So, in Albuquerque they gave me a rental car with Texas plates.
Let me get this straight…I am a New Mexican who lives in California driving a car with Texas plates?
There is a joke in there somewhere. I’ll need another margarita to figure it out.
Oooooh baby! I bought a new eeeelectrical device over the weekend and I’m becoming an OCD monster with this thing!
After reading one or another health book written by some expert and the need for more fruits and veggies in the diet and how big corporation farmed veggies are less healthy than ever and now it takes tons and tons of vegs to get the job done and we all need to be healthier and have more fruits and veggies and (breathe breathe) soooo….
I bought a juicer.
[Tim the Toolman Taylor grunt]
Oh yeah. This one right here: new toy
I shopped best prices, best brands, compared, touched, felt, took ’em apart and finally settled on one with good reviews, ease of operation, and, oh yeah, I had a coupon. That always helps.
I clutched this little beauty to my chest and put it lovingly into the Jeep. Then I went to Trader Joe’s and went nutty in the produce aisle.
Whew! All stocked up, I was rarin’ to go.
I had a little trepidation when I first fired this thing up. It says in the literature, you can drop a whole apple in there. But, you know…sometimes they *lie* in sales literature.
So imagine my delight when I fired up that 13,000 rpm (6,500 on the low end) mo-chine and it emitted a low rumbling hum.
Then I slid a smallish apple down the chute and “woooompph” that thing was pulverized and a nice glass of juice poured out the spout. Oh, and it was delicious too!
Then I started channeling both Jack Lalanne and Tim the Tooltime Taylor, all at once.
I was like “well, what else can we fit down there?” For much of Sunday afternoon, The Good Man was patient as I ground down just about anything I could possibly fit down that chute and shove through with the “food pusher”.
Remember how Tim the Toolman wanted a garbage disposer that could chew up tree limbs? I think my juicer could do it! The juice would taste, uh, pine-y, but man what fun!
I *may* have lost the focus here on this whole juicing thing, not sure. But if you are a fruit or veggie anywhere my neighborhood, be very, very afraid.
I’m just saying. Today, there is a pineapple on my counter that tomorrow, won’t be more than a pile of rubble.
Woooo!
I am:
   +   
So the conversation goes like this:
“Hey, do we have any WD-40?”
“Yeah, I think so, why?”
“Where would it be? I want to fix the squeak in that [curse word] bathroom door.”
“Oh. Yeah, it’s probably in that same cabinet where we keep the toolbox.”
“Ah, ok.” sounds of digging around “Found it!”
sounds of more cursing, spraying, door swinging back and forth
Yeah, see, this conversation in a similar form took place on more than occasion between my mom and dad.
The ol’ man was hell on squeaks, rattles, and turning off lights when you left a room.
And he was all about the WD-40.
The conversation above? Took place in my home this past weekend.
Only, it was me cursing at the bathroom door, maniacal look on my face as I eliminated the squeak.
So why again is it as you age, you become your parents?
And why again am I becoming my father?
When I start wearing Sears brand jeans and listening to Big Band music, you all have my permission to take me down, Mutual of Omaha-style.
Damn bathroom door is pretty quiet now, though.
So, there I was today, in bumper to bumper traffic, trying to get to work.
The Bay Bridge is closed this weekend for construction, so the traffic patterns in the Bay Area have gone all wonky.
My usual peaceful, easy commute was jammed up. Fine. A fact of life in a highly populated area.
As you may or may not know, in California, it’s legal for motorcycle riders to “split the lanes”, meaning, they can ride in that space between two cars, side by side in their respective lanes.
It took me quite some time to get used to this, but now, especially in a traffic slowdown, I’m quite alert. As a car driver it’s always best to stay the course when a motorcycle comes whipping down between lanes.
This morning, as I sat, fully stopped, I watched the usual parade of motorcycles split the lanes. A Harley rumbled by. A really sweet BMW bike glided through. A couple of those very speedy Japanese bikes that force the rider to stick his rear up (doesn’t seem right to go a 100mph with your ass higher than you head, but what do I know?).
And then, in my rearview, I saw this patchwork bike come wobbling along, looking like something out of the Road Warrior films.
Apparently mismatched parts had been collected from the junk pile. The thin tires looked better suited to off road than asphalt. The fender didn’t match the bumper. It made a sound like a monkey wrench caught in the spin cycle.
But the rider sat tall in the saddle. He was decked in leathers and fully in command of his vehicle, proudly guiding his bike through Bay Area traffic.
And as he passed by, I noted the New Mexico license plate bolted firmly to the back.
As he rode away, out of sight, I held hand to my heart and quietly hummed “O Fair New Mexico”.
“O Fair New Mexico, we love, we love you so….”
Thank you, New Mexico, for keeping it rasquache, even here in the Bay Area.
Oh so ready for the Labor Day Weekend. Happy and safe one, ya’ll!
Last month, it was complete happiness and joy to celebrate my one year anniversary! Wow, a whole year.
Both of us marveled at how fast a year could fly by, and had great times remembering our wedding day. Truly, the best day of my life.
Just this week, we finally finished up our wedding albums (yay!) and so it goes, into the life of a married couple.
A few weeks ago, The Good Man had occasion to laugh and point at me (this happens fairly often, actually). He said, “You’re still not used to having someone around all the time, are you?”
Well. No, actually.
I mean. I was single for a long time.
And for a while, even when I was in a couple, we had such different schedules that I found myself with a lot of alone time on my hands. Which was ok.
Don’t misunderstand. I love my husband and miss him with an ache in my chest when he’s not nearby.
But…
Look, we all do things we’re not proud of. And, well, it’s often better to do such things without a witness.
Like, I don’t know, eating a dozen donuts, while still wearing your stained nightgown at 3:00 in the afternoon, sitting on the couch watching re-runs of “The Hills” or “Real Housewives” or something.
Or…
Listening to “The Big 80’s” radio station, indulging in the strains of “Tainted Love” or “Jump for my Love” or “Love is a Battlefield” without *someone* commenting “oh. my. god. Why are you listening to that?”
Or…
Putting a goopy green mask on your face while painting your toenails and plucking your eyebrows without hearing “Agh!”
Or…
Belting out a show tune, for no reason at all.
Or…
Needing to spend some, erm…time, in the one restroom in the house…without some damn boy standing outside the door making farty noises with his mouth. Cuz that’s not funny. And it’s rather embarrassing. But it makes him laugh every time so I can’t be too mad, because he’s adorable when he laughs.
You get my drift.
This marriage thing…it’s like breaking in a new pair of shoes that you *know* will be incredibly comfortable, but you gotta wear through the tight spots first.
