Issac - Wordless Wednesday

The cat that adopted Neighbor.

Be sure to check out the rest of the Wordless Wednesday posts!

An Actual Update! What?

Oh, what a long, strange week it's been.

First, let me apologize for the blog pretty much going offline. Maybe I needed a break. Most assuredly I was having some issues formulating thoughts in such a manner as made them postable in a public venue. I mean, one should only use the term "cockwhore" so many times on a "family" blog.

Heh.

On Friday we went out on what was supposed to be a group adventure. Ghost Hunter had invited a friend that she thought might dig Chief. That alone was no big deal. What turned into a big deal was when Ghost Hunter shanghaied the attentions of both Neighbor and Chief and turned our group adventure into a double date. With staff. Which I thought was totally uncool on multiple levels, and SweetPea and I ended up heading home pretty early that night.

For Saturday, we had multiple event possibilities. Chief had invited us rafting on the river and Ghost Hunter was having a bbq and had invited us along. I was on the rag, and figured that cloth pads + sitting in water = not a good time. SweetPea really wanted to go rafting, though, so I insisted she go. I got everything ready for her and kicked her ass out the door in plenty of time to meet up with Chief and her crew of miscreants kids and their friends. SweetPea took the only running vehicle to do this, which was fine by me. I planned on spending the entire day being lazy, less than sober, and not even kind of leaving the house.

This, of course, meant that not one of us was heading to Ghost Hunter's bbq. I got a text message from Neighbor about it at one point, and I told her that SweetPea was on the river with Chief, and I had no intention on leaving the house. From that point, I didn't hear anything from either Neighbor or Ghost Hunter, and I don't think anyone else did, either. At least not until Tuesday, when I think they both realized that nobody had been in contact with them for days. So they started text messaging SweetPea and Chief, trying to get the scoop. From what I understand, both were asking question after question, but not answering any. Ooh, bad form!

Of course, neither had the nads to try me. SweetPea says it's because they both know that I'm not afraid of confrontation. SweetPea and Chief would both rather avoid it as much as possible. Now, I really don't think there's anything there that needs confronting or causing an argument. I think we just feel that, right now, Neighbor and Ghost Hunter need some space to get their relationship going and to get it on an even keel. Once things have smoothed out, the things between the group should get closer to back to normal. And, also, friendships are two-way streets. If you miss someone, or haven't seen them in a few days when you ordinarily see them every day, you can call to check in, see what's up, how ya doing, I miss you. That's part of friendship. Not maintaining radio silence and then launching an assault on the people least likely to tell you that you've been an asshole and that's why nobody's talking to you.

In still other other news, I am totally not looking forward to back to school night tomorrow, wherein I get to spend 45 minutes sitting in a classroom with the reason I resigned from PTA. Much like Neighbor and Ghost Hunter, though, I'm pretty damn sure she's too chicken shit to try to start shit with me. She prefers talking about me behind my back, because then I can't tell her to her face what a two-faced, backstabbing, controlling, martyr bitch she is.

Woops!

There I go with the cussing again.

Saturday Snaps Twofer

More snaps from yesterday.

I just love the expressions going on in this snap. Wonder what they were chatting about.

Is this blog getting a little too vain for it's own good?

Today was a Good Day

Today was a long, long ass day.

I am pooped. I am also sunburnt all to hell, and probably dehydrated.

But I am so very thankful to have such a fucking awesome bunch of friends.

In particular, today, I am very thankful to meet this beautiful lady. It's about time that Neighbor had some good lovin' from a good woman. And the fact that she does not fit the mold of what Neighbor was "looking for" makes it that much sweeter.

Chief fucked with the femme's lipstick. She had to pay.

psst! Chief! You've got your own damn label now. Send that to Licious.

Friday Night Out

On Friday night, SweetPea, Neighbor and I went downtown to meet a friend for dinner. I had wrangled him up from the internets due to a mutual interest in photography. He doesn't live in California, but has been in town on business for a couple of weeks now. We've been trying to meet up, but things keep falling through. We finally got together for dinner Friday night, and then headed down to the club and met up with another friend and her friend.

I'm really glad we got to meet Wil. He's so charming I can hardly stand it.

Neighbor was a little annoyed, because here we were going off to meet another NOT A FEMME and, frankly, she's getting a little tired of all the not meeting femmes. Turns out, though, she and Wil know each, but haven't chatted for awhile. So they had a grand time shooting the shit and checking out girls.

Karina was meeting up with her friend Shelley down at the bar, so we ended up meeting them there.

We checked out the pool for a bit, then headed to the patio so we could people watch the street traffic. My favorite pastime!
In case you were paying attention, yes, I did say there was a pool in the club. Swimming, not billiards. Here's proof:

This guy was the only one swimming while we were there. At a certain point, he got out, wrapped a towel around his waist, took off his swim suit (the brief kind, not trunks), and then wandered off somewhere, leaving his regular shorts there on the lounge chair. EEW!

I love when plans go exactly the way you didn't plan them, and that works out better than planning would have.

Random and Capricious

I was skimming through various news feeds this morning and came across a headline indicating that obesity in middle age has the affect of aging your brain more quickly, thus increasing your risk of Alzheimer's. The article it linked to was barely a paragraph, so I did a little googling and came up with this. While I should probably be concerned, I'm having a hard time taking seriously an article that cannot get "to, too, two" usage correct twice in the same sentence (and the headline, no less!).

If you follow dooce, you will know that she recently started a 21-day cleanse. Following her blog and her twitter, it sounds like it is doing good things for her, and the way she feels, and her energy levels (energy? what's that like?). Intrigued, I checked out the book she was using as her guide, Quantum Wellness. "A Practical and Spiritual Guide to Health and Wellness".

Mmmkay.

Maybe it's because I went to Christian school for junior high and was obliged to go to mass once a week (at least) for two years, but I just have a problem with someone assuming they can dictate my spirituality, even if it is just the practice of it and not the nature of it.

Add to that the program's blessing by Oprah (who may be many things, but a health guru, in my opinion, is not one of them), and, to me, this sounds more and more like the next quack diet.

I've seen a lot of information, in passing, on various cleansing diets, mostly good. I imagine it probably would be good for me, especially considering the crap I load into my body.

This program, however, I don't think would be a good fit.

In Other News:

MonkeyDo has been feverishly creating comics this weekend. She's very excited about her little comic. I haven't actually looked at it, yet, even though she gave me the first set. I'm thinking that maybe it would be fun to have a family project and create a "'zine" to mail out to friends and family.

The Damn Volvo:

I had a talk with dad last night, and he brought up some very good points about the Volvo. Not the least of which is that probably the reason we have so much trouble getting her back on the road when something goes wrong is because we're not taking her to a Volvo mechanic. He suggested that the issue may be as simple as our mechanic's inexperience with Volvo. He has also offered to pay for the diagnostic to find out what the heck is really going on with her (thanks, dad!).

When SweetPea was making the calls a couple of weeks ago to Volvo mechanics, one suggested what he thought might be the issue. He said that he saw that problem all the time in Volvos of similar mileage. Everyone else she talked to just quoted her for a diagnostic.

Personally, I've always preferred mechanics who can feel a problem out just by what you're telling them, especially if it is a fairly common problem. I know that it's not always that easy, but I guess it makes me feel more like I can take her in, tell the mechanic that "she's just not riding right" and he's not going to go "riiiight" and assume I'm overreacting.

Because I'm sure y'all have heard about my particular brand of vehicular hypochondria. And, also, about how I'm infrequently wrong.

Maybe it is time for a new mechanic, all the way around.

Up for Today:

The magic of family. We've been borrowing SweetPea's mom's car. Which means SweetPea has been doing the driving for both families. Today, we are taking SweetPea's mom out to SweetPea's grandpa's house in El Dorado Hills so that mom can pick up grandpa's van.

So mom will be borrowing grandpa's van while we're borrowing her car.

Heh.

Next Weekend:

Pride weekend in San Francisco. I have never been to the Pride Parade, but have been to Dyke March a couple of times. Huh. And, now that I'm thinking on it, every time I've stayed the night at a friend's house in Antioch. A friend I lost contact with (more than less voluntarily) a couple of years ago. Every time, we went to bed Saturday with the intention of "discussing" heading back into The City on Sunday for the parade. And every time waking up Sunday feeling like "oh, hell no" we're not doing that.

I have no idea what's going on for next weekend, but I do know a group of recently dejected dykes who could probably use some eye candy. Not to mention snubbing their collectively cute noses at a particularly underhanded woman who everyone considered a friend.

Ooh, ooh! Can I get more vague?

For bonus points: Neighbor was having a discussion with one of them and mentioned that "those two down the street" (meaning us) had pegged the ex-friend for what she was the very first time we met her.

Score!

I told y'all our bullshit detectors were way strong.

On Witches and Pixies

Courtesy of elphie, MonkeyDo, elphie, MonkeySee:Also courtesy of elphie, MonkeyDo's "talent":
Most of the assembled birthday party:
To find out who everyone is, you can click here and read the notes.

For SweetPea's birthday party, we closed down Mr. Pickle's. As an added bonus, elphie came out to party with us. The Monkeys were over the moon and proceeded to ignore everyone else and spend the entirety of the party talking over each other to elphie. In fact, I don't believe the MonkeyDo shut up the entire time. It's ok, though. They've missed her, and it's been a long year and a lot has happened.

And look at Neighbor sitting there next to Opah. She looks so tiny! To prove Opah isn't some sort of giant, here's a snap of Opah and SweetPea from her birthday party a couple of years ago:

You can surmise what you will from that about the size of Neighbor. But I will say that she gets her shoes from the boy's department.

Graffiti

On Neighbor's truck.

With the Lights Out, It's Less Dangerous

Pet Peeve of the Morning:

Technically, this is the pet peeve of dinner last night. I tried to post about it from the restaurant via email using my cell phone (because, y'all, I am like that), but then I went to backspace over a word, held the stupid button down too long and lost the entire freaking thing.

Y'all. I am like that, too.

We went to Mel's for dinner after some discussion as to how I am still Mr. Pickle'd out and not even kind of interested in going there.

They sat us in a booth, which had an added bonus feature - the ass of one of the children in the adjoining booth planted firmly on my daughter's head (or the seat back. whatever).

Even after we sat down, the parents did not see anything wrong with allowing the rodent their daughter to sit on the shared seat back. We actually had to ask the server to ask them to have their daughter sit down.

The exact phrasing of this request was (and I quote paraphrase): Is it possible for us to get a booth where there's not an ass on our daughter's head?

Our lovely server (actually, the gal that seated us and got our drinks) brought it up to the manager, who advised the parents that it was inappropriate for their daughter to be seated there, and that we were not paying for the pleasure of having her ass next to our heads.

Yes way.

So they put the younger daughter on our side and the older daughter on the other side, which had no adjoining booth. Which was good, I guess, because she sat on the seat back throughout dinner. Meanwhile, the little rodent girl was standing on the seat and facing us through most of our dinner.

If it had been a different situation, SweetPea would have proceeded to spend the meal making faces at and entertaining the rodent wee one. Because that's how she is.

However, given that they had already set a precedent for being oblivious to the inappropriateness of their rodent's daughter's behavior, instead, we spent the meal repressing the urge to ask the parents just what the hell was wrong with them that they thought it was ok to allow their children to behave in this manner in a public eatery around perfect strangers.

After they were gone, I asked SweetPea what their problem was. She was facing their booth, so she had a view of what was happening at their table.

"Bohemian parenting."

"So they want to be their kids' buddies?"

"Yup."

Y'all.

That creature you squirted out from between your legs is

NOT

YOUR

FRIEND.

That is your child. You are responsible for housing it, feeding it, clothing it, teaching it and (this one is important, so pay attention) disciplining it.

You are responsible for instructing your child on how to behave in public, which does, I swear, include consideration for others. Children need discipline. They need limits, they need consequences, and they need to understand where they fit in with the larger picture. I'm not (just) saying this from the viewpoint of someone who doesn't want to put up with crap from other people's kids. Ask a child psychologist, this is what they will tell you.

Parenting in such a manner where you're trying to be their friend is doing them no favors.

You are not their friend.

You are their parent. Protector. Guardian. Teacher. Provider. Disciplinarian.

I'm sorry if you had them with the intention of having a built-in buddy, but that's not how it works. Your children do not become anything remotely resembling "friends" until they're grown.

If you're lucky.

And you don't screw up now.

Pet Peeve of the Night:

Really less of a pet peeve and more of a complete and total freak out. I'll begin with a little back info.

Our dog is a good dog. She's an outdoor dog (and, yes, I know that makes us horrible, and I'm working on it, but the clutterfuck that is our house is just not prepared for her giant ass), and she's not a barker. She will literally and seriously only bark if there's something wrong.

A few months ago, she woke me up at three-some-odd in the morning on a weekend. Barking. I got up, went to the bathroom window and called her, let her know it was ok, I hear her. That totally shuts her up. Every time. She's letting us know, now we know, so her job is done. Then I sat down on the potty and had a think. I was debating calling the cops and asking for a neighborhood buzz-through, because our dog just does not bark like that. After I was done having my think, I went to the front door, to see if I could peep anything untoward going on the neighborhood.

You mean like the five cop cars parked out front of my house?

Yeah.

Like that.

So I thought to myself "Huh. I guess they're on it," and went back to bed.

< /back story>

At three-some-odd this morning, I get drug out of a dead sleep by my barking dog. I am laying on my side and SuperFat is laying on top of me. I try to get up but he won't move. So I drop his ass and get up. I head to the bathroom window and look out into the yard. I make the kissy noise. I call her name. I call her name again and tell her to come here. Now, I'm parched as fuck, so I'm probably not being very loud with any of this. But she's still barking. And then I notice it.

She's hoarse.

My good dog that doesn't bark unless something is wrong has barked herself hoarse at three-some-odd in the morning.

Between that and the stories we've heard about theiving and attempted break-ins on the street behind us, I fly into full alert mode. I'm fumbling around in the dark trying to figure out where I left my clothes, where the hell my sandals are, where the fuck is my phone.

Then I realize that I've actually watched a horror movie in my life. Once or twice. I know that there is no way in hell I should be flying out into the pitch black backyard in the dead of night with nobody the wiser as to where I am.

So I get SweetPea up.

Now we're both up and dressed and we've each got a cell phone and a flashlight and we head into the yard. Tatiana charges at us like she's just won the Super Bowl and now she's going to Disneyland. We check things out and everything appears ok in our world, but dogs on the street behind us are going nuts, too.

Mind you, the main house with the issues backs up to our next door neighbor's house.

SweetPea locks me in the house with both sets of keys, the flashlight and the dog and takes off in the car to cruise the neighborhood. She cruises up the street behind us and notices that the house in question is pitch dark. Except for the garage, which is not only lit up, but the garage door is open about a foot.

She calls me up on the phone and tells me this and that she's seen some guy walking up the street.

It's now four-some-odd in the morning, and, probably, some guy shouldn't be walking up the street.

I tell her to call Emergency, and to call Emergency now.

When she gets off the phone, she comes home and we both go stand out front.

Picture if you will:

Two fat dykes standing in the front yard of a pitch dark house in the middle of the pitch dark night with a big ass Akita, a bat, and a pack of cloves. On the plus side, we're both clothed, so that's a bonus.

After a while, the cops came cruising through and declared the all-clear, and told us we'd be better off in the house.

Which is all well and good, except now we're both strung out on nerves.

SweetPea is finally asleep again, but - Hi! Here I am because, y'all, I may not be sleeping any day real soon.

Further... Clutterfuck or not, that dog is sleeping in the house from here on in. If SweetPea's real lucky, Tatiana will be sleeping on the floor, instead of in the bed.

The sky is finally getting brighter, and hopefully Neighbor will be up soon so that I can go down and have a(nother) smoke. Because I've been forbade going outside until it's full bright, and only if Neighbor goes with me.

Reason #64 Why I Love Neighbor

Monday Night Ration of Shit.

Neighbor works Monday nights. And Wednesday nights. And Friday nights. She works during the day, too, but the night time working interferes with our evening ritual.

Most nights it's no big deal, because she gets to work at 5 and is usually home between 7 and 7:30, and that's generally right about when we're wrapping up dinner, anyway.

If I'm off work, though, we're done with dinner way before she's home. As a state worker, I'm off an inordinate amount of Mondays, thus "Monday Night Ration of Shit".

And I have no patience whatsofreakingever.

So I'll send her a text message.

"Home yet?"

"Duuude!"

"Is that a yes? Wow, you're fast!"

"You are sooooo funny!"

"Yes, I am!"

It's only 6:20, so I'll probably wait about 15 minutes and text her again.

Reason #83 Why I Love Neighbor

"Damn Cowboys lost. Stupid football!"

You have to picture that in the most dejected voice possible.

She just cracks me up!

Neighbor is affectionately referred to as "my girlfriend", and we meet in her driveway at least once a day for a smoke. When the weather's decent, we have driveway parties over at her place.

Yesterday I was discussing with codejnki some issues he's having with the girl he's dating, and I realized something kind of funny. When I feel like it's time for a smoke, I send Neighbor a text message. If she doesn't respond, I'll call her twice and then knock on her door.

Stalker, much?

Then again, it's not like I don't know if she's available or not. So I guess that makes me only mildly stalkerish.

Ha ha.

By the way, it would be super if someone other than the WineDog would enter the damn contest. Maybe it would help y'all to know that you can win more than one contest? So it's not like if you win this one, you can't win the next one if you like the prize better.

Speaking of prizes, I am currently in posession of a total of prizes for four future Friday Contests. Of course, if nobody is interested in Friday Contests, I can use them for something else.

(Friday Contest, by the way, runs every other Friday.)