The X-rated Stuff

"Did you remind Teri to get my Stuff?"

"You needed Stuff? What Stuff?" Does Stuff have a definition? Am I supposed to know what Stuff she's talking about? She said it as if I should know, which only added to my confusion. I need specific names. I mean, we have a lot of stuff, car stuff, kid stuff, unspeakable stuff.

"No, he didn't." Teri answers for me in my confusion. She knew what Stuff was. Why didn't I?

"It's okay, I have Stuff with me you can have," Sarah answers from the backseat of the car. Even she knows the meaning of Stuff. Why am I not getting this?

I’m Buying a Goat

Everyone has preferences as to where they choose to live whether in a house, a condo or an apartment. Personally, I refuse to live in an apartment or any other small boxlike structure where my neighbors are only separated by two sheets of drywall and a two-by-four. It’s bad enough when the kids go pounding through the house like soldiers on parade, but to listen to someone walking on top of my head wondering if their heavy foot is going to bust through my ceiling and wiggle its toes at me is simply too much. I don’t want to hear their shower or their television program selection and I sure as hell don’t want to hear them doing the nasty unless they invite me to watch. I’ll even bring my own beer. Seriously.

 No, I have to be in a house, not in one of those compact suburban neighborhoods of cookie cutter homes with no individual style and only six feet of lawn separating them. I want a full yard, front and back, where plants can grow and kids can run and scream, so that I can send their ear busting wound up bodies outside and out of my hair before I lose any more of it. I want shade trees where birds and squirrels can make their homes and entertain me while I daydream about a life without idiots. I want a lawn that rivals the retired man down the street and hedges that conceal the fact that I’m walking naked throughout the house. I want lush landscape with colorful foliage that captures the eye and begs a person to sit and enjoy.

I just don’t want to do the work.

Did We Even Leave America?

When the girls started making plans for our cruise back in October, we looked into getting passports. Char had never had one, vowing she would never get on a boat or a plane so never saw the need, and mine had expired a few years back. However, procuring a passport is an expensive endeavor and upon seeing their clothing allowance diminishing before their eyes, Teri decided to call and verify that a passport was truly necessary. Cheers went up and a shopping trip planned when we were told that a driver’s license would do. Of course, the Monday before we were to set sail Teri was checking us in early and noticed that the driver’s license had to be enhanced.

Enhanced. That doesn’t even make sense. Enhanced how? I mean, when a woman goes for a breast enhancement the results are quite visible. But a driver’s license? Does it shoot out a hologram that displays all of my background information including how I like my coffee and which side of the bed I sleep on? Then we discovered that only three states have that special driver’s license and Florida isn’t one of them. Teri picked up the phone again, only this time with more panic in her voice.

The Organization of Rabbit Trails

I think in rabbit trails. I’m told that I talk that way as well, but I can’t help it. I start talking about a topic and something is said that spurs another topic and I’m off on a tangent. Eventually I do get back to the original conversation and finish it up. I just usually take the scenic route as opposed to the expressway. It’s how my mind works.

Because of my rabbit trail aversion, writing became a tad frustrating at times. I’d start on one piece and before long another concept was triggered and I’d begin writing that one and then another idea would spark my interest and I would switch to that one and then another… Well, you get the idea. I had several partially completed essays scattered all over the house, van, work, etc. To make it worse, I have a habit of carrying all of my projects with me wherever I go because I never know what I’m going to feel like working on. This makes even a trip to the store a weighty affair and one arm is now thicker than the other. Of course, the girls won’t classify this as my daily workout, so I’m still forced to go to the gym.

It’s in the Service

It was supposed to be a nice relaxing night out. The girls had some shopping to do, but first they were getting their nails done, and then we were going to enjoy dinner and drinks at Red Lobster. The girls had been talking about it for the past few days with eager anticipation. Each one seems to have a restaurant they enjoy and for Teri and Sarah it’s Red Lobster with its Cheddar Cheese Biscuits. Char is more a Texas Roadhouse gal with a thick steak and baked potato. I just want to eat; I don’t care where.