Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Beautiful Day

"It's going to be gorgeous out there today.  It's a perfect day to play hookey and go to the beach."  Those were the words of the nerdy weather man this morning.  He was talking about how the temperature and the humidity would both be in check today; which is something of a mythical unicorn during a Long Island summer.  You want to believe that it's real, but you can't until it flies over you and poops glitter on your head. Well today, it's raining glitter.

Days like these are the kind of day that I wish I gave a shit about communing with nature, but the bottom line is I have never been what you'd call outdoorsy.  My skin is a shade of white that makes milk look tan and it is sensitive to the elements in the extreme.  If I am not covered from stem to stern with SPF 50 a jihad between sunburn and freckles will break out on my skin and won't stop until I retreat into the nearest cave.  Maybe that's what Bin Laden was doing with all that early cave-dwelling,  he was recovering from a wicked sunburn. They might have caught him sooner if they followed the sunblock and aloe trail that he must have left. I am clearly a geopolitical/dermatological genius for figuring that one out.  Anyway...

Let's face it, geeks and losers are the only people that are going to risk West Nile Virus and use this gorgeous weather for something abhorrent like "going to the beach" or "gardening" or "riding a bike". Weather like this can only result in one activity - outlet shopping. This may be the only day of the summer where shopping at an outdoor outlet complex can be tolerated.  I miss many a great bargain on purses and shoes due to my rabid distaste for heat and humidity.  I think it's time to grab the sunscreen, sunglasses, hat, umbrella, hand held personal fan and comfortable shoes and get my shop on.

So, armed with a rainbow colored array of credit and debit cards, I will brave the elements today at lunch time and hit up the outlets. Lucky for me, they are right around the block from work.  It's probably safe to assume that I'll be back a little late from lunch.  However, if I am not back by dinner, check the nearest cave.

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Two-fer Tuesday

This morning I sat my four month old puppy Buzz down and I looked him directly in the eye "We've loved having you here Buzz," I began, "and you know that we love you very much. Right?"  Buzz looked away, lost in his own thoughts of what this conversation might be about and the yellow chew toy in the corner. "Buzz, look at me.  Please look at me when I talk to you."  Buzz looked back at me and looked away, afraid to put his focus on my message.

"Buzz, honey, sometimes pet parents have to ... Buzz, come back here.  Put my new flip flop down!  That's not a chew toy, get your Kong.  As I was saying Buzz, sometimes pet parents have to do something that they don't want to do but have to because it's right for...Buzz, come back here.  Stop chewing on the throw rug. Please, come here."  Buzz walked back over to where I was sitting, sat in front of me and tilted his head like the RCA dog.  I continued.  "Sometimes we have to do what's right and responsible and...hey, where are you going now?  That's YOUR tail, if you catch it you end up biting yourself.  Listen, I need to tell you something important here.  Come back."

At this point,he bolted into the kitchen.  I followed, exasperated that our communication was so difficult.  I found him with his head buried in the corner by the fridge.  "Buzz...Buzz? Buzz!" His head popped up like a critter in a Whack a Mole game and he was crunching something.  "What do you have there Buzz?  Is that ice?  I guess the kids dropped a cube on the floor...listen, I need to let you know about something that is going to be happening this week.   We are going to be taking you to the doctor.  Buzz, honey, you need an operation.  Wait! Don't run away again. Where did you get that playbill?  Give that to me.  Now listen..."  And off he ran, up the stairs and under the bed.

He must already know. Most men have a psychic connection to their testicles.  Why should he be any different?  I sighed heavily and decided to let it go.  If he didn't know yet, he'd know soon enough.  It was Sunday and his appointment was this coming Tuesday.

Later in the morning, I went up to my room and there he was on the bed, licking his little man area.  I backed out of the room quietly and closed the door.  Best to give him his privacy and let him enjoy them while he has them.  Adios testicles, you were good company while you were here.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Snack Time With Ronnie

I have a fabulously eccentric uncle.  I have mentioned him and his wonderfully peculiar ways in many prior posts. Uncle Ronnie can only be described as 24X7 non-stop entertainment.  Everything that he says or does is uniquely Ronnie.

One of the unique things about Uncle Ronnie is the way he eats, or more specifically, what he considers food.   If you go to a diner with him, there's a good chance that he will take out his pocket knife, open the little square packets of jelly and marmalade on the table and scoop them into his mouth.  If he orders a turkey club, he will spare the sandwich from the condiment and eat it on its own after he finishes the sandwich, scooping it out of its container with the first available utensil he sees.

Ronnie is a bachelor...an 89 year old bachelor, so it's fair to say that his house is unencumbered by the decorative trappings of female fussiness.  He lives in the house that he was born in, which in many ways, is exactly the same as it was on the day he was born.  As one might expect, he is not interested in new technology.  The phone is rotary (dialing old school, yo), the answering machine is full and has been that way for at least three years and his sock drawer is home to a buzzing alarm clock that he can't figure out how to turn off, so its muffled screams are constantly pulsating from the dresser.  When we offered to turn it off for him, he shooed us away, not wanting us to get involved in a problem that he believes he solved months ago.

Given his tendency toward male simplicity, it's easy to understand how this happened...

My father and his wife recently sold their house and have moved in with his wife's 94 year old mother.  They are in the process of converting her house into a mother/daughter and while the construction is going on, the three of them are living communally on the first floor of her house.

Ronnie shows up one day to go to lunch with my dad.  Knowing that the air conditioning in most restaurants is too strong for him he headed toward his bedroom to get a jacket.  As my dad turned to walk away, he heard a loud crunching, like the sound of someone eating one of those sourdough hard pretzels.  But...there are no pretzels.   My father looks back to see Ronnie holding a bowl of potpourri, shoving wood chips into his mouth like crazy. My father, speechless, continued on to get his jacket, figuring Ronnie would catch on to the fact that he wasn't eating mixed nuts or granola.  There was no mention of the incident between the two men.

Fast forward to Father's Day, Ronnie is dipping into his usual bag of conversation topics - guns, cars, army stories.  My father leaves the room and Ronnie turns to us and in a very confidential tone says "These chips are delicious.  I don't know what kind your father and his wife buy, but they are a bitter disappointment."  Classic Ronnie.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

One Month

Happy Anniversary! It has been one month with Buzz and he us turning out to be quite a character.  Here are some pics of the dear boy.  Please make sure to scroll all the way to the bottom of the pictures to get the full effect.

An early shot of him on the couch. He has not yet decided to eat it, though that could come any day.

Baby Boy.  He gets very sweet and mushy when you hold him. 

I have a lot of blurry photos because they are always in motion.  There's more wrestling going on in my house than at the WWE.

New bed. So comfy.

This is where he goes during band practice.  I get it dude, you aren't into melodic hardcore.

I like this one. One dog goes one way, the other dog goes the other way.

Legs for miles.

......and then he shits in your closet.  Twice in one day.  And you step in it, both times and end up throwing away a favorite pair of shoes...and a leather bag.  And suddenly, he's not so cute anymore.  Or, he is that cute and it's the only thing keeping him alive.  Yeah. That's pretty much it.