Didn't Even Get a Lollipop

Thanks to my friend Doug, I found out that they were giving out the vaccine at the clinic he goes to. Only for established patients though. Lucky for me, I actually used that clinic once. That was when I accidently stuck myself with the same needle I had stuck Mark with. That one time visit got me in. So I called them immediately and asked if I could get the shot. All I had to do was give them my birth date. The person on the phone looked up my records and asked me,

"How about one thirty, Thursday afternoon?"

"You mean this Thursday?"

"Yes, January 28th."

I came so very close to crying right then and there. It was like Christmas when I was a little kid. All I could think about was that I could visit my mom. I could maybe go back to bowling. Maybe, even rejoin the human race.

Yesterday afternoon was Vaccination Christmas. I got the shot and was given an appointment for the second shot four weeks from now. However, I do need to cool down. I'm still not going to be able to visit Mom and give her a big hug anytime soon. Not sure about the bowling. Also, rejoining the human race is going to happen, but I was told that I still have to wear a mask. I hate the mask. Mostly because I'm sure I've walked by people I know and didn't recognize them.

Mister Do It Yourself

 

I've often tried to do things around the house myself. I paint the house, I lay tile, I'll try things I have no business doing. I'm Mister SDIY, 'shouldn't do it yourself'. I have kind of felt sorry for the guy who bought our house in Florida. I just know it's a matter of time before things I did to that place start showing their age and failing. Like my self-installed windows. Or the swimming pool I painted instead of having it repaired professionally. Oh well, the buyer had the place inspected and I stipulated 'as is'. So that's, that. Now I'm in year five of owning the house I now live in. Certainly the sellers wouldn't have done something half assed that's going to blow up in my face. But alas, they did. I have bad brickwork that they had tuckpointed. Probably by some guy named Shifty. Every day I go out and find that bits of mortar have fallen to the ground. So I'll have to get that fixed come springtime. It will be expensive. That's not all. Yesterday I cleaned the bathroom. I made the mistake of wearing my glasses in there and realized it needed a thorough cleaning. I started removing everything not attached so I could scrub it down good. Unfortunately, when I pulled the bathmat out of the bathtub, large chunks of the 'porcelain' came out with it. That's because it isn't porcelain. It turns out that the bathtub was painted with some kind of epoxy. It looked very real to the untrained eye, which I have.... an untrained eye. I thought what I had was a very nice white bathtub. It turns out that what I really have is an old pink bathtub. So, I now have to make a decision. Do I hire somebody to fix it, do I try to fix it myself, or do I just put the bathmat back into the tub and cover it up. So far I'm leaning towards option three.

 

Red Meat

 

Monday was steak night. I've cut way down on red meat, only eating beef once a week. The upside is that I can afford a really nice cut of meat if all I'm buying is one steak. Anyway, it was time for my meat of the week. I cut the clear plastic wrap off the container and sprinkled the steak with some kosher salt and some black pepper. I then pulled the steak off of the foam tray and plopped it down into the hot skillet. It sizzled and smoked for a couple of minutes and then I took the tongs and flipped it over. I thought it was odd that a strip of the steak hadn't charred and was still pink. So I was going to flip it back on that side to  finish it off when I noticed that there was something black and burnt in the skillet. I picked at the burnt thing and to my horror discovered that it was one of those absorbent things, the thing with plastic film on it that the butcher puts under the meat. I could not pull it up because it was now fused to the skillet. I probably should have flipped the steak over before I put it in the skillet, but it didn't come with instructions. My first reaction was, how come I didn't smell it burning? My second reaction was, Mark is going to kill me. Yes, I know, but I figured he would haunt me for ruining his favorite large skillet. Also, it was my favorite skillet too. So I scrubbed and I scrubbed. There was no way I could clean it. The  plastic film was now part of the non-stick surface. And then there was the situation with my steak. Was it ruined? Did it have poisons from the plastic now embedded in the meat? I'll never know about that, but I do know it was delicious.

Bored

 

I'm bored. I'm stuck in this house for the most part and it bores me. I'm tired of cleaning the place. I'm tired of de-cluttering. I'm tired of watching television, and my eyes are too far gone to read much anymore. Even though I used to think that sometimes Mark talked way too much, I miss talking to him. There's no stimulation for me. We did have those morons on January 6th at the Capitol Building, and even though they are insane, they gave me something to pay attention to for a moment. But I'll pass on civil war for now as a stimulant.

 I used to write a new little blog story every weekday, but now it's hard to come up with one per week. I've pretty much gone through every memory of my life that I can remember and nothing new is happening around here. Even the weather is boring. On Saturday morning it snowed. Not a lot of snow, maybe just one inch. Hurray, I had something to do. So I grabbed the snow shovel and cleared the sidewalks of the new fallen snow. Then I spread salt on them so they wouldn't freeze up. That's when nature made a fool out of me. Because within a few hours every bit of snow melted. The snow on my neighbor's sidewalk that he didn't shovel. The snow on the grass. The snow on the street. All gone, melted away as the temperature soared to thirty seven degrees. Then on Sunday morning, it Snowed again. Same as Saturday morning, about an inch. I looked out the window and was not fooled this time. Sure enough, it melted away again without my help. So fucking boring.

The Fecal Check Was the Least Expensive Part of it.

 

Chandler will be thirteen sometime in April. My puppy is now an old man. He has an old man hacking cough, and an old man's gait. He also does not like to go outside much anymore. He will hold his pee for sixteen hours if he has to, just so he doesn't have to go down and up those stairs again. Same reason I wait until the garbage in the kitchen is overflowing. Yesterday I took him to the vet for his rabies shot that was due. This was the second time I've taken him to the vet since all this covid19 crap started, so I knew what the rules were. I am not allowed in. Instead, I have to open the glass door of the vestibule and leave Chandler in there. As soon as I walk away, the tech opens the inside door and retrieves Chandler. Chandler does not like it. I know it has to be done, but I don't like it either. Not being in there with him means that I don't know what the hell is going on. I just have to take their word for it. So I sit in the car waiting for them to call me on the phone and tell me that Chandler is ready. 

The phone rings and it is the vet. He wants to do blood work on Chandler. Fine, I tell him. A little later the phone rings again. It's the vet and he wants to trim Chandler's nails. Good idea. He pretty much skates around our hardwood floors on those things, so I say yes. Finally, it is all over. My phone rings and the girl in the office tells me that Chandler is in the vestibule, I can come and get him. She also tells me that the vet bill will be four hundred dollars. Once again, the bill is at least a hundred dollars more than I expect. I gasp, and then give her my debit card number. Of course I do.

Lost and Found

 

Yesterday afternoon I was taking some old bedding to donate, over to the Brown Elephant resale shop. A very worthy charity, a branch of the Howard Brown Clinic. Anyway, as I was tossing the bags of stuff into the back seat of my car, I placed my gloves on the trunk lid. After finishing the loading of the car, I got in and drove off to Andersonville to get a sandwich and drop off the goods. When I got back into my car afterwards, I reached for my gloves. Not there. Not on the seat next to me, nowhere in the car. I finally figured out that they were somewhere on Peterson Avenue all squished and dirty now. I liked those gloves, they were warm and they fit well. So, after screaming the word Fuck about twenty times in a row, I calmed down and drove home. I then got the little step ladder out and dragged it over to the hall closet where we keep our winter clothes. After rooting around in there, up on a shelf, buried under a pile of scarves and hats, I found a brand new pair of gloves. Very nice gloves with the tags still on them, never worn. Another Mark purchase that he never used. Still looking after me, even now.

It's a New Day

 

I awaken from a dream, opening my eyes to see that it is only five thirty in the morning. I have to pee, but I don't dare make a sound. Just the scrape of my eyelids on my eyeballs is enough to stir the beasts. Chandler and Scout, they have uncanny hearing. If they suspect that I have risen to some sort of consciousness, that I might be awake, they expect to be fed and let out into the backyard immediately. So I lay there motionless, but it is to no avail. I hear the first click clack of dog claws on the floor. It's Scout. She's over in her own bedroom, in her own bed, but she heard something. Maybe my breathing changes between sleeping and being awake. Whatever, she has sensed my stirring. More click clack, and the quiet cough of the old man, Chandler. Chandler now has an old man cough and bark that he uses to get my attention. It's not loud, but it is irritating. Just another thirty minutes of sleep, maybe fifteen, that's all I ask. But now the wood floors have become a doggy dance hall. Clickety, clack, clickity, clack. Both dogs are up and at the side of the bed, dancing and making low volume doggy noises. I am still motionless. They know better and finally Scout lets out a full volume bark. I give in and sit up on the edge of the bed. When I tell Alexa, "Turn on the lights", they both go into their happy dance. Another day has started.