There is no such thing as a plural apostrophe

I am looking for a stove. It will be used rather than new. People like me don't pay retail or even wholesale for high-dollar items. Craigslist is the perfect place for poor people like me, with one exception: the majority of people trying to sell their items cannot spell! The worst offense is the use of the apostrophe....

SANTA COOKIE JAR'S,(CAN'T FIND THESE ANYMORE).........$20.00 EACH.....MANY MORE JAR'S TO CHOOSE FROM

Ember Linen Curtains - Pottery Barn - $99

Boxer/Cane Corso Marstiff puppy (love this one. You can breed them but you can't spell them.)

2 tv's, leather loveseat and bed for sale!

Chaina - $55 Incluses Serving bowls, meat plate, gravy bowls. Askins 65.00

Armouir Italian Circa 1900's - $1500

White Rod Iron Queen Bed and Frame


Sigh.

A perfect day. The Hotel Del Coronado.

For years, my dreams have been dominated by "the Del." Dozens of stories about goings-on there ignited my young imagination, especially when they were accompanied by photographs of celebrities frolicking at the pool of the Del. People getting drunk and making asses of themselves. But so what, they were at the Del. Everyone wanted to go there. I knew there had to be a reason! Celebrities partied at the Hearst mansion too, but this was somehow different. I couldn't put my finger on it because I grew up in the midwest and we went to Flintstone Village and Worlds of Fun. No way in hell would my dad be able to stand me and my brother clear to CA.

But now the Hotel Del isn't so far away. Heracles and I had one last hoorah there. He had heard me mention it a few times. Initially we were just going to see it, but last minute Heracles sprang for a night. We had the WHOLE day before, too.

All I can say is that this place is heaven on earth for my type. You know the type. Nostalgic. Romantic but wouldn't admit it. Yeah. So every little inch of the Del mesmerized me. Heracles, usually so aloof and unimpressed, left a huge fan. A little something for everyone, I guess!

We walked and walked. We marveled at all the cute little creatures crawling in the water on the beach. We admired the beauty of the midday horizon, the sunset and the stars. We pronounced the main building itself stunning in the pains it must take to preserve.

Just about every photo I took became postcard material. Usually that's next to impossible, but not in the charmed presence of the Del.

Even the view from my room was gorgeous. You cannot BE there, and FIND a view that is not beautiful. Believe me. Heracles, in his determined objectivity, tried and failed.

We were in one of the shops.
I found a book called "Beautiful Stranger." It is some story about a woman who died there. It's full of inconsistencies, melancholy and mystery. Oh yeah. We chuckled. WTF $24 for this flipping book that has fake turn-of-the-century photographs of some "beautiful stranger" checking in and looking all introspective all over the place????? We were both disgusted. Paaaaaaleeeeease. Who do they think we are? Oh, looooook here. She haunts the place, what a fucking surprise. Screeeew you guys, aren't you already making enough money off us with the price of the freaking roooom?

We continued our journey of enchantment through the shops, to the beach, all over town and then back to the room for some good wine ( oh yeah we got a great deal on Frog's Leap. It was a mistake and you won't find that liquor store owner making that mistake again), and good looooove. Well love is a strong word. Passion. Then sleep!

Then. It's 12:57 am. I know that because Heracles keeps meticulous track of important details involving numbers. I am awakened from my blissful sleep by some sort of noise. Because I was asleep, I assumed that it was the alarm on my phone. It's always set for 3:30am because that's when I wake up. Even on my days off, because I never remember to turn it off until it actually GOES off. Heracles HATES my alarm. Immediately I felt around for my phone. I pressed the usual button. Still heard the noise. Then I realized that it was not an alarm. It was a freaking DIAL TONE. It was right next to me on the desk by my side of the bed in our sumptious room. I opened my eyes and before me was Heracles, wide-eyed and frozen, O-shaped mouth. I turned over. The room telephone was on speakerphone. I pressed the speakerphone button. No interruption whatsoever. I picked up the handle and set it down. Nothing happened. I unplugged all the cords I could feel. Still, the dial tone persisted.

WTF I said. Heracles hadn't ever heard me say F but whatever. He was still frozen anyway. I got out of bed and switched on the lamp, which was on the other side of the desk. The sound disappeared. I regarded the phone, disjointed and surly, looking back at me as if my assault would cost me big time. I plugged the various cords back into their ports.

I said, "WHAT was that." H: I don't know. Me: Nobody will believe us, we might as well go back to sleep. H: ok. that was weird. Me: yeah well whatever.

I got in bed and thought not much of it. Probably I was still a little buzzed and I know I was exhausted. All of a sudden I feel Heracles spooning me. What? Heracles? Who cannot stand even being touched accidentally late at night? Heracles, who, if he were my sibling and we were 12, would draw an imaginary line and advise me that this is his side and this is my side? This person is SPOONING me????

"Hey, Heracles, what is up here?"
"I don't know."
"What you are ready to go again? I need to get me a ghost of my own at home!"
Heracles laughs nervously and turns over, so now I'm being nestled by his bony butt. Little bit of change of plans I guess.
"You watch your side, I'll watch mine," he instructs.
sigh.

Made for a fun story though. And added to the charm!!! Make sure you stay in the main building is all I have to say.

From hero to McNair-do-well in an instant

It matters not how great a player he was.

Nor does it make a difference that he gave craploads of cash to various charities throughout the years.

What is really important for everybody, especially for all of you cocky professional athletes, is that who you are in your personal life is MORE important than your stupid game. That's right, it's a stupid GAME. Life is not a game. When you treat it like it is a game, these types of things happen.

Steve McNair's buddies are talking about his "legacy." They would encourage the public to think only of "the good things." Sorry guys. You can do whatever you want in public as a superstar, but if you want to leave a lasting legacy, you have to put those children of yours FIRST. You don't go ROLLING around town buying Escalades for people you don't even know except that they are twenty years younger than you.

You take care of your family by spending holidays with them, no matter how much you can't stand to be around them. You don't humiliate your wife and children by having your life ended so senselessly. Because that, my friends, will be Steve McNair's legacy. His death. His sons are going to have to live with what their father has left behind. There is the tragedy. When will these idiots ever learn?

So how about we leave out that hero garbage? Steve McNair was not a hero. It is impossible to be a hero when you are a jerk. Money doesn't buy class and it definitely doesn't buy a legacy. Thing is, all he had to do in order to maintain that status of a hero, was just be a good husband! But noooooo, he can't do that can he? He has to throw money around and rent condos with his buddies for use as a bachelor pad of sorts. Life doesn't have to be that complicated, dudes. Be content with your wife and kids. That won't make you a hero, but it will make you a man. When will that be good enough?

I still celebrated.

Of course I am far from complaining about working yesterday because I know that soon I might be jobless. I narrowly missed getting laid off a couple months ago, and chances are good that in October my time will be up.

But who wants to talk about work when it's July 4th weekend?

Yesterday when I got home, I was exhausted and crabby so I flopped down and opened my Netflix envelope. Oh crap, I thought. Why don't you pay more attention to that damn queue. Because staring back at me was the Dixie Chicks movie, Shut Up and Sing.
I think I may have been drunk when I added it, but that's just a guess. Since that's all there was to watch, I watched it. And it was such a wonderful reminder to me of why we celebrate July 4th, and why we must always speak our minds, no matter what others think. That is the essence of freedom.

Natalie Maines said that she was ashamed that GWB was from Texas. She was terrorized by AMERICANS who didn't like it. I guess if you are a public figure, you are expected to censor yourself for the sake of other people's jobs to some extent. I can see where tact might be in order. But Maines is a young lady with a mind and a mouth, and if it had been a man, any man speaking, nobody would have paid any attention. Remember when Kanye West stared dazed at the camera and said, "George Bush hates black people." He got attention but nobody threatened to kill him. Nobody "boycotted" his music, although I perhaps most of those who would have been offended on GWB's behalf don't give two farts about West's music anyhow. He probably sold MORE records because of his snafu.

We are a nation of hypocrites. We don't want any little blond southern "chick" to trot herself out around the world unless she damn well says what is expected of her by her audience. Which was largely blond southern chicks. Did they really think all that energy used on spewing hatred towards her would pay off? Did these "Americans" truly expect Maines to represent THEM? Dears, don't compare yourselves to Natalie Maines. Admit it, you've always been jealous of her. Funny thing is, the Dixie Chicks' music is marketable in places other than Texas. How about this, all of you yellow roses. When any of you sell out arenas all over the world, think very hard about what you say when you are standing in front of thousands of people who have a different perspective, because your little world isn't popular anywhere except your little world. Oh, right. Which brings me back to the fact that you probably never will sell out arenas all over the world because you are homely and you don't have an opinion until Sara Palin tells you what her husband thinks. For God's sake, stay in Texas and shut up.

A Visitor for Minchie and Kitty

It is that time of year again, when the temp soars to the one hundred-teens. My deluxe 1948 model home is "cooled" by an energy efficient evap cooler. As in swamp. Today, it happens to be humid as well as hot. This ensures that the strategically placed fans provide such relief as I had forgotten was possible since the summer of 1996 when my old Mazda B2000 truck overheated at least once a day, usually at the hottest time and even when I turned the heater on.

Kitty and Minchie have been suffering in silence. Minchie has found a spot for repose behind the toilet. Kitty's territory is always in front of any fan that's blowing and of course beneath all beds. Plus the bathtub. And the kitchen.... Ok, anywhere except behind the toilet.

Since my swamp cooler unit's door thingies are corroded shut, I broke down and called a mobile groomer to treat each of them to a spa day.

This girl was great! I can't say enough about her. The best part about all was that she had her own van, so none of the hairy evidence of my neglect could be seen. All that was left when she was finished, were two closely sheared and much cooler pets.

I was astonished at how skinny Kitty looks. She eats all the time, and I feed her Blue Buffalo for cryingoutloud. The groomer said that she is very healthy for a cat who is 18, but I don't know.