belly up

Oh oh. I killed about 12 of my little charges.

Not the chickens, thankfully, but I wonder how attached the Egg Lady was to the goldfish. I don't know what happened. I think they might have drowned. Really. The other night it rained like a mother fucker and when I went over this morning, little golden bodies were lying belly-up on the rim of the pond. Had they been deposited there during the high tide?

I did think about running off to Walmart to get replacements...I don't know, I may yet. I'll talk it over with The Landlord and see what he says.

Thank god she didn't leave her giant dog in my care.

I tell you, if even one chicken dies, I'm out of here. Look for my next blog entry from somewhere like Gallup, or Needles. One thing's for sure, my critter-sitting days are over.

chicken sitter

I handed The Landlord some eggs. "The next time someone asks me to babysit their chickens, remind me to say 'no'."

I guess these are nice chickens. They seem lonely and seem to like it when I come over. Some of them are molting and I think that's kind of ugly - like bare monkey butts.

Being responsible for someone else's critters is just too stressful.

For one thing, I think the chickens are hankering for table scraps but I don't have any for them.
If I don't gather up the eggs in a timely fashion, they may eat them and then there goes any future eggs. Or something like that.
If a chicken is sitting on eggs, do you reach under and take them from her?
What do you do about the sparrows who get trapped in the coop? You can't chase them out without risking an escaped chicken. And if a chicken escapes, then what?
Fucking fire ants are everywhere and one stung me on the bottom of one of my toes and I had to sit with ice on it for 3 hours before I could walk. I thought my foot would have to be amputated.
There's a nice hot tub over there, by the chickens, but it, too, is surrounded by fire ants thus making hot-tubbing less appealing, imagining stepping barefoot on an ant or having them nestle in your clothes or shoes.

And I can't eat all those eggs so I'm giving them to whoever happens by. The chicken lady said if there were too many eggs for me to handle, I had permission to throw them at passing cars.

Some big-ass clouds are approaching so I guess I'll walk over and see if there aren't some eggs to gather up before all hell breaks loose. Yippeee, the male rains have arrived.

give me money, ooh-ooh, lots of money

The Landlord, The Yoga Teacher and I went dancing on Saturday night. We were headed to the old hippie biker bar to hear live music but on the way we passed the younger crowd bar which sounded lively so we thought we'd stop in. We ended up closing the bar down.

I actually knew people in the bar that The Landlord didn't know. Quite a feat when you consider that he knows just about everyone. The people I knew who he didn't were the owners of the trailer park I lived in before moving to The Landlord's. So I introduced everyone and we hung out with them most of the evening.

The bar was lively because it was karaoke night. We tried to get the trailer park owners to sign up - they're young people who do karaoke up in the big city - but the sign-up sheet was filled and they were starting one for next week! A lot of the karaoke'ers were very good, a lot were mediocre, the Charles Manson look-alike was pretty awful. My hairdresser was there and she looked stunning in a backless halter top. Oh, for a 30-year-old back! One of the town's business owners was there - a very tall woman with a very deep voice and a very strong jaw line. Hmmm.

The Yoga Teacher and I danced a lot and, man, did that feel good, to be moving around.

We ended the evening out on the patio talking to a couple of young guys and a man close to our ages who The Landlord thought was gay but wasn't his type.

As were were leaving, about 2:30 in the morning, we ran into a shop owner I had met earlier in the day. She was having a dinner party that night and when I was in the shop, her chef kept running in and out for supplies and to ask questions. He was a very interesting-looking black man with dreads down to the middle of his back. She said the dinner party had been a success, this sit-down affair for eight produced by her own private chef.

A lot of people in this town have a lot of money. A lot of people got here when houses were cheap cheap cheap and so they were able to fix them up and now when they're not in their nice homes they travel the world or spend half the year in their second homes in Mexico.

Even The Dancer has money from somewhere. She told me that she gets about $450 a month Social Security but she has a house here, a house in Mexico, a new car, and just bought a 32" television. Obviously she's got money coming in from somewhere other than Social Security.

I've never had money. But I want money. I want a lot of money. I want my trailer to get so filled up with money that there's no room for me and so I have to move out and get a bigger place. My trailer will be like a piggy bank - it kind of looks like one, doesn't it? - and large-denomination bills will float down from the skies and enter the trailer through the slit in the roof.

Whoa! After a really slow work week (I made less than $200), a bunch of jobs just came in. I better get at 'em, and get that slit cut into the trailer's roof.

female rain

We are early into the monsoons - gentle rains and very little drama - the female rains. Hopefully, the male rains aren't too far behind. Even though my trailer tends to leak when the male rains are here, I think it's worth it for the excitement they bring, all that thunder, lightning, wind, hail, flooding washes and raging rivers.

Other than the leaking, my trailer is the place to be in a storm - the deafening sound of rain pummeling the aluminum, being lifted off the ground by a sonic boom of thunder, rocking in the wind. Quite an amusement park ride.

Last night as I left The Landlord's house, everything went dark. "Oh oh" I said and I heard The Landlord echo "oh oh" from inside his house. He came out with a huge flashlight and held it over his head to light my way to the trailer. I really didn't want to be a show off - okay, I guess I did - because when I reached the trailer, I hollered at him "watch this" and I opened the door and flipped the switch, and voila! lights. The only lights in the whole town. At least, the only lights in this part of town (there were most likely lights in the trailers at the RV parks). Because, see, that's the beauty of trailers. When the electricity goes out, everything switches over to battery or propane. The only thing to go belly up - and out of my trailer's control - was DSL.

I didn't leave the lights on for long ... just long enough to pour a glass of wine. I settled back on the pillows on my bed and enjoyed the darkness and the sound of the soft female rain as she danced on the trailer's roof, doing her best to attract the male rain.

it's time to get this age shit out of the way

My landlord called me from the road. He was on his way to the big city where he probably hoped to continue the action from the night before only this time with men.

We talked a little more about our night out. I didn't know that the spiky-haired-married woman had grabbed his ... I'll use a more genteel term than he did ... member. We also talked about the couple who had moved over to join us at our table, how as they talked about how they met, she put her hand up his shorts and he got obviously turned on. (I actually had to look away.) They didn't stay at the bar much longer.

I bring this up not only to show what a weekend it was - sex, drugs, and fireworks - but what a weekend it was for people our ages.

I've never mentioned my age on this blog. I figured that if bloggers are too young or too old, they are easily dismissed. The former because they haven't lived enough, the latter because who wants to hear from an doddering old fart.

Well, here goes. My age. Because as it turns out, I'm practically the baby in this new tribe of mine. And over the past few years, I've learned a lot about age - that it's a rather meaningless number.

When I left my Portland life I was almost 55. I am now 58. My lovers were mostly around 48 with one 40 year old thrown in, a near-miss with a 25 year old, and a smattering around my age. None older. My tribe at The Home of Dashed Hopes was made up of people mostly in their 50s.

Now this tribe. My landlord, the people who made the pot brownies, the woman with the spiky hair, my neighbor with the eggs, my writer/dancer friend, the man who fell in love with the Mexican woman, all these people (except the Mexican woman) are nearing 70. In a few months there will be an additional tenant here - once she returns from Guatemala - and she's in her 70's somewhere.

The people in my writing group range in age from the late 40's to somewhere around 70, a nearly 30-year span, and, frankly, we could all be around the same age. The only difference is that the men are all retired military and they like to write about that. A lot.

In the RVing world, I was surprised at how many people retired in their 50s (especially Canadians), so you've got that group. But there's also all those 80 year olds out there, cocktailing and sailing and fishing and bar-hopping right along with their younger counterparts, maybe more so. There's a few younger RVers - your sort of drop-outs, at least for a few months - and I wish there were more of them.

So I think this should be encouraging to people.
You're never too old to start life over.
You're never too old to get stoned.
You're never too old to get your nipple sucked in a bar, in public.

how to pick up chicks, lesson #33

One night in Mexico, a friend and I were grilling shrimp. As we waited for the coals to heat, she sat there with her poodle on her lap and kissed the poodle on the mouth and over and over said "I love you baby" and finally I was so grossed out that I told her to stop. I told her it was like hearing people having sex in the room next door. Or like I was out with a couple who were newly in love and I didn't know where to look as they groped each other.

That happened again last night only this time the poodle was my landlord.

We decided to go hear some music and during the break we went up to the hotel for cocktails. He introduced me to the couple at the next table. He said "this is my friend Antonia" and the woman said "you are sooooo lucky to be his friend. All women want to be his friend." It's true. He is the most lusted-after guy I have ever met.

After three gin and tonics the exact sequence of events is a little hazy but there came a point where some woman with spiky hair and a husband at home was sitting on my landlord's lap and sucking his nipple. And he was enjoying it! So I said, "Um, I'm going to the car. I'll see you there when you're done."

I went and sat on the ground next to the car, enjoying the cool evening temp, trying to lure a feral cat over to my outstretched hand. Finally my landlord showed up. We were both laughing and I said "My God, you are a slut! What is it with you and women?" "I knowwww," he said. "If only I'd get that kind of action from guys. But you know, that's why I love this town. Anything goes and it's all okay."

So I guess the lesson for all you guys is, if you want to pick up women, BE GAY! Puppies and babies are just so passe. Having a gay boyfriend is the new black. Uh, well, you know what I mean.

in my next life

I had this tidy little life in Portland. I had a tidy little job, a tidy little house, a tidy little set of friends. An out-of-control garden and a feral cat were the only wild things in my life.

I was bored. Depressed.

I rarely danced. I never dated. I gave up on both, men and dancing.

I bought first edition books and attended the Arts and Lecture series. I ate out. I indulged in Italian wines and small batch bourbons.

I gained weight and dressed in clothes that were too big for me. They were all black and from stores like Eileen Fisher, Nordstrom, and small neighborhood boutiques.

Then I left that tidy little life. I attached an Airstream travel trailer to a one-ton van and said "Adios Pacific Northwest; hello....", well, hello somewhere sunny and warm.

I went off in search of The Bagdad Cafe.


That was almost four years ago and since then I have had these new lives:




Trailer trash. I did not live in an RV park - all spic 'n span with shiny new rigs, shiny tow vehicles, shiny people. No, this was your basic down-and-out trailer park full of alcoholics, crack ho's, miners, dopers, and all-around ne'er do wells. I had to wean myself off India Pale Ales and Barolo's. I hung out at the local saloon where the barflies were stuck to their stools as though to sticky fly strips. I had more lovers in six weeks than I had had in the previous ten years. I shed the dark clothes and let my arms go bare in turquoise tank tops. My hair turned blond. I ditched the dyke 'do. I nearly fell in love with a meth addicted Jailbird.


Beach Bum Chapita (shorty in Mexican). To escape getting more seriously involved with the above-mentioned Jailbird, and to put off getting a job, I went to Mexico, where my hair got longer and blonder and my body actually got leaner. The downside of living in Mexico was that I was now an RV'er, surrounded by a lot of people I mostly didn't like. Oh, some were great in spite of their politics and shitty taste in food, but mostly I was a fish out of water. Okay, let's not use a cliche if we can help it. I was as out of place as a vegan working at a meat counter at WalMart. But what a life! I fell into the gringa-in-Mexico life as easily as I had fallen into the trailer trash life. I danced Mexican. I walked the beach. I swam. I sailed. I fished.

Hippie Doper Worker Motorcycle Chick. Many years ago, in a land far, far away, I did the hippie doper (sans motorcycle) chick thing. I never was a pot doper but I did enjoy a few 'shrooms now and then, a 'lude when those were available, a little coke. Not that I'm back into the doper thing - that brownie did me in! - but my milieu is into that stuff and they're a pretty interesting group of people. So in this life I plan on dancing. I plan on saving money. I plan on getting drenched in the monsoons and baked in the desert.

And I have plans for my next life.
I plan on falling in love.