Fantasy Shopping

Based on the assumption I am, in fact, normal, most fantasize about committing questionable acts of violence or humiliating justice, that they would never consider beyond the three foot thick reinforced concrete walls of their minds. Too existential? Too hypocritical? Or too obtuse?

For instance, in August, Missus Chica was sulking down the aisles of the Nationally acclaimed home improvement store, when she noticed on the top shelf of the gardening section, no fewer than twenty compressor powered holiday inflatables. A perpetual delight for perverts, provided they are smitten by conquests baring the same physique as the Michelin man. Nothing proclaims spiritual devotion like an eight foot syndicated cartoon character peering into the manager of christianity’s lord and savior, just like in the book of Matthew.

As Missus Chica looks up at the cataract nightmare of red and green overhead, she imagines executing all the inflatable participants, one by one with a shotgun. Slowly and methodically so that each nylon character is a allowed a moment to reflect upon its transgressions. She clenches her teeth and narrows her eyes, not because she is void of the spirit of Christmas, not because she’s iconoclastic, but because it is August, for fuck’s sake.

The Missus would never walk into retail space with a shotgun, nor would she consider vandalizing property. She’s not a postal worker, or a gang banger so she is simply, allows her imagination the privilege of running free, in lieu of permitting her lips to flap uncontrollably ala Mark Twain*.

So what you fantasize about in the checkout line at the grocery? The gate at the airport? In your mother’s living room? or in the litter boxbathroom stall?

*”It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt” ~ Mark Twain

Clean Sweep

I’m domesticated, but I’m not very domestic. Cleaning is overrated. Besides, there’s no incentive for me to expend unnecessary energy when Missus Chica has things under control. I offered to assist her with the dishes on tuna night, but it seems I’m the only one who believes in devoting one night a week toward the worship of that king of fish, tuna in a can.

Since the holiday season is breathing down our necks like a middle management lackey set to sneak out early on a Friday afternoon, I’ll leave you with a few inspirational quotes to ponder while you are shoulder deep in a turkey’s ass.

My second favorite household chore is ironing.  My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint.  ~Erma Bombeck


Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.  ~Phyllis Diller, Phyllis Diller’s Housekeeping Hints, 1966


Housework is something you do that nobody notices until you don’t do it.  ~Author Unknown

Don’t cook.  Don’t clean.  No man will ever make love to a woman because she waxed the linoleum – “My God, the floor’s immaculate.  Lie down, you hot bitch.”    ~Joan Rivers

The obvious and fair solution to the housework problem is to let men do the housework for, say, the next six thousand years, to even things up.  The trouble is that men, over the years, have developed an inflated notion of the importance of everything they do, so that before long they would turn housework into just as much of a charade as business is now.  They would hire secretaries and buy computers and fly off to housework conferences in Bermuda, but they’d never clean anything.  ~Dave Barry

I’m not going to vacuum until Sears makes one you can ride on.  ~Roseanne Barr

A Gratuitous Post about Lesser Known Occupants of the Home

That’s right, the denizens of the Raccoon Sushi Bar.

SOMEONE has more than a passing fling with the fish pond. It’s more like an obsession than your typical human fish relationship. So, maybe she hasn’t actually named all the pond fish, an accurate indicator for fish affection. She TALKS to the fish, and remarkably, they respond in kind. The nibble at her finger tips and bump against her hands as she tends to the filter.

Most of the inhabitants are goldfish. Comets to be more specific. These are hearty fish and survive well outdoors, even in freezing temperatures. In colder zones, people are known to bring their fish indoors to winter in aquariums (snow fish?), but that isn’t necessary for this zone. Our pond also houses a shubunkin and three koi.

This is the newest arrival. He (she?) is a small koi resembling the Kohaku variety. For those part, these fish don’t exhibit the desirable characteirstics that make them attractive to breeders, in other words, we have the heinz 57’s of the koi community. But these fish have heart and personality, though one is missing its scales.

Eventually, enough plants were procured so the pond would appear only slightly less artificial than it appeared during its first weeks. This by no means adequately mimics nature, the fish don’t seem too bothered, and the bees enjoy using it as a drinking fountain.

Eventually the small pond and abundance of hearty water lily specimens created a dilemma. The pond was too small to accommodate two water lily varieties and a fountain….so I small bucket for a deck water garden was procured.

This was to house two small comets and a pink grapefruit water lily. Strangely, the inhabitants of this small pond were granted names. Ms Chica named these fish after the One Eyes, since they constantly chase and nag one another. That whole lifetime commitment gig has strings attached to it.

Today, the Mister called out to Ms Chica, “Do you want to see your goldfish?” She asked if they were dead, as Mister Hombre seldom inquires about the fish. He replied, ‘No,” so she dutifully walked out to the deck to inspect the One Eyes, but she couldn’t see them immediately, as the ice was too thick.

As for me, I’m developing a god complex. It isn’t everyday I have the opportunity to display my superiority over mankind by walking on water.

Poetry Friday: Fight

Two posts in twenty-four hours?

Poetry Friday delivered on Friday?

WTF, is with you Patches? Crap, I’m talking to myself.

Fall is falling and well the weather is nasty. Well, anyhoo…It’s friday, and the lovely Mona has presented us with the word, fight. I don’t have much experience in the fighting department. I will resort to aggressive tactics when I feel I am being ignored, but not all out violence. Battle of wits? Count me in.

A few interpretations of fight:

The Nothing Fight:

The Pillow Fight:

And of course the Cat Fight:

Cloud Walking

We spent today in the clouds, barely able to distinguish shapes one hundred feet ahead. Maybe it is good to concentrate on the most immediate task rather than wasting worry on things before they actually come into view.

That isn’t to say one shouldn’t look forward and prepare for the future, but one shouldn’t neglect living in the intensity of the moment. For the moment can quickly slip away.

I spend too much time mired deep in my own inertia. Searching for soft, warm corners to rest my weary brain, and fighting against forces I cannot change. The weather. The feeding schedule. The absence of diced prosciutto from the local grocery. The inequity of opportunity

I need to spend more time in the moment, experiencing what is rather than what was, or what may be. Every change should be experienced for what it is rather than belittled for the expectations of which it fell short.