It is assault, I tell you!

I have this neighbor. Well, ok, I have a lot of neighbors, but there is one in particular…

Who, let’s be frank, has no taste.

How do I know this?

Well, the neighbor *loves* to crank up their stereo. Yup. They crank up their tinny sounding piece of eeeelectronic equipment loud enough so the whole neighborhood can take part in their musical selections.

A sociologist postulated that when male humans crank their stereos super loud, they are essentially marking their territory. They are forcing people to look at them and forcing all around to succumb to their musical selection.

If so, then my neighbor is a marking fool. He may as well pee on a mile radius.

This fellow (I assume it’s a guy, I’m not sure, actually) likes to boot up his sound gear at about 8:00am on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Just in time to wake me up from a nice weekend doze.

So, what sort of music does this fellow play? Do you have guesses?

Gangsta rap? Screetching metal? Blazing punk?

Nope.

Sixties oldies? Big Band? Yanni?

No, but getting closer.

The music this fellow cranks out across my air space is smooth jazz. Not the good jazz, say Theonius Monk, Charlie Parker or Miles Davis.

Nope. The smooth kind. Plinky plunky. Music that reminds you of sitting in the waiting room at the dentist’s office.

Cranked up loud. Bouncing off the hills and homes in our fair town.

This has been going on for a while now. And the gent has recently taken to cranking his crazy beats around 5:30 in the evening, so that all coming home from work can enjoy his pee-tinged music.

Today, I cracked. Today, I lost it.

Today, he was playing the theme from “Moonlighting” by Al Jarreau at full volume.

Now look, I like Al. He has some fine songs. I don’t resent anyone enjoying the mellow ways of Mr. Jarreau. However…I don’t need this blared out into my world, uninvited.

The acoustics in my neighborhood are funny, but The Good Man and I are pretty sure it’s the landlord of the triplex one lot over, but we can’t be sure.

When I DO find the offender, I am going to deliver a collection of BB King recordings with a note that says, “GET SOME SOUL, mother eff word!”

Musings from airport security

Do you ever wonder, as you stand in your socks or bare feet with your jacket off and your personal toiletries in a baggie, that the terrorists might just have won a little?

Also, matter how many times I fly through the El Paso airport (about twice a year) I am still unnerved by the intense scrutiny every person receives from Border Patrol.

They don’t just look at you. They scan you like they know you got something and they damn sure are going to find it.

Gotta be tough work, I imagine, looking that close at every traveller….

Anyhow.

My New Mexico visit has been great!! Now I am ready to go home. I get to sleep in my own bed tonight!!! Yay!!

Morning!

A nice way to begin the day. Sloppy greetings from my goddog.

Sometimes, you know you must be an ok sort of person if a dog thinks you rock.

My god cat was less sure about the necessity of my existence this morning.

It’s a gorgeous day in Southern New Mexico. I head back home tomorrow, happy from a great trip back to NM, and very happy to get back to The Good Man. I miss him so much it aches.

What do you get for the girl…

…who wandered away from home, and might be a little bit lost?

This weekend my best friend arrived, and it couldn’t have happened at a better time.

Lately, I’ve been, yes, a little bit lost. Been thrown off my center of gravity and unable to get myself back right.

The Good Man has been a champ in propping me up, rubbing my shoulders, sending me back out there for the fight.

I keep swinging. And keep getting knocked down.

Then that great gal I described last week, the one who has been in my court for twenty plus years shows up…back up troops, you might say.

And from her roller bag, she pulls out some completely unexpected presents for my belated birthday.

In the presents, she had this (pardon the iPhone photo fuzziness):

That gift was the idea of my two goddaughters (her kids).

“Open it, friend,” she said, “and take a whiff.”

At first I thought it was some sort of unknown-to-me spice. But I was wrong.

I opened. I inhaled.

Inside that little canning jar, hauled on a plane all the way from New Mexico, was a little sprig of creosote.

“Smells like rain,” she said. She was right.

“Smells like home,” I said, and had to blink really fast so I didn’t dissolve into a huge puddle right there on the red couch.

The Power of Nothing

“Hey Karen, what are you going to do this weekend?”

“Nothing!”

True conversation held last Friday.

The last two and a half months have been nothing short of a rat race. Every weekend something was brewing.

Every. Weekend. Since May.

Most of the stuff was good. Traveling, dinner with friends and family, visiting newly born godbabies, etc.

Also, both The Good Man and I celebrated birthdays over that time span.

There was also some crap stuff, like moving out of our place for termite tenting.

Every weekend was a blur, non-stop, arriving back at work Monday more tired then when I’d left the previous Friday.

I’m a Taurus, and by nature, a bit of an at-home kind of girl. Bonding with the red couch is my sort of speed.

My Gemini love is more of a “let’s GOOOOO” sort of fellow.

So for us, it is about striking a balance.

Combine my natural tendency to lay about with a couple months of mistreatment at the hands of my employers, and you have Little Johnny Karen on the verge of something not pretty.

All work and no play makes Karen a very, very cranky girl.

And so, for the past two and a half months I have been plotting and planning a weekend that included zero plans with anyone other than me, the husband and the feline.

I had targeted this past weekend for some time and was a little bit cranky in defending it. We had no less than FOUR invitations to do something this weekend. All of which, we turned down.

Sure, that may make me a bad friend, but I have my sanity to consider.

So finally, the delicious weekend of July 18th arrived, and good for my word, I did nothing.

Ok, to be fair, I did a few things. Laundry. Landlord came to make some needed repairs. Ran a few errands.

But I also took a *nap* on both Saturday and Sunday. Oh delicious mouth watering naps.

I also made dinner for me and the cutest boy on Saturday night. Took the time and made a genuine homemade dinner! Imgaine that!

You know what else? I *read* a book. My god, it’s like vacation porn. I actually sat on my tush and READ A BOOK. Ay god. Makes me drool just remembering.

So as it will, Monday has returned to my life, but so far so good. I feel a bit rested, calmer, ready to take on the slings and arrows that will inevitably land my way.

Next weekend, it all begins again. Rev up the big machine and start running. Won’t see another break until September…*sigh*

My new motto: Do nothing. And do it *really* well!

P.S. and all those old fashioned “you must get up early and work hard!” because you think it makes you moral-and-just type of folks. To you, I say BAH!

P.P.S. And BAH! again!