Coffee heat rising

Love Escapes Blindness at the Garden Gate…

My father openly called him a sh!thead. My mother didn’t use that kind of language, but she made it more than clear that she agreed with my father’s assessment of my Dearly Beloved Boyfriend, that junior year at the university.

Ooohhhboy, did they loathe the guy! 

And y’know, from the vantage point of decades, I can see they were right.

Real right. He was a dyed-in-the-wool jerk.

It took him to teach me that, not my parents. 

LOL! I dated him for…what? two and a half years, as an undergraduate. That’s how long it took for me to figure out that…well…yeah: he was a jerk. 

How’d I find out?

Well… One afternoon we were laying in the sack, after a lively frolic. Talkin’, as old loving couples will do. The subject of his best buddy’s wife came up.

Buddy and Wife were a couple who had been married for…what? maybe three years? Whatever: they weren’t kids. He had a full-time job. She was a loyal spouse and all…

By this time, Wife was advanced in pregnancy. Like…six or eight months along.

As we loafed in the sack, Dear Boyfriend was going on about how brilliant his buddy was for picking up a chippie, whom he was merrily diddling on the side. You understand: Buddy was a married man. One whose wife was about to produce his first child for him. 

Yeah.

I don’t remember whether I made some judgmental comment about this state of affairs. Probably not…probably more like asked some naive question. WhatEVER: in the course of conversation, Dear Boyfriend remarked that it was really a good thing that his pal had gone out and picked up a floozy, since the wife was so advanced in pregnancy, she couldn’t entertain him. “A man,” said he, “has gotta have it!”

Uhm. Yeah.

Evidently my parents had somethin’ in their assessment of his character: they believed him to be a scoundrel.

When he said that, I thought, “My parents are right! This guy is a TOTAL lout!”

Within a couple of days, I gave him the heave-ho. And I’ll tellya: his heart was broken! 

Oh, the drama! Oh, the tears! …And oh! f**k you, pal! Out he went. 

My friends were abhorred. (Of course, they didn’t know about the uber-pregnant wife.) My parents were delighted. Dear Boyfriend was shattered. I was disgusted.

Whew!! Close one!

I was lucky that I didn’t marry him…because I fully intended to.

Not until he explicitly TOLD me what my life was gonna be like if I married him did I realize what a raving jerk he was. This, despite my parents having told me so, time after time after time.

Talk about love going blind at the garden gate...or, in my case, going deaf. I simply refused to hear what they said. Not until he spoke for himself (the idiot!) did his unadulterated jerkitude register with me. To this day, I can’t believe I was lucky enough that the guy let his mouth babble on — while we were laying in our own coital bed!! — so as to reveal what a gutter rat he was. And to reveal that my parents were right about him….

LOL! I suppose the moral of the story is if you’re a jerk, learn to keep your mouth shut. Or maybe…I dunno…pay attention to what your parents say about the current Love of Your Life. 

😀

Awww, jeez! Guys!!!!

Dare to sit down to breakfast, and ARF!!!!

Get up to see what the Hound is arfing at, and see Gerardo’s wondrous gang of yard dudes out front.

Dayum!!!

Get off duff. Trot around: pick up junk, put junk away; set up pool so guys can work around it; pick up more junk, put more junk away; pick up and discard mounds of dog sh!t… Finally get the place ready for the men.

Stumble back in the house. Look out front to see if they need me to go out there and unlock the side gate…

and…

and….

THEY’RE GONE!!!!!!!

WTF??????  Nary a sign of a yard dude! Or a yard dude’s truck!!

ohhhh…kayyyy…. So where’s the dog?????

Ruby!

RUBY!!

R-U-U-B-E-E-E-E!!!!!!

Nary a small fuzzy corgi!

Ohhhhh shee-ut! Did they open the gate and let her out?

Frantically search around and search around and call and call and search around and search around and call and call and…and…

Lo!
Here she is! 
Ambling out from underneath the toilet.

ggrrrrrr….  This is gonna be one of THOSE days, ain’t it?

Still a GORGEOUS Monday

Yep…we’re on the third blog post of the day. Tis true! and the truth is: telephone scammers notwithstanding, worries about old-age incarceration notwithstanding: this is an OBSCENELY GORGEOUS day.

  • Beautiful sunlight.
  • Beautiful mild temperatures.
  • Beautiful clean air.
  • Beautiful spectacular blue skies.
  • Beautiful little dog.
  • Beautiful glass of beer.
  • Beautiful beyond anything you can think of.

Beyond gorgeous.

Yes, you bet! I’m still damn scared of what the future holds. But when the present is this lovely, you can afford to divert your attention from tomorrow.

***

Ruby has waddled off to her favorite locale under the master bathroom toilet. Truth to tell, it’s the middle of the afternoon and we have yet to do our daily dog-&-human walk. And that is solely the fault of the lazy, easily distracted human.

Distracted today by memories of a beloved old boyfriend, a man I came within inches of marrying. 

Ohhhhh how my parents hated the man!!!

Ohhhhh how I loved the man!!!

In my then yet-to-be misspent youth, I assumed they hated him because he was The Other. Not American, hevvin help us. Worse yet: Eastern European. 

Paul was Bohemian. Real Bohemian, as in the nationality — not metaphorically so. Why they hated him, I failed to grasp during my naive youth. But now in my Old Age, I see…yeah.

As an example: Paul thought it was OK — just brilliant, actually — for his best buddy to be diddling a barmaid he’d picked up during a night on the town. Because, after all, his wife was eight or nine months advanced in pregnancy, and so  she couldn’t “give him any.”

Back in the Day, when I was madly in love, I thought my parents’ distaste for Paul was based in their distaste for other-than-Yankee roots. They must hate him because his parents were not 100% Yankee. Right?

Well.

No.

Actually, they hated him because he was a jerk. And because they could see, clear as day, that marrying the jerk would wreck my life.

Luckily for me, he made an ass of himself one time too many. And so I wandered away from him.

Sometimes God actually is on our side. Right?

What finally brought God’s Word — or at least, Her Thinking — to my attention was the time that Paul observed how VERY right his best buddy was in picking up a chippy in a bar and f*cking her…BECAUSE his wife was too advanced in pregnancy to accommodate his dong.

No kidding.

He thought his wife’s pregnancy with HIS child was an acceptable excuse to diddle whatever li’l darlin’ he came across in a bar.

No. I really DO kid you not. 

Dumb as I was, even I could see what was wrong with that picture.

Soooo…out he went, pore ole’ Paul. And good riddance to him. Since then, I’ve managed to scrape up a LITTLE more discrimination, when it comes to men.

How long that will last remains to be seen…

Glorioski Morning

Truly: a genuinely beautiful day has dawned. Ruby and I loaf in the west side yard, having traipsed all over the neighborhood.

Dodged Mr. Coyote while on that junket. Fortunately, the coyotes here are more scared of the humans than the humans are scared are of them…and that is irrationally scared. So our wild doggy friend melted away into the landscaping as we strolled past.

LOL! I do carry a walking stick on these doggy-treks. Not to help with walking on the utterly flat roads here. But to serve as a shillelagh if one is ever needed.

Gorgeous day or no gorgeous day, chances are the Dawg and I will head back to the sack in fairly short order. For reasons unknown, I’m feeling unduly sleepy.

In these parts, you’re more likely to need a shillelagh to defend against a human predator than to beat back a coyote. But this morning, not even one of the two-legged critters was in evidence. So, it was a nice day for a doggy-walk.

And right now, it being Sunday morning, the ‘Hood loafs in the Silence of the Tomb. It’s very, very quiet out here, except for the annoying roar of yet another jet plane. We’re far enough from the commercial airport AND far enough from Luke Air Force Base that the planes are well overhead by the time they get this far. But…not far enough overhead to completely silence the things.

One of my mother’s oddities was that she actually LIKED the sound of fighter jets charging around overhead. “It’s the sound of freedom,” she would simper.

Nothing like another World War to bring you a spate of freedom, eh?

Ethnic Hatred

They did hate him. Yes, indeed. WHY, I never fully understood, except that he was THEM and we were US.

My parents were born & bred to think of themselves as Yankees: specifically, as Whitey-White natural-born Americans.

This, despite the fact that my father was at least a quarter Choctaw Indian. More like half, far as I could tell. But he believed himself to be all Honkey.

Anyone who was different from them, my parents hated. With élan, we might add.

Welp, my boyfriend Paul was no American Indian. He was Eastern European, as a matter of fact. Far as I could tell, his people were mostly Bohemian.

Whatever, they apparently didn’t come up to my parents’ standard of whitey-whiteness…though to my eye, Paul was as white as or whiter than me.

Paul was the first love of my life. And oh, my: I was in love with the man.

We met in my sophomore year at the University of Arizona. Got a-goin’ and kept on goin’ until I was in the middle of senior year, when my parents finally succeeded in breaking us up.

There was a point at which, though, I realized that if I married Paul, I would never see my parents again. That’s how much they hated him. And I was very close to my parents: especially to my mother.

And “never see my mother again” was not, to tell the truth, what I wanted for my future. So, at the point where I realized that probably would be the outcome of any serious affair or marriage with Paul, I gave him the heave-ho.

He was shattered. I was deeply unhappy, too. But alas, I was not willing and ready to break up my family for a man.

So, that was that.

Every now and again, I think of Paul — as I was doing this afternoon while traipsing around the neighborhood on foot.

Would my birth family really have been permanently shattered if I’d married Paul?

Well. One never knows. But I suspect the answer is “yes.” That is how much they hated the guy. If I went with him, it would be at the cost of leaving them behind.

And that seemed…ungrateful, hm?

Would Paul and I still be married if I’d thrown over the family traces and gone off with him?” 

Very probably not. And here’s why:

One afternoon we were loafing in bed when he started to tell me what his best buddy was up to.

Buddy was a married man. Had been for at least a year or more. At the time, his wife was advanced — very advanced — in pregnancy. As Paul and I lay in bed chatting, he remarked, with sincere approval, that his buddy had picked up a chippy in a bar and was f*cking her merrily. Having a great time! Paul approved of this heartily; because, after all, the buddy’s wife “couldn’t give him any.”

Got that?

She’s so bloated in pregnancy that she can’t accommodate his dong, so it’s OK for him to pick up a barmaid and jump into the sack with her.

Right…Then…And…There: That was the end of my interest in Paul.

If he thought it was OK for his buddy to f**k a chippy while the wife was too bloated to entertain him, then Paul would figure it was OK for him to do the same. WOW!! What a guy, eh?

So, it was out the door with me, that very night.

I’m sure he wondered what got into me. Altogether too much of him, we might say…  {chortle!} WhatEVER: I threw him out of my life that week. The proposed marriage never happened. The grand life together never happened. The great careers together never happened.

Thank goodness, eh?

Ruby-Dooo!!! EEEEEEK!

Went to call the Ruby-doo this afternoon, by way of feeding her and then loafing on the back patio, and…

and…

and she was GONE!!!!!

As in GONE gone!

Searched all through the house. Searched the yards. Called and called and CALLED…. Noooo Ruby!

OOOOhhhh sheee-ut!

I just about fainted dead away. She must have managed to get outside without my noticing her escape. Right?

Called and searched and searched and called and called and searched and...and…eventually, along she comes, ambling up to the front door.

HOLEEE maquerel!

How she got out, I do not know. More to the point, how she made her way back, I cannot imagine! In this garden spot, once a house pet takes off outdoors, that is a GONE CRITTER.

Seriously: I really thought I would never see her again.

She must not have wandered far, because it only took her a few minutes to resurface.

Terrifying. Freakin’ terrifying!!!!!

How on earth could I have done anything SO STUPID and SO CARELESS as to have left her outside in the front patio?????  And then let her slip out through the gate!

WAKE UP, LADY!!!!!!!

After this, I’ll have to be one whole helluva lot more careful.

Feels like an absolute miracle that she didn’t set out for Tucson. And that she came back when she was called. GOOD DOG, LI’L RUBY!!!!