BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

A few years back I was in a shoe store. Yeah, I do that sometimes. Not in the creepy, shoe fetish sort of way mind you. I actually have to go in and buy myself shoes every now and then. I could go into all sorts of details about how I wear out my shoes differently than most folks because of an old, severe injury that causes me to favor one leg – and I’d be telling the truth – but that’s not really what this blog is about.

Well… Except that I was in a shoe store because I had worn out my shoes and it was time for a new pair. That part is what it’s about… sort of.

Anywho… There I was in the shoe store and I’d picked out a pair of not so terribly expensive tennis shoes. Next to me was this bin, and in said bin were those reptile shoes. You know… Crocs. Actually, these were Crocs Knockoffs… Crockoffs, as it were… So, just for grins I dug through, found a pair in my size, tried ’em on, and since it was BOGO day at the shoe store, bought them. I figured if nothing else they’d make good shower shoes or something, given that I am booked at a lot of outdoor, weekend festivals  in state parks and such…

Well, as it turns out, I found these things to be pretty damned comfortable. So much so, in fact, that I wore them around the house, when I was taking out the trash, and even when I’d go to the store. Eventually, like all other shoes, they wore out. The straps broke, the treads wore off, etc. However, I still have them. The straps weren’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with a couple of heavy duty snap-ties. The treads – well, as long as I stay away from slick surfaces I’m all good… On that note, I forgot about that once, and ended up sprawled on a parking lot in the rain.

I haven’t forgotten since.

But, moving right along. E K – you knew E K would come into the mix at some point, right? So, anyway, the evil one was out shopping the other day and ended up in the official Crocs store. This prompted her to call me because they had a sale bin, and certainly I needed a new pair of Crocs. Obviously she was feeling magnanimous on this particular day, because she was willing to spend 10 bucks on the real deal instead of 5 bucks on the knockoffs.

After much kibbitzing, during which I explained that I should probably be present to try them on first, she bought me a pair anyway. You see, when E K has her mind made up, it’s pretty much made up, and there’s no dissuading her from her evil plan.

Unfortunately, what she brought home was more in line with something the Jolly Green Giant would wear. Given the old adage about shoe size, I can only assume this was wishful thinking on her part, if you know what I mean.

So, anyway, fast forward a week or so. Against my will, as usual, I was forced to go shopping with E K and the o-spring. Part of the grand plan was to exchange the gun boats at the Croc store for something a little more along the line of normal sized shoes. However, no matter which pair I tried on, none were just right. Either they were way too big, or just plain too small.

So, I suggested to E K that she either exchange them for something she wanted, or simply return them.

Did you know that Crocs Store employees apparently work on commission?

I didn’t then, but I do now.

Yeah. I have a new pair of Crocs. They don’t fit me worth a damn, but the fifteen-year-old behind the counter guaranteed me that within 3 days they’d be just fine, because they are, after all, Crocs.

I wonder if I could just cut the soles off and glue them to the knockoffs?

More to come…

Murv

“Nyah, nyah, I win…” Mike said to Luets.

You remember Mike and Luets, correct? I wrote about them just the other day in the blog about how competitive Luets is, and during that blog I also pointed out just exactly how non-competitive Mike happens to be. However, I also noted that he “lives to get one over on Luets”, so I guess in a weird sort of way, he is competitive. Just with Luets and nobody else.

However, none of that explains why he was giving her the, “Nyah Nyah” treatment. But, trust me, I was just as confused at the time as you probably are now. So, are your seatbelts fastened? Good, because it’s subject whiplash time.

We live in a small house.

It’s not tiny, mind you. It’s definitely larger than the duplex apartment E K and I lived in early on in our relationship. And, it’s also much larger than several other houses I’ve been in over the years. But, by the same token, it’s just a 100+ year old, 1.5 story bungalow in a relatively quiet neighborhood. When we bought it, we were after a fixer-upper, and that’s exactly what we got. And, fix up we have. While it isn’t a showpiece by any stretch of the imagination, it’s not bad for what we started out with – as well as the limited funding available to us in our earlier days. Suffice it to say, the house is small but nice, and more importantly, we own it, not the bank. Yes, the house is paid off. Free and clear. Our little corner of the world. I could secede from the union if I wanted… And, still might. But, that’s a different story.

Still, small as it is, it was always just fine for us – until the o-spring came along, that is. The thing being, children are sort of like that foam insulation you spray into cracks to seal up drafts. Once you let them out of the proverbial can, they just expand exponentially – and I’m not just talking about their physical growth. What I mean is that everything they own takes up every available inch of space in your home. Even though it will all fit into said child’s room, it grows legs and deposits itself everywhere BUT said room.

But, I’m digressing… Although, only a little…

You see, when O-spring came along, E K and I gave up the master bedroom (which happens to be the only one on the main floor) and turned it into a “nursery” which has since become the o-spring’s room. This meant that we moved up into the half story. To accomplish this we turned the old loft-like storage room into a bedroom. Well, actually our contractor buddy Steve (see the hell house blogs) did. And, the room directly across the stair landing remained our office.

So, whenever you see one of my status updates on a social networking site or one of these blogs mentioning me being in my office, that’s where I am. Across the landing from our half story bedroom. Said office – with the exception of a few airplanes, hotel rooms, and a stint in our dining room when the A/C was broken – is exactly where all of the Rowan Gant novels have been written. That also goes for the novelette, and just about every article I’ve ever penned for any magazine, e-zine, website, or whatever. It’s my office. It’s where I work. I really don’t think of it as much of anything other than a room where I go do my job.

Seriously.

It’s nothing fancy by any stretch. A sloped, peaked ceiling, some walls, a counter, some cabinets, and a couple of desks. Sure, I’ve networked the hell out of it, but then I’ve done that to the whole house. That’s just something that came along with being a computer tech for so many years. But still, all in all, it’s just a room. A room where I go to work.

So, imagine my surprise when Mike looked at Luets and said, “Nyah, nyah, I win…”

And then, she proceeded to pout.

Being the curious person I am, it was a moral imperative that I ask what was going on. And, they told me.

You see, Mike and I had just returned from being upstairs in the office where we had gone to grab something we needed. I honestly can’t even remember what it was. It was no big deal to me. We just ran up the stairs, grabbed whatever it was – or checked whatever email it was… Or whatever. My point being, we ran up to the office, then right back down.

But, apparently, there was wayyyyy more to it for Luets and him. It seems they’ve had a long running bet about which one of them would be the first to actually, physically see “Murv’s Office.” Apparently, it is some manner of Holy Shrine or something. Granted, there are a few nail holes in the wall but none of them look like any biblical personages… Nor do they look like any of the characters from my novels. There are the OOAK action figures on my desk of Ben Storm, Felicity O’Brien, Constance Mandalay, and Miranda… (Never have been able to create a decent Rowan, but that’s another story)… But, what I’m trying to say here is this – the nail holes just look like nail holes.

Honestly, this confuses me. While I’ve had a few personal epiphanies during the times I hang out in my office, I don’t think they really translate to shrine material… I mean, it’s just an office. And, it’s not even clean, because I can tend to accumulate a lot of paper and such when I am researching. It’s not filthy, mind you, but it is definitely in a state of disarray. And, like I said… It’s just an office.

However, now that I’ve been made aware of this little tidbit of info, I suppose I should straighten it up a bit then invite Luets upstairs to see it. Maybe I should even get myself some of those stanchions and a velvet rope to cordon off my desk. Of course, I’ll also need a sign that says “Please No Flash Photography”…

Hmmmm… Maybe I could charge admission… And, now that I think about it, what with E K being so much more popular than me, I wonder how much they’d pay to see the secret room in the basement where she tortures people?

Something to think about. Could be a whole new source of revenue. Then maybe we could buy a bigger house.

More to come…

Murv