Tuesday, August 26, 2008

No Commitment Here

I'm in a place where I'm shying away from commitment so you'd better hang on for the ride. Nothing significant or serious, life at Paramour goes on as it always has; sort of an afternoon soap opera written by sociopaths.

No, really, I'm not tying myself down. To any subject. Now that Thumper has expelled breath, found the elusive pasta fork and returned it to use via a sharp smack to the side of the head...

We can all relax.

Except for me. There's a bat in the basement. Not the attic. The basement. The bat, like the cat, is clearly retarded.

That's OK. I really only go to the basement during daylight hours so Batman and I don't interact much. Trouble is the damn thing has made itself at home evenings on the main floor.

Thumper's cat escaped. She lives in the basement of late and perhaps she's annoyed at quartering with a mouse with secret powers. Look, most of you little vermin are fair game. This one leaps tall buildings for God's sake! So the cat went walkabout, adding a little angst cheese to the stress pizza of the weekend. We had a to-do on Monday and that took Thumper away early Sunday leaving me to fend for myself.

The Thump also had a job interview recently. We took a few days off and she got a call to present herself. So I drove her and killed time at a local mall. I haven't been to a this local mall in about three and a half years which is a hell of a long time for some but a blink of a retail avoidance eye for me. Put another way, last time this mall saw me I was involved with What-Were-You-Thinking-Have-You-Considered-Your-Age-Difference???.

Long time ago.

So here I am at the mall not trying to break out into hives. I'm checking out all the design stores and home furnishing boutiques. Apparently the colors of the season are brown, deep orange and white and black highlights. Three things: Welcome back 1977. Count me out of decor this year. Shit, I think I've found my inner gay guy. Now what do I do??

Made a swell dinner Saturday, Thumper was late and I became crotchety over the whole thing. Inner Gay Guy, have you met Inner Douchebag?

Sometime around, no in fact it was exactly 3.23 am Monday morning I heard the start of a cat fight.

Thumpercat, meet Mooch.

Mooch is a semi stray that the last owner of Paramour sort of "left behind." You know, you keep smoking like that, you're going to sort of "get cancer." Anyway, the cat's name was Oreo for about 17 hours. In that time, two things were established.

1-Oreo is a cute name. You want cute? Move to Wisconsin

2-The cat begs for and eats anything put in front of her. Mooch.

Off I go in skivvies and with flashlight. Circling the house, looking for Thumpercat. She was found, coaxed and conned into returning and all was well. Of course, I am now the guy that walks around outside in boxers with a flashlight.

Something in that scenario stuck with Thumper 'cause she got up last night at the sound of a cat fight and went looking for the likely suspects...

Only to find Batman circling the living room. With lights on and in something skimpy she crawled on hands and knees back to the safety of the bedroom. Now to the neighbors, she is the woman who crawls with the guy with the flashlight and, well, you get the point.

Howdy Neighbor, have a 'Gansett!

And bunny on, while you're at it.

Wednesday, August 06, 2008

Some Things You Just Can't Make Up

About three weeks ago I was moving a washer, a dryer and a smoker barbeque from the Knob and Tube down to Paramour.

Having just finally read about proper barbeque and understanding that the smoke and low heat cook the food over a l-o-n-g period of time, as opposed to the searing I had been doing when practicing self-immolation or otherwise cooking outside I was eager to set it up, toss in a brisket and a few mesquite chips and revel in the fog of lunch.

So I threw the thing into the back of the pickup known as Son of The Beast. He's a compact version of The Beast who gave up the ghost (and working brakes) during a snowstorm last year.

When I got home to Paramour, down there in Swellsville I was a little surprised to find the lid of the smoker missing. That's a lot like putting ice tea in a bottle of whiskey. Looks pretty much ok but the raison d'etre is shot. Figuring that this point I had been having too much fun moving the dregs of crap I've accumulated but have too little sense to get rid of and had forgotten the lid at Knob and Tube I put the incomplete bbq down and arm wrestled the washer into the basement. Doing this of course by taking full advantage of the long reach of the arm of law of gravity. Heck, Thumper picked them up for an aria at a scratch and dent sale, why not add to their inherent charm.

Next week at Knob and Tube there wasn't a lid in sight however. Nor was the bbq lid at any of the stop off places I had hit the week before. My only thought was that, despite being made of pretty heavy gauge steel, the damn thing had blown out of the back of Son of a Beast.

Now Thumper and I have gotten to that point in our relationship where we've more or less figured the more important parts of each other out. When I turn left to her saying go right its because left is the way to go. I've got a mental picture of where we are and no amount of Randy McNally's tickling under the chin is going to change that. When Thumper gives a command without explanation, you do it. There's some reason behind it no matter how out of space and time it is at the moment. Hence as we're rolling down the highway Monday evening and she says "Stop" that's exactly what I did.

Flashers on, over to the shoulder, a murder of Lexus' peering eyes wondering if the hillbillies had finally arrived at the shores of Snootyacres, I turn to her and go: "Well?"

"The barbeque lid is back there."

A quarter mile trudge back along the side of the road to the black hulk that I'm sure is the wheel well of some long gone red Tempo and there's the lid to the damn barbeque!

When I was a kid I was given a religous medallion by the nuns who ran kindergarten. It was some sort of appreciative award at the end of the year for generating the least nose paste or actually doing what was asked of me once a semester, I can't remember. At any rate, it got lost while playing on the street I grew up on.

Next weekend, we're heading back there. Thumper's going to find it.

Bunny on.

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