Monthly Archives: September 2008

Snorefest.

This is the way the rest of Oceandoggy’s household celebrated the hope, change, and golden dental floss streaming from the sky promised by our presidential candidates in their first debate.

Not again.

I watched the first of the presidential debates last night between Mr. Maverick and THE CHANGE. Both candidates promised totally new government in Washington should they be elected and this is how they propose to get it done:

THE CHANGE and his Democrats are promising to save us downtrodden little people by eating the rich and bringing change to Washington. 

The Republicans and Mr. Maverick are promising that by keeping the rich wealthy we downtrodden little people will be saved when they bring change to Washington. 

New and freshy change all over again.

Prickly.

Once again this year we have a bumper crop of sandspurs infesting our yard. I’m sure they have an amazingly unpronounceable scientifically appropriate latin name urging their usefulness.

Around here we call them ##$%%^^& or sometimes &&&%##$%%. Or even %##$##$&.

We hate them.

Especially when we step on them in our barefeet at o’dark thirty in the morning when we’re going out to get the paper.

Then we pull them out of the ground, take pictures of their worthless lives, back over them with our truck, and set them on fire.

Not that I did that.

Beauty.

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Today was one of those brutally beautiful beach days when the sky is so bright it crackles and the cool breeze blowing off the ocean is knife sharp salty. One of those days when you wish you could skirt responsibility and just sit in the warm sand with a cooler full of cold beer and a good book and bikini models. 

But it was not to be-like everybody else we had to work hard today so that the government(s) can take a third of our salaries to fund stupid wars, subsistence lifestyles for losers, and buyouts for huge corporations-but don’t get me started on that.

Sometimes it’s just better to breath deeply the breeze and watch the waves.

Not so good.

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Today is Touron Hell.

All the Mister and Missus Tourons and all the Tiny Touron Trolls are gonna be stuck inside their Touron bungalows staring at one another and trying to figure out how to salvage vacation while fighting the rising panic that they have made a huge error. We have a cold front rolling through and the forecast is for blustery, chilly, wet weather until- you guessed it- the end of the week.

It’s all adding up to a not so good vacation at the beach for the cheapo Tourons trying to score a reduced rate holiday by coming down during the shoulder season instead of during the summer like everybody else. 

I know it makes me a small, hateful, person but it makes me giggle.

New day dawnin’.

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Damn and damnation.

I came home today and saw the dreaded temp power pole erected on the lot behind us. Looks like the owner is building. Not a big deal, I know. Or I should know. But I hate it. For 18 years we have had our little bit of seclusion. We’ve had very few year round neighbors and the rentals around us were all the small pre-sewer homes that limit the number of Tourons. 

Not no more. I’m sure the nameless, faceless new owner will build an enormous, humongous Touron Mini-Hotel complete with a 24/7 swimming pool and squealing kids. 

Ooh goody.

The day after.

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If the days leading up to a hurricane are spectacular, the day after is typically spectacularly beautiful. Or bee-you-tee-full as Carol says.

Yesterday was no exception. It was so bee-you-tee-full that it was like Mother Nature was making up after the storm. Kinda like when you were a kid and your drunk Mom would come into your darkened room right before you fell asleep, kiss you, and whisper in her dusky voice-“Sorry I had to beat you, honey”. 

And then, even though you had been hating her, you couldn’t anymore.