I would like to endorse my dog’s new shampoo.

I haven’t yet tried it on the dog.

Over the course of the last several days, I’ve noticed an improvement in my hair’s condition. I normally jump in the shower first thing in the morning, sans contacts, and then install my eyes after. Today, I happened to put my eyes in first. Seeing what was in the shower was a novelty, and it gave me a laugh to notice that the container of dog shampoo is the same size and shape as my hair soap.

I guess I’ll keep using it, because the dog certainly won’t need it anytime soon. Through a miscommunication with the groomer, my lovely dog came out all bald. The hair will grow back, but who knows if I’ll be able to save that lovely wire coat that I wanted hand stripped.

I’m now one of those idiots who gets their dog shaved in winter and then has to buy them a coat.

Just one more confirmation that if you want something done right, learn how to do it yourself.

Although I haven’t seen him in years, I grew up in close proximity to one particular relative whom I love dearly. He once surprised me by stating “I don’t like black people.” Huh? First, I’ve never seen a black person. Nor have I seen a white one. I’ve seen people of different skin tones, but that’s all. But I thought I could have some fun with this, so I asked him,” what color was the lady who rear ended you, pushed your car into a tree, and then took off?”
“White.”

“Who was it that broke into your house and stole all your stuff?”
“My best friend Dave.”
“And what color was he?”
“White.”

“Who was it that had sex with your fiancé in the back of your car?”
“My buddy Frank.”
“And what color was he?”
“White.”

“That time you got so drunk and fell down in the bar parking lot by your car, who was it that drove you home, helped you into your house and onto the couch, and then left a note that your car would be at the bar and the bartender would have the keys. And late the next day, there was your car and keys just like the note said. What color was that guy?”
“Black."

“And when your brakes seized up that time that you were broke and out of work and had no money and no idea of how to fix them, who was it that came over, crawled under your truck and showed you how it was done?”
“Neighbor down the road. Joe.”
“And what color was he?”
“Black.”

“In high school, who was it that used to get you into all those porn flicks even though you were underage?”
“Your best friend.”
“And what color was he?”
“Black.”

“Tell me, what has a person of color ever done to you to make you feel this way?”
“Nothing. I dunno. I just don’t like em.”

I have never understood how people can believe that god created all humanity, and then turn around and denigrate ‘another’ race. If god made everyone, aren’t we all the same? Or did he make some practice models that were less efficient?

I once loved and cohabitated with someone of a different race. Gasp, say you racists. Yes. My eyes are green, his were not. My hair is reddish brown, his was not. His skin tone was not the same as mine. He was born in a different country, and spoke a different language.

That bloody foreigner of mine desired employment in this country. Yes, one of those wanting to come in and steal all our jobs. I couldn’t object to that, because, let’s face it, didn’t our ancestors do the same?

Well, not exactly. The previous tenants of this land we now call America probably would have been relieved if only their jobs were stolen by those funny looking pale people arriving on ships, instead of their land, their homes, their families, their very lives.

Dang all pale-skinned blue eyed blond Brits. All mine did was steal my heart, but I really can’t object, because unlike the Native Americans, a drop or so of which blood flows through my mutt veins, I’m still free to roam the land. And I must admit that I have found advantages to being heartless.

Get real, folks, we’re all the same. The only differences are cultural, and for an open mind and a bit of understanding, is that really so much?

Take that

This post is in response to a certain blogger’s executive order that our posts are not cheery enough for her, and that we should suck it up and entertain her.

It’s the freakin end of Feb. OK it’s actually the beginning of March, but with 15 feet of snow and all, so what? What do you expect from a hoard of winter-bound people? Every year, as fall advances, we party hearty with a sense of quiet desperation, promising each other that this year will be different. For once, we won’t let the cold and the snow and the ice get to us, we’ll keep getting together for wild parties, none of us will go into hibernation mode and stay in bed for days on end. But after a few months, like new year's resolutions we can’t maintain, we go down, turning as bitter as the weather. The ghostly white face staring back from the mirror erases any memories of ever having danced happily in the sun, fit and tanned, unbound from 42 layers of clothing. We forget what color is, as we make extremely brief forays out of our houses only when we’ve run out of essentials, such as olives and eucalyptus. The dark, gray days seep into our souls, leaving us feeling as bleak as the landscape.

For the last three years, I resided in the tropics or semi tropics. No such luck this year. I pinned all my hopes on avoiding that end-of-winter funk by escaping the cold for a few weeks, only to have the absolute worst vacation of my life, making me dearly wish I’d stayed home to get blown down and across the ice for a quarter mile before coming to a crashing halt up against a good solid snow drift that saved me from slipping straight into the frigid ocean whipped wild by a howling chill wind.

Oh you lucky people who live where it’s not so terribly mood destroying cold. Patience. Spring is coming, and with it, our moods and our posts will improve.

Weather Report

'TODAYS SNOW AND FLURRIES IN SOUTHERN NEW ENGLAND IS JUST A TEASE FOR WHATS COMING TONIGHT.'
Since when did the national weather service become so provocative?

'THE JACKPOT...10 TO 15 INCHES... WILL PILE UP IN THE HEAVILY POPULATED AREAS…'
Who’s writing this stuff, some silly blogger? If I hit the jackpot motherlode of snow, what do I win? A snow blower? Vacation to Aruba? Spring tinted glasses? Or do I get to shovel to my heart’s content, or until my heart quits, whichever comes first?

'SNOW... WILL BE HEAVY AT TIMES BETWEEN 10 PM TONIGHT AND 10 AM MONDAY CAUSING NUMEROUS DELAYS OR CANCELLATIONS IN ALL SORTS OF TRANSPORTATION DEPENDENT BUSINESS. THUNDER MAY ALSO BE HEARD.'
Woohoo, thunder, just like summer, except no mosquitoes. Instead, it’s freezing white as the car skids into a mammoth snowdrift while the world comes to a rumbling end. Can’t I opt for the skeeters with my thunder, please?

'AN INTENSE HEAVY 12 TO 18 HOUR SNOW STORM IS ON THE WAY FOR MOST OF SOUTHERN NEW ENGLAND…WHEN A NOREASTER DEPOSITS A 5 TO 15 INCH SNOWFALL ACROSS MUCH OF SOUTHERN NEW ENGLAND... EXCLUDING THE COASTAL SOUTHEAST.'
Please please please let that be true, 'cause I am on the southeast coast and I truly don’t care to win this particular jackpot.

Spring is coming spring is coming spring is coming…Isn’t it? Will anyone be able to see it if it’s buried under white crap?

Spring is coming!

OK, so we might have a winter event tomorrow night. At least, theoretically, it shouldn't lay on the ground forever, mutating into a deadly slick substance that even the dog can’t walk on.

Spring means life in the boatyard once again, with boats emerging from their plastic cocoons on land and heading for the water. Spring means I’ll have to get off my lazy duff and gear up for another season of boat canvas work.

Spring most likely means another season of the Shipyard Sh*tfight. In the boatyard where I lurk, there’s a particular bathroom that has been the domain of everyone in the working end of the yard (vs the marina slips end) for as long as both boatyard and bathroom have been in existence, sometime not long after the big bang. Last spring, one of the dinosaur business owners arbitrarily decided that the bathroom was his and no one else’s, based solely on its proximity to his shop. There were two sets of doors to enter before reaching the bathroom door, and he put three different locks on each door. A protracted fight ensued, but in the end, no one could, or wanted to, match his bitterness. We all just wanted peace, like there had been for all eternity prior to the boatyard bathroom battles. A few precious keys were doled out to the tenants deemed worthy of entering the castle. All other unworthy subjects had to truck quite a long distance to the bathrooms at the other end of the shipyard. The privileged, who had to deal with three keys and three locks, didn't feel so lucky every time they struggled to get in while doing a funny little dance of desperation.

After this cranky person left for the winter, there was a big celebration held, with the ceremonial ripping off of the locks. And guess what? Despite the doors being left wide open the entire winter, the bathroom is not trashed, and his shop was not broken into, as Mr. Dementia claimed would happen, here in this place where there’s never, ever been any crime. We’re saving our vandalism for this year’s battle, where we all crap on the carpet outside his shop in protest. No decisions yet whether it will be a group dump or if we’ll take turns.

Yeah, spring, bring it on. I’m more than ready.