Dog Days of Summer

The dog days have arrived. All around me the love affair with heat seems to be growing stale. The air is thick with sticky, oppressive heat. I'll be glad when it starts to snow again. In the meantime, I'm initiating an escape.

I'm off to California for a couple of weeks. Dry heat will clear my head, it always does. While I'm there, I will watch my 9 year old step-sister dance flamenco at Santa Barbara's Annual Old Spanish Days Fiesta. This five day festival is all about the world I grew up in.



This is the sista getting her flamenco on a couple of years ago.

I'll visit with much family, eat disgusting amounts of Mexican food, go to the rodeo, finally get some decent clam chowder, and with any luck, meet my new niece who is due to arrive on August 10th. Yesterday my aunt who lives in Indiana called to tell me she's planning to hijack part of my vacation. She and my cousin are coming out and demanding a slice of my vacation time. I was planning on spending as much time as possible with family who actually live there, and any surplus time was dedicated to being on vacation... doing things that bring me peace... things that don't involve family obligation. Usually when I go "home" or on vacation I want to be alone and not have any more obligations than I do in day to day life. That ship is steaming up and heading out of the harbor. New rule for next year: no vacations with or to anywhere that involves family. Look out, Dive. You may have another wayward sojourner on your door-step.

Men in Drag

I'm off this weekend for points west to embrace Glasgowlands. I work with a fella who is in a pipe band and I like to support him when I can. And anyway, I have a thing for kilted fellas performing feats of athletic heroics... Especially giant ones lobbing heavy crap across a field.



In truth, I'm attending this event for the most part to objectify men. Does that make me sleazy?



Imagine grunting and the sound of flesh colliding...



I'm a tomboy. I've managed to pull it off whilst wearing skirts and boots. I'm that girl. These big fellas don their kilts and carry on in athletics, work, and day to day activities. It's interesting to see how the harder sex handles keeping their modesty intact without being a wallflower.



I'd say not quite as gracefully as a tomboy in a skirt and boots.

I don't care if men talk to my bosoms (I've never really understood why women get bothered with this... Boobies are mesmerizing. Cover 'em up if you don't like the attention.) as long as they don't mind that I objectify strapping young fellas. At times, I love being middle aged. You get away with so much.

BIG and Strapping Drillers

As a follow up on my work activities today… This is what the office looked like:



Note the BIG and robust men handling steel rod. Saying that makes me feel a little like a 13 year old. :)

Drillers are a special sort. They travel a lot and are able to find a strip club anywhere they go. It’s like a sixth sense for them. Seriously, stop by any drill rig and ask any one of them and they’ll be able to tell you exactly where to go. If there is more than one in any given town, they’ll tell you which is better and which has the best priced beers.

I once went drilling with a crew from Ohio at a landfill site in Los Angeles. I know, I know… the life I lead is beyond glamorous. I mention they were from Ohio, because although there are a lot of lovely people from Ohio, a certain breed of wing-nut hails from there as well.

It was around the time that the movie “Jackass” was in theaters. These yay-hoos brought a stun gun with them to play “Who is the Most Testosterone-Laden He-Man?” at the hotel in the evenings. They would increase the voltage and shock each other to see who could take the most.

Stupid? Infantile? You bet!

It got worse. One morning at the landfill, a driller’s helper on the crew was having a slow go of it. Out of curiosity, I asked if he was hung over or if he had a late night at the titty bar. They all started giggling like adolescents. They then confessed to me that this particular guy pushed the testosterone game to its source and had shocked himself in the testes.

Cringe fellas. There is no way that this could have been a comfortable endeavor.

Drillers… They are “Special”.

Weekend Mishmash

Today I'll be standing behind a drill rig all day long. It could be worse, and it certainly beats sitting behind a computer on a lovely day like today. My big hope for the morning is that I'll have big strapping young drillers to fantasize about while they move heavy equipment for me.

I'm taking Sassy's approach tonight and going out on my own. At the Boston Harbor Hotel they show black and white movies outside on Friday nights. Tonight's feature is To Kill A Mockingbird. I'm looking forward to it. It was one of the few school assignments that I really embraced.

Last week I had another appointment with the surgeon. I'm scheduled for surgery on my knee in a little over a month. In the pre-op paperwork there is a direction to have a responsible driver who would be able to drive me home afterward. Fuck. My life is small, I live 3,000 miles from most of my friends and family, so these days and I don't really have one. It's unsettling to think about. When push comes to shove, I can get my sister to come out from western Massachusetts to drive me home and laugh at me trying to get up the stairs to my apartment on crutches. The reality of it all is a little spinster-depressing though. Perhaps between now and then I'll meet Mr. Right to nurse me back to health. A girl can dream.

Confession: I Loathe Memes

Eddie Waring is a troublemaker of the first order. I’m not sure what would qualify a second order troublemaker, but he’s got the first one all wrapped up. The big lug tickled me with a meme and having heretofore resisted that blogging trap, I’m inclined to follow through since he’s the first person to ever look at my blog. Nostalgic sentimentality has bit me in the ass more times than I care to think about.

The meme at hand: 8 autobiographical tid-bits. Without further ado...

1. My mother left my father when he came home to get his gun to have it out with his girlfriend’s husband. My mother was very upset because of the gun thing but also because he told her he wasn’t in love with her anymore but was in love with Melva. Who was black. The inter-racial thing didn’t sit well with mom. Which leaves me scratching my head since dad was Mexican and she was as pasty white as they come… oh yeah, and she had a couple of mixed race babies. People are funny. Especially the ones related to me.

2. At 21 years of age, I was at a crossroads; I could go to university or join some friends for a trip to Europe… indefinitely. I employed my best decision making skills at the time. I drank a bottle of Wild Turkey and flipped a coin. I went to Europe.

3. When I was in high school I stole the American and California flags from the Probation Department Office flagpole while walking home late one night after having many wine coolers (hey, it was the 80’s and I was too young to know better). I walked through my high school to get home and snuck into the swimming pool to skinny dip on my way. The flags were used as towels to dry my pubescent body.



4. I don’t take naps. I used to run away from daycare after kindergarten because they wanted me to take a nap. I was all… Tcha! I’m like, five-years-old… I don’t take naps anymore! I feel much the same way now.

5. At 11 years old I read The Sun Also Rises. Around the same time, I didn’t do some chore or another which prompted my father to levy a punishment against me. I was made to write a college level critique of the characters in The Sun Also Rises… typed, double spaced. a) I didn’t know how to type, b) it was before computers were commonplace, so I had to do it the old fashioned way, and c) he made me re-write it and re-type it until it was flawless and college level. This was when I learned about the concept of impotence.

6. I was cut off then thrown out of a dive bar at 7 AM on New Years Day once.

7. Whenever I enter a church, especially an old one, I’m compelled to pet the kitty, and I usually do. In case you may wonder why I reside at the Gates of Hell… I’m just getting acclimated.

8. I was “the other woman” once, and when “the woman” found out I smoothed things out by sleeping with her as well. And with the both of them at once. Thus, the lesson learned that I am indeed partial to men in the rack.

I’m calling Ellie, Old Knudsen, Dive, Sassy, and Andraste to the carpet, and I fully expect all of them to play along. Ok, I’m not stupid; I don’t really expect many of them to.

Mmmmm... Beer Fairy

Today was a ripping day at the office. At least, it ended up that way. Work has been kicking my ass cruelly over the past few weeks. There is no end in sight to boot. Everyone in the office has been mustering the gumption to endure a massive glut of work that has to be completed... like... yesterday dammitt! None of us really have much of a tether left to hold us together and most of us are looking for better, stronger glue at this point. As an example of how this is playing out, one of my colleagues collapsed at the office the other day. He's 29, strong, healthy, and a bit strapping. He was taken to the hospital: EKG, MRI, CAT, blood pressure shooting through the roof. The problem: too much stress, not enough sleep and nourishing food, and too much coffee (as if that's possible!). Grim.

Today, during the last couple of hours at the office, my boss made rounds to the staff's offices. When he stopped by mine, he handed over my mid-year bonus. Big smiles all around. I don't deserve it and we both know it but I'm going to spend that bitch like a mother fucker! Good times are here, my friends. By the time he was through touring the halls, the mood was high and productivity was on an upswing.

Friday... extra cash... what more could anyone want? It seemed that the end of the day couldn't be improved.

And then...

I looked at the door, and once again my boss was touring the halls. This time not with a stack of envelopes in his hand. Nay. This time he was doling out beer to all takers. Now, I'm many types of a fool on many days, but I'm never the fool who refuses the Beer Fairy when he pauses at my door.

This is what the end of my workday looked like.



Insert moony-eyed sigh here.

Have a great weekend y'all! I'll be stuck at the Charlie Foxtrot commonly known in these parts as, "The Cape".