I’m trying to nap.
That’s important to keep me spry and maintain my sanity.

In three hours there were eleven political phone calls to the house.

I could tell they were political because no one ever calls the house phone and none of them had a Caller ID that made any sense.

Usually there’s the ever popular “Unknown Caller”.

Hiding like that doesn’t work.
I don’t answer them.

Lots of people don’t answer them either and the dirty little secret is it really skews the results.

Occasionally I do pick up, just so I can have a conversation with the person at the other end about being sneaky.

Major political races usually hire a polling company.
They’re expensive.

So smaller races or cheap candidates use friends, family, people pulled off the street.

Having been in the political heap for a bunch of years, I may be considered an expert on these election things.

I can tell you most of those calls during dinner time come from a phone bank of volunteers.

“Volunteer” as used in the context of “being volunteered”.

Usually it’s a political appointee assigned to making poll calls.

“Hi, if the election were held today, would you vote for Alfred E. Neuman or Mufi Hannemann?”

“I’m sorry sir, ‘neither’ is not an answer on my list to check off.
Please pick one.”

In the back of your mind you know you better make those calls if you want to keep your appointee job in case the candidate wins.

I hated that and usually weaseled my way out of it.

Here’s how it works…
You’re handed a list of random phone numbers from a certain district.
That’s how they can call you even if your number is unlisted.

They’re just dialing random numbers.

You hope no one answers so you can get through your many page assigned list quickly and go back to something fun.

Sometimes they call from home.

Sometimes from their cell while at the beach having a brew.

Sometimes from a bank of phones at a friendly lawyer or travel agency office.

The typical shift is around four hours.

After about an hour of this you really wish the people wouldn’t chat with you and explain why they plan to vote a certain way.

You really, really don’t care.

Just answer yes or no or pick one from the list I’m going to read to you.

Sorry I’m interrupting your dinner.
I’m sitting here eating two-day old donuts and some moldy stuff left on the table.

I gotta pee, I wanna go home, and a have a ton of work waiting for me back at the office.

Getting out of there after your shift feels great.

Then you remember you have to be back the next night.

Welcome to grumpy.

I ask that you consider something.
There’s no need to make a decision at this moment.

Tonight would be fine.

I need someone to adopt me.
Soon.

Here’s what you get:

High mileage but sorta well maintained.

Some dents but most parts work.
Some well, some not so well.

I’m not bad-looking for an old coot.
See picture above.

Squint so it’s hazy, or drink a lot first.

I don’t take up much room and tend to stay in one place when I plop down.
I’m really low maintenance because I nap a lot.

You don’t have to take me out.

I’m a nice guy as the wife’s girlfriends can attest.

I have a great sense of humor although it runs to the sarcastic.
If you are that way too it would be a match made in heaven.

I’m not picky about food.
I have been trained to eat whatever the special is at Zippys or Loco Moco.

I even eat leftovers If I have no other choice.

It doesn’t bother me to wear the same t-shirt for a week so my laundry needs are almost non-existent.

An occasional hug or pat on the head is all I ask.
I change lightbulbs and other stuff.

I don’t hang out in bars, go out, drink too much or look at dirty pictures on the Internet.

Well, I fudged that last item a bit.

I’m a real catch.
The one that got away, so to speak.

Why this delightful end-of-the-week offer?
The wife is trying to get me to leave.

I know this because she has put stink bombs all over the house.

It’s like walking into a spice factory dialed up to a 100.

The smell can be described as…heavy.
You can cut it with a knife.

I have no idea what it’s supposed to smell like, so stink is descriptive enough for now.

Now, if she were to put these olfactory disasters in her bathroom that would be okay.

But she put one in my bathroom.
I need a gas mask to go in there.

The liquid in the bottle looks like it’s from a spittoon.

The bathroom is the only place a guy can get away for a few minutes.

It’s important to our sanity.

Right now I have to sneak up, hold my nose and crack the door open a couple of inches.

I reach around and flip the bathroom exhaust fan switch.

Then close the door and go away for about 10 minutes.

That’s usually okay except for those times one can’t wait.

Then there’s those antennas sticking up.
I suspect she’s listening in on my cell phone calls.

Now, I don’t mind little smell-good thingies around the house.

But it’s my bathroom and it should have things that smell good to a man.

Bacon, freshly cut grass, dirty sneakers, puppy dogs and pizza is a good start.

Motor oil would be a plus.

I spend time in there pondering stuff and I need to maintain a clear mind.

The whole thing is just too weird.

Someone take me.
Please.

Before I get more grumpy.

Let’s talk about pizza.

Italy’s gift to the world along with Gina Lollobrigida and the Vespa.

Probably the best haute cuisine imaginable.

I don’t get it often as the wife prefers things like noodles and tofu or whatever the Loco Moco or Zippys’ special is that day.

Pizza usually only comes my way the nights she’s out ripping up the town with her friends, leaving me and the dogs to keep the home fires burning.

That and an occasional hug from one of the wife’s girlfriends are about the only highlights to my rather drab life.

Well, Dobash Cake, too.
Top of the food chain.

Pizza Hut is going the route of Zippys.
Cut the size, keep the price.

We have established how upset I am with Zippys for that maneuver.

The royal road to profits in the American financial system seems to be centered around making things smaller and charging the same – or more.

The marketing folks at Pizza Hut are calling it the “Skinny Slice” and it’s being tested in parts of Ohio and Florida.

I shall simplify for you:
Pizza Hut is using less dough and toppings.

But it’s keeping the same price.
Sneaky, huh?

The idea is to play to the folks that want a “lighter” menu.

Seriously – if anyone wanted a lighter menu they wouldn’t be eating pizza.

No one wants a lighter pizza.

It’s like lighter ice cream.
There’s nothing there – it’s blah.

History says pizza was invented in an Italian college dorm many years ago when some guys were hungry and the piled everything they had in the fridge, except the beer, on some old bread and cooked it.

The thing was so good the town’s Bishop ordered he be given twelve of those things every Christmas.

This led to the infamous “12 Days of Christmas” where they named each of the toppings after something else.

No one eats pizza to lose weight.
If you want to lose weight then eat lettuce and yogurt and semi-rabbit food.

The idea of eating pizza is to clog your arteries and apply 20 pounds to your waist.
Or your thighs if you put your flab there.

Diet pizza is an oxymoron.

Cutting back on the goodies is exactly…cutting back on the goodies.

Pizza Hut says it needs to reclaim its market share.

True.
Their pizza was crap up until a couple of years ago when the company admitted it and starting fixing things.

I’m leaning toward thinking they lost market share because of dumb ideas and cruddy pizza.

For a pizza lover it’s enough to make you grumpy.