All she wanted was lemonade

Her name was Carol. She was just like any of us. She woke up every morning and put one pant leg on at a time, and ate a lackluster breakfast. She would sing in the shower. She loved sipping hot chocolate on a cold winter day. And, she loved a cool, refreshing glass of lemonade on those hot summer days.

It was this love for lemonade that did her in. 

It was mid July. Carol had gone out to her garden to do some weeding. After vigorously arguing her case with a rather stubborn dandelion and losing, she came back inside, her brow dotted with large beads of sweat. As she entered the house she thought to herself, "It sure would be nice to have a glass of lemonade." So, she went to the kitchen. On the counter was a glass of opaque liquid with what looked to be lemonade pulp at the bottom. Parched and worn, she reached for it and glugged it down. It was perhaps the strangest lemonade she had ever had. The pulp seemed to have a life of its own. 

Everything became clearer as her nephew Tommy came in from another room and screamed, "MY SEA MONKEYS! YOU KILLED MY SEA MONKEYS!" As little Tommy began bawling, Carol had the sudden urge to vomit.

But, swallowing sea monkeys* and upsetting her nephew was not all she had done. She also incurred the wrath of PETA. After Carol's story was made headline news, due to her lawsuit suing the sea monkey company for her horrible new chronic abdominal troubles, PETA wanted in. 

"Those sea monkeys were kept in a cramped, poorly oxygenated glass for days, and it was only a matter of time before someone drank them or they boiled in the a cloud of their own excrement," said Suzanne Zibilsky of PETA. "We will pursue this case to the fullest extent we can. Sea monkeys are just like you and me. They can feel, and taste, and even know how to swim. Yet, they have become second class life forms. We value all life." Carol and Tommy have both received court summons on behalf of the sea monkeys' remaining living relatives in conjunction with PETA.

People have been protesting for the past several months on Carol's lawn, even going so far as to trample her garden. Looking at the bright side Carol said, "Well, at least I don't have to pull out that dandelion. It's dead. Probably in the same place as those blessed sea monkeys."

* Sea monkeys are brine shrimp (very intelligent Brine Shrimp, that are basically aquatic Tamarin monkeys (the cute ones that help old people read books, and the same kind featured on the TV series "Friends")

Thinking about retirement

I took a test yesterday that measures your calender age versus your "actual age." It calculates how fast you are aging based on your eating habits, exercise habits, hereditary diseases, etc. And, guess what? I'm 8 years younger than the calender says! And, if that's the case, I just got my license to drive a car. But, on another note, that means it'll take me eight more years than the rest of you to hit middle age. Here's a link to the test.

Even though I now know how young I still am, I still can't keep myself from thinking about retirement. And, quite frankly I don't really want to retire. All the men on both sides of my family have pretty much worked up until their dying day. It'd almost be nice to be able to mark it on a Calender so I know when work will officially be over (at least in mortality). But, I can think of certain work impoverished situations that I certainly would not mind.

I would love to live in a cozy cottage overlooking the central California coast. I would have a computer, some pens, paper, surfboards, a garden, and a great kitchen. I could wake up and catch some waves, veg out on the beach a little bit with my special someone, then come back home and write while looking out on the water. Then I could split time with my garden and pull up a bunch of summer squashes, cherry tomatoes, and cucumbers and head back to my awesome kitchen and whip something delicious up. That, to me, would be ideal. I would feel accomplishment in writing, and yet still be relaxed and flexible enough to enjoy my twilight years. However, what it would have to imply is that I am good at writing, and that could be easily debated. But, jumping back to this dream scenario, I don't think it would have to be the central California coast. It could be Cape Cod, or the South Shore area of Massachusetts. It could even be Nova Scotia. Who knows? I think you get the point.

Trying to be as pragmatic as possible, what is your retirement scenario? Talk amongst yourselves.

Chivalry is Dead

I like to help people. I like to do nice things. It's in my nature.

So a couple days ago my friend said her house was ridiculously hot and that she and her room mates had no AC. Well, it just so happened that I had an extra AC unit that wasn't being used. So I offered to bring it over and install it. After they reluctantly accepted my help, I brought it over. Now, mind you, those units are heavy and awkward. I scraped up and bruised my arms in transit. But, I got it to their house.

They are basement dwellers. So I lugged the unit downstairs and looked for a window to put it in. Well, all the window wells were the wrong size. Bummer.  

It was getting late, so I promised to return.  Two days later I found myself there again trying to jury-rig this air conditioner in their abode. However, when I started over to the place in the kitchen where I left it, I was accosted by one of the residents.  She said, in an irritated tone of voice, "Whose is that?"  To which I replied, "Mine." Then she said, "It takes up the space of a whole person, are you going to move it?"  A little bothered, but still in a helpful mood, I said, "Yes, I brought this here to alleviate your heat problem."  Then I creaked over and manhandled it over to the window ledge.  Now I had garnered some negative attention.

As I was trying to put it in, another tenant came behind me asking how it would work, doubting it was a good idea, and left me in a huff.  So after I tried for a while to get it to sit in these undersized windows, and getting no positive support, I decided to stop.  I put the window screen back in (better than it was before), and put the unit in my car to bring it back home.  I hadn't left for more than a couple minutes before my friend text messaged me saying that her room mates were upset.  Apparently while I was trying to put it in the window I stepped on one of her room mates' garden (As it turned out, it was a squash plant that was under-watered, malnourished, and not producing squash).  I apologized of course and told her that I'd get her a new plant (I checked on it the next day and the plant was fine, just with a few mashed leaves). But if that weren't enough, on top of the title of 'garden destroyer' this same room mate claimed that I broke their window (which was a total lie, the screen wasn't completely in the slot, but it was in better than before; she just had probably never checked).  

Either way I was very disinclined to ever offer them my services again.  I went to their house to give of my time, energy, and one of my belongings to provide them with a little comfort.  I would have expected a little appreciation for my effort, but not only did I get none, but I got an ear full of pessimism, irritation, and ultimately was blamed for invented and exaggerated maladies.  It makes me not want to help people.  Or at the very least, not want to help those ladies. 

Chivalry is not dead because men are all jerks, but because women feel inconvenienced by it, or think that they lose their individuality by letting men serve them.  And, it's sad.  I have been accused of all sorts of ridiculous things in the name of chivalry.  All I can say is, ladies, you blew it.

*AC picture taken from this site. Chivalry picture taken from this site.