Monthly Archives: June 2012

I hit a cop.

We live at the beach and as such have a problem with parking. Mostly with people parking in our yard.

It happened again today, and before I could catch the whomever, Miss Carol and me were once again stuck with a stranger’s car in our yard. This happens a lot and I’d finally had enough so I called the police to have them ticket the stupid motherfucker.

But while I was talking to the dispatcher he told me that I could have the car towed and I started having a bad feeling about the whole thing.

I don’t like people parking in my yard, but I don’t want to ruin their whole day. Ya’ know?

So anyway.

A police officer on an ATV showed up and I walked out and met him and we talked and he agreed I could either have him ticket the vehicle, have the vehicle towed, or he could just write a warning.

He told me it was my choice so I opted for the warning ’cause I’m a turd.

Then while we were talking and comparing histories a sweat fly started buzzing his head.

If you don’t have these little fuckers say a thankeeverymuch. They’re extremely annoying, constantly buzzing your head, until they land and bite.

But they’re slow.

So while we were talking and while this annoyingly buzzy little fucker was buzzing around the police officer’s head, it landed.

I said, it’s on your head, do you want me to kill it?

And he said, please.

So I slapped a cop upside the head maybe a little harder than I meant to or maybe wanted to, and we both watched as the the little dead bug fluttered to the ground between us.

We looked up at each other and he grinned behind his RayBans and said,

I won’t call that assault.

Dos Dogs.

Tug walked into my Me Only Room the other night and sat and sighed and said, I don’t feel so good, Boss.

And then he threw up on my foot.

Sorry, he said.

Dude, I said, squishing my toes around. Tug looked anywhere but at me.

I hopped out to the kitchen to get paper towels and clean it up and while I was doing that, Tug trundled out, spewing all over the living room carpet.

DUDE, I said, maybe a little more forcibly. I mean, c’mon, half our house is tile and he has to throw up on the carpet?

So I followed him around, cleaning up his dog vomit wondering how much dog vomit can one dog have?

When Miss Carol got home she went into hyper-mommy mode, wanting to know if he’d eaten (no), or pooped (uh,no) and then she stared at me with her oh-okay-I-get-it-you’re-one-of-THOSE-guys eyes and went to call the vet.

The vet agreed to see Tug so we went speeding through the streets to the vet with Tug laying in the back of Miss Carol’s Jeep and Cutter standing between us on high alert.

What a princess, Cutter muttered to me.

The vet looked at Tug and x-rayed him and poked and prodded and decided that Tug had a stomach virus and gave him a shot to stop his vomiting and told Miss Carol and me how to care for him for the next 48 hours.

And he’s fine. He came around and he’s eating again and humping Cutter.

So last night Miss Carol and me are sitting sipping a cocktail, just glad it’s over, relishing the moment, when Cutter came and sat down between us.

Ahem, um, I don’t feel so good, he said.

And threw up on the carpet.



We get to the fun part.

After a year or so of building and after several years of planning and designing, Miss Carol and me started doing the fun stuff.

No,no,no, not THAT fun stuff.

I mean the fun stuff that is the finish work on The Little House of Horrors.

On Friday I installed the kitchen cabinets and then my little brother and me and a friend of my little brother’s finished roughing in the island and laid the plywood for the counter tops.

She’s starting to look more like the adult playhouse I’d envisioned and less like the excruciatingly painful labor fest that she’s been.

It’s fun now.

Over the decades and centuries that Miss Carol and me have been married I’ve slowly realized that no matter how much room we had, no matter how big or small a house we had, when we have people over, they’d all congregate and cluster in the kitchen.

So-somehow learning from these life lessons- I made the main living space in The Little House of Horrors mostly all kitchen and all of it mostly adult style playroom.

There is no living room or den or Me Only Room- there’s just the main living area/kitchen, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a media room (can we say 8′ porn? yes oh yes, I think we can).

It’s gonna be everything we need to continue our little life of self-indulgence.

And it was while I was taking these pictures that I suddenly realized The Little House of Horrors might actually be slowly evolving into The Church of Adult Fun and here I was, staring at her altar.

Can I get an aMEN?

Can I get a Praaaaaiiiiise Jeeeeesus?

I think I can.