The Deep End

Renovations are happening here at Chez Bang Bang, Reader, and it's a good time.   Back when I originally became a stay-at-home unwife, I had Big Plans for the summer. It included lazy days spent lounging poolside, reading trashy novels and working on my sunburn turning to more freckles tan.  

The big glitch with that plan was that I didn't have a pool.  

I say "didn't," Reader. Because one day while I was meandering through the store I saw this little inflatable beauty. 

Don't they look so happy??!  The answer is yes, they do look happy, because they're in a POOL and pools make people happy. For the most part, except when accidental drownings happen. Then, not as happy. 

But here? Happy. The dad is all lounge-y and relaxed with probably a beer in the cupholder on the side. Yep, that's right. This little number has built-in cupholders because it's fancy. The kids are hanging out and ready to splash some water around. The mom is probably inside making Kool-Aid because the mom always has shit to do, she can never just sit in the pool and relax. Or maybe they're divorced and he's a single dad and this is his weekend with the kids. I could go on with scenarios, but the bottom line is they all look like they're having a good time sitting in some water and gol'darn it, that fun was gonna be mine.  

Oh,  p.s., notice all the holes in the top corner of the box? Yeah, those would be cat bites, because they are intent on ruining all of mama's happiness. 

So in my shopping cart it went, despite the $29.99 price tag on my unemployed wage.  I figured the hours of enjoyment would pay for itself. 

Much to my delight, when I got home I discovered the cashier didn't charge me correctly and I ended up getting it for $15, plus the $2.88 for the Bellows Foot Pump I purchased to blow this baby up. Because while I am normally full of a lot of hot air, it was a for sure thing that I would pass out if I gave this pool mouth-to-mouth to breath life into 'er. 

So a summer of fun for $17.88. Plus tax. 

Only it seemed like the entire month of June rained.  Rained right on my pool parade.  When it wasn't raining, I was getting ready for or having that damn garage sale. 

June passed, and I could feel my dreams of the Summer of George lounging poolside slipping by. 

And then I got a job offer, and went to Vegas over the 4th of July, and now I was looking at only having the precious weekends once again to enjoy floating in my pool, if I ever got it installed. 

The Summer of Poolside George was looking grim.   

Until today, when my original plan was to finish cleaning up the garage from that fucking garage sale, wherein I'm a little ashamed to admit that I still have a couple of tables of shit that needs de-shitted. But instead of cleaning the garage I said to my brain, "Fuck that cleaning the garage nonsense, I've gotta make hay while the sun shines." And my making the hay involved pulling the pool out of the box and getting ready for some sweet sweet lounging. 

I wanted to put it up on the deck, so that I could be close to the bathroom if needed and somewhat ensconced in privacy in the event I wanted to skinny dip. Or chunky dunk, as the case may be. 

My Mister dubiously looked at the foot pump but was nicely surprised when he hooked it up and it actually did it's job better than the $2.88 price tag would lead you to believe.

There he is in his summer uniform - heavy denim blue jeans and a black t-shirt.  

And then he sweat-ed and bitched about how hot he was out there.  Ya think? It would be hot?

Luckily he was soon to have a pool he could cool right off in.  That is, if it didn't crash through the deck, which was somewhat of a worry, with all that water in my very big pool.

He got it all inflated with some minor cursing and brought the hose round for me, and in two shakes of a lambs tail, the pool was installed, filled and ready for some splashing-around fun-in-the-sun! And Trixie Bang Bang's Summer of George Dreams were no longer on hold. 

See how pretty?? Cool and refreshing! Or more like, "Holy WOW, that hose water is COLD!," but I got in anyway. 

Now, normally a story like this would have some sort of a horrible-warning ending coming from me, but not this time.

Nope. It was nothing but pure fun and games, except for the part where my legs were even more stiff by the time I got out because super-duper cold water, but other than that? Exceeded expectations. 

The cats lived up to the curiosity part of their nature and came out to investigate.

So yeah. This is where you'll find me during hot summer nights and weekends, with a cold drink in my cupholder.  

Until I get an infection up my crotch from sitting in a pool of stagnant water.

Or a good dose of Legionnairres' disease. 

I guess I'd better visit Litehouse Pools and figure out how to keep my inflatable pool water fresh. Cause I've got enough other things to worry about, which oh, by the way, includes what I believe is a little dose of cancer, so no Legionnairres' for me, thanks but no thanks.  

Yeah, you read that right. I slipped it right in there,all quiet like, because we don't want to talk too loudly about it. But thanks to Almighty Google and Web MD, I'm about 83.4% certain I've got a touch of the cancer. The problem is, I can't get in to see a doctor because I had to find a new doctor because my original primary care physician is inadequate for anything important, and now I have new insurance so I need to get in with someone accepting new patients. But then I started my job and that infringed on my searching-for-a-doctor time last week, but I took care of it yesterday and will be calling to make an appointment bright and early Monday.  

Not to be concerned, Reader, I'm fairly certain it's just a teensy touch of skin cancer, the non-spready kind from what I've diagnosed myself with from pictures on the Internet. Because that's how medicine's practiced nowadays. Duh.

This spot just cropped up a couple of weeks ago, right there on my chest. When I first noticed it in the mirror I thought to myself, "What the fuck is that??" But then figured it would go away. Several days later my friendie saw it and immediately said, "What the fuck is that on your chest?" 

And that's when I knew I had a little problem that needs solved. Thanks for nothing, Fair, Freckly Skin which burns like a motherfucker at the kiss of a sunbeam. 

So yeah. I'll be SPF-ing the fuck out of my spot while I'm lazing about in my Legionnairre's water.  

Come over.  We can get diseases together, it'll make it more fun that way. I'm not sure who's going to be having more fun, but didn't someone say misery loves company, so why wouldn't diseases love company, too? Don't leave Diseases out, Misery. It's rude. 

And oh, by the way, I'm taking applications for a lifeguard. 

And a cabana boy.

Please submit shirtless photos to be considered for the position. 

And polish up on your "feeding me grapes" routine. 

Tidy Cat

Okay, either "I'm sorry" or "your welcome" for leaving you with a picture of the camel toe for so long. I'm not here to judge. Well, not that, anyway.  On a side note, someone I know just said yesterday that my writing is sometimes "perverted." I was flattered.  And, oh, by the way, that makes you, Reader, who's reading this also a little perverted.  We're all Flatteringly Perverted. You're now part of the club. I think we should get t-shirts made. 

But that's not what I came here to tell you about.  

I came here to say a lot of other things, but then realized it's been a really long time since you've seen Kitten Cuteness and I owe you that. 

This is Nosey Dots (who is formally named Jessie, but we call him Nosey most of the time, because he has dots on his nose, duh) and Gussy.  Nosey is cleaning him up.  Nosey cleans everyone. 

He likes his kittens on the tidy side. 

Even if he has to pin them down with his 14.4 lb. fat cat ass. 

Yeah, we weighed him. 

You can get a mild hernia picking him up. 

My kittens turned 1 on the Fourth of July.  Well, that's the day they first found me. They probably turned 1 sometime in May.  

They are still ridiculously cute.  They have the wanderlust, though, and have spent a lot of summer hours outside.  Yeah, we let them outside. Gussy is small enough that he fits through the slats on the deck and just jumps off and then goes into the woods and ravine to play.  So we let his brothers out too, because safety in numbers. 

But sometimes Gussy doesn't come back for a while, and he spent most of the other night outside, which caused me to awake every two hours to call for him because Worried Mama.  

He finally came in at 4 a.m., flying across the lawn to get in and went right to his litter box. He either doesn't know he can poop outside, or he's refined and prefers to do it in his litter box so I have the privilege of cleaning up more of his poop.  I'm lucky, I guess. 

So yeah, I never thought I'd let me Beloved Indoor Housecats outside, but the heart wants what the heart wants. And their hearts want to play in the yard, and feel grass under their feet and chase bugs.  I don't want to keep 'em locked up for life. But I do think I need to get an enclosed area outside so they can have grass under their feet, without the risk of getting eaten by a coyote.   That's next on the house projects list. 

Enjoy your Sunday, Reader. I've got a cookout with corn on the cob and peach pie to enjoy at my Daddio's today.  Summer = Yummer.  

Figuratively Speaking

I was doing a bit of online shopping looking lately and stumbled across this advertisement for some sort of torture-chamber undergarment, because clearly this lady is fat and needs this six-hooked, elastic-ed contraption to mash her body into a figure suitable to walk around in public.

Aside from that, does anything else jump out at you from this picture, Reader? 

Or is it just me? 

There's a good chance it's just me. 

Because that image made me want to dress up like Jasmine from Disney's Aladdin movie as soon as I saw that Camel. And I also noticed her very apparent "magic carpet." Aladdin, Jasmine and several friends could ride on that thing. 

I mean, as far as advertising techniques go, this one may be considered a winner because it definitely caught my attention. I even saved it to share with you. You're welcome. 

However, I couldn't tell you what the product actually is, nor did I buy one, because I do not need to call that sort of attention to my kuntz area, as it gets pah-lenty of attention as it is. 

And speaking of my kuntz, would you even believe it if I told you I actually got the job with the company I shouted out "MIKEKUNTZ!!'" to in my phone interview??? 

Hard to believe it, Reader, but YEP, it's the troof.  I'm going to be back in the workforce soon!! I start in mid-July as a Merchandising Manager for a young e-Commerce biz.  I'm going to be in on the groundish floor, and will reap many rewards for my contributions with this company once I prove my awesomeness, which should take about five days. Because of said awesomeness.  I've already been working - unpaid - on my strategies and contributions that will help drive and grow the business. I'm trying to knock some of the rust off of the hamster wheels that churn my brain before I actually start. 

I'm super-excited about the work, less super-excited about trying to correct my awful sleep pattern. Because it is a doozy.  I now go to sleep sometime between three and six in the morning, and get up, oh, in the early afternoon.  

They shouldn't make Forensic Files a nightly marathon if they wanted me to go to bed earlier.  I've been really hooked on watching hours and hours of those shows. And then it scares me and I have to get up and walk through the house and check that no one is trying to break in to Chez Bang Bang and diddle with my kuntz while they think I'm asleep, because they would be in for a surprise, because I'm AWAKE at 2 a.m., Badguys, so stay the eff away. I'm on high-alert.  And have been practicing kung-foo. Not really, but I think about doing karate chops to people, so I'm counting it. 

So yeah, not exactly restful sleep after I do finally turn off the hours upon hours of murdering shows. Last night I even managed to tolerate a half hour of Nancy Grace, because the story was compelling, but Nancy herself is so annoying and just makes shit up rather than reporting on any facts and says the same stuff over and over again, which annoys the piss out of me so I turned her off mid-way through and now I need to Google and find out more details about the murdering of a doctor-lady in Florida. You've created more work for me, Nancy Grace. Thanks for nothing. 

Let's recap here, Reader, because this has been all over the place. Our Top 5 take-aways are:

1/ No one needs underwear that details out their camel toes. Unless you DO need those underwear, Reader, and then I will try to find out the brand for you, because I'm a giver.

2/ I will become a productive member of society once again mid-July, abandoning my current "job" of spray painting every empty bottle in the house to turn it into a Pinterest project. 

3/ Sometimes talking about your kuntz in an interview can land you a job. And not just in prostitution. 

4/ Don't break into my house, BadGuy. You'll be the one getting an unpleasant surprise, right between the shoulder blades. 

5/ Nancy Grace creates more problems than she solves.