Wednesday, October 19, 2005
The chores, THE STORES, fresh air, TIMES SQUARE
the Esteban jockey
A while back I posted a picture of some perennial grasses from a little corner of my garden. My compadre, Andrew, expressed surprise at how rural mi casa is. "No moreso than I, dude," was my thought at the time. How did I end up here? I think back and I can't recall my train of thought. It doesn't make any sense to Mike's Brain 2005 that I would settle into a fairly rural, very conservative community to build my business. It was probably familiarity that did it, but I'm not sure. I grew up in a community like this, but that was back when I was still bangin' cheerleaders (alas, the lifted and not the lifters). It just doesn't add up for me now.
I'm reflecting on this now because of the day I had. After I finished a brief, but hectic work schedule in the morning, I had my afternoon free. Well, I worked out hard at the gym first, natch, but then free. Well, free, but in truth I've also saddled myself with a large house, a large yard and copious landscaping to maintain. Fall is well upon us here in Central Bumfuck, Ohio, so I am now a slave to the outside maintenance. Before I go on, I must admit it was a GORGEOUS and unseasonably warm autumn day. Picture me in a sport shorts and sleeveless T combo. What's that? Yes, in certain venues I can still pull it off . ((Bitch)). Instead of lawn mowing, though, I should be rollerblading and checking out hot urban guys (h.u.g.). Instead of weeding, I should be reading and catching rays in some park while checking out h.u.g. Instead of cutting down perennials, I should be sitting at some sidewalk coffee shop, sipping an espresso, blogging and checking out h.u.g. Instead, I'm cutting the damned grass while breeders and their spawn, and Golden Retrievers, frolic about the 'hood. As if the Furies are at work to further bedevil me, I am then invaded, not by h.u.g., but by these Japanese beetle lady bug looking things. Do y'all have these? I have thousands of them landing all over me, climbing into my shirt and shorts. I'm normally amenable to invasion by something Asian, but he should be a lot bigger and he should definitely not be a lady. To add final insult to injury, some farmer in the vicinity starts spreading chicken manure. You heard me. Wanna know what that smells like? Just imagine the dankest, mustiest corner of some really old dude's cellar. Got it? Now imagine that he's let 250,000 chickens shit in there for about six months. Now stir that with a big stick. That's the smell.
So won't someone come and rescue me? I don't require much care and I have a talented mouth. Seriously, fuck Oliver, Lisa needs a penthouse view.