Oh my aching everything. Yesterday I attacked Mr. Publishing-Agent-Who-Rejected-Bob-Once’s roses, huge Cecille Brunners that formed a lovely canopy over the stairs, but effectively blotted out the sky, the view of the city, and were now growing into the radiator of the car parked on the street below. Mr. P-A-W-R-B-O and his partner called me in for a garden cleanup in April, but as the buds were already setting, I told them I’d come back after the bloom for a mid-summer pruning. The sky and the view have been restored, at the price of my scratched bloody face, arms, legs, and neck, and a deep cut to my knee from a rusty nail–do I need a tetanus shot, or do I wait for it to fester?
Anyway, since Bob is no longer helping with my house expenses, I need to fill the gap in my passive income with some active cash, so please pass on to anyone that you know that I’m available for gardening work–cleanup, maintenance, installation, and fine pruning. I work fully clothed, though, so gardener fantasies should incorporate a fashionable sense of suitable work attire designed to minimize sun exposure.
Davide and I joined my pal and patron Alex for the Giants/Padres game last night. I prefer to call the Padres “the daddies,” and deeply admired the complex crotch-grabbing, and leg-lifting techniques of the visiting team. One guy, as he stepped up to the plate, grabbed his crotch briefly, wiggled his feet on the plate, and then went for a much more involved grab as he bent over and slung the bat over his shoulder. There was several guys who preferred toe-tapping to crotch-grabbing, and my favorite daddy wiggled his hips from side-to-side in a snake-like dance that ended in a sharp flick of the jock. The hispanic guys were consistently the most inventive in both style and technique–is that a racist comment? Oh, I almost forgot the pre-game stretching! Before the game began, right at first base, #35 and his “stretching assistant” formed all sorts of sexy configurations straight out of the Kama Sutra in a most-assuredly successful attempt to get #35 ready for action. I want that job!
Davide has succeeded in momentarily deflecting attention away from my bearbot drama to his. If only we could arrange a visit to Stepford and trade these guys in for some bearbots who listened to our simple commands of “love me” and “take off those plaid cut-offs now.”