What the Hell?

That was hilarious! I 
laughed my ass off.

I can donkey laugh for a week about some insignificant thing I've seen in the streets. I tire my friends with the retelling and nearly wet my pants howling. Can't help it. I have a well-developed sense of humor that has long been called upon when maybe other coping skills would have been more appropriate and healthy. For many years, if certain subjects were to be discussed, Ex and I could not be seated in the same room, or at least had to refrain from eye contact, for fear we'd disrupt some proceedings. I make up stories in my head about stuff I see, too. Oh, please. I'm seeing a therapist. I take meds and avidly participate in a 12-step program. Some things are simply part of the fabric. These characteristics don't necessarily make me an ass.

Oink, oink! Baaaa! How ya doin'?

Now that I'm back to work, I get out in the world a little, driving through several distinctly different neighborhoods, past the convention center, over the Strip, through Chinatown, into the central part of the city which was the extreme west when I came here in 1976. I go right past the first home Ex and I owned, Mom's house next door, my aunt's home on the corner. They look a little shopworn now. Does the reader know some seemingly nice, regular people come to Las Vegas and behave stupidly, right out in the streets.? Believe it! At 6:30 a.m., traffic is light enough that I can safely rubberneck a little . . . I wonder if others wonder about the small woman in the nondescript automobile, shoulders shaking, eyes streaming, howling. So - it's a regular house on a regular street, no evidence that any type of business is conducted in the home. It's not a house converted for office use. What the hell, then, is with the MU? It's professionally painted, right onto the well-maintained garage door. I walked up there and ran my hands across it. The kids didn't simply smack up some vinyl letters while learning the alphabet. So, thought I, "Moron University, home of the mighty Mechanized Unicorns? Mayberry Union High (without the High)? In Memory of U?" Or could it possibly simply mean "moo"? What's your take on it? And sometime, when I regain a bit more self-confidence, I'm going to go up to the door, knock and ask.

Wish I'd known the end
was that near when I was
plummeting toward my
alcoholic "bottom".

Blogging, 'tend and real friend CramCake sent me a forward, something she does rarely. I suspect that for her, as for me, too many puppies, kittens, Disney characters and saccharine are not appreciated, but once in awhile comes a forward with just enough sauce or spice. So with thanks, and a tip of the hat, I'll incorporate a few of her forwarded smarty images with what I see in the mean streets. [Click on images for the full flavor!]

Oh, yeah. For sure. Woman driving alone, and all. Ex made me promise in the 1970s not to pick up hitchhikers any more. People were getting so weird. On the other hand, if a man has paid his debt to society and simply needs a ride to distance himself from the hated bastille . . . maybe I could just take him up to the next stop sign, let him out and he could hitch a ride with someone else . . . And if he gives me any grief, I know how to protect myself, because I practice. This is the wild west, one knows.

Hmmmm . . just thinking out loud here. So if I don't read the sign about the dry paint,are my person or my clothing in any peril of being smudged?

Lucy Sue's dash tells
it all. Proof I was at
a standstill when I took
the snapshot!

Does this chicken
make my butt
look huge?

All right, this voyage to silliness is nearing its end. One can see it's very hot in the mean streets. I've seen some great stuff, but now it's time to go ponder all of it (and my navel and the meaning of life as well). I heard a place nearby is giving away free food samples. I'm hungry. Maybe I'll go check it out. Is there any such thing as a free lunch?

In my ears right now: Buttercup. Just say her name - Lucinda Williams - and I will say "firm favorite". She's done little that I don't care for. Care for in a big way. Except for those couple of hip-hop influenced things, I'm crazy for her, and I salute her fierce willingness to try her hand at the hip-hop deal. It's been a long time since I heard anything new(ish) from her, and Buttercup pleases me. Do not expect a sweet flowery song. That's not Lucinda. I like that she writes her own (sometimes very hard) words and plays her own music. I like that she looks her (our) age. And good luck findin' your buttercup.