Mini changes

April 11, 2015

So Peewee

compared to where we were 6 years ago we have made strides in our lives.

Myself, instead of spending all I earn and saving nothing ,I am saving a decent amount. Paying off my equipment

What about you?  Improvements ?

Grover Finally Feels at Home

April 7, 2015

Hey Lissa,

I think Grover has finally accepted that he has found his forever home.  He no longer seems to worry when we go on a car trip that he’s going to be dropped off somewhere else, or worse, thrown from the vehicle and abandoned somewhere.  The other day he even stuck his head out the window for the first time.

When we go on walks, he takes his time and stops to smell absolutely EVERYTHING, not just the things that Uno finds.  He barks protectively at strangers.  Uno barks at other dogs and greets every stranger like a long lost friend, so I think Grover feels he needs to be the one to protect me from them.

When the dogs go out in the morning, Grover actually empties his whole bladder right alongside Uno, because he finally gets it that he shouldn’t waste the opportunity.  He initiates playtime with Uno, and the two of them take turns chasing each other around the house.

And when the first sliver of sunlight comes across the yard, Grover loves to go out and bask in the warm rays for hours.  Sometimes he even rolls over on his back with his legs in the air the way Uno does.  Now THAT’S a dog that feels at home.

2014-10-19 10.46.11

P

Well I am so happy to hear this!!  He needed both of you!

Lis

A bad idea!

April 1, 2015

So Peewee

I had the day off unexpectedly (you were supposed to be here)  so I decided to play a prank for April Fools Day on my Dogsitter.  I emptied out my refridgerator, hid the contents, then climbed in and shut the door behind me.  After shutting myself in I realized I should have turned the temp up.   But I already was in the dark and I was thinking she would get there any minute.  She gives my dogs treats from the fridge whenever she comes

I bet you thought like I did that the door would open from the inside. Turns out the door doesn’t.  It’s a1992 vintage  fridgadaire.   And the dogsitter brought her own treats.   I could hear her come and go while I waited for her to open the fridge so I could jump out and scare her  with a terrifying ‘ April Fools!’  When I heard her leave and lock the front door I freaked out.   I then tried to let my self out.

But the door was sealed.  I started hyperventilating. How much oxygen did I have???  How long til someone would find me??  At least I would be a fresh corpse if I wasn’t found til the weekend.  I was freezing, Just an hour in!

I was so cold. Getting colder literally by the second I thought that if I could rock the fridgerator from inside and tip it over to pull the electric cord out of the wall behind it I could stop hypothermia   This seemed like a good idea. I was freezing.  I was thanking god that I kept the fridge temp high to conserve!

So I threw my weight back then forward and back and forward     The fridgerator started to rock like a seesaw.  I gave a huge lunge forward   I felt the fridge fall forward.  With a loud and hard thump I fell forward.    Stupid me now I was I incarcerated door side down in a 200lb plus my own body weight soon to be airless coffin.   Now I wanted that air conditioning!

I could hear my dogs whining outside circling my tomb.  A weird smell was coming in.    An electrical burning scent.   The freezer wiring was melting down.   The smell made me think of death row gas chambers.  My gut was churning  burning.  The intense fear liquefied my intestines    Fear rendered my bowels uncontrollable. This nightmare was unending.  Now methane gas was filling my tiny airspace.   Methane gas…..shit

…..

……

April fools!!!!

Ha ha, Lissa — I was going to do one of those, but I was drawing a blank.

P

And Then There Was Lissa…

March 17, 2015

To say Lissa went out kicking would be a gross understatement…

Well, let me start from the beginning.

After Ursula and I enthusiastically immersed ourselves into the sport of skydiving, Lissa decided she wanted to try it.  Personally, I didn’t think this was a really good idea.  There are just some people who should not jump.  People who tend to freeze in crisis situations fall soundly into that category.  I remember once when Lissa cut her finger and just stood there staring at it, while blood spurted forth out and ran down her arm.  Another time a faulty outlet caught Ursula’s bedsheets on fire.  I ran to the garage looking for the fire extinguisher, my mom ran to the telephone to call the fire department and my dad found the fire extinguisher in the kitchen and put out the fire.  All the while Lissa screamed, “Oh my god! Fire! Fire! There’s a fire!”

But, Lissa really wanted to try skydiving and so I called the drop zone and put her name in for the first jump course that weekend.  When Lissa showed up bright and early that Saturday morning, she was clearly hung over from too much partying the night before, no doubt a last hurrah before facing certain death.  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked.  She assured me she would just take the ground school that morning and jump on Sunday, since we were planning to stay at the DZ for the whole weekend.  We drove through Micky D’s on the drive to the dropzone for some hangover breakfast, and she managed to spill pancake syrup onto the white leather seats of her electric blue convertible mustang.  This caused a fit of histrionics and before long trays, napkins, forks, condiments and bags went flying out of the open car like an airplane undergoing an explosive decompression.  I had a feeling it was going to be an interesting day.

At the dropzone Lissa was her usual funny self, and the instructors were never quite sure whether she was pulling their leg or she was really an incredibly spoiled airhead blonde (ish).  At the end of the class, however, when it came time to suit up, she politely declined.  “What do you mean, you don’t want to jump today?”  The instructor was incredulous.  She explained that she really didn’t feel up to jumping today, and that she would rather jump tomorrow.  The instructor wouldn’t have it.  It just wasn’t done that way.  You took the class, now you make your jump.  That’s the way it goes.  Reluctantly she acquiesced.

Well, Lissa suited up and went up in the plane with the rest of her group, and came back down in the plane.  When it came her turn to jump, she took one look out the door and this time her refusal was not so polite.  Not only no, but HELL NO.

That night as we camped out in the loft, Lissa moped about having missed her opportunity.  Bill, the jumpmaster, told her she could try again on Sunday if she wanted.  I told her I would go along with her in the plane and exit behind her.  Once she got under canopy she could look over and she’d see me flying by as well.  I’d even land right beside her.  While I really didn’t support the idea of her making regular skydives, I knew she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t make this one.  She agreed.

Sunday afternoon, after the next ground school was finished, we suited up with the rest of the students and waited for our load.  When our turn came, we loaded up in the Cessna, the jumpmaster, Lissa and me and a couple of other students.  On the first pass over the DZ, the first student made a nice exit.  On the second pass, out went the second student, nice and clean.  Then it was Lissa’s turn.  She got in the door, legs dangling, clinging to the doorframe.  She looked ready to go — until she looked outside.  She scrambled back inside.  The jumpmaster, Bill, signaled the pilot to make another pass.

Again, Lissa got in the door.  Again, she looked very determined.  Again, she looked outside and subsequently panicked.  Bill, quite generously, gave her still another pass.

On the third pass, I kept telling her not to look outside.  Just push off.  Don’t look out, just push off with your hands and go into a nice arch.  Don’t look, Lissa.  Please don’t look.  Lissa looked.

As we started to head back to the airport, Lissa was clearly quite disappointed.  Bill felt bad.  “Do you want to try one more time?”
he asked.  She nodded eagerly.  Bill signaled the pilot and we went back for one more try.  This time she was so close.  She was in the door, her hands clutching the doorframe.  I was sure she was going to do it.  Don’t look Lissa, just go.  Her face was squinched up in fear and determination.  “I can’t.  I just can’t.”

“Would you like some assistance?” Bill asked.  “Yeah, Bill.  Push her!”  I yelled.  “Just give her a big shove!”

Lissa nodded her head tentatively.  Out the door she went.

Lissa flew her parachute like a champ and managed to flare for landing back at the DZ as instructed, but landed like a sack of potatoes anyway.  I think her knees were too wobbly to attempt a stand-up landing.  She had a big grin on her face, and we both had a very funny story to tell, as did Bill and Roger, the jump pilot, and we each told our versions over and over that evening, drinking beer in the loft with the other jumpers.

Skydivers Who Go Out Kicking

March 3, 2015

jTrainingjump

At the California City drop zone in the Mojave Desert where I learned to skydive, one evening my sister Ursula and I were sitting around drinking a beer, looking for something to entertain ourselves with — as skydivers are wont to do, and we made an interesting discovery.

In snooping around behind the counter of the parachute loft, we located the club’s student records and decided to amuse ourselves by reading the instructor comments. At that time, all new students had their contact information printed on one side of an index card, and on the other side was information about each jump they had made, with an occasional remark by the jumpmaster.

Once a skydiver was cleared from student status, their index card was moved to the regular jumper file, but if someone had come and made one or two or a handful of jumps ten years prior and never returned, their card would still be in that student file. Needless to say, it was a large file.

Now, jumpmaster comments were generally limited to just a few words, since there was only one line for each jump. They might say something like, “nice arch” if the student had made a good exit, or “tumbled on exit” if it didn’t go so well. But on looking through card after card, there was one remark that seemed to foreshadow whether or not a student would return. It was just one word, “kicking.”

Kicking meant the student had struggled or thrashed on the way out the door of the airplane, signaling that they were singularly uncomfortable with the situation, or so I would have to believe. Because even the students whose cards bore the remarks “tumbled” or “back loop on exit” inevitably came back for more, while those who went out “kicking,” by and large never returned.

Now, after many years of skydiving and having observed my share of student jumpers, I have to say I have never seen one come down without a dazed, slightly maniacal grin on his or her face. No matter how terrified they are in the airplane, once they’re under canopy floating gently to the earth, there’s a sense of exhilaration that can’t fairly be described unless you experience it for yourself.

I’m guessing, though, that perhaps it’s a different sort of exhilaration for different jumpers, which explains why some never come back. Perhaps, for the ones who went out “kicking,” the exhilaration is less a sense of thrill and accomplishment but rather sheer relief at having survived the ordeal.

One for the Road!

February 16, 2015

Peewee,

Click on this for a good laugh  and make sure the sound is on  on your computer!

http://www.toilette-humor.com/funny_adult_humor/one_last_kiss.shtml

Lis

Death by Crack.

February 14, 2015

SayNoToCrack

Peewee,

how much crack can anyone handle in one sitting?

Don’t people know when they are cracking up in public?  Buttock fissures are not for human  visual consumption.   Lead cause of retinal trauma!

Can’t the crackheads feel the draft?   And when the crotch of their shorts migrate up their butts?

Lis

Lissa, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.  JUST SAY NO TO CRACK.  No, no, no, not if you paid me a million dollars.  I don’t want to see your butt, I don’t want to see your thong, I don’t want to see your underwear.  KEEP IT TO YOURSELF!


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