Well it’s been another week of house-sitting. Not sure what
it is about being out of work, but everyone just thinks you’re happy to
house-sit for them. I’m not sure where they get the balls to think I’m just
going to drop everything going on in my life in order to house-sit in their
beautiful, gigantic, stocked-with-food, air-conditioned houses, but…
Okay, I’m more than happy to do this.
I have nothing but the natural elements in my place in
Bridgeport. What I mean by that is that my window stays open all day and all
night. There’s nothing but brutal heat greeting me at all hours these days. Oh
sure, sometimes a bit of a breeze blows on in and tries its best to comfort me,
but it’s usually not all that successful. Sort of like this Great White song.
Thanks for trying, but you’ll never be able to Rock Me. So the point is that it
was some beautiful happenstance the Universe just laid at my feet getting me
this house-sitting gig.
It’s hard to write a blog and watch Metal Mania on VH1
Classic at the same time. Not necessarily when a Great White song is playing,
but when DIO’s Mystery starts
playing…that’s another thing. I don’t even know if I’ve ever seen this
video. Dang. Way Cool
Junior. As if I want to relive the death of
Ratt one more time.
Okay back to house-sitting. First it was at Tessa’s place a
couple weeks ago. I was needed because she was out of the country and also
currently working on constructing her own personal biosphere. It may not
technically be a biosphere bubble, but with 200+ planters on three decks, it
sure seems like it. Watering those plants took approximately 45 minutes each
day, and I gotta say, I kind of liked it. There’s a certain peacefulness being
on top of an urban rooftop making sure that hundreds upon hundreds of plants
receive their nourishment. It’s surprisingly calm when you lift yourself a
couple stories above the city. I wouldn’t want to have to wake up at 5am to do
it each day like she does, but it was a nice exercise in responsibility for a while.
This week I’m at the Moulton residence. All I have to do
here is water the lawn every day. This takes a bit more time, especially when
the temperature hits the century mark every day. I’m not one to wake up before
the sun starts beating down, so I’ve had to carefully time the watering. And by
carefully, I mean water the lawn when I’m drunk and it’s dark out. They’ll
probably be disappointed to learn I didn’t bother with the sprinkler, but
believe me, this lawn has been watered more this week than any other in it’s
existence. And I guarantee they’ve never watered it at 4:30 in the
morning…twice. If I’m lazy it takes at least an hour. If I’m not lazy, which
I’m usually not, it’s at least three hours. Just kidding. Seriously though, if
watering plants was relaxing, watering the lawn is….
Hold on, there’s a Trojan Vibrations commercial on right
now. I thought it was a condom commercial, but apparently Trojan has some kind
of vibrator they’re marketing now. They didn’t show it, so I have no idea what
it looks like, but according to the commercial, you can twist it in different
positions for different experiences. Apparently it’s also powerful, in the best
possible way. I’m not entirely
sure what that means.
Okay so watering the lawn is probably nothing like using
that Trojan “massager”. It is, however, a pretty enjoyable activity to do for
one week. Any more than that, and I’d definitely be using the sprinkler.
I have 14% power left in this here MacBook Pro. Dang. I just
added two more gigs of RAM today, so why isn’t the battery lasting longer? I’m
sure at some point in computing history someone actually asked that question.
He or she probably went on to dominate the computing industry in some shape or
form. So what do I do? Stop typing this as it’s now down to 13%, or do I
continue and wait for it to simply wind down and die?
Speaking of dying, my Great Aunt Gert passed away late last
week. Her funeral was held this past Tuesday. She and her husband, Bill Joyner,
were my Godparents. I’m not sure that’s supposed to be capitalized, but I did
it anyway. They were good people. My Uncle Mike threw her a 90th
birthday party last year and I’m glad I was there and decided to tell her that
I was not completely at fault for losing the tiny calculator they bought me for
my birthday many, many years ago. I think I was in 4th grade maybe
and Uncle Bill had this calculator that was thin and slim just like an embryo
penis, but I thought it was pretty damn cool nonetheless. I’d never seen
anything like it, and to my surprise, a while later I was pretty ecstatic that
it was my birthday present. Unfortunately, the next time I visited my Dad in
Chicago, I brought it with. Actually bringing it with wasn’t the problem, him
convincing me to let him borrow it was the problem, as that was the last time I
ever saw the calculator. When I came back two weeks later it was gone. There
was no explanation for what happened to it, and all I could do was walk up and
down the alley time and time again, hoping I’d find it somewhere.
I didn’t.
At the time I never said anything about it and I have no
idea what they thought I might have done with it. Hell, I didn’t even know what
happened to it. Regardless, I felt the need to tell my Aunt that story so I
could get some sort of guilt off my shoulders. I didn’t even do anything wrong,
but I still felt bad about it 25 years later. I hope she understood.
Rest In Peace Aunt Gert.
No comments:
Post a Comment