WEATHER REPORT

It's that time of year, the real Texas weather is here and we're in for a long hot summer. Its been so bloody close (that would be humid for the yanks) yesterday and today that if this keeps up and the humidity gets just a bit higher, we'll all be pregnant, spawning bolts of lightening and rumbles of thunder as we walk the streets seeking surcease from the damp heat.

Sitting on the veranda drinking hot coffee has become a downright stupid endeavor, however, I refuse to give up my ritual.... arise; rocking chair, coffee, smokes and laptop dragged out to the veranda for hours of slovenly idleness.

Damn mother nature, I too am an alpha c*nt and I'll take your best with my finger up and keep on with dancin' with you right to the bloody end.

MUTTON DRESSED AS LAMB?

The other evening, one of my young neighbours of the male persuasion remarked that my ensemble looked like an attempt on my part to look 20 years younger. I considered his remark and came to the conclusion that whilst I am 60, I certainly don’t want to look like I’m 40. Who would? If I were trying to look younger, I’d at least aim for the vicinity of the 30s. Looking younger is not the motivating factor when I put together an ensemble; looking weirder… yes, looking totally inappropriate… oh my I really do hope so.

And so I have kept the implicit vow I made when I wrote

I’m Ready For My Close Up

Ah ha, you say, just what were you wearing that prompted your neighbour’s remark? I’ll say it again, boys n ‘ girls, I’m 60 so I’m pretty much guessing, as the days n’ nights do tend to run together, but I believe it was black (but of course) knee length trousers…yes the legs are still long and shapely… black leather platform wedges with the de rigueur pointed toes ( I do find it difficult to find exciting shoes here, as much as I like black it just gets a bit dull when that is the only colour on offer)… and a red (surprised you didn’t I? but it is the perfect shade of blue red) cotton camisole-styled top with hanging metal bits just under the low cut bust line, which perfectly showcase my tattooed puppies.

There you go; I’ll leave it up to you. Am I mutton dressed as lamb or will the real Bette O’ please stand up?

TEXAS FRIENDS

This came from a bulletin from one of My Space friends, Gabrielle Faust. For those of you in London, I expect that you will recognise a London friend in the Texas friend. If I can't be in London, Texas is rather a nice place to be.

Friends Vs. TEXAS Friends

FRIENDS: Tell you not to do something stupid when drunk
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will post 360 degree security so you dont get caught
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FRIENDS: Call your parents Mr. and Mrs
TEXAS FRIENDS: Call your parents drunk as hell
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FRIENDS: Hope the night out drinking goes smoothly, and hope that no one is late for the ride home.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Know some wild shit will happen, and set up rally points and an E & E route.
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FRIENDS: Bail you out of jail and tell you what you did was wrong.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will be sitting next to you saying, "Damn...that shit was fun "
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FRIENDS: Cry with you.
TEXAS FRIENDS: laugh at you
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FRIENDS: Borrow your stuff for a few days then give it back.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Steal each other's stuff so often nobody remembers who bought it in the first place.
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FRIENDS: Are happy that someone picked up a one night stand and leave them alone.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will Crawl naked into the room with a camera and hope for the tag team.
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FRIENDS: Know a few things about you.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Could write a book with direct quotes from you.
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FRIENDS: Will leave you behind if that's what the crowd is doing.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will kick the whole crowds ass that left you.
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FRIENDS: Would knock on your door.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Walk right in and say, "I'm home!"
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FRIENDS: Will try and talk to the bouncer when you get tossed out of the bar.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will buck up and go after the bouncer for touching you on the way out.
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FRIENDS: Will wish you had enough money to go out that night, and are sorry you couldn't come.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will share their last dollar with you, drag you along, and try to steal free drinks all night.
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FRIENDS: Will take your drink away when they think you've had enough.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will look at you stumbling all over the place and say, "Bitch, you better drink the rest of that shit, you know we don't waste. That's alcohol abuse!!!" HAHAHAHA !!!!
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FRIENDS: Want the money they loaned you back next week.
TEXAS Friends: Can't begin to remember who owes who money after taking care of each other for so long.
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FRIENDS: Will say "I can't handle Tequila anymore".
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will say "okay, just one more..." and then 2 minutes later "okay, just one more!".
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FRIENDS: Will talk shit to the person who talks shit about you.
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will knock them the Fuck out!!
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FRIENDS: Will tell you "They'd take a bullet for you."
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will actually take a bullet for you.
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FRIENDS: Will ignore this
TEXAS FRIENDS: Will repost this

MASSACRE ON KINNEY AVENUE

This is a typical house on my street. Small, a bit rundown but still well able for it, hey it looks like this is a nice quiet neighbourhood doesn’t it? No, no, no. A few weeks ago a group of us were sitting on the veranda of an evening drinking, smoking and chatting. My good friend and neighbour Bazza decided, just before midnight, to walk downtown, yes I live on this charming, quiet street but still close enough to downtown to walk if one were so inclined. I know you’re all thinking, dude, it just couldn’t get any better than a cool neighbourhood, close to downtown, and a veranda to share with excellent people. Yes well…

About fifteen minutes after Bazza left we saw him come back round the building with his head down and his hand to his face. What the …..? As he neared he took his hand away and we saw the blood pouring out of his mouth as he told us I’ve been shot, call the police. Turns out he was walking down our street and had got a few blocks down when a car drove by and he was shot in the face and the side. The shot in the face shattered his tooth and the bullet lodged in his lip. Fortunately the shot to his side apparently hadn’t penetrated the skin.

The police arrived and told us that this is a regular occurrence in Austin, drive by shootings with high velocity BB guns. Before I go further I’ll tell y’all that Bazza is okay, except needing his tooth repaired, and the fool is still out walking late at night.

Here’s the real massacre. If we had called an ambulance, he definitely needed to get to a hospital; it would have cost him $500 to $600 for the trip. He went to the emergency room the next day and had the bullet removed from his lip, a stitch or two to close the wound, and an x-ray to ensure the bullet in his side had not penetrated the skin and was not traveling to his lungs on its way to kill him. That came in at about $600. A few days later he went to the dentist and after x-rays and a consultation totaling a little over $100, was told that to get his tooth fixed properly, i.e. pulled and replaced, it would cost $4,000. Total massacre damage control, approx $5,300.

Bazza, like so many of us does not have medical or dental insurance, even though he works two jobs. When the police came that night we were asking them about the nearest medical facility that was open and discussing the probable cost. They were a bit helpful as to hospital location but that was pretty much it, until I said I can’t believe that Bazza as a victim of a crime has to pay for his medical costs himself. Then and only then did they mention that there was a Victim’s Assistance fund, with no guarantee of help, and give Bazza the proper application forms.

The moral of this vignette? Don’t get shot unless you’re either rich or have full medical coverage, you’ll probably be fucked (without a kiss) as well as being shot.

P.S. Actually my neighbourhood, all things considered, is very safe.

DAMN I WAS STRIVING FOR 100%

I know, I know, I haven't written anything for awhile but I've just not been inspired, been too tired; or, in reality, can't be arsed to post something new. Here's a little something to remind y'all not to chastise me.

You Are 94% Evil

You're the most evil person you know. The devil is even a little scared of you!

How Evil Are You?

Apparently I'm so evil that I can't be arsed to fix the html code on the foregoing link. There you go, adding this silly little bit seems to have done the trick. Guess I can be arsed 'cause I love y'all so much. Not enough, however, to change the code from center to left.

ARE YOU SITTING DOWN?

I quit smoking..... cigarettes that is. I just cannot deal with the rise in price since the new tax was added. I have switched to little cigars, which are not subject to cigarette taxes and I will thus be saving half the amount I was paying. I found these charming little cigars that are cherry flavoured. I can't actually taste the cherry but it does leave a lovely odour in the air.

At the risk of sounding like some weird conspiracy theorist, which it is becoming exceedingly difficult not to do in the US these days given the proliferation of over the top scare mongering tactics which are used to justify the rampant plundering of our rights in the name of Homeland Security (wasn't Nazi Germany called the Homeland?), I believe that the reason cigars are not taxed like cigarettes is that they are predominatly smoked by those of the male persuasion. Let's face it, it is men who dominate our government and big business.

As it is quite clear to anyone living (actually that's a misnomer, one would have to be dead not to notice) in the US, big business is the god to which our politicians kneel to worship. One only has to turn on the television to see that the majority of adverts are for prescription drugs. My recent favourite is for restless legs. For fuck's sake, have you ever heard of anyone with restless legs? Do you find yourself sitting in a chair when your legs begin to twitch? Perhaps you are not sleeping at night as your legs are constantly moving? I just cannot take this seriously especially in this country where the majority of the people seem to have difficulty sleeping because they are ill and have no medical insurance, or they are hungry and have no food, or they are totally stressed becasue they can't pay their bills as they have no job. NOT BECAUSE THEY HAVE RESTLESS FUCKING LEGS. There you go, big drug companies rule the air waves and as sure as I will reach for a smoke as soon as I wake each morning, it is equally likely that they rule the country.

So thanks gents for protecting your own and I'll just quietly slip in and join you in your cheap smoking room.

I will have to purchase a new cigarette case, or in this instance, a new cigar case. Fortunately I have my eye on a sweet little container with, you guessed it, a skull on it.

Never worry my dears, I will still be pursuing my ambition of being the last smoker.

DRAGGED INTO THE 21ST CENTURY

After trying my damnest not to create a My Space page, I have finally been convinced by many people that I needed to do this. The straw that broke this camel's back was my inability to up load recordings to my blog. You can now find me at

BETTE O"

I will still be bloggin' here so keep tuned.

WINTERY AUSTIN

Yes, it actually snowed in Austin today, I believe this is a once in a century sort of thing. We've had mostly icy rain and the entire city has closed down. No work for me tonight, whahey. I braved the very icy stairs from my veranda to the car park, clutching the equally icy railing and easing my way from step to step like a nonagerian. Went for a walk to the corner shop for, yes you guessed it... fags, when Baza spotted this miniature snowman on the hood of someone's car. Its been rather like having a snow day off from school today, I spent hours at my neighbour's playing Trivial Pursuit, I am indeed in the lead, we took a short break for dinner and I'll be heading back over as soon as I finish this to whip them youngin's asses. Its been fun but is meant to last for a few more days and I'm getting bored with the cold and rain which has restricted my frocks and shoes choices and left me swaddled in layers looking very much like those homeless souls who wear all their clothing at once as they are their own walking wardrobes.

Keep warm darlings if it is cold wherever you are.

SKINT NEW YEAR

This cartoon is a cautionary message to all of you youngin's who haven't started smoking, and to those of you who are planning to quit.... please do not start or do quit as you will help me achieve my dream of being THE LAST SMOKER.

I will, however, be a very skint smoker as the new smoking tax, $1, yes one whole entire US dollar will be added to every packet of fags after the new year.

To put this all in perspective for you I have written the following film synopsis. It is an...........

Horror Film

The camera slowly pans from the varnished toes of a woman up her shapely legs to her lap where it closely focuses on her hands holding a cigarette case.

Cue shark music from Jaws

The hands carefully open the cigarette case and….. IT IS EMPTY

Cue shower music from Psycho

Music continues as an underlay to woman’s frenetic raving

Woman: What am I gonna do, what am I gonna do?

FINI

Now I must get the stupidmarket and buy several cartons of fags before the price goes up.

Have a happy New Year, I'll still be smokin', probably eatin' less though.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
the scent of nicotine wreathed a wretched old souse
the bottles of whiskey were lined up with care
in hopes that they’d last her till the end of the year
the neighbours were all nestled snug in their beds
with visions of a peaceful night in their heads
when out on the veranda there arose such a clatter
the old bird was ranting, as mad as a hatter
My bloody lighter just ran out of fuel
n’ my fags are all soaked in disgusting cat drool
get me some new fags and get ‘em right quick
or I’ll call for reprisals from nasty Old Nick
then what to her wondering eyes should appear
but a wee tiny man saying Calm down old dear
I’ve brought you some fags, 200 of More
they should just last you, till you get to the store
she fell on her knees and thanked him with glee

shouting Happy Christmas to you n’ especially me

I trust you all will have a very happy holiday. I miss you and I'll be thinking of you whilst I sit on the veranda on Christmas morning, sippin' my whiskey and smokin' them fags.

NOIR VIGNETTE

I got tired of reading about female detectives who always ate salad for lunch, are they a bunch of rabbits or what? So I wrote a little something myself for the giggle.

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It was a gray day in my customary gray life. I had just finished my usual lunch of a double shot of Jameson and ten cigarettes when my door slammed open and a lad stumbled into my office and fell to his knees at my feet. I looked down and said, “so what can I do for you, other than spread my legs?” I’ve always believed that a short, sharp shock is necessary to bring someone to his senses. It worked; he jumped to his feet and looked me in the eye. When I saw his face, I realized this boy was quite beautiful and I was reconsidering putting my question in a more positive vein until I saw the blood on his hands. Damn, I thought, can’t things be simple just for once?

“Okay darlin’ just what is it you think you need from me?” I asked him as I guided him to a chair, offered him a smoke and proffered my treasured skull Zippo to light him up
He replied, “someone just killed my buddy and I know they’ll think it’s me”
“Yeah,” I said, “considering the blood on your hands you’d be my number one candidate. So tell me what happened?”
“Its like this, we were at the local bar havin’ a few drinks the other night when we got into a heated argument and I punched him.” This led to a knock down, drag out fight until the barkeep tossed them both out. They sobered up a bit when they hit the cold, wet pavement, had a good laugh and went their separate ways. That was two nights ago and he hadn’t seen his buddy until this morning. Or more precisely, he’d seen his buddy’s body casually draped over the steering wheel of his car.

“So what kind of car did your buddy drive?” He looked at me stupefied as if I had asked him an idiotic question.
“What difference does it make?” he sputtered.
“I’m looking for a car and figured his was available.”
The lad’s face turned purple and he half rose from his chair shouting at me. “You fuckin’ bitch! He was my friend.” Well, hell you can’t fault a woman for having her priorities straight. If I was gonna chase this case, I’d definitely need wheels.

I poured him a shot, lit him up again and got him back into the chair. “Sweetie, calm down, I’m just trying to cover all the angles.” For the next hour I listened to him as he told me about his buddy, from the day they’d met in prison till that night they hit the bar to celebrate his buddy’s acquittal for manslaughter.

“So honey, tell me when and where you found your buddy this morning?” Turns out they were supposed to meet up at their local gym for an early workout. When he arrived his buddy wasn’t inside so he checked out the parking lot in back where he found his friend’s car. Thinking it was odd that the car was there but his buddy wasn’t he tried to look into the windscreen but it was so filthy he couldn’t see anything. That’s when he decided to try to open the door and where he found his buddy draped over the steering wheel with a bullet right between his eyes. In an effort to comfort the lad I said, “the best way to go is with one right between the eyes, he never felt a thing.”
“Yeah I’ve heard that,” he muttered. He went on to tell me that he moved the body to be sure that it really was his buddy and that’s how he got the blood on his hands.
“Did you call the police?”

“Hell no, I got my ass out of there as fast as I could. I’m an ex-con, they’d be all over me for sure.”
“Do you know anyone who would want to kill your friend?”
“Nah, we’re just small time hoods and the manslaughter thing my buddy was up for was the result of a fight he got into with a neighbor who was roughing up his wife. Everyone hated the guy, he beat the wife and his kids, no one was sorry to see him go.

“There’s one more thing I need to know. Why did you come here?”
“Well, Mom, you’re the detective, where else should I have gone?”
“Damn, kid, is that you? It’s been five years since you bothered to get in touch with me.”
“Yeah, but I was inside for two years and I’ve been laying low since then.”
“You’ve changed, I guess doing time didn’t do you too much harm. Sorry I had to turn you in but I had to draw the line somewhere.”
“Make this go away and I’ll forgive you Mom.”

Kids, they always want something.

© Bette O’Callaghan

RAMBLING & MUTTERING

It has been awhile since I’ve written anything here; I’ve been struck by a strange combination of ennui and excitement. Work continues apace, it is lovely to be off the phones and managing a campaign again, but it’s very much of the same old, same old variety. November was notable for Thea’s 35th birthday and Thanksgiving.

My loveliest memory of a special mum/daughter moment on Thea’s birthday occurred when I took her out to breakfast after she came to mine for coffee and the opening of her prezzies. As it seemed to be taking overlong (to my mind) for our food to come, I asked Thea if it would be really rude if I left her on her own whilst I went out to smoke a fag, her reply, It’s okay ,mom, I don’t want to be around you when you come down. Ah, my child (she’ll kill me for using that word) knows me so well and absolutely knows when it’s best to step away from the mother.

We did up the Thanksgiving thing properly this year; there were six of us, just the right number to fit into my bijou studio flat. I cooked the turkey and mashers and prepared the salad with proper French dressing. Melinda cooked the green bean casserole (thankfully) as I wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole and as is the case with food I won’t eat, I really don’t have a clue how to make it… no real interest you see. It looked fabulous and everyone said it was excellent. Bazza baked his famous chocolate cherry cake, which we served with pumpkin pie and ice cream and which everyone adored. I also roasted Thea’s tofurkey and she brought her renowned ratouie (I don’t even have a clue how to spell a food that’s made entirely of vegetables) so all in all we had lots of brill food, drink and good company.

I have been troubled of late by a television advert for a firm of lawyers. Their ad is directed towards people who are trying to obtain their social security disability benefits. The gist of the ad is that individuals represented by lawyers constitute a higher percentage of those awarded benefits. Here’s my problem, if one is disabled one is in many cases unemployed, therefore, how can one pay one’s attorney’s fees? It may be necessary to point out to those of you who are not familiar with US law that many lawyers work on a contingency basis, only taking fees from a percentage of the award, if they win the case. Surely it cannot be legal to take part of a client’s disability benefit? Once more the gap between the haves and have nots broadens, I mean think of all of those people who cannot afford an attorney to secure their basic benefits? What a sad commentary on a country. Lest you think I am a jealous, twisted and bitter individual because I am so low on the food chain, might I remind you that I am perfectly happy living a second-hand life, i.e. filling my life with books, clothing and furniture from thrift/charity shops. It’s true I enjoy the occasional foray to the mall to obtain items on sale from Gap and Old Navy and, my real guilty pleasure, rather expensive cosmetics. I’m not slamming the US once more although I am once again disappointed in the extent of the great divide and to my eternal vexation I’ve discovered that I have to wait 5 years longer than if I had stayed in London, to get a free bus pass here. I do, however, get a senior citizen’s discount at Wendy’s so there you go, better than a stick in the eye.

Lastly, today 1st December, is the Naked Kobrinsky’s birthday. She is 29 again, no really she is 29 for the first and only time. Here’s to you darlin’, lets all hoist a few in her honor. We never have just the one, do we?

Postscript: Due to technical difficulties I wasn't able to post this yesterday, on Sarah's birthday, but this does give me an opportunity to add a congratulations to Clare and Jamie on the birth of their son, Liam. I've seen pictures, he's georgeous!

LONDON AUBADE

It’s a grey and chilly rainy morning in Austin, very unusual weather for a city in the desert. It’s the very weather with which I used to castigate myself, on almost a daily basis, for choosing to live in London year after year wondering why I would sentence myself to days made even more depressing by the lack of sun. That weather is now an instrument on which I play the tune of homesickness. I recently talked to both Roxanne and Sarah who each are pining for London. Is it because we miss our friends, well certainly that is an ongoing emptiness we face each day. It is, I believe, much more than that. We each have definable and indefinable reasons why London calls to us. I miss the pub culture, meeting with friends over a drink or, as most often happened, too many drinks. The bars in America seem to be highly defined by the pervasive class system of age and job title with a strong whiff of a meat market mentality. I loved the fact that local pubs, in Ireland and the UK were a place that welcomed people from young to old, rich to poor and that they all talked to each other. I remind myself that there are good things here for me, the nearness of Thea of course, and the fact that I can live on part-time wages, can even afford my bijou studio flat with its necessary veranda. None of which were achievable in London. As much as I thought I detested the crowded streets of Central London, I find that now I hunger for throngs of people and feel as if I am truly living in a desert when I am in downtown Austin and the streets are virtually deserted. I do not miss the cacophony of traffic outside my window in London and treasure the relative quiet of my flat in Austin, broken generally only by the thriving wildlife although sometimes the noise of those various species is so persistent I feel as if I am living in a jungle. I do, however, choose the jungle sounds over the incessant and maddening sounds of the automotive engine. Politically there is not much to choose between, as always power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. I do wish the American people would awake from the nightmares encouraged by the current administration, would that they were more like the people in the UK who recognized early on that the war was an unnecessary waste of money and lives and that the best reaction to terrorism is to get on with one’s life. Most of all I miss the poetry, the venues like Shortfuse and express excess where I could read my work and where I could be inspired by hearing so many other poets. I constantly miss the after gig, after hour’s drinks with people who shared my love of words. I feel as if that part of my life, the best part, has gone. Will I ever return to London? I think about it often but know that I could never leave Thea again. I suppose I must start playing the lottery in hopes that I will someday be able to afford to go back for a visit. In the meanwhile I send a bang on the ear to all of you that I love and miss, please hoist a pint for me.

60 ON HER DEATHBED

Here's a glimpse of my deathbed and me opening birthday prezzies. 

BIRTHDAY CAKE

This is the perfect, well almost except for where the bullet grazed it, birthday cake Thea designed for me. I was very touched by the and Fabulous Darling. 

GUILTY PLEASURES

Some of you may know that I am a dedicated fan of Xena the Warrior Princess. I was very distraught when they cancelled the show and even more so when Channel 5, in London, abruptly stopped running the series, I mean they were way behind the original and could have easily let us see the series' finish, but NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Whilst I still lived in London and had a video player, I constantly searched for Season Six on video. Once again technology had outpaced me and the only Season Six material was on DVD, which I didn't have. So I moved to the US and a new neighbour sold me his DVD player for $10. I was amazed at this price and quietly congratulated myself for getting such a deal, ha ha, he was just a young man and I scored big time off him. Well actually, I didn't, as I had to buy all sorts of boxes, cables etc to hook the DVD up to my TV (which I did get free so I guess I shouldn't complain) and the whole thing ended up costing me a bit over $30. It took me months, on part-time pay, to get everything sorted and the DVD player hooked up but I finally achieved lift off and celebrated by buying the DVD of the new King Kong film. Yes, I love gorillas and the new King Kong is awesome! Yesterday, with some of my birthday money, I went to the mall. I believe birthday money should be spent on things one really, really wants but can't justify spending one's hard earned part-time cash on. I found it! Xena Season Six! 10 discs for $44.95, a mere $4.49 per disc, and they gave me $10 in pizza money as well. Got home, after a detour with a friend to a bar for a pint, then on to his to smoke a bowl followed by a trip to the stupidmarket to buy stuffed animals (what can I say, that's how to behave when you're 60, and also when you're 31 that's my friend's age). Sat down in my new overstuffed rocker, oh yes more birthday money wisely spent, and put Xena disc one into the DVD sat back, rocked and watched the first episode.........bliss. Here's the feckin' kicker. I don't have a remote for the DVD and I can't seem to get my, alleged, universal remote programmed for the DVD so I have no way to access the menu on the discs. Damnit, I can't watch more than the first episode on each disc. I'm going to ring the alleged universal remote people and see if they can't sort me, otherwise I will be busing up and down Lamar till I find a remote that bloddy well works.

WAITIN' FOR WILLIE

Here I am with Thea and her friends at the ACL festival just before Willie Nelson came on. The crowd was huge, we do love Willie here in his home town.

Birthday pictures coming soon.

60

I woke up this morning, yes I was as surprised as you are but there you go, I am now 60. It all started off very nicely with some cherry pie, thanks Melinda. Then a 2am smoke and South Park DVD fest with my neighbour, young Carl. Went out to the veranda this morning to find that the cheddar cheese with port wine and the cigarette fairy, Thea, had left gifts outside my door.

So I wonder how did a mispent life lead to a rocking chair on a veranda in the heart of Texas? I was thinkin' as I drank, smoked, dropped whatever drugs were available and frequently went home with strangers throughout my life; that I would have ended up in a box or an urn years ago. Am I disappointed? Perhaps a little, I mean being dissolute should be its own reward imortalising one in dodgy glory. There was also the allure of dying young whilst one is still beautiful. I feel as if I may have overstayed my welcome on that one.

The truth? I don't feel any wiser, older or uglier than I did at 11:59pm last night. So there you go, a birthday is just another day after all. Hey, I'm still lookin' forward to the celebrations tonight. There will be food, music, dancing and, I asked for it and I'm gettin' it, a chocolate cake with a skull on it. Wha hey!

The Pleasure of Public Smoking

I often enjoy sauntering down the road smoking a fag. I expect y’all in London don’t saunter overmuch but we Texans are definitely disposed to sauntering, especially when the temperature hits triple digits. It’s the last frontier of freedom for smokers, the one place we can still enjoy a smoke without being legislated into oblivion. Damn, I’m probably tempting the fates by even writing this.

What I loathe is the number of people who, when they see me smoking, come up and ask for a cigarette. People, I do not work to pay for your fags and no, there isn’t such a thing as a spare fag; only the next fag, which I will be smoking myself thank you.

So there I was Sunday evening sitting on a bench at the bus stop enjoying a smoke when a car pulls up to the stop light and someone shouts at me. No, they weren’t in the lane next to the pavement; they were in the middle lane. What did they shout, you ask? Here’s the script.

Youngish girl in car, shouting: Have you got a cigarette?
Me: What?
Youngish girl in car, shouting: Have you got a cigarette?
Me, holding up my freshly lit fag: Why yes I do, thank you.

Words were mumbled from the car, no doubt casting aspersions on my character and lineage but I just smiled and puffed away.

At Her Majesty's Request

The lovely Alice sent me an email from my blog asking for an up date. Perhaps when you read this, you’ll know why I haven’t been in the mood for writing. Hey, life goes up and down.

It all started last Tuesday night. One of the lads who works with me was giving me a lift home and suggested we stop for a drink. Just the one, is it possible to have one drink? I can’t remember ever having just the one even when my resolve was as concrete as the block a hit man would carefully affix to the leg of the poor sod he was sending to sleep with the fishes.

Of course I awoke on Wednesday morning hung over and totally enervated. In an effort to work off the double whammy inflicted by too much drink, I dragged my sorry arse over to the pool for a, I hoped, restorative swim. But noooooooooooo, the pool was filthy, no swimming for me. Unfortunately I had to be at work early as I had people to interview so I rushed off to the bus stop, 100+ degrees, with minutes to spare to get the bus. I arrived at said bus stop and sheltered under a tree seeking what little shade it offered and found some solace in that I only had perhaps one minute to wait before I could get on the, thankfully, air conditioned bus. But noooooooooooo, I stood there for a half an hour waiting for a bus that never arrived. I managed to get to work, deal with all of that shite and then I get a telephone call from Evan, the Operations Manager for the company, saying he was going to stop by to drop off some supplies for me. He arrives about 10 minutes before my troops are due and drops the bomb. The campaign he was managing was finishing on Sunday and he was taking over my campaign. So as of last night, Monday, I’m back on the telephones (actually this may not be horrible, other than the brain dead aspect of the job, as there is an opportunity for me to work less hours and make more money). Meanwhile back to the day from hell… I get home and am just starting to relax when I see a giant flying roach on the wall above my bed. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, not only do we have these huge motherfucking bugs here, but they fucking have bloody wings and are almost indestructible. One of those suckers can land on its back and lie there for weeks and still be alive when it’s turned over. So I grab the fly swatter and bat the little bastard who falls on my bed, not good at all at all. I hit him again and knock him on to the floor where he disappears. I did a CSI investigation, got out the flashlight and checked everyplace I could get to. But noooooooooooo, he was nowhere to be found. There endeth my day from hell.

The good news is that I was still awake late into the night and at 1:00am, I heard a rustling and tracked that little (excuse me, fecking huge) bugger down. I cornered him and then moved heaven and earth (okay furniture) and chopped him into pieces. So Thursday started a bit better.

Then came Friday, I had drinks and dinner with Sarah and Auggie, always a nice thing to do; only this time it was our last. They were off to Auggie’s cousin’s wedding in the Carolinas and then back to San Francisco early the next morning. Yes, it was sad, yes, I cried a bit. Damn I’m getting tired of saying goodbye to Sarah, at least this time she’s not so far away and we can talk on the telephone regularly.

Possible good news, I hired a lovely young bloke who is a poet and he’s arranging a gig for me, it will be my first for a year.

Meanwhile the heat continues to hit triple digits and my electric bill is climbing along with the temperature.

There you go, young Alice, thanks for reminding me I needed to write something new for the blog.