Monday, April 23, 2018

Fire Up the Grill

There's something to be said for perfect weather. Best place I've ever been in the United States was San Diego, California. Nearly perfect all the time. Having lived in Florida, I can say that Florida weather is nowhere near perfect. Not even close. In fact I'd say, horrible. So why am I in Chicago? Family, friends, the fear of dying alone in a nursing home staffed by bitter and unsympathetic Haitian nurses. It was about ten years ago that I realized that would be my fate if I stayed in Florida. But the weather in Chicago can be challenging. Bitter cold, cold, less cold, and then summer. Sunday it arrived. Nothing makes you appreciate the onset of warm weather more than a Chicago winter. It got me all fired up. So Sunday I planted nasturtium all along the fence, planted Mark's dahlias across the back of the house, rebuilt the little brick wall that keeps the dogs out of the tomato patch, and then I dragged the barbeque grill out of the garage. I grilled up a bunch of bratwurst, filling the neighborhood with the sweet aroma of charcoal smoke and burnt meat. Ahh.. summer.. er, I mean springtime.

I got another bit of news over the weekend that actually made me happy. My friend Rudy, who is in his nineties now, called and told me that he's moving back to Chicago from Florida. At his age everybody he knew is now dead or moved away, and he's pretty much all alone down there. Like I said, that fear of living your last years in a nursing home far away from friends and family trumps weather any day.

Friday, April 20, 2018

Spring Has Sprung

Last year winter was gentle with us. We had sixty degree days in January, nearly no snow, and by April first, winter had loosened its grip. I was already planting flowers by this time last year. I think Chicago was rope-a-doping me. "Sure, come on home from Florida. All is forgiven, we won't hurt you." Ha, you fool. It's Chicago for krissakes. So here I am after living through nearly six months of winter. Worn out, tired of putting coats on and shoveling snow. The truth is, it didn't bother me that much. If I didn't have to listen to Mark piss and moan about being dragged to this shithole (His words), I'd be fine with it. So what it is, is that I'm really tired of listening to Mark and others whine about winter. Put a big warm coat on, some gloves, and a hat, and shut up.

By this time next week it will be spring for sure. I'm going to plant my little flowers along the fence this weekend and do some other yard work. I expect to do all this with no jacket on, no hat, and if it's warm enough, in my shorts. My Florida shorts. So Yay!! Five months of summer dead ahead.

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Hot Tub Slime Machine

Every morning Mark likes to watch Let's Make a Deal, and The Price is Right. I always know when they come on because the volume level in the house goes way up. Both on the television, and from Mark's mouth. He likes to help the contestants along with advice, never mind that they cannot hear him. One thing I agree with is when Mark tells them not to take the hot tub package. Take the envelope in Wayne Brady's hand or the door that Drew Carey is offering. Don't take the hot tub. Nobody really wants a hot tub.

When I first moved to Florida I rented a townhouse with its own swimming pool and a hot tub. I used the hot tub once. I have also been invited over to people's homes who had hot tubs. Now I agree, it is a nice way to get folks clothes off, but to actually get in the water is disgusting. I don't care how much disinfectant you pour into that thing, I can't get over the thought of how many people have stepped into it only to have the relaxing, warm water cause bladder release. You know it happens. Maybe you have never done such a nasty thing, but who was in there before you? Especially in a hotel hot tub. Those must be pure bacteria soup. 

Now, speaking of bacteria, let's talk about those filthy chocolate fountains at those cheap steak houses. I've never been to one, but every time I see an ad for the place, I picture little kids sticking their fingers in that thing. 

Monday, April 16, 2018


Every time we go to the store, Mark asks me if we need paper towels, napkins, or toilet paper. At the time of our last shopping trip we needed none of those things. And if I had looked at the supply of toilet paper on Saturday morning I would still have said, "Nah, we're fine."

Lately Mark has been making me do a lot of the cooking. I guess he gets tired of being the chef all the time. Problem is, I hate to cook. I say that if it takes longer to cook the food than it takes to eat it, it isn't worth it. That's how I stayed so skinny before I met Mark. Anyway, Friday night I made bratwursts with grilled onions and peppers, along with French fries. Still too complicated for my liking, but we sat down and had brats and fries for dinner. I think something went wrong. Early Saturday Mark started having gas problems. By dinner time I joined in the trumpeting. All night long I heard Mark get out of bed and run to the bathroom. I thought it was so amusing, until Sunday afternoon when it hit me too. Now we're both on the Imodium, and I think we have things under control. However, it is amazing how fast you can go through five rolls of toilet paper. I'm going to say that it is kind of Mark's fault. He did insist that I start cooking.

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

I'm Not Sure How I Feel About This...

I've been going to the health club now for over a month. I'm not sure if I feel any stronger or healthier, but I will give it at least three months to see results. If not, screw it. One thing I hate about this particular health club are the old people. I don't hate the old people, I just hate them being there. They sit on the machines for long periods of time, chatting away with the other old people. One old guy is exceptionally careful to fully wipe down the entire machine, both before and after use. I mean he uses a little towel with cleaner spritzed on it and wipes and wipes. I wipe down the machines after I use them, but I'm not crazy. Besides, that guy probably catches a CTA bus to go home, and has no problem with sitting on those seats.

The worst part about the health club is the locker room. Nothing but naked, fat old men, strutting around with their big bellies hanging over little mushrooms poking out of a nest of pubes. So now, with that burned into your mind, let me tell you what I saw yesterday. A man brought his little daughter, around four years old, into the men's locker room while he changed into his street clothes. I'm not sure if I am shocked, appalled, or don't care. She and her little brother were running around in there having a great time. If I were her father, I would be worried that she'd be traumatized for life. After all, she was at the right height to come face to face with one of those button mushrooms. Maybe her family are 'naturists'. If so, then I'm sure she's used to seeing disgusting, naked bodies all the time. Sometimes playing volley ball. Anyway, I just turned my back on that scene and got dressed. It really didn't matter to me, because I never get fully naked at the health club. Last thing I would want is some asshole seeing me nude and writing a blog post about my fat ass.