Bricker59's Xanga

Times Change

Fri, 18 Jul 2008 15:24:28 GMT

It was my grandparents house.

A sleepy little village, surrounded by farms with some of the finest soil in all of Canada.The farms were big, the village was not.My grandfather was a merchant in the village.

It wasn't much of a house. A bungalow with extremely deep windowsills, it wasn't until we took possession after he died that we realized the walls were made of adobe brick. The historical society came round and asked to inspect the place. Seems there was only one other building in all of Ontario built of adobe brick and with my grandpas house there were two.

Historically significant.

The sleepy little village became quaint and soon there were stores catering to tourists. There were lots of tourists and we turned my grandparents house into a store. Gifts, crafts and antique furniture.It was pretty cool in it's day.We demanded exclusivity from our craftsmen, this meant that we had carvings and handmade stuff that you couldn't find anywhere else.I did the antiques, which were all one of a kind and couldn't be found anywhere else...and before you knew it we were a destination store.

We displayed all the gift stuff on my furniture so whenever a piece of my furniture sold the display had to change.I sold a lot of furniture so the store always looked new and fresh.People would come every week to see what new furniture I had and how we had changed the store around.

It wasn't long before we had a fabulous reputation, craftsmen would practically beg us to sell their wares, and people came from miles away to buy my antiques.A book was written on the fifty best antique dealers in Ontario and I was one of them.

I am very proud of that.

The problem was it was a family business. I am the youngest in the family. And I wasn't a favorite.After nine years I left and opened my own store. My brother took my place ( in his dreams) and they went on, and I went my own way. They never made a profit after I left.They broke even, or came close, but it was a losing proposition before long.

The trends had changed and the store didn't change with them.My spoiled brat eldest sister ran things, and she ran it into the ground. Kind of hard to run a business when you never work there.My brother did not have my eye for antiques, and he did everything he could to avoid contact with the customers.

Doesn't work that way.

The house had been in my family since 1874, it was built in 1824. We were the third owners.

We sold it this week. Not the business , for there was no business left to sell.We had the store for almost 28 years, hard to believe a business can vanish after that long.

But the house and the property have been sold.People have been coming saying they can't believe we would sell it, that we are a landmark."When did you last buy something here?" my brother would ask , and they would slink away.

In my time there, it was a happening place. We sold a lot of really cool stuff and I had some fun times.I also had a lot of not so fun times due to my family. What should have been a thing that pulled us all together eventually drove us all apart.

I'm glad it has been sold. But I'm also sad to be losing..not the store, but my grandparents house.

To Buy A Boat or Not.

Thu, 10 Jul 2008 16:29:49 GMT

My brother is getting married in Mexico in September. One week later they are having another ceremony here in Canada basically for the benefit of my parents who are too old and frail to make the trip.At first my brother said one was enough, the second one was added after my sisters went to work on him.

My soon to be sister in law asked my girls to be bridesmaids, they of course were thrilled and quickly said yes.Great , I was now stuck with having to take them to Mexico.This will not be a cheap excursion, even for one.Last week when I was staying with my brother at his cottage I came to the conclusion that I simply can't afford to take them.

While I was up there I saw that my parents had been letting my nephews use my pontoon boat. They had busted out the drink holders with their rowdy friends.The boat is pretty old and the motor is acting up but I was still furious at them for letting them use it. "He's family" my folks were quick to say.

What a crock of shit. My parents have no concept of family sharing at the cottage.I bought it from them in 1988 but I can't use it when they are there...and they are ALWAYS there.I knew this was the arrangement, I paid them for it so it couldn't be disputed in their will, it guarantees that it WILL be all mine one day.In the meantime I am not welcome there which is fine by me. I stay with my brother who is two doors over.My parents let them use my boat to spite me, they know there is no way on earth that I would let my nephews use it.

Now just down the lake is a sweet old man who is 81 years old. I have always liked him and have visited him whenever I am up north, have since I was a kid. He bought a pontoon boat about 5 years ago and like everything of his, he has kept it in tip top shape.Last week he had a for sale sign on his cottage. I went down to visit him and while I was there his phone rang and he accepted an offer for his place.

That afternoon he and I went for a boatride in his pontoon. I asked him if the boat was a part of the cottage sale.It isn't. We talked price and I asked for first refusal and if I could have a few days to think it over.He agreed.

The price is a fair one, a good deal but not a giveaway on his part. He is old, not stupid. I want to buy his boat, and can just about manage it without too much pain.

But then I would have to explain to my girls how I can afford to buy a boat but can't afford to take them to Mexico when I had said I would.Truth be told I know the trip won't cost as much as the boat, but I can't afford both.With a second wedding a week later that they can be bridesmaids in , buying the boat makes sense to me.I should point out that none of my sisters are bringing their kids to Mexico.

I figure the boat will last another 15 years, my folks won't . It is a good opportunity , and one that the girls will reap the benefits from.I don't see how I can pass on that boat.I'll keep it in storage til they die and can use it. My old one can be taken over by the "family" for all I care.

I hate to disappoint my girls , but opportunity has come knocking.

Growing Up, ...No, Not Me!

Sat, 28 Jun 2008 16:26:42 GMT

My baby girl graduated from public school this past week. This means that come September she goes to HIGH SCHOOL!!!!!

Honest to God, there is something seriously wrong with the education system. High School??? She was born like four days ago!

Her sister Legshaver, is already in high school. It basically brought about the disappearance of the darling daughter I raised.I can honestly say I really haven't seen her since she started being educated there. I see someone who physically resembles her, even sounds like her on occasion.

But that is basically where the resemblance ends.I don't know how it happened, nor do I know what to do about it.

Anyway my Cuddlebug looked fabulous in her new dress (that I paid for), with her hair done, ( that I paid for), with the antique clutch purse she chose ( that I paid for).Her makeup was great...Good God my baby wears makeup!! Still haven't got my head around that yet.

She was radiant until her older sister closed the car door on her pinky. I would have cried too.

Some ice and a few minutes makeup repair and she was back to being radiant again.

She got an award and looked beautiful as she went up on stage to get it.She was proud, as she should be, and I was even prouder. Sea Hag and I exchanged a glance at that point as if to say to each other... look what we made, can you believe it?

We went outside for pictures and enjoyed the cool air immensley.

Then came the dance. This is started off with a father / daughter dance, or mother / son . I had been dreading this, but I was going to be goddamned if I would let Sea Hag's guy Thomas have the honour.

I tossed my cane to Legshaver, and Cuddlebug and I took to the dancefloor. I did my best to lead her around without stepping on her. She did her best to help me keep my balance.

It was great. A very special moment.

After the first dance the parents all split and left the kids alone til 11 oclock. I went home to the Cave and had a few beers and reflected on my baby girl . She is a memory now, and in her place I have a really terrific young lady.

I hope high school doesn't take that out of her.

A Woman's Point of View

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 16:33:42 GMT

My sister once asked me why I didn't have a girlfriend. The Sea Hag had been gone for about 6 years at that point. Thank God.

I saw my sister about twice a year back then , once at Christmas, and sometimes once during the summer.Always in the company of other people and always just talking about generalities.

This of course , qualified her as an expert on me, my life, and my time spent with members of the opposite sex.

I listened carefully as she explained that I needed a female companion , that I would be happier if I shared my life with another woman on a day to day basis.You would have thought she was talking to an adolescent , not a grown man who had shared a domicile with a wife for nine years.

In fairness to her I have to state that she left her husband after 17 years and was now hooked up with a fabulous guy she should have married in the first place.

"What if she wants to control the remote?" I asked. It seemed like a very valid point to me."Then you give it to her" was her reply.

" What if I have to fart?" I said, trying desperately to keep the smile off my face.She looked rather exasperated, "then you excuse yourself from the room and do it where it won't offend anyone".

"What if she wants my beer space in the fridge for food?" " Then you drink less beer" she said.

"Seems like a lot of trouble and bother to me " I said, " I don't have to do any of those things now". I continued on while I still had the floor.

"And just what advantages are there for me if I hooked up full time again with another woman?"

" Well " she said slowly " sex for one". It quickly confirmed what I knew all along....my sister had never lived in a supposedly sexual relationship with another woman. " So you think sex is automatically involved when you live with someone?" I asked "hmmmm interesting concept." I get far more sex now than I ever did when I was married." She looked shocked.

"Conversation too, " she blurted out quickly, " you would have someone to talk to". I nodded. "Or someone to argue with..and that is good...why?"

She was at the end of her rope now." Listen " she said, "the problem with people living alone is they start to believe their own shitty ideas."

Easier than believing hers.

Dead Musicians

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 18:47:41 GMT

Those of you that know me from " the other place" know that music plays a fairly large role in my life.I love music, have not one iota of talent, but love to crank the tunes.

I am a firm believer in the M and M factor...memories and motivation that music can bring.Nothing like the tunes to conjure up great memories, or to get you pumped up when you need to be.

So anyway, I was talking to a friend of mine the other day about a new tune I heard by Kid Rock. I have never liked Kid Rock, but I liked this tune.It starts with the piano riff from the late, great , Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London, then pays homage to Lynard Skynard's Sweet Home Alabama. It is a great tune and takes me back to MY teenage years at my cottage , similar to what he is singing about.

So my friend and I got to talking about songs we liked , and dead musicians. I guess you can blame Warren for that topic taking precedence.

I said that I would love to go back in time and smack some sense into Shannon Hoon. He was the lead singer of Blind Melon ( the song No Rain is one of my all time faves). Hoon and the band were just on the cusp of making it big, he had just had a baby girl , and he killed himself with a heroin overdose.I believe he was 24.

Stupid waste.

Then my friend went into a song and dance that I am sooooo tired of.

Jimi Hendrix. " He was the greatest guitarist in the history of Rock and Roll" my friend stated.

Oh really. " Why do you say that?" I asked. " Well, he could play the guitar behind his head" came his reply.

Sounds like he was a double jointed spastic to me , question is..how WELL did he play it when it was behind his head." So ?" I said.

"So?" my friend exploded." He could play the guitar with his teeth! He did it on stage all the time"

" Incredibly rude " I said, " and totally disrespectful to the ticket buying audience to floss with his guitar strings when he should have been concentrating on his performance."

" THAT WAS HIS PERFORMANCE!!" my friend yelled. Clearly I need to be more careful in my choice of friends.

" Demonstrating poor personal hygiene is hardly what I would call performing" I said calmly. I was glad I wasn't the one losing my cool. The bottom line for me was that Hendrix did other people's songs, if people chose to call his mess ups on the guitar " innovative" , well that wasn't my opinion.

And like that idiot Shannon Hoon, he died young of a heroin overdose.

I had to put an end to this argument once and for all. " Look " I said, " Hendrix had the chance to open for The Monkees on their nationwide tour " This is true. " He got booed off the stage so many times that he quit the tour".

My friend was almost apoplectic. He was speechless.

Game , set , and match as far as I was concerned.

I really do need better musically educated friends.

Pity Party

Sun, 22 Jun 2008 17:54:42 GMT

June 9th, 2003.

The day that will live in Infamy.

I realize that it means nothing to those of you who are reading this, but it sure as hell does for me.That was the day the MORON ran the stop sign and t-boned my car. That was the day I should have been killed. That was the day I learned for sure there was a God because my girls were in the car with me and they were not hurt except for seatbelt bruises.

That was the day my adrenaline was running so strong that I wrenched the steering wheel off , trying to steer the car away from the concrete column of the flashing yellow light.Ever try to pull a steering wheel off? takes some effort...trust me. I didn't even know I had done it til a few minutes later and I realized why my oldest girl was looking at me in awe.

That was the day I lost the ability to do anything quickly. No "jumping ' into the shower, no 'running' to the phone.No running or jumping of any kind. No dancing, no more golfing, no anything that requires me to walk on uneven ground.That means no more trout fishing along a stream, no carefree exploring of the outdoors.

And then there is the pain.

I can honestly say that I have only slept through the night a handful of times since that day.I take painkillers, and I drink a lot, but nothing really cuts it.I am afraid to take stronger painkillers, I have an addictive personality...hell , I smoke more than a chimney and I drink more beer and whiskey than any three people I know. I got addicted to morphine , then percodan when I was younger. I remember well, wanting to kill the doctor who prescribed them for me, kicking them almost killed me.

The last few days, and the last few nights have not been good for me. Last night I woke myself up , crying out in pain as my crushed tendons decided to make my life miserable and cramp up. It is a weird thing to realize that you woke yourself up, that your suffering was so bad that you yelled in pain IN YOUR SLEEP. Waking up didn't end it,I scrambled for my bottles of pills.

It goes on all day every day. Some days are better than others..but I am never pain free.

Never.

And it is wearing on me.

I chuckle sometimes when I read other people complaining about such superficial things that seem so important to them. They are important to them....but they are laughable to me. I want to tell them " give your head a fucking shake and shut the fuck up."

It was just my foot that was crushed.There are many who are worse off than me....many.I don't mean to portray myself as the ultimate human sufferer. Hells Bells, I'm not even close.

I usually try to write something humourous, I guess I'm feeling sorry for myself today.

Bear with me. I'll be my usual self in no time.

Beer and pill time.

Differences

Fri, 20 Jun 2008 15:15:41 GMT

I have always known there are differences between Americans and Canadians , but until my recent invasion into the U.S.A. I didn't know what the biggest difference was.

I do now.

It isn't hockey, it isn't politics, it isn't the variety of regional dialects and accents.It has nothing to do with immigration , the military , or the foreign policies of our respective governments.

The biggest difference between Canadians and Americans is breakfast.

During my recent foray to Cincinatti , SHE took me to a local family restaurant for our " most important meal of the day". I admit I was hungry and was looking forward to some scrambled eggs and maybe a little sausage to go with my coffee.Hungry enough to risk the female restaurant staff falling in love with me.

Yes, I was that hungry.

As we made our way to our table I saw the wait staff , both male and female , laden with huge trays of food that looked delicious. I remember thinking " wow, that must be going to a big family"...it wasn't.

It went to a table of two.

SHE and I checked the breakfast menu ( it folded out to 3 pages), and when the waitress came I ordered two eggs and sausage.The waittress ( who had clearly fallen in love with me at first sight, poor thing) then asked me if I wanted whole wheat toast or white. " No toast for me thanks" I said.

" Home fried potatoes or hash browns?" I didn't want either but , you know...when in Cincinatti... "Hash Browns I guess" was my reply.

" Do you want gravy on your biscuits or do you want them just with jelly?" Huh?

"Now for your pancakes you can have either buckwheat, buttermilk, or blueberry and what kind of syrup do you want on your pancakes?" I felt sorry for the poor thing, she obviously had fallen for me so hard that she had totally gotten confused and mixed up the entire menu.

"I just want a couple of eggs and some sausage" I said and to clear it up for her I pointed to it on the menu. The waittress , even in her befuddled state ( poor thing), then pointed out the asterisk I had missed. My two eggs and sausage CAME with all this other food. So much for my " she's trying to get to my heart (poor thing) through my stomach " theory.This was the normal breakfast!!

I looked over at the table for two I mentioned earlier. There was enough food there to feed half of Ethiopia, or a Northern Ontario hockey team.

I cancelled my order seeing as I had no Ethiopians and no hockey team with me. Mercifully SHE took over at this point , even more mercifully the waittress screwed up and we ended up having eggs benedict, two eggs with some kind of sauce on a split english muffin...and that was all. It was more than enough.

I'm a pretty big guy, 6'2 on my left foot, 6'1 on my right. I wear a large shirt and I like food to go with my beer.But there is no way in hell I could have eaten all the food they wanted to serve me for breakfast !!

I don't know any Canadian who would have even if they could have.I figure Americans must eat breakfast on Saturdays and then nothing else for the rest of the week.

Another difference between us.

My Invasion of the U.S.A.

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 20:30:18 GMT

I went to see SHE last Thursday.

This meant I had to gas up the Mood and drive for a number of hours, cross the border and invade the United States of America.This is exactly what I did.

I naturally was worried about doing this. I have a well recognized fear of women falling in love with me, and frankly I wasn't sure if I wanted to have to deal with women from ANOTHER country fawning over me and falling for me when they saw me face to face.

But because I would get to see SHE , I was willing to risk it. Brave of me, I know.

I crossed the border easily, no border guard suspected me of terrorism and I passed through without incident except for one....The air conditioning in the Mood died as I waited my turn to cross. Now the Mood is just a year old, this should not have happened. But there I was driving through Michigan with no air and it stayed that way into Ohio.

SHE lives in Ohio , and I was anxious to see her 'stomping " grounds as she had seen mine.But mainly I was just anxious to see her.

I arrived at my motel around 7;30 or 8. I got some ice for the bottle of whiskey I had in my bag and was all set to see SHE the next day after I had relaxed and worked the kinks from the eight hour drive out of my body and after I got my foot back into shape.My foot was fucking killing me.

Now there is a neat, but annoying thing that takes place in Ohio this time of year...The Cicada's come out. They are an ugly noisy bug that ( if I'm not mistaken) hibernate for something like 7 years before the crawl out of the dirt, fly around screaming and bugging the crap out of everyone while they try to get laid. The Cicadas were thick, they were everywhere, you could not get away from the sounds they made, trees were carpeted with them, or at least crawling with them. I have to admit, I had never seen anything quite like it.

The only good thing about them is they do not bite.When I took SHE to my cottage she had to put up with our Black flies, those tiny pesky devils that DO bite, so I wasn't going to complain about her Cicadas, even though they are the size of golf balls when they fly screaming at your face. This happened to me...I know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, I took a non smoking room since she is a non smoker.I simply hauled the desk chair from my room and put it on the walkway for me to sit on when I wanted a smoke...which I do frequently. I tucked into my whiskey and life was good.

Around 11pm I wanted a smoke but I was wearing nothing but my navy blue jockeys ( which looked great on me), I looked out the door and there was no one in sight, all the travellers had gone to bed. So I sat down in my underwear and promptly lit up as I closed the door to keep out the aforementioned Cicadas.

The only problem was my navy blue jockeys ( which looked great on me) didn't have a pocket for the card thing that opens my door.I had locked myself out with no cardkey, no pants, no car keys and no cane.

At that time of night there were no staff wandering around, no chamber maid to let me in. Soooooo nothing to do but hobble barefoot and without my cane to the front office and get another key wearing nothing but my navy blue jockeys.(which looked great on me).It was the distance of a large city block.

This I did.

I passed one black guy who raised an eyebrow as he watched me slowly approach, " don't ask" I said, " Okay" he said.

The guy at the front desk looked kind of concerned but he VERY quickly made me a new cardkey when I told him my room number and I headed back to my room. A fat woman with 2 kids pulled in and the kids pointed at me, the mother did a double take ( she probably had never seen a pair of navy blue jockeys that looked so great on someone before) and whisked the kids away.

I made it back to my room, stuck my cane in the door so it wouldn't close and had another drink and another smoke.I figured I had earned both.

SHE came the next day. SHE was even more beautiful than the last time. More relaxed and still stunningly gorgeous.It was her birthday on Saturday and my gift was coming down to take her out to dinner. Fathers Day was Sunday, so it was kind of like a duel celebration weekend. And we celebrated.

When SHE came to see me I took her into Northern Ontario to my cottage after telling her all kinds of tales about the wildlife...and we saw nothing, not even so much as a freaking chipmunk. SHE drives me around her suburban Ohio neighbourhood and we see a deer in the road.It was really a lovely neighbourhood. I couldn't blame the deer for wanting to hang out there. But I thought it kind of suicial to stand in the road.

For those of you who have never been to Ohio...the deer don't come with headlights.

Anyway before this becomes a novel...We had a wonderful time together. We had some wonderful meals together, and we laughed a LOT. I hated to have to go home.

The drive home was interesting. First the air conditioning in the Mood worked perfectly. I can only assume she was in a snit at being stopped at the border.

The other interesting thing was I passed 6 dead deer on I-75 in Ohio, apparently I was right about Ohio deer being suicidal. I immediately thought about the "grass is greener on the other side " thing, but I looked carefully...it was not greener, the deer were suicidal for sure.

And I discovered that in Ohio the department of Highways has a mean streak. I saw several signs saying "watch for ice on bridges". So I did. It was like 90 degrees outside and some ice would have been welcome to keep my water cold. But I didn't see one bit of ice on ANY bridge I crossed, nor did I see any on any bridge I passed.

Mean bastards, raising one's hopes like that. I'm going to write the governor.

But all in all, a fabulous trip, far too short, and I missed her before SHE was out of sight.

Sex and the City

Fri, 06 Jun 2008 14:12:12 GMT

I don't read newspapers much and I rarely watch the news

I watch good television, lots of movies , and I read good books.

I plan on writing a good book one day , I figured my autobiography would be a good place to start , I even had the title all picked out.

I have to remind myself sometimes that there are a few readers here who don't know me as well as some others do. I have to remind myself that I don't have the following at this site that I did at " the other place." For those of you that are not overly familiar with me , let me just explain....

I'll be brief.

I'm gorgeous , tall and dark and that's two of " the big three". That was enough when I was younger and lived in the city. Since I moved to the country and the Sea Hag left me I have become even MORE of a chick magnet because I am an actively involved Dad . All those women who have had their marriages fall apart think ( quite rightly) that I would make a terrific catch , since they are now single mums.

Or maybe the word got out that I'm not hung like a hamster....not quite sure which.

Anyway, I decided to write part one of my autobiography. I was going to write about my early years , you know, high school and beyond . I was going to write about my acting career with Second City , the time I spent with Martin Short when he came to watch my troupe rehearse.

And of course , my romantic and sexual exploits. Great reading....trust me.

So I sat down at our local pub and told some of the frustrated women there ( they want me...poor things) about my plans for my book and the title.

" Sex and the City". Catchy I know. I was quite excited about it.

Well I soon found out that there is a movie out now with that name, apparently there was a tv show too.I haven't seen either but I am hopping mad about it.

All of this was done without my consent. No one asked me for permission to film my life story, let alone make a series about it.

Anyone know a good lawyer?

My Neighbour's Sister

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 13:26:49 GMT

My neighbour's sister has been living with them for the last month or so. She is nice enough, has tried hard to fit in, and supposedly will be getting her own apartment somewhere else any day now.

Naturally she fell in love with me...poor thing. I made the mistake of saying hello to her and I guess my boyish charms poured out somewhere between "hello" and "how are you?"

Before I knew it, she was sitting down on my porch , making herself right at home in my lovely matched set of uncomfortable plastic chairs, and telling me her life story.

The only problem is...I didn't want to hear her life story. I didn't want to hear her morning story. I wanted to enjoy my coffee while I watched the old farts try to drive into the post office next door.It is a great way to start the day, I make bets with myself as to which one will hit someone, or which ones will die behind the wheel...the stress of driving 7 miles per hour being too much for their ancient , old fart, hearts.

I tried to be polite as I ignored her but she was nonplussed by my indifference. She rambled on as if I cared , as if my life depended on her sharing all this information.No...as if HER life depended on her sharing all this information. She was so in love with me she wanted me to know all about her.

Poor thing. Damn my boyish charms!!

It really was quite incredible. I have to admit I've never encountered anyone quite like her. She NEVER shuts up. I've known a few blabbermouths in my 49 years (yeah... I just turned 49) But I have never seen her equal.After 20 minutes I marvelled at how she didn't appear to be running out of breath, or even taking a breath for that matter. I began to formulate various plans of how I could make money off of this phenomenon who is my neighbours sister.

I soon gave that up...television has to break for commercials so the effect would be lost, concert halls have to close for the night , and besides, what do you charge for something like this??

She rambled on, completely oblivious to the fact that I was staring intently at my favorite old fart as he tried to turn his mini van off the road into the post office driveway.After a minute or two she noticed me watching him and then launched into how she watched the people in the courtroom at the trial of her second husband.

Stunned that she had found not one, but two guys to actually marry her, I tuned her out again and watched my old fart straighten out the wheels of his minivan and edge his way up the driveway.By now my ears were numb , my brain was buzzing , I'm guessing from sensory overload. I got up to get myself more coffee...this time with a healthy shot of whiskey in it.

I'm normally a very thoughtful host, but I didn't ask if she wanted a coffee, had I done so I was sure she would be there on my porch for a week.She didn't react when I got to my feet, nor when I hobbled inside. I heard her babbling on the whole time I was inside getting my fortified coffee.

By the time I got back outside my old fart was trying to turn his minivan into the parking lot, and she was off about how her kids didn't understand her and they rarely come to visit.Apart from an occasional smile and a very rare nod, I still had not entered into this conversation...wait, let me rephrase that. I still had not broken her monologue.

I thought to myself...the Indians could have used you when they signed their treaties...the land will be ours as long as there are clouds in the sky, the rivers run and Brenda keeps talking..... They would still have all their land now.Clouds can vanish, rivers can be dammed, but there is no stopping Brenda.

Finally I could take it no longer, I was afraid my ears would actually wither up and fall off my head. I didn't even get to see my old fart make his way out of the post office and back into his minivan, let alone see him try to drive away. I gave a casual wave and opened my door, Brenda was now talking about how she needed a raise and she was going to ask her boss for one because she knew he was cheating on his wife......

My God, I thought, someone actually employs her? Has her around all working hours of the day? I didn't like to think about that, I hate nightmares and that thought would give them to me for at least a month.If I thought about being married to her I would have nightmares for at least a year.I personally think her second husband did whatever his crime was just so he could escape the sound of her voice.

As I closed my door she was still talking and showing no sign of leaving.I turned on the tunes and cranked them.I peeked out the window ten minutes later and she was still there muttering to herself about my old fart and how she wished she owned his minivan.

Once again I cursed my boyish charms.

Once again I reached for the whiskey.