The girlfriend is always right

I speak for all husbands.

We can’t win.

women-talking1When the wife wants to know the absolute truth about something – she talks to her girlfriends.

Apparently a husband is an unreliable source.

I have seen the light.
We are good only for changing bulbs and mowing the grass.

In the wife’s mind her girlfriends know more about any and everything than the Pope, the President or I do.

Nothing will ever change that.

Case in point…

If a girlfriend tells the wife that spreading dead fish and tea leaves on top of her computer will protect it from viruses it’s as if it came from God’s lips to her ears.

As an IT and anti-terrorism professional I tell her “Hogwash”.

“Yea, but my girlfriend says…”

“I’m sorry my dear that’s not correct.”

“Well, my girlfriend says it works.”

“It won’t. Trust me.”

I might as well be talking to the wall.

Sometime in the next 24 hours dead fish and tea leaves will show up in a little platter on top her computer.

When she’s not around I update her anti-virus protection.

No husband will ever understand the relationship between a wife and her girlfriends.
No husband will ever replace them.
No husband will ever get between them.

And that’s the way it is.

tea-and-talk-sizedWomen need their girlfriends to give them someone to chat with for hours at a time.

That sure won’t be me.

The wife can spend an hour describing the lunch she had today.

They’ll discuss everything in-depth from the color of the napkins, how many ice cubes in their water glass to the salad.

If she’s asking me – “Cheeseburger and a soda.”
End of conversation.

They need their girlfriends to have someone they can relate and vent to.

Of course I wonder how much my name may have come up.
That makes me grumpy.

After grumpy comes…

…pissed off.

I live in a nice neighborhood.

For the most part people take care of their homes and yards.

There’s a couple of slobs, but those of us that care about out investments ignore them.

On the main street to my neighborhood there’s a condo/apartment complex.

They take good care of the place.
If they didn’t, no one would rent or buy.

Then they allow this to happen.

Nice, huh?
Looks like a flea market.

Bulky item pickup is the second Wednesday of the month.

That works out to January 14th.
Stuff isn’t supposed to be put curbside until the night before.

This crap pile has been building for two weeks.
Each day it spreads out a bit further and gets a bit higher.

Want to come visit me?
You’ll have to pass this on the way.

Here’s what’s happening.

A lot of military live in this complex.
They are good people and no different from you and me.

But they live under rules where they sometimes have to move by a certain date.
They have to throw stuff out.

There’s really no option unless they go to the dump.

The property management apparently shrugs and wanders off.
My neighborhood starts to look like hell.

Happens every month.
What you see is about usual.

Good grief – how about setting a space aside on the property where this stuff can go until it’s time for pickup?
Is that too advanced an idea to grasp?

Apparently so.

I have no interest in being a little old geezer that becomes a pain-in-the-butt by sending pictures to the city every month demanding action.

I do have interest in not making my neighborhood look like a third world country.

Stay tuned as the Night Raider plots his revenge.

Grief grief – another decade

My New Years resolution…
Be less grumpy.

That’s damn near impossible since I’m not a grumpy person according to everyone – except the wife.
So don’t ask her.

old_geezerI have supposedly and officially moved from Old Coot to Geezer when my birthday hit yesterday.

That’s a blow to my perpetually “act like I’m 21” attitude.

Apparently geezer means I’m expected to start acting my age.
The wife says I gotta grow up.

Bah humbug.

Here’s the problem with advancing age…

Geezer means doing things like lean over s-l-o-w-l-y.
If you don’t you’ll probably just keep going d-o-w-n.

highpantsIn my mind, a geezer doesn’t drive a Jeep (me) but rather a Cadillac (them), wears their pants just below his man-boobs and lives in Florida.


I’ll stick with local style: shorts and a t-shirt.

I will never be a geezer.

I could get all philosophical about the changes I’ve seen in myself in the past five years.
I’m sure there will be a LOT more in the next five.

It is what it is.

To all my friends…
You’re close to my age.

Welcome to your so-called twilight years.

My advice – ignore all that and just boogy on.
Party while you can.

And happy birthday to all that had their big day around the holidays.

Be happy – even if people combined your Christmas and birthday present.

As for not being grumpy…

I suspect that resolution is dead.