BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

A gentle reminder: I don’t just spout silliness here on this blog. I also write novels. Those are what put the bread on the table, but bread is just about it as far as that goes. My wife has to bring home the bacon (and broccoli, and eggs, and milk, and…) That’s not what this is about, however…

If you have read my official bio over on my regular “author type person” website then you have probably run across the part about us having a pair of rescued felines, both of whom I describe as “the competition.”

Why “the competition?” some have asked.

Easy. They’ve got a thing for The Supreme Redhead. Yeah… E K.

Now, I realize that sounds a bit paranoid, but let me tell you a story. A recent story, in fact, and not at all unusual around here with these furry lunatics.

Just the other night, E K was on the sofa, and Competition #1, AKA Asphalt (because we rescued him from the middle of a highway on-ramp) immediately climbed onto her lap. He does this every time she parks for more than two minutes. Yes… I can hear you now, “But, Murv, that’s normal for cats.”

Yeah… sure.

As usual, E K babbled at him a bit, making all those “wooja-wooja ai lub yoo” noises and scritching him behind the ears. Now, remember, Asphalt started life as a kitten the size of a large hamster, but has grown to better than 20 lbs and has a head the size of a small melon. So, with him sprawled across EKay’s lap, she is sort of trapped.

The bag of tuna breath waited until she was finished and had directed her attention elsewhere. Then, he looked around, stared directly at me for a moment, then shifted a little, raised a paw, and copped a feel.

Yes. Pardon the colloquialism, but the old lardass planted his paw on EKay’s right “boob,” and left it there. Then, he looked at me with an expression on the order of, “Neener Neener, What’re you gonna do about it?”

And before you tell me that it was just a cat being a cat, I’d like to remind you that I saw the look on his face, so I know better.

All I can say is that if he starts bringing her dead stuff, he and I are going to go out back and have a talk. I’m pretty sure I can take him…

More to come…

Murv

The 3/4 of a cool grand all started with an unnaturally perky, raven-haired hottie, a really sharp looking pair of hooker shoes, and the promise of an extended lap dance I would never forget – nor would anyone else for that matter, what with it being executed smack dab in the middle of a VFW Hall…

But, before I can really get into that part, I have to give you the background story, or none of it will make the least bit of sense.

You see, I woke up Tuesday last, that being the 15th of March, two-thousand eleven, with a sore throat, an earache, and the sniffles. Initially, I was hoping that the mask of my CPAPian nose hose had merely shifted in the middle of the night, causing me to mouth breathe, snore, and all sorts of other nasty things that would cause such a morning ailment. I was hoping for this because if it was the case, I would be over it very quickly, and considering that on the 17th I had to climb aboard a rocket-propelled cattle car bound for Texas, I really didn’t want to be sick.

Alas, such was not the case for me. By that afternoon I was running a fever of 101, and by Wednesday I was in full blown sinus hell, near laryngitis, and pushing the mercury securely beyond the 102 hash mark. When Thursday rolled around, I really wasn’t any better, although my fever had dropped into the 100 plus range. Instead of hiding from the world – which is exactly what I felt like doing – I went ahead and doped myself up, stuffed 35 pounds of sugar free cough drops into my carry-on backpack, and boarded the plane. However, I left my blue suede shoes behind. (I’d give folks two points for getting that reference, but all it means is that they are old like me…)

Keeping to myself, not speaking to anyone unless absolutely necessary, and stifling my cough by chain-sucking cough drops, I rode the first sardine can to DFW, and the Airborne Eggbeater to Killeen, Texas. Why? Because that’s where the Sisters of the Earth and Sea are, and just as importantly where OstaraFest 2011 was taking place. And, since I was a guest speaker, I kind of needed to be there…

Lolly (L), Joyce (R) with their 2010 COVR Retailer of the Year Award

Joyce (Sister Sea) and Lolly (Sister Earth) picked me up at the 6 gate eggbeater terminal, then shuttled me back to Joyce’s house where I was going to be crashing for a few days. Sister Sea, being a Chemist, Mathematician, and all around great gal, proceeded to doctor me with an herbal tincture concoction she calls “Skunk Jooce” (note: that’s MY spelling on the Juice. It just seems to add a little more mystery in MHO) and an herbal decoction called “Healer Tea.” Apparently the “Healer Tea” is widely known to induce eye-watering, sneezing, and to clear sinuses simply by coming within three feet of it while brewing. Srsly. I saw it nearly take out Joyce and Lolly right where they stood.

Me? I couldn’t even smell it. That’s when Joyce decided that I wasn’t just sick, I was “mostly dead.” It’s a good thing she could teach Miracle Max a thing or two. (Good on ya’ if you get the reference, but still no points…)

Eventually, after resting up, it was time for dinner. Butch, Joyce’s husband, and Jennifer, their daughter, had been working in the kitchen all day in order to create a fine, fine dinner of Cottage Pie, Corned Beef, Cabbage, Potatoes, Irish Soda Bread, and other trimmings necessary for a lovely Saint Patrick’s Day dinner.

No more had we begun to shovel food into our mouths – because even when I’m mostly dead I have to eat dinner – the phone rang.

THIS was when I first became aware of the perky girl with the hooker shoes, and life would never be the same again…

(To Be Continued in Food. It’s Not That Hard… – coming Sunday 3/27/11…)

More to come…

Murv