My Sister's Birthday I spent Saturday alone (without the niece or nephew) with my sister as a Birthday celebration. It is difficult getting time alone with her and I miss it, since she became a mother. I know, men are selfish pigs. So what's new. Anyhow, the nephew is 16 and the niece is 14 and at this point my sister is craving some alone time herself. The only way we could figure to manage time alone was to go (as a birthday celebratoin) for sushi. Eeeeeeewwwww, gross Uncle Craig, they moaned. So off we went to Chico. $60 later, we waddled out of the little sushi shop on Sacramento and headed for the Underground second hand record store, er....second hand CD store. I found a copy of Warren Zevon live, a compilation of opera arias (with Maria Callas singing one) and the sound track to the first season of QAF. What more could I want? Well, lots actually, but it was a nice day. As we were heading out of town my sister got this surprised look on her face and made a sharp turn.......'SEE'S CANDY" she shrieked. So we stopped off for some caramel covered marshmallows (Scotch Kisseds) and some dark chocolate covered cherries. The perfect end to the perfect day. David called as I was listening to QAF, dancing around the kitchen as I boiled the pasta and had a glass of wine. Deja vu. I was thinking about him. Missing him and Hawaii as the phone rang. We spoke for 2 hours. By the end of the call I had promised to come in October for a visit. A perfect day.

Continuation of Post Below Because Blogger Won't Let You Be Long Winded: nodded off and missed the best part. It is hell getting old and nodding off in the recliner. Recliner? When did I get a recliner? I think you get to a certain age and recliners just appear in the living room, right in front of the tv. And finally, just a small comment about the month of May. Did you know (and this is not a joke) that May is National Masturbation Month? The concept boggles the mind? How does one observe National Masturbation Month? Now, don't get me wrong, I have absolutely no objection to masturbation in theory or in practive. I mean who would? There is no down side to it, now is there? I mean, you never have to talk your partner into it (you ARE the partner). You don't have to dress up. Hell, you don't even have to take a shower. You never have to worry about anyone else getting off. The last is admittadly and macho sh*t-head's concern. You never have to worry about your technique. And most importantly, you don't have to cuddle and have a conversation afterwards. Having a National Masturbation Month like National Black History Month or Naitonal Breast Cancer Awareness Month seems odd. Something to ponder. When I was an adolescent, no one even spoke of it, masturbation I mean. I was totally committed to masturbation as an art form, an avocation and a hobby. But I was pretty sure it was something I alone had discovered. I thought I had made the whole thing up from my fertile little mind. Only later did I learn every male over 13 knew about masturbation and were indeed rivals to the crown of Masturbation King, I thought I owned. Times have changed.

This and That and Spanking the Monkey-I pride myself on being a non-macho sh*t-head, but even the best of us are weak and backslide with certain things. For instance, I could be dying of thirst in the Mojave Desert trying to find my way to Bakersfield and yet, somehow I am totally unable to ask for directions. It's not so much a matter of pride, it;s just that I think I am going to be able to figure it out and Bakersfield is just around the next bend in the road. I admit it. This behavior borders on the macho. Another thing: I cannot write a check in a store. Checks are for paying bills. Only old ladies and ditzy Valley girls write checks at checkout counters. Writing a check in the checkout line at the grocery store, these brain dead check writers make everyone behind them wait while they search for a pen, then ask the clerk for the date, then figure up their balance before finally handing the precious paper to the clerk who then must ask for some ID which of course the cannot find. What's up with that? Haven't they ever heard of ATM debit cards? So easy. So neat. So fast. So Macho. Well, to get on with it, I have recently moved and had to change my bank to accomodate my new address. I still kept my old Sacramento account open so I could use it's ATM card, but finally the account was drained and I had to wait forthe arrival of my new ATM debit card from my new Butte County bank. And finally on Wednesday, oh joy, oh rapture, I am walking on air, my new ATM card arrived in the mail. Just in time as I had $10 left in my pocket. So, yesterday, trembling with anticipation, I inserted my new card and proudly entered my the PIN I had chosen 10 days before. It was the same easy to remember PIN I have used for the past 20 years in San Francisco, Hilo and Sacramento. I watched in horror as the LED display in response to my PIN was 'PIN ERROR. YOU HAVE ENTERED THE WRONG PIN." Did not, I found myself saying out loud. Okokok, so maybe I entered it wrong. I tried again and got the same insulting response. Of course, I had lost my head in anticipation of using my new card and spent the $10 I had floating around in my pocket, so now, I am out of coffee, I will probably be totally comatose tomorrow when I get to work, assuming I have not been killed as a result of falling asleep at the wheel on my drive in. I am out of wine which cuts the cholesterol I ingest with dinner each night and I also have no paper towels or dishwasher soap. I ave money in my account, just no way to get at it until Friday. The bank stays open until 6pm on Fridays. The grocery store would allow me to write a check, but as you can well understand, I simply cannot do that. I'm no girl! Ggggrrrrrr. Another thing: Miss Universe was on televisoin last night. I LOVE the Miss Universe contest. I cannot NOT watch it. I've tried. But I must. This is a full out beauty contest. It's no watered down, politically correct horror that is the Miss America contest. Scholarship program indeed. You don't even have to be pretty to be Miss America. Miss Universe is 75 drop dead gorgeous, exotic women from around the world, wearing 5 inch stilletos and bathing suits! Their only claim to fame is that they could turn the head of a blind man. Anyway, I watched with glee, rooting for my favorite (Miss China......I have a weakness for Asians) made it into the top 5. Finally it 9:45 and the final commercial started. I blinked and then looked up and it was the 11 o'clock news! Damn. (cont'd above)

This and That and Spanking the Monkey-I pride myself on being a non-macho sh*t-head, but even the best of us are weak and backslide with certain things. For instance, I could be dying of thirst in the Mojave Desert trying to find my way to Bakersfield and yet, somehow I am totally unable to ask for directions. It's not so much a matter of pride, it;s just that I think I am going to be able to figure it out and Bakersfield is just around the next bend in the road. I admit it. This behavior borders on the macho. Another thing: I cannot write a check in a store. Checks are for paying bills. Only old ladies and ditzy Valley girls write checks at checkout counters. Writing a check in the checkout line at the grocery store, these brain dead check writers make everyone behind them wait while they search for a pen, then ask the clerk for the date, then figure up their balance before finally handing the precious paper to the clerk who then must ask for some ID which of course the cannot find. What's up with that? Haven't they ever heard of ATM debit cards? So easy. So neat. So fast. So Macho. Well, to get on with it, I have recently moved and had to change my bank to accomodate my new address. I still kept my old Sacramento account open so I could use it's ATM card, but finally the account was drained and I had to wait forthe arrival of my new ATM debit card from my new Butte County bank. And finally on Wednesday, oh joy, oh rapture, I am walking on air, my new ATM card arrived in the mail. Just in time as I had $10 left in my pocket. So, yesterday, trembling with anticipation, I inserted my new card and proudly entered my the PIN I had chosen 10 days before. It was the same easy to remember PIN I have used for the past 20 years in San Francisco, Hilo and Sacramento. I watched in horror as the LED display in response to my PIN was 'PIN ERROR. YOU HAVE ENTERED THE WRONG PIN." Did not, I found myself saying out loud. Okokok, so maybe I entered it wrong. I tried again and got the same insulting response. Of course, I had lost my head in anticipation of using my new card and spent the $10 I had floating around in my pocket, so now, I am out of coffee, I will probably be totally comatose tomorrow when I get to work, assuming I have not been killed as a result of falling asleep at the wheel on my drive in. I am out of wine which cuts the cholesterol I ingest with dinner each night and I also have no paper towels or dishwasher soap. I ave money in my account, just no way to get at it until Friday. The bank stays open until 6pm on Fridays. The grocery store would allow me to write a check, but as you can well understand, I simply cannot do that. I'm no girl! Ggggrrrrrr. Another thing: Miss Universe was on televisoin last night. I LOVE the Miss Universe contest. I cannot NOT watch it. I've tried. But I must. This is a full out beauty contest. It's no watered down, politically correct horror that is the Miss America contest. Scholarship program indeed. You don't even have to be pretty to be Miss America. Miss Universe is 75 drop dead gorgeous, exotic women from around the world, wearing 5 inch stilletos and bathing suits! Their only claim to fame is that they could turn the head of a blind man. Anyway, I watched with glee, rooting for my favorite (Miss China......I have a weakness for Asians) made it into the top 5. Finally it 9:45 and the final commercial started. I blinked and then looked up and it was the 11 o'clock news! Damn. I had totally nodd

The Evil, Evil Woman on the Other Side of the Counter Okokok.....so I know I shouldn't let clients get to me, and usually I can take it with a grain of salt, but sometimes, sometimes they say just the right words to make me lose it. Today a gray, beige-ish sort of woman came up to my counter and said, "It's me again." I didn't recognize her. She handed me some forms with worker numbers entered. In one spot the case load number was entered in error and she thought she had two workers. I explained the error to her and she looked at my partner at the counter and said, "I know he is new here, maybe you can figure this out!" I suddenly remembered the beige mousy little troll. For some reason this attack on my competence as a worker just made me insane with anger. I stood and came to the back of the office and explained it all to Swirl and La La. They took pity on me, smoothed my feathers and assured me that even though I was new, I was competent......in a way. Swirl opened my blog page and suggested I vent. Whew. I've vented. Now I think I'll go back out front and say something nasty to the beige troll in the frumpy dress. Ah, life is good.

March of the Mutant HoochiesI have a 14 year old niece, the apple of my eye and an overachiever of great merit. She's the kind of student all parents wants but seldom get. She always does the extra credit work and never misses a test. She has been an A student since Kindergarten. When I returned 2 years ago from Hawaii, I was amazed to find my niece had blossomed.....big time. Holy cow, the little redheaded sweetiepie had become a redheaded hottie. And here again, she shines. Whenever I ask her about boys and boyfriends, she tells me, "I'm not really interested. Boys are only interesting in touching you." Internally I am thinking, "Yes, and they always will.....boys and men are no good. We're all pigs......Get a hobby and leave the boys to their own devices until you're 30. Plenty of time for the filthy beasts then." I suppose at this point I should mention my niece is 5'6" with beautiful long red hair, rail thin with gigantic breasts! We can't quite figure where they came from as neither side of the family has females with large breasts. At any rate, this week there was an awards ceremony for the students at her junior high school who had 3.6 or better grade point averages. Held in the local defunct movie palace, the place was packed with parents, grand parents and well wisher. Of course most of the recipients of these awards were female, as boys are more interested (generally) in other things. I was astonished to see that the female award winners, the egg-heads (in my day) did not fit the mold I had expected. The smart girls when I went to junior high school looked smart. You know, skinny (or fat) with ankle length skirts and thick glasses. But these girls at the awards show all looked like my neice. All tall, rail thin with gigantic hooters. And they dress like total hoochies. It was a belly shirts and skin tight hip-huggers and lots of make-up and long, long hair. I don't think breasts were allowed in junior high school when I was going. There was a rule, I am sure ....."NO BREASTS". "ESPECIALLY NO GIANT BREASTS." "MOST ESPECIALLY NOT GIANT, PERKY BRESTS STRAINING AGAINS FLIMSY T-SHIRTS." I was heartened slightly when I discovered despite the appearance, they still acted like junior high school girls. Shrill, sqeally and giggly. I just wish they wouldn't jump up and down so much. Maybe if they stopped all the jumping, there would be more male recipients at these awards presentations. School was much less distracting when I was a student.

How I Got My Blind Hawaiian Dog After about a year into my mid-life crisis relocation to the big island, it became apparent that we would have to leave our ocean-front house for less expensive digs. The severance allowance was running low and employment on the big island is sparce for Haoles. We heard from a friend of a batty/boozey Haole widow who owned 10 fenced acres in the rain forest just outside Hilo. There were two small studio apartments and a 2 bedroom house on the land. Kiana, a pretend Hawaiian name she conjured up one gin soaked evening was thrilled to have someone rent the place. Kiana, who was also fond of performing impromptu hulas when she was in her cups had a dog, called Boots who was blind and belonged to her dead husband George. Boots and George were inseparable (until his death of course). He tolerated Kiana. She took him everywhere she went and left him in her cherry red Pontiac Trans Sport. The poor thing spent most of his time asleep on a pillow in the front seat. One day she appeared and asked us if we'd look after little Boots while she was on the mainland where she was to undergo surgery. David said, "Ew, dogs smell and they have fleas and want pets. NO." I said yes. Boots moved into my studio and we bonded immediately. He ate all my favorite foods: Fruit Loops, Dairy Queen, Spicey Garlic Pork, Blackened Cajun Ahi and papaya. By the time Kiana returned from the mainland, she called and told me it would be a while before she could take the dog back. Seems her 'surgery' was a tummy tuck and the mainland location for this surgery was Tijuana! Not surprisingly, there were complications. After six weeks, she came to pick up her little dog. Boots had other ideas. He barred his teeth and growled whenever she got near. Even bit her once on the hand. "Well, he always has been fond of men", she explained. "When George died, Boots crawled under his bed and wouldn't be budged for three days." Eventually I decided being poor in paradise was really no different than being poor anywhere else......a damned nuisance. A particulary irksome romantic entanglement sealed the deal and I decided to return to the mainland. California, NOT Tijauna. A handful of valium a xanax and half a dozen bloody marys eased to way. Before I knew it, I was back where I started from....but with a little blind Hawaiian dog. And that's how I came to share my life with this little bundle of Hawaiian joy. What would I do without him?

The Reason I Prefer To Work With Women - I have always had trouble working in an office full of men. As a long time railroad worker, you can imagine how vexed my professional life has been up to now. Men operate with a complex set of secret rules I have never quite caught on to. Men speak in non-sequitors, for example :"How 'bout those Giants?" My response is usually something like, "Giants? Tall people?" This reply is always met with at least one raised eyebrow and a sorrowful shake of the head, as they walk away, wondering if I am actually from planet Earth or some parallel planet without sports enthusiasts. Women on the other hand, are much more willing to accept you for who you are. They may not like you, but it is never because you don't know how to respond to some coded phrase which indicates your membership in the macho s*i*-head club. They accept you (or reject you) for who you are. I am very lucky to be in a unit composed entirely of women. Each and individual. You will come, over the course of this epic adventure, to know them all, and perhaps love them as I do. Love them in a totally non-threatening, non-romantic and totally brotherly manner, that is. So stay tuned, stay informed and try not to laugh.