Don't Mince Words

I used to see a lot of interesting things when I lived in West Hollywood.  But when you mix creatives with gays, you are bound to see some great stuff.  In Santa Barbara, when you mix stray hairs with a good sunrise, you get the perfect plucking storm.  And then some.

My “it’s going to be a good day” barometer starts when my dog takes a massive crap.  Today was no different until I turned down the beach path holding my poo bag and a noticed a guy leaning up against his truck’s side-view mirror.  I starred for a while and realized he was holding a pair of tweezers and going at his eyebrows with the good morning light.  He needed some serious bushwhacking otherwise, he should of just braided his eyebrows or twisted them to rasta dreads and called himself a caterpillar.

As I practiced sit-stays and stand-stays with Dixie, we continued to pass joggers and other dog walkers.  Things got interesting when we got to the second parking lot.  A guy was in his sedan with his seat reclined all the way down, but his head was bobbing up to look for people.  Alas, since I was the only person around, I realized by his shoulder and arm motions that he was beating off and looking at me.  Or maybe Dixie was getting him off, but one of us was definitely his type.  I’m going to count this public display of affection as our first date in the new year.

When we rounded back around, Dixie presented me with another steaming pile which I tossed in the trash right next to the plucker’s truck.  We jumped into the car and I immediately yanked on the rear view to check my eyebrows.  No stray hairs, so I should have plenty of time to masturbate before work.

Team Honda

I was already thinking of my dad this week.  It would of been his 90th birthday.  But when I had a tire blow out, the memories flowed more.

A year before I could get my learner’s permit, my dad would take me to the Montgomery Wards parking lot to practice driving.  It gave him an excuse to get out of the house and away from my mom and it let me learn three-on-the-tree and quick clutch action.  In addition to acquiring great manual-drive skills, he taught me how to check the oil, radiator, and change a tire.  This knowledge has kept me less dependent on shifty service station guys and AAA.

While I was driving two visiting Chinese coworkers south to Los Angeles, I heard the rumble and knew I had a flat.  I put my hazards on like dad taught me and coasted off the road.  We got out of the car and the right rear was a goner.  So, I popped the trunk, pulled out the full-size spare, the wrench, and the jack and set up shop.  My coworkers marveled at my mechanical abilities.

“Mah-nah, you know how to do a lot of things,” they said.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t even throw my weight into the lug wrench to move the nuts.  I was going to have to break down and call my tow service.  As soon as I grabbed my phone, two guys in a SUV pulled up.  One loosened the lug nuts as the other began the slow twist of the jack.  Within five minutes, my 101 pit crew had silently changed my tire.  When they were off the ground, I thanked them and gave them WetOnes to clean their hands and offered them $20 for beer.

“No, no. It’s OK.  Merry Christmas,” one replied.

When we pulled back on the highway, one coworker asked if they were “Mexican.”  I told them I thought so, but as far as I was concerned, they were helpful, just like my dad.

Kramer and Tex

I’ve had dead dog ashes for a while. When I look at memorials online, they are too stodgy and don’t fit the personality of Kramer or Tex.  My idea has always been a small picture frame with a little test tube of ashes glued on.  Much better than a small pine box with dates on it.

I’m creative, but I’m not crafty.  If you looked at my abandoned scrapbooking project, you would assume my godson is three months old.  But I still like to cruise the aisles of Michaels to pickup seasonal things.  This weekend I stumbled upon a heart-shaped magnet box picture frame pair.  For $2.39 I grabbed it.   When I got home I popped the lids, put the pictures in, dumped the ashes, and placed the magnets on the refrigerator next to other family photos and my “Hard ons do not count as personal growth” magnet.  Dixie and I then went to hike the cliffs and dump the remaining ashes.

Sometimes when there is no creative pressure, you can find solutions in between wicker baskets and apple-scented candles.  Kramer and Tex are finally “at rest” and I have more space in my nightstand drawer.

The challenge with any rescue dog is not knowing its history.  With Dixie, I’ve taken it very slowly and carefully and continue to learn what she likes and dislikes.

Men are on a case-by-case basis.  She’s size and race agnostic, but if a man has a hat, goatee, and/or sunglasses, the low volume growl begins.  With frequent visits, she eventually converts and tolerates the man.  Kind of like me.

Women she categorically likes and is not threatened by as long as there are no sunglasses involved.  That was until she met her first asian accountant.  I don’t know if it was the eyes, the straight black hair, or if she just hated the smell of straight line depreciation, but Dixie no likey.

Despite all this, I continue my love affair with Miss Dixie.  We keep the lines of communication open and take it one day at a time.  And now I know my Chinese will have to be carry out and not delivery.

This morning, I was in front of Camp Canine waiting for an attendant to take Dixie when an elderly black man strolled by with a very tricked-out shopping cart.

“Excuse me goddess,” he said.  I turned and looked at him, the dog, then back to him.  ”Could you tell me what time it is?”

I smiled and told him it was 8:50 a.m.  ”Thank you.  You and that cute dog have a blessed day,” he replied as he rolled away.

My dog makes me very happy, but being called a goddess does a girl good prior to going to work.  I need to wear my nice ass jeans more often or hang out on skid row in order to get a decent compliment.