Whitefly, White poop, Mark's garden

A short conversation with Mark.

"Is that one of the tomatoes from your garden?"
"No."
"You bought a tomato?"
"Hmmnn, Yes."
"You have tomatoes on the vine out there. Why don't you use those?"
"Mumble, mumble."

So I grabbed a pair of clippers, and went out to the garden. In two minutes I had three tomatoes, and a bowl of peppers.

"Here, use these. I don't know why you even bother with that goddamned garden. All the money you spend out there, and then you just let everything rot."
"Mumble, mumble,.....mumble."

That was last week, and that was the moment I decided that I wasn't going to waste anymore expensive water on Mark's garden. Switch to yesterday morning. I was sitting in my office staring out the window (A very effective way of dreaming up these little stories.), and I noticed that there were still a few tomatoes ripening out in the garden. I hadn't been out there in a few days, and in that time the spiders had woven an gigantic web throughout the garden. After beating back the spiders, and tearing into their web, I managed to reach in for the ripest tomato. My hand stuck to it as if it were covered in glue. But it wasn't glue, it was whitefly poop. The entire garden was doused with whitefly poop, making everything out there inedible.

"Why is my garden dead? Why haven't you been watering it?"
"Whitefly poop. Everything is covered in whitefly poop. You don't want to eat whitefly poop do you?"

That is such a great excuse, I just might use it next year. Only earlier.

Bad Feet, Bad Eyes

Geez my feet were hurting. All afternoon yesterday it seemed as though my feet wanted to go their own way. I have a problem with my feet caused by chemo-therapy. It's called peripheral neuropathy. Some days are worse than others, so when I noticed increased pain in my toes, and pressure on the bottom of my feet, it didn't surprise me. The only thing was that all my usual ways of dealing with the pain wasn't working. I took some aspirin, then I sat back in my recliner chair, and still my feet didn't feel right. I took off my little Nike slipper thingys that my mom bought me, and that gave me some relief, but as soon as I put them back on the discomfort continued. Finally, at around five in the evening, when I was preparing to walk Chandler, I went to take off my slipper thingys, and put on my shoes. When I looked down at my feet, the reason for all the discomfort became evident.

The Bastard Left Me

I'm sorry that this post might be a little depressing, but I'm kind of upset right now because he left me. I can't say that I wasn't surprised, because I was. It came as a total shock, and there were no warning signs whatsoever. Right now I keep thinking about how I never questioned him, and let him do whatever he wanted. Whenever he asked for money, I gave it to him without an argument. I was good to that man. I just don't know where I will ever find another mechanic as good as Carlos. Not only was Carlos a good mechanic, he was honest, and he was within walking distance. We could drop off the car and walk home from his shop. Now he's five miles away. Sure I could take a cab home, or find somebody to give me a ride, but it's just not the same. When I talked to him on the phone about moving his shop so far away, he said it had to be done, and as I said goodbye he said, "Goodbye my friend."
So it had come to that, we're just friends. Well I don't want another friend, I want a good, honest, mechanic within walking distance to my house. Now I have to go through that whole rigmarole again of one day stands, trying out new guy after new guy. I'll have to leave the car with a total stranger, and trust that he will be kind, and not overcharge me.

Photo Friday, The Gigantic Green Thing

Look what we grew!

Mark bought a little shoot at the Fort Lauderdale Orchid Show a while back.

I planted it in the planter, and I watered it.

This is what we got.

 

Video Thursday, Don't Be Tardy

If you watch those stupid Real Housewives shows, including the spinoff called 

'Don't Be Tardy For The Wedding' this video will make more sense to you.

But even if you don't, it stands on it's own.

 

The Apartment

I was sitting here yesterday, daydreaming about my first apartment in Chicago. It was in an old yellow brick, courtyard building, just off Clark street. I had never lived on my own before, and for only one hundred and twenty five dollars per month I finally had my privacy. Having grown up in a house with ten brothers and sisters, it seemed like heaven. I didn't mind having to walk up some stairs to reach it, nor the fact that when I tried to take a shower only a slow trickle of lukewarm water came out of the shower head. I had my own kitchen, with my own refrigerator, filled with my own food. Crappy food, but it was my food. The entire apartment consisted of one room, a small kitchen, and the bathroom. My living room now is larger than that entire apartment was. So what was it that brought back those memories? Clutter, Mark's clutter. The last square inch of kitchen counter space has been taken up by Mark's crap. I don't have any idea how he cooks in there. And then there are Mark's shoes. He scatters them around the bedroom, and every night I trip over them on my way to the bathroom. He has at least fifty pair, and I think he is trying to kill me with them. Kind of like the movie Gaslight, only more sinister. Clutter, clutter, clutter. That's what makes me yearn for the simplicity of that little studio apartment. Or, I could order up a dumpster.

Angry, Very Angry, Birds

I've been hearing about that video game called Angry Birds for awhile, and a few weeks ago I finally gave it a try. It was a Saturday afternoon when I noticed it was on Facebook, and clicked on the little red bird icon. It was early Sunday morning when I realized I didn't want to play Angry Birds anymore. How the hell could I have wasted that much time on a stupid video game? Anyway, it was when Facebook wanted me to purchase extra little tools to help me shoot birds at the pigs that I finally gave up playing that stupid game.

So this morning I was walking Chandler, and we came to his favorite pooping grounds down by the church. As usual Chandler sniffed and snorted his way along the fence, searching for that perfect spot to drop his poo pile. This morning however, I noticed that there was a mocking bird in the bushes above Chandler, making odd noises. It kept dancing from branch to branch, until it came flying out of the bush straight for my head. It was very Hitchcock like. Then, just as Chandler had finally found his spot, and got into his squat to take a crap, another bird came zooming down from the utility wires above and pecked him on the ass. Chandler immediately jumped up from the pooping position, and spun around, looking for the culprit. That's when both birds came swooping down, one aiming for my head, and the other for Chandler's butt. Obviously there was a nest nearby. Either that, or they were playing their own version of Angry Birds.