Khaki? Who knew.

Warning! Achtung! This may contain details outside the comfort level of certain constant readers. I do not take responsibility for your discomfort if you read on.

The other day my girlfriend was talking about her laundry and mentioned the "brown comforter" from her bed was in the wash. No, I don't remember how it came up, try to stick with the story I'm telling, not the one you want to hear.

I said, "I don't remember a brown comforter..." and I began furiously trying to figure out if I should recall such a thing.

She says, "Well, you should." Shit! Think fast! "It has been on the bed since I met you." Faster... Harder... "You know, the one that the dogs lay on..." Beige...

!
!

Me, "You mean the khaki one?"

Her, "Ummm, yeah... I didn't expect you to know the difference. Most guys would have called it brown."

Me, "Brown? Maybe 'tan', or 'canvas', but 'khaki is the right color."

Her, "Hmph."

Me, "I'm not gay!"

Her, "Sure, dear. Whatever you say." I think there may have been a discussion of mauve to follow - I'm trying to block it.

A week or so later, at work:

Me, "Hey, guys. Did you see the shirt I got for being on that special project?" Holding up a robin's egg blue shirt (what?): "Do you think the beard is enough manliness to offset this color?"

Guys, in chorus, "NO! Couldn't he have gotten a different color? Maybe something a bit more effeminate? Wasn't everyone on that team a man?"

Me, "Well, at least it isn't periwinkle."

Guys, again in chorus (now who's gay?), "Periwinkle? What's that? Is it a color?"

Dang! I'm not gay!

Today, at a gas station downtown, to my girlfriend (uh, not the same one... that's a discussion for another time, though. I think.), "Does it impinge my masculinity that I know what khaki is and can differentiate it from other colors?"

Her, "No, that doesn't make you gay... Uh, what's khaki?"

Gahhhh!

I'm not gay! Really, I'm not. And two girlfriends is NOT me compensating like a dude with a small dick and a 40" lift on his truck.

Sex lights! Again? Yes, Again.

For the second night in a row, I got pulled over. Not late to work this time, though. Left plenty early because I thought I had to get dinner, but someone sweet had left a lunch type thing in the fridge for me, so I was up fifteen minutes earlier than necessary (bad), and that time got transferred to the sheriff (lucky?).

70 in a 60. I don't think I was quite going 70, but he didn't cite me for "too fast for conditions" so who's bitching? Nice guy, just like the two from last night. Also just like last night, the issues of "who owns this vehicle" and "what's up with your insurance" arose. Apparently the legal record for my vehicle shows something like I sold it... to myself recently. Baffles those sworn to protect and serve just as well as it does me.

Unlike last night, I got a ticket this time. According to officer friendly (no sarcasm intended) there's some new procedure called a "diversion" that allows you to either take a discount on the ticket or costs an extra $50, I was unclear on which. That's not the important part of the procedure, though. The part that matters is that the new option somehow makes the ticket none of your insurance company's business - it doesn't even show up on your record. Sweet! I'll have to look into it. Hopefully it's nothing like a lead foot discount, but that's a story for another time.

Right now, it's sleep time. 22 hours is a long day.

Good evening, officer.

Driving to work one night, mind completely not on driving, I get the sex lights in my rearview.

You know the sex lights, right? The lights that make you say, “Fuck!” when you see them. Yeah, those lights, in my rearview.

{Kid Rock suggests “roll on, roll on rollercoaster” as I write this, not very helpful of him}

Now I’m going to be late for work. Sex lights!

It started this evening with a continuation of a conversation I’ve been having with my wyvern physician. She’s trying to help me screw the head back onto my dragon, with mixed results. Her help is greatly appreciated, dubious though the results may be. Impressively impartial, that one.

After, with thoughts circling in my head trying to coalesce into decisions, or at least courses of possible action, the next priority in my head is food - I need to eat before work. Wendy’s is that-away and work is this-away, but I’ve left plenty early, so there should be no issue.

Unless, that is, Wendy's is not “open late, so I can eat great” this evening. Sex lights? Baluum.

{Now Roy Rogers has extolled the virtues of Lovenworth. Apparently he and the warden are having a ball}

So I go all the way downtown, still on schedule, and hit Jack’s place. From my turn onto the main drag to Jack’s takes 8 or 9 lane changes and two full on turns. Apparently, I used two blinkers to accomplish this. Also apparent (now) is that this does not meet the state patrol’s requirements for number of blinkers per lane change / turn.

Sex light? Yes, now we have sex lights.

Around the car on two sides come state patrol officers. I blame the cleanly shaved skull for this unnecessary caution on their part.

Hand them the ID, “Good evening, officer”. They’re there just to do their job. (oh, that sentence feels good, no?) No point in being foul.

“Do you know why we pulled you over?” C’mon like I’m going to answer that, even if I know the answer. Which, in this case, I don’t.

“No, sir.”

{Now Garth is contemplating which girl to take home from the bar.}

He tells me about my lack of blinkers and says, “How much have you had to drink tonight, sir?”

!

Right, well I suppose he doesn’t know me from Adam, so…

“I don’t drink, normally, and certainly not on the way to work.”

Whence ensues a discussion of where I work. Now is also the time that I realize I need to call and tell the boss’ answering machine that I’m going to be late.

“Can I see your proof of insurance and registration, sir?”

Rooting around for a couple of moments turns up an insurance card that I’m certain is no longer valid, but he wants something so…

Much more rummaging results in the registration. (Please, please don’t be for the bug. It wasn’t.)

After a pointed look from me to the insurance paper to me and back, I cast about for another piece of paper to prove I’m a law abiding citizen. And I found… another insurance paper that is also invalid, but in a different way. Sex lights! I think I’m going o be more than late for work, I think they’re contemplating running me in.

“We’ll be back in a few minutes, sir.”

{The race is on in George Jones’ world}

After a discussion (during which I did call the boss’ answering machine) they come back and ask some more questions.

“No ticket tonight, sir.”

“Really? I thought for sure you were going to be the balance to the unbelievably good luck I’ve been enjoying recently.”

“No, sir. Not tonight. Please remember your signals, at least 100 feet prior to making any maneuvers.”

“Thank you, officer. Have a nice night.”

And that is how charmed I am right now. Come, rub me. The luck is good over here. So far…

{Rob Thomas is very sorry about the attitude he needs to get, but no one else will take his shit, so..}

Thank you.

To the haunt in our house:

Deal!

I will not condone Sky exorcising you.

Just don't do mess with my iPod again, and we'll be fine.

Oh, and if calling you "fey" offended you, I apologize for that. I don't see a difference, but I know some folks who do, so...

So I was right.

Duh. I'm always right - if one looks at it my way. I did indeed find the verge of something wonderful... now to see if I can warrant such goodness in my life. Fleeting though it may be.

1408 wherefore art thou, 1408?

Why could we not move into 1410? 0r, better yet, 1409?

Don't get me wrong, I love my new home. Living with Thumper, Zarks, Sky, Darkstar, Zombie (I know he doesn't actually live here, but he's here more than some others who actually pay rent and that's not a complaint.), and the army, navy, air force, and marines. And we care a lot about the dirty job that our mail lady (did I mention that she's hot?) does for us. It's just the tiny Bermuda triangle that our home contains is really getting on my nerves.

We have noticed the loss of:

1) bag o' padlocks and keys (who knew the fey were so strong?)
2) USB hub
3) set of drumsticks
4) screws for mounting paper towel holders (which I should have known better than to buy at the dollars store, anyway.)
5) a library book
6) an iPod
7) some cash (may have been spent, but it's more fun to blame on the house)
8) assorted small electrical connectors and cables

That we've noticed. So Far...

Oh, and that's less than a month of living here. Adds up to four things a week. At this rate, we'll have an actual black hole on the lot by the time the corn is ripe.

To be fair, the drumsticks reappeared like a week after we noticed them missing and the bag o' locks and keys showed up this morning - in the kitchen? Dunno why that would be.

Still...

One of the friends of Weevil has informed me that there is a haunt in the house. We are planning an exorcism. I don't know if spectral beings read the `net, but if they do, specifically the one in my home, this is the only chance I will offer you: Return the iPod and the book and I will call off the hounds. I got nothin' agin you, boy, but if'n y'all doan git m' prop'ty back I'll have to take actions.

My friends say...

Some of my friends are telling me that, despite losing my iPod (and a ridiculous number of other assorted things... hmmm, I think I feel another post coming on) in the tiny Bermuda triangle that is 1408, life is pretty damn good. One of them said, "Too good. Watch out, some thing's going to blow up in your vicinity. Soon."

So today it got even better. Even my freakin' mail lady is hot. Smokin' hot!


ML FTW!

Do you think I should leave flowers on the porch? Perhaps with a picture of ZB? See, Zombie, it's not all about my nefariousness.

Sorry, about that

Looking over my last few posts, I see that it seems to be all doom and gloom or sappy BS.

I just want to say two things about that:

1) Hopefully, in a week or so, I can post that the f up has been resolved to the satisfaction (huh huh huh, he said satisfaction) of all entangled parties.

2) This is not a long suicide note. I said NOT.

Pay attention, I'm fine. Quit calling the suicide hot line on me, ZB.

I'm on the verge of something wonderful.

And wonderfully exciting. And terrifying, due to my complete and utter
inexperience with it.

Here's the Weevil-y part: I may have already blown it.

Inadvertently?

What do you think?

Still, the f up was all me (and my little friend). Mostly due to my ability
to willfully (if not always consciously) forget things I'd rather not know
about. Now normally I feel like this is a huge asset - the  silver lining
to my obnoxiously shitty memory. This time, however, it has affected
others.

Negatively.

It seems highly likely that all damage will remain purely emotional.
Huge tracts of that damage are going to be in my own back yard, as it
were.

I could be blowing this all out of proportion. Pray to the deity of your
choice that I am? I'd appreciate it.

I have already begun making reparations to one of the aggrieved.

The other...

I'm sick about her, still. That's a place I do not want to go. I do not
think that the trust is there to overcome my stupidity, like it was for
the party with whom I'm already working on the reparations. The shits of it
is that, say, twenty-four hours ago I was thinking things were going to
go swimmingly this spring. Now I'm worried that I'm going to slip back into
the deep depression that was the last half of last year.

Man, I hope I can work this all out.

Plus, I abhor confrontation.
I teeter precariously close to neurosis on this.

I know at least one person who would say that's an understatement.