back and pop off a few rounds, or even throw a few clay pigeons.

My inner hermit calls to me. As busy as I've been my whole working life, I always considered it a myth, but I think my midlife crisis might have finally arrived.




*I think I may need a much, much faster car, considering the longer commute..and while I'm at it, a really big earth fucking truck too, considering I'll be "farther out".
No, wait, a Star Trek transporter mounted in the front of my earth fucking truck so I can transport the dipshits in front of me behind me in rush hour traffic.  I apologize in advance for melding your Prius with the Chevy Volt that was between us moments ago. I'm still trying to get the hang of this transporter thingy.

Full circle

The lovely Belle and I met some 15 years ago, at work.
When we got engaged and later married, she moved on to other employment. There's a back story to that, too long, too irritating and mundane to go into now.
Belle got laid off from her most recent accounting job a few weeks back.
Yesterday was her first day back with us at the firm.  The prohibition against the employment of spouses has mitigated over the years. ( actually it retired with the "head" secretary / busybody some years ago.)
She's working with our spec writer and just happy as a clam to be back. Our spec writer is highly relieved to have the backup.  After a few temps with really bad work ethics and the concomitant attitude she was ready to pull her hair out.

I got to work before Belle this morning. I happened to walk past her desk later and winked at her when she looked up.
She blushed.

Brings back some fond memories of the illicit office romance so many years ago.

A (not so) friendly note to the 2nd Amendment Foundation

Particularly to the telemarketer named "Travis" that squeezed one last call in juuust before 9pm.
Travis, I was actually in bed wanting nothing more than to attempt to recover from a horrible work week earning money so I have the wherewithal to support just short of half the country with my tax dollars  and still have something to donate to the 2A foundation.
Asking me to get out of bed, and get my credit card did not sit that well with me.  In particular, when I declined, your comment that, "well, I wouldn't want you to over exert yourself", frankly pissed me off.

Travis, go fuck yourself.

And to the 2A Foundation:  You guys need to screen your callers better. A pushy dickhead on the other end of my phone line does not particularly motivate me to open my wallet.  Particularly when they insult me personally.

The Zen of Driving Traffic

"Zen" might a bit of a stretch.  Try this; repeat after me, "oooMMMM, oooMMM". No? Not working?
The Big Guy captures most of the thoughts that pass through my mind on my daily commute.
Except for one.

Years ago, I was at a red light with a lady in and SUV in front of me in the right lane.  A semi was in the middle lane to our left. 80,000 lb. blind spot.
I'm running late and fuming,  "If you hadn't been such a slow poke, I could be making my right on the red at least, and might make it back from lunch on time".
The light turns green and the semi shifts into granny gear and gets one revolution out of the wheels, to my left.  SUV lady starts to go and hits the brakes hard.   WTF?!  IT DOESN'T GET ANY GREENER!
 A garbage truck blew through the red light coming from left to right well above the speed limit, completely blocked from view by the Semi, clearing SUV lady's front bumper by a foot or so.
I don't know how she felt, but I think I had an out of body experience.

Occasionally, my brain offers some sage commentary, "If you had been first in line, you'd be dead you impatient* moron."

When I get frustrated with traffic and other drivers, a faint little voice in my head reminds me, "there might be a reason for your delay."**



*The word my brain actually used began with an F and ended in "ing".
** I'm no longer in such a rush that I feel compelled to be the first to arrive at the scene of my own fiery death.
Being crushed and / or punted half a block I also don't find so appealing.
Now I just leave one red light earlier.

Raining Squirrels

 It threatened rain most of the past week and nary a drop. I kept holding off watering the yard all week thinking we'd get a little rain at least.  Yesterday I set the sprinkler and watered for hours. The ground was so dry it just kept soaking it up. It worked for Bluesun, so I thought I'd give it a try.  Today it rained most of the day.  Buckets of rain in the early morning hours.  I wonder what would happen if I watered both the front and back yards?

The three adolescent squirrels from the nest in the oak tree out front thought the sprinkler was great fun.  So did three from the neighbor's tree across the street.  Hey! let's play in the sprinkler!  Three more showed up from somewhere else close by.  Nine squirrels in one tree is apparently critical mass. The little buggers got very territorial all of the sudden. Squirrels in the tree, squirrels on the ground, squirrels in the wheel wells of the cars, squirrels under the cars. They spent most of the day chasing each other every which way, with occasional raids to the tree across the street, making little squirrel grunting noises most of the time. Most amusing.* Not as good as a litter of kittens, but I've no particular obligation to the squirrels, and I like it that way.

The BAR rules of cohabitation for urban wildlife are simple:
You are welcome to the oak tree.
As long as you stay out of my attic, I will not shoot you.

Belle kept commenting yesterday that maybe she'd get a squirrel feeder.
Uhm, no; and further more no.  One squirrel family in the oak tree is plenty.  We don't need a projek tree full of welfare squirrels.

Besides, someone has to clean up the gazillion acorns the oak dropped. The squirrels are earning their keep and full of squirrely self esteem and dignity.  Why would you want to take that away from them?


*Ever seen a squirrel get a water drop in its ear?  Little effer just about kicked his own ass out the tree head first trying to scratch it out.