August 23, 2005
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Saved by Rock and Roll
If today were a horse, you’d shoot it. If it were a building, it would be condemned. The weather isn’t just shitty, it is spectacularly shitty–rain varying from drizzle to downpour, intermittant high wind that is getting much of the stuff on my porch wet, and which blew away the tarp over a neighbor’s yard sale stuff. (Aside–this bothers me. They are nice people, just scraping by, and I feel for them. This bothers me even more. After years of intensive therapy for my Narcissistic Personality Disorder, I am developing a soupcon of compassion and empathy. It sucks. Cold and selfish was more comfortable. But I digress.) I was expecting the weather, but what makes it particularly heinous is that late yesterday, a regular customer I don’t see often (he drives a pilot truck for over-size loads) stopped by, asked about coins and some other stuff I only sell to regulars. He said he’d be back around seven or so today, so I spent a lot of time and energy digging out a bunch of coins and stuff, which is now adding to the clutter in the front seat of my car.
It gets better. I’m getting dressed this morning, the laces of my white sneaks are suspiciously wet, and I don’t think it is Evian water. It is eau de kitten, so I spray my shoes with that pet odor-killing stuff, overshoot and wet down some merchandise sitting on my chair. Then I noticed my truss felt loose–all the stitching I’d done on the buckle had come undone, so I disrobed and started looking for my old truss. I remembered it was somewhere in the laundry basket, started digging down through the summer clothing and camo stuff, finally said fuck it, and dumped the whole mess on the bed, much to the consternation of Frankie, who was on the bed at the time. Finally found the damn thing and put it on–thing is, being a cheap piece of crap (all hernia trusses are cheap pieces of crap–they are designed that way, since they are just meant as an ad hoc stopgap until you get the operation, which I can’t afford, so I have been wearing trusses for like seven years), it pinches me severely in the groinal area. Trust me on this, the groinal area is one place you really don’t want getitng pinched all the time. So I liberally applied some corn starch to my naughty bits (and the carpet in the process), which helped a little.
But I am still not a happy fucking camper.
Get in the car and get going. Once I am well on the way, THEN I notice my bad eye needs some eye drops. To hell with it, the orb can wait until I get to the post office. Then an on-coming driver flashes his lights at me–shit, I forgot to turn on the headlights. I ALWAYS remember to turn on the headlights–okay, almost always. I wonder what is going on with the stars and such, look forward to checking my horoscope on-line, remember that my astrologer is on vacation. Shit, now I know how rich New Yorkers feel in August when their shrinks all go to Europe–lost and afraid. So I guess I’ll make do with the sun sign stuff in the daily paper. Sigh.
I decide to make some music, dig into the tape box and get best of Foreigner, stuff it into the tape player. Out comes “Urgent”. Wow–when this was big, I was dating Paula, the girl with “forearms like a fullback” (her words). Smart, blonde, sexy as hell. We started dating in the early eighties, not long after I got out of rehab for the second time and had quit drinking booze AND smoking dope. Gee, those were good times. I was driving a new sports car at the time (Fiat X1/9, which is now a lawn ornament at our old place).
Then I snapped back to the present–I am cleaner and soberer and less nutty than ever before, I am married to an awesome woman who makes me look normal, I’m driving a wonderful car I love, I run my own business which I enjoy, and I have a cabin-full of kittens and a heart full of love (which sounds like a really bad country song, but so what?).
Life is good.
Comments (5)
It is always good to be truly happy and content with how your life is now, and to have such a ‘put into perspective moment’ I am happy for you.
Not a terrible country song, just a bit cheesy…….lol
ryc: yes, he must die a horrible flamey death, one preferabely involving mutilation of his genitalia. ^_^
When I got to the, “makes me look normal,” line, I cracked up. Doug wanted to know what I was laughing at, so I read him the last few paragraphs. He went on, finished up the dishes, and as he was putting Kermit back on the woodstove he said, “You make most everyone look normal… especially compared to the majority of mothers. It’s great to be appreciated.
…and that goes double for me.
BTW, you haven’t mentioned the new “Christopher Walken for President” banner I put on your site. Did you notice? It’s a link, to his campaign website, too.
I dunno – judging by the pictures (ryc: ‘makes me look normal’) I think that awesome woman ‘looks’ more normal than you do. But then, your pic is more of a masterpiece, doesn’t appear to be a real picture, but something in an art gallery. The perfect GreyFox look, but normal? By whose standards anyway?
Ya know, back in the day, I never would have thought that guy I used to know who based his entire Identity on MONEY and THINGS and BEING SMART would ever change. Good God Man, you had to MOVE to Alaska to finally become someone I might want to hang out with once in a while!
Who are you and what did you do with my brother? (rhetorical…) Actually stolen from the movie where aliens were growing in flowerbeds – anyhoo – the Chinese dude kept saying ‘where my wife? where my wife?’
Oh here I go blogging in your comments box. Please ask the Xanga Gods to forgive me?
Love ya ‘big bro’ and all this xanga crap is so cool – I feel a song in my heart … can’t keep it in… okay, here goes: … ‘getting to Know You, getting to Know All About You …. ‘
Okay, I am going away now! Hugs to K & D & kitties make three-thousand…..