Video Thursday

Sasha and Chandler at play

Two Visitors

Not much I can write about today. I'm very busy cleaning the house, and getting ready for two visitors. First there is Dennis, my very best drinking buddy. Yes Mark is my buddy, but he is horrible to go drinking with. He just stands around the bar looking cool, slowly sipping his little fruity drink, while Dennis slugs down vodka faster than I do. And besides, I can say almost anything to Dennis, and he doesn't get into a snit or get embarrassed, unlike Mark. Dennis will be here for a week, so my liver should get a workout.

Then there is my brother. He's coming down from Orlando for a Miami Dolphins football game. No, we're not going to the football game to see the Dolphins. We are going to the football game to see the Dolphins get the shit kicked out of them by the Chicago Bears (I hope). The last time we saw the Bears at the Dolphins, the Bears were getting beat badly, and my brother and I left the game with about five minutes left. Between the time we left our seats and got to the car, the Bears came from seventeen points behind, to tie the game. We watched the overtime on television at my house. So this time we will stay until the end. Even if it means we have to endure the insults of victorious Dolphin fans. I think I can take it though, at least they aren't Green Bay poopy Packer fans.

The Old Folks at Home

Before I go on with this let me be the first to say I am sixty years old, and I am probably closer to death than I am to my high school graduation. Forty three years ago the concept of actually being sixty years old, was to me, a nebulous image of living in Florida with a bunch of other old people waiting to die. Well, I am not waiting to die, the rest of it is pretty close to reality though.

So here it is. All you youngsters up north in New York, Chicago, and everywhere in between, Quit packing up grandma and grandpa every November, and sending them down to Fort Lauderdale. I've seen them at the airport, and wandering through the shopping malls down here, and they don't look all that happy to be here. They look lost. Have you ever even asked them if they really want to spend the winter in Florida?

Last Monday when we were returning from Boston, we had twelve (I counted) folks from age seventy to a hundred and seventy, in wheel chairs trying to get on the plane. On top of that there were the ones with the walkers with tennis balls on the tips, shuffling around, and bumping into the wheel chairs. When the gate attendant announced that folks who need extra help could board early, all the wheel chairs and walkers moved towards the entrance en masse. The only people left at the gate to board normally after that were me, Mark, and a couple of geezers who slept through the initial announcement.

I just got back from shopping for dog food, and cat food, something I do constantly for some reason, and I couldn't get over how many old people were clogging the aisles at Publix. I don't mean old like me, or even like my mom, I mean old like they actually witnessed the first airplane flight. So please, please, won't you consider asking grandma and grandpa if they'd like to stay up north this year? Ask them if they'd rather be doted on by their loving grandchildren, and children all winter, instead of driving up US1 with their door open and the left turn signal blinking for miles. Because honestly, it's dangerous enough with Mark out on the roads, and me pushing the cart through the super market.

Sasha

Despite what happened this Sunday morning, I think I made the right decision. Last Tuesday I was rolling the trash cans out to the street which means that I had the gate to the dog run/utility yard open. The next thing I knew I was standing out by the side of the street surrounded by my tenant's two pugs, and a mysterious little black dog that I had never seen before. John had let his dogs out without checking to see if the gate was closed, again. With a quick whistle and 'come', John's pugs went scampering back to him. The little black dog stayed out front, and ran over to me, wagging it's tail like I was her long lost mother.
"Her name is Sasha." John called over to me.
He then proceeded to tell me the sad tale of Sasha's owner, and how she had asked John to find a new home for her dog. It involved cancer, chemo, and downsizing into a studio apartment. While John talked, we walked with the little dog back to my kitchen door. When I opened it up, Sasha ran in and introduced herself to Chandler, then the kitties, and finally jumped up onto the sofa and said hi to Mark. It's now Sunday and she's still here, so we've decided to adopt her. Sasha is a seven year old miniature schnauzer, is totally house broken, and came complete with AKC papers, and her own bed.

Chandler, despite the glum look on his puss in the photos, seems happy to have her around. They actually have been playing together, running around the living room, and tearing up the place. The cats look at her like she is just another piece of furniture, and she is totally disinterested in them. I have been taking both dogs out at the same time for walks around the block. It means twice the stops for sniffing, twice the stops for pissing, and shitting, and it means I have to pick up two piles of dog crap to carry home. Up until this morning everything had been going just great.

Chandler has a best friend named Dandy. They walk together all the time, playing and romping all the way. They also have a 'girlfriend' named Cammie, a cute dog just a little smaller than Chandler. The problem is that when she's around, Dandy and Chandler are both trying to hump her which causes them to get aggressive towards each other. Unfortunately this morning poor Sasha got caught between them, and when she started yapping they turned on her. As all hell broke loose, I started spinning with little Sasha on the end of the leash, trying to keep her away from the testosterone crazed males. Dandy's owner started screaming something in German (she's from east Germany), while Cammie's owner just stood there grinning. So Sasha is spinning, Mandy is screaming, and I'm trying to reach in to the maelstrom to grab Sasha. Sunday's walk taught me a new lesson, and that is don't let Chandler near that little slut Cammie when Dandy is around. His baser instincts take over, which is kind of mystifying to me seeing as neither Chandler nor Dandy have a ball between them.

Photo Friday

It's black, yaps, and has a short haircut. No, it's not Mark.

 Read about it on Monday

Video Thursday

What to do in Boston on a rainy day

Boston

So this past weekend Mark and I ventured on up to Boston to attend the wedding of two of our friends. It was a spectacular affair, taking place on the roof of the best hotel in Boston, with the reception downstairs in an opulent dining room. It would have been nice if they could have had the wedding down here in Florida, but because of the narrow mindedness of some people, Boston was the location. I think if most folks could see the happiness of the two grooms, and the happy families on both sides, they'd change their minds about same sex marriages. Unless of course they are heartless bastards.

The wedding and reception took place on Saturday, and lasted for about seven hours. That meant that Mark had about ninety five hours left in the weekend to go shopping. If you subtract the time he slept, and the time he was drunk from the wedding reception, the time left for shopping was reduced to fifty nine hours. Even when Mark is allegedly 'sightseeing', he is actually shopping. It's a fact that every museum, every historical site, and even the hotel we stayed in have gift shops. When I would tire out, and take a rest in our hotel room, Mark would be out shopping. How sick is Mark? How bad is his CSD (compulsive shopping disorder)? We were walking through the North End neighborhood of Boston, and Mark saw a mass of people converging on the front door of a small store. Mark bolted.
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know, people, look at that line....."
He didn't know why they were there. He didn't know what they were selling inside. He just knew he needed to get in that line.
I waited outside.
Ten minutes later a grinning Mark emerged from the store, pushing past the crowd of people, holding a small white box.
"Cannolis, they were all waiting to buy cannolis."

I would have never ran over to stand in line to buy cannolis. I would almost never willingly go towards a line for anything and stand in it. But you know what? I’m glad Mark does. Those damn cannolis were delicious.