DRUNK

In a mere 36 hours... I'll be having knee surgery. I predict mighty prescriptives and amusing grammar errors...

All Right, All Right, Already! Part 2

I'm back.

I've been back for a couple of weeks but my muses haven't been at my side, so getting back into the swing of writing has been slow going.

Visiting the homeland... it appears to be a challenge on many levels. There is no denying the beauty of the place and it's amazing how much has changed since I left. Likewise, it's amazing how much stays exactly the same. I've just wrestled one of my more unsettling demons to the ground so I'll make this short and show you pictures from Fiesta. Mostly, I just gave my camera to my 7 year old niece and had her do the heavy lifting for the photo-documentation of the trip. The kid has a good eye.

Here are some of the performers.


They have boys in the game as well…

This boy may look a little fruity, but he isn’t going to have any trouble getting laid. He might have half of the football team trying to kick his ass because he’s a dancer boy, but every single girl he pursues will gladly cast aside her chonies* and have a piece of him.

And, most importantly, the Grand Master of the Parade. Ok not really, but if I was running the zoo, he would be. The parade really looks more like this:


One of my favorite parts of Fiesta is the mariachi culture.

Ok, a leather mariachi suit… a) How very heavy Mexi-metal!, b) I so want a leather mariachi suit of my own… and I’m not the type to wear leather.

A point of pride... my little sister...

At one time there was a private catholic school for boys in this building.


The pedo Franciscan monks fiddled with the boys and those damaged boys sued the ever loving Christ out of the church. They all walked away with copious piles of cash, but are still fucked in the head. The building is pretty, though. And there is a lovely eucalyptus tree in the foreground. Eucalyptus trees are the sexiest trees… sigh….

A big forest fire has been burning since July 4th in the Los Padres Forest which backs up to Santa Barbara. It was smokey and ashy most of the time I was there. I went to Los Angeles to get fresh air and shenanigans with a new friend and an old friend. My life is littered with ironic twists.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­*chones are the Chicano equivalent of skivvies, knickers, or panties. choners=boxer shorts, chonies= underpants usually female variety, chones=underpants gender unspecific.

All Right, All Right, Already!

I hear y'all barking and I'll have a real post for you by the end of the day. I was working on a post yesterday, but I got boy-distracted. Then I looked at a house for sale and I'm now officially nauseated because I'm very seriously considering making an offer. Finally, there is the small issue of a good friend dropping in for a nightcap last night and keeping me up until 1:30 AM... on a school night no less... T-I-R-E-D... And I have to go and make a many thousand dollar decision.

Here is a preview... More coming at the end of the day.

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".

Back in the Saddle

Thanks to everyone who read the previous post and gave such warm and supportive feedback. At rare moments I have something relevant and inspired to say and it's wonderful to have people appreciate it.

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I'm back from vacation and relocating my bearings. I had a fantastic time visiting with old friends and some new ones and breathing in desert air as well as coastal air. Now, I live pretty darned close to the coast as it is... east coast, that is. Which is by no means and stretch of the imagination a coastal desert. Which much of the California coast is. However, the California coast is inundated with Californians and the lowest forms of scum from every other part of the country, but that's a story for another day.

Yosemite.

Somehow the picture from the brochure is so much better than my photo-styling. Ansel Adams I am not.

Yosemite is one of California's gems and worst nightmares all rolled up in one glorious slice of the Sierra Nevada. Just being in the Sierras is enough to make me giddy with glee. However, being there with the ridiculous abundance of tourists that clog the valley is enough to make me want to pull my hair out by the roots. Yay for wine! We camped in a tent-cabin in a tent city where the neighbors were two swaths of canvas and three feet away. I was awakened by our next door neighbor kids who were bickering and yammering endlessly so I projected a particularly voluminous fart in their general direction producing a barrage of kiddie giggles. In spite of the little darlings waking me up, having kiddie laughter first thing in the morning was a lovely mood stabilizer. Have I ever mentioned that I'm not entirely Rainbow Bright in the morning? More like Satan Incarnate... usually. At least until a liter of coffee liberates me from the cruel reality that is the waking world. Then I'm A-OK.

Anyhow, after seeing an orthopedic surgeon and the MRI and whatnot from the previous week, hiking half-dome wasn't really an option for me. Actually, doing anything on my feet wasn't really advisable. (I could, however, hold my own from the flat of my back, yet alas, no takers...) So I did then next best thing and found a quiet slice of the valley with some conveniently located trees in which to string up my handy-dandy travel hammock and read and read and swayed with the breeze as the Merced River babbled along beside me.

Note the grubby in the toes... Pedicure was the first order of business upon return.

I think I may have dozed off a bit from time to time. For the record: It did not suck one bit.

Whilst in California, one of my dearest friends from Santa Barbara came up for a night to drink liquor and tell lies about the glory days. A supreme treat since it's been well over a year since I've seen him. In the meantime, the friend I was staying with was in the process of buying an absurdly overpriced condominium. The real estate market in California is absolutely ridiculous. I'm happy for her because it's what she wants, but really thankful that I live on the east coast. She's buying in Santa Cruz. We went out for drinks in Capitola one night (which is a little beach town) and she pointed out a bunch of beach villas that have at most about 600 square feet in the floor plans and go for about 1 million bucks. Guess what, people buy them. Stupid.

I was supposed to go back to work on Friday but I blew it off. Tomorrow, I'm back in the saddle... No excuses. I'm not entirely looking forward to it. Somehow I'll endure it though.

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Update for Dive: The toes are even cuter when they're clean!