Coffee heat rising

Annals of the Floored & Flabbergasted

Hotter Than the Hubs…Again!

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Holeee maquerel! It’s just like freakin’ Saudi Arabia out there, on the shores of the horrible Persian Gulf! Hot, wet, gray, and SOGGY SOGGY SOGGY!

The Dawg and I just returned from our morning perambulation of the ‘Hood. Honest ta Gawd, I thought I was  gonna expire before we got back from that (not-very-lengthy) stroll! It’s hotter than Hell, wetter than an active shower stall, and…ENDLESS.

We finally stumbled back to the house. As we scribble, the dawg is trying to ingest about a gallon of water out of her bowl. I’m drenched in sweat and do not feel like getting up and throwing myself around preparatory to the arrival of a nuisance cleaning lady…oh, wait!  It says here we’re at SUNDAY! 

Hallelujah, brothers and sisters! I’ve been imagining it was Monday!

Huh! Maybe I can persuade my poor son to come over to dinner. Or even take him out to a nice restaurant dinner….  He may have other ideas. But that’s OK. Can’t hurt to ask, eh?

If it’s raining, we won’t be grilling anything. Hmmmm….  What CAN we decoct? Pasta, probably: that’s always easy and usually edible.

EW! It’s supposed to reach 102 degrees today…at 45% humidity!  

Talk about feeling like Saudi Arabia. Horrible!

This is really unusual weather for Arizona, though. It’s VERY rarely this wet. What used to be routine in unlovely Saudi Arabia is essentially nonexistent here.

What a ghastly place to live that was. Can’t imagine how my poor mother survived nine unholy years in that gawdawful place. Her health wasn’t great to start with. But that my father would put her through a decade of misery like that…wow!  Was he mean, or was he just stupid?

Oh well. That was their problem. Today is my problem.

Pray, if you will, that the air-conditioning doesn’t go out today! 

😮

The Great Clothespin Caper

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Well, I finally got a box of wooden clothespins ordered up.…received, and hidden inside the garage. So that little caper is resolved.

Yeah: Believe it or not, some a$$-hole actually STOLE THE BAG OF CLOTHESPINS that hung off my clothesline. No kidding!

The clothesline resides in the shelter of the side porch, on the west side of the house. Some sh!thead workman who was at my house lifted the clothespins and made off with them the other day.

Thank the Heavens for Amazon!  Since I’m no longer allowed to drive a car, I would be out of luck, since there’s no way I could walk to a local dime store or Target to buy another batch of clothespins. Can you imagine?

This new collection will have to reside inside the garage, adding another small layer of inconvenience to the Hassle Factors that now, more and more, characterize my daily life.

But just think of that: I actually have to hide my clothespins to keep some clown from stealing them!

Y’know, it’s the kind of thing I would have expected when we lived in Saudi Arabia. There, Americans (and Europeans…and any other aliens) were regarded as depraved and godless heathens. The locals felt entitled to steal anything that wasn’t red-hot or nailed down. But here? In the land of the free, the home of the brave? Clothespins???? 

Jeez. If you’re gonna steal something, steal something that’s worth some cash.

{chortle!} Speaking inconveniences inflicted by the army of workmen: One of the turkeys, for reasons I cannot imagine, hauled my gas barbecue off its brick stand, hauled it out into the middle of the backyard and LEFT IT THERE, parked in the dirt.

Well…it’s already 6:30. Ruby and I had better get going on the morning’s dog-and-human walk. Pretty quick, we’ll have another army of nuisances at the front door…and if I don’t get a mile of walking in every day, this damned spavined hip freezes right up. Speaking of nuisances… 😮

Don’t get old, kids…whatever ya do!

The Weirdness of People

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Okay, here’s the Question of the Day:

Why would somebody steal a bag of clothespins?

Old clothespins, for that matter? The thing has been hanging out there for YEARS, probably since I moved into this house, and nobody has ever bothered with it.

This morning I stumble out into the rain and find, there on the covered side porch, that the bag of clothespins that’s hung — yes, for years — from the covered porch’s little laundry line is GONE.

* No, it’s not in the garage
* No, it’s not on the back porch
* No, it’s not anywhere in the house

So…presumably, some yard guy or repairman stole it. A bag of clothespins. Can you imagine?

What possesses people? Forgodsake! A package of 50 only costs about $6.00 from Amazon. Presumably they’re cheaper in a local grocery store or dime store that doesn’t have to ship them to you.

****

WHOA! Just found a brand-new package of classic wooden clothespins, sitting in the garage.

Certainly wouldn’t want a morning to pass without some stupid PITA, eh? 😀

Ahhh, decrepitude!  What fun gettin’ old is!!!

Says a lot about my own senility: that I didn’t even remember I’d had to buy a whole new package of clothespins!  And if that ain’t scary, I’d sure like to know what is….

Also says a lot about people: What kind of jerk steals a bag of clothespins off a backyard clothesline?

Can you imagine? Now I’ll have to stash this new trove in the garage…they cannot be left to hang on the porch clothesline.

So. Now that we know I can’t leave clothespins on the clothesline, we need to find someplace to keep this recovered bonanza. Dayum! What a nuisance.

They’ll have to go in a box on top of the dryer in the garage, I guess. Thereby taking up space normally occupied by laundry detergent and bleach and whatnot.

*****

Disturbing.
Seven Ways from Sunday!

Lovely Sodden Walk!

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Ohhh, my goodness!  It’s SOOO HUMID out there — hideously reminiscent of sodden, ugly Saudi Arabia — that after a few blocks of idle strolling through the morning doggy-walk, I came back to the Funny Farm absolutely DRENCHED!

Drenched in sweat? Drenched in dew from the humidity?

Dunno. All I know is it’s hot, it’s wet, and I’m soaked from head to foot.

Walked past our new  friend Josie’s house: she of the recent homeowner’s disaster. She’s the one who moved into SDXB’s house after he moved to Sun City: the county actually gave it to her! It’s a very nice house…or…uhm…it was. As we passed, we saw all the carpeting pulled out and dumped, higgledy-piggledy, in the yard.

Yeah. A pipe under the kitchen sink sprang a leak. By the time Josie noticed it, water had POURED out and flooded the kitchen the  laundry room, the dining room, and the living room.

Basically, the house was ruined.

Presumably, though, Big Brother in all His taxpayer-funded generosity will cover the repairs. Sure hope Our Benefactors will buy her some new carpeting, too.

***

This sort of thing leads me to wonder, every time some such fiasco occurs, if I should move somewhere else. Maybe where the houses are newer, or at least not so cheaply built? Maybe someplace further away from a dangerous, crime-ridden slum?

I dunno. Unless you decamp to Scottsdale, Fountain Hills, or Sun City, anywhere in Maricopa County is gonna bring you elbow-to-elbow with the high-crime set. And frankly….I’m just too lazy to pack up a four-bedroom shack and move 20 or 30 miles across the Valley. Nor do I want to end up that far from my son.

Yet…yeah, maybe I really should. 

But where would I go that I could afford and that would also take me away from the High Drama? And how, after all, could one live through the boredom without Tony the Romanian Landlord, all our pet burglars, the drag races six blocks to the north, the oglers and the rapists in the central park,…seriously! How boring!

No, as long as M’hijito stays in Central Phoenix, I’ll probably keep this shack. It IS a nice place, after all, with a gorgeous pool and overall pleasant neighbors and public transit coming out the wazoo and an outstanding regional hospital within walking distance. In many ways, it’s actually better than any other place I’ve ever lived.

{Bellyache Bellyache…}

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Migawd, those poor people who have to work outside in this UNHOLY heat and humidity. This morning it’s a swamp out there. And yeah, that’s the only way to describe it.

But as Ruby and I swam around the block through the soggy air, we came across one yard dude after another slamming around in this heat: pushing lawnmowers (or, if they were lucky, riding them), through heat and humidity thick enough float in. Horrible, horrible morning.

Walk in the door at 7:30 a.m. Ringy dingy ringy dingy ringy dingy…. Goddam phone solicitor!

Me to A**-hole, at high volume: GET OFF MY PHONE AND STAY OFF MY GOD-DAMNED PHONE!!!!!!

God, how I hate that. Really, I should disconnect the phone when I go to bed at night. But I’m afraid if some emergency comes up, M’hijito won’t be able to reach me. Or I may not be able to reach him.

Phone soliciting, though, really should be illegal. In these parts, though: far from it. Here, it’s a prison industry.

No kidding. When your phone jangles with a nuisance call, chances are there’s a convict on the other end of the line.

Even if he or she weren’t serving a term for some fun crime, I’d still rather not talk with them. Especially not over the phone. Especially not at 7:00 in the morning!

Roarrr! Not to say “Question Mark?”

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Gerardo’s amazing crew of yard dudes showed up as I was in the middle of scribbling this post. And somehow in the course of chatting with him, I contrived to lose the entire draft.

Wonnerful.

How DO those guys manage to do their job in this ungodly climate? As we scribble, the sky is overcast and the thermometer on the back porch reads a hundred degrees. Our boys are out there roaring around like tractors!

Migawd. I can barely stumble out the back door into that heat. Much less push lawn equipment back and forth and haul away huge bags of debris.

Jeez. It’s already 11:30. I’m so tired I can barely hold my head up. Why is unknown. But M’hijito is supposed to come over for dinner tonight — a gorgeous steak awaits him in the fridge. So…prob’ly I should try to sneak a nap in, so I can stay awake through his visit.

What DOES it all mean, anyway????