Old bastards and yippie dogs that I'll miss the most

Dang, if it just didn't make noise, it'd sooo be my next dog

Our next door neighbors, eh hem, soon to be ex next door neighbors, are old bastards. Old, retired, married couple bastards in their mid to late sixties. But, old bastards nonetheless.

They are living the good life, she sells Avon for pin money. He does country and western gigs at local bars. They have two of the yippiest dogs I have ever known. The dogettes go crazy when the kids get near them. All twitchy spastic, manic yip yip yip, and furiously licking at their tiny hands through the waist high, chain link fence. Yip yip yip . . .

They absolutely luuurved Henry. Fed him treats over the fence. Henry was ever the gentleman. Always well behaved, did tricks too. He never barked at the tiny dogs, just took it all in. The old bastards bought him a treat jar last Christmas. It was in the shape of a Rottweiler. They really did love Henry.

Mr. Hall sent me a message today. They are having a yard sale for the next few days. What is left of our furniture is going into that yard sale, it'll run from Thursday through Saturday. If you want what is left of my college apartment furniture, better hurry.

Especially since a ton of old bastards in big tan Cadillacs began to arrive at 7.00 this am. Even though the sale is going on for four days, old bastards in big tan Cadillacs gotta get their yard sale on. And clogg up the feng shui of our cul de sac.

Soon to be ex cul de sac, I mean.

I will miss them. And their old bastard rummage sales. I will miss the yippiest dogs I have ever known.

I have made a decision though. I need to self nurture here. Stop living over there so much.

Have something to do besides kids, work, kids, intense happy YAY!! Mr. Hall is here!!, sad soooo sad, walking funny, sad Mr. Hall gone, work, kids, work, kids, intense . . . . .

This painting is called,"Woman holding a balance" Ya'll get the metaphor of the painting in relation to the content of this here post now, doncha? :)

So, for once a month, I have made something for me to do.

I am going to join a local club.

I called to inquire about it. Because there was no email listed on the web site.

Ring Ring

"Elllo, this is Klouten rezidense"

"Um, Hello, My name is Holly Hall and I am calling to find out more information about the writer's club out of [the town I live in]. My husband and I are moving up to the area, so I am new here."

When I get nervous I lie. It's like a very bad tick. Bad because I SUCK at lying.

"Es, veddi goot, es see Twosdai, edder month"

"I'm sorry, um is this Kurt? Did I reach the writer's club. . .? "

"Ooof! Sorry ma'am, mien Austrian accent is veddi thick, I speak slower k?"


Old bastards on the phone is fun.

I know he was an old bastard because this was 10 am on a Tuesday. And he picked up by saying 'this is the Klouten residence.' This is old bastard manners.

"Mrs. Hall

[GOD I LOVE WHEN PEOPLE CALL ME THIS!!!! old bastard manners rock!]

"Mrs. Hall, vhat do u write?"

Long pause. I think. Then, I think some more.

I mean, seriously, what do I write?

"Um, just about anything." Long pause.

I hear him kind of chuckle.

Then I said, after searching for someway to explain what the hell I am doing-

"I have a blog."

He said, " Un Blug? Blouck?"

"Yes, a blog, um, do you know what a blog is?"

He said yes. But, I doubt it. Old bastard on the phone.

So, once a month, on the first Tuesday, I will be rejoining the human race by going to a writer's club. I've been part of 3 or 4 writer's clubs in my wee life. It is fun, kind of like this blog circle, only in real life.I have seen the pictures of their meetings. And much like this group here. . . . . . . well . . . . .

I will be one of the younger members. Heck, I think Earl is the oldest at 52. The youngest member here is Caz I think. Well, she is definitely the most pregnant. Seriously, you must visit Spacebook, it is all sorts of crazy busting out love! But, again, to quote another blogger, I'm about 12 in grown up years.

But, this is a start, just me, getting the fuck out of the crazy house, stretching my creative wings. Hopefully there will be booze.

So now, let's not get ourselves all whipped up in a shy frenzy, let's remember to smile and beam positive energy.

Let's not get all worked up being around real writers in the real world. Or get all worked up about thee fact that old bastards have had more time to hone their craft. Let's not be scared about this, after all, I've got some skills.

In fact,

Let's not be scared of anything.

And let's go further. Do more stuff I like to do. I see myself going back to yoga class, maybe volunteer, maybe bible study again.

Yes I know, this life I lead, this life is party central :)

But it'll have to wait until I move back into my own house.

Soon though, soon. :)