I had no intention of writing about Friday the 13th, for two reasons:
1. I'm not particularly superstitious
2. I generally have bad luck every day of the year, so Fridays with 13 in them are no particular problem.
Early this morning - after about two delightful hours of uninterrupted sleep - I was rudely awakened by creatures running across the roof. It sure as hell wasn't Santa Claus, but sounded (to my untrained ears) sort of like a herd of antelopes.
I leaped out of bed in my skivvies, grabbed a broom, went outside, and started banging the broom against the edge of the roof. Whatever the creatures were, they took off.
My banging not only scared the rooftop creatures, it annoyed a bunch of nearby wasps...
the weather has warmed up and wasps and bees are rampant...
A mob of angry wasps descends upon me like kamikaze pilots. I'm barefooted, in my underwear, frantically swinging the broom to ward off the attack. I manage to open the back door and get inside. As I'm breathing a quasi-asthmatic sigh of relief, I realize that one of the wasps got inside with me.
The wasp chases me around. I chase the wasp around. Long story short - - I eventually manage to clobber the wasp with the broom and beat him to a quivering pulp.
I look sweet. But I'm tough.
Since returning to sleep is now completely out of the question, I fire up my laptop and decide to do some work (I'm working on several new projects, to be mentioned in the near future).
I'm at the computer less than five minutes when there's a power failure.
It's very windy today, which - I assume - might have had something to do with it.
Half an hour later the power's back on but my laptop is strangely screwed up. The screen keeps going black. I can't access any websites. I have to reboot several times before things straighten out.
Meanwhile - -
I decided to boil some eggs. No big deal. I've done it before millions of times (I counted).
Back at the computer, twenty minutes later, I suddenly remember the eggs when the pot boils over - drenching the stove and popping all the eggs wide open.
This has never happened to me before.
Was I merely careless, or......
Did Friday the 13th have something to do with it?
My day has definitely been off to a bad start. But - in retrospect - most of my days have a bad start...and inevitably a bad finish.
I was cursed.
Totally unrelated:
Did I ever mention that I used to be a HUGE fan of the TV show Friday the 13th: The Series?
It was only on for three seasons - - I think from 1987-90.
Ryan, Micki, and Jack
Have a pleasant Friday the 13th...
and try to avoid black cats.
With love, Bosco
Caution: a few delicate souls might take offense at some of my words.
Let me be blunt (as if I never was.....) -
Living alone in the wilderness isn't exactly as wonderful as I make it sound. Don't be duped by my photos of the beautiful forest and the adorable 'possums eating bread. That's the Disney version. The reality version is a cross between Tobacco Road and Deliverance.
I won't mention the minor annoyances - like having to drive 500 miles (slight exaggeration) on a perilous road to get to town, or having to trek 10 miles (very slight exaggeration) to get to my damn mailbox....
.......or the fact that there's no trash pickup and no radio reception. I won't mention the wild animals that are nesting under the house and scrambling on the roof - - or the mice in the walls....
.....or the intense dampness that renders everything into a soggy mush, or the millions of summer insects that descend like the plagues of Egypt - or the coyotes that surround the house and practice their death howls at 3:00 am.....
....or the relentless rain that pours incessantly with an enthusiasm of Biblical proportions.
So, how wet is it in Tennessee?
It's wetter than Chris Christie's armpits.
It's wetter than the Sport's Illustrated Swimsuit issue.
Don't groan. I never claimed to be a comedian.
When I lived in West Texas it was the wind. I had to plan my entire agenda around windstorms. I only ventured out on days when the wind was under 65 MPH.
Here in Daniel Boone country, it's the rain. My entire life revolves around rainstorms and the minuscule hope that a ray of sunshine might appear.
I had planned on going to town today. Naturally, severe storms were predicted. I hoped against hope that the forecast would be wrong.
I got dressed at dawn - with the insane assumption that if I went early I'd beat the bad weather. I piled big bags of trash in the car (to take to the dump).
Then I turned on the radio to hear the weather. I can only get two stations out here in the boonies, and one is from Kentucky. The Kentucky announcer (who has an annoyingly whiny voice and sounds like he's twelve years old) read the obituaries for 40 long minutes.
What the hell is the deal with all the deaths in Hillbillyland? There are more friggin' stiffs here than in Bangladesh.
I was finally able to zero in on the local station. We were under a Severe Storm Warning......and a Tornado Watch.
That put the kibosh on my trip to town. I have to be heavily sedated when I drive to town on a sunny day. There's no way in hell I'm going in a hurricane.
I need supplies desperately, but it'll have to wait. I'm out of milk, bread, eggs, cat litter, and toilet paper.
Warning:
Ladies and all sensitive people, please hold your ears.
I can't live without toilet paper.
Did you ever try to wipe your *** with a paper towel?
Also -
my cell phone isn't working (again) - just when I might need it.
Even though it was starting to rain, I decided to drive to the mailbox - because every time it rains the contents get soaked.
When I got to the box, it was wide open. An envelope that I put in there five days ago (to be picked up by the mail carrier) was still there - completely drenched. It contained a very important check that was due yesterday.
As I drove back to the house I was uttering curse words that would make Madonna blush.
I know, this post is getting damn long - but I'm on a roll. A lousy roll - - but a roll nevertheless.
Let me explain that the weeds on my property are now the size of trees. I was a jackass to assume that the cold weather would kill them.
While I'm plowing through the weed trees, wishing I had a tractor (or a bulldozer) I suddenly got stuck in the mud. The wheels spin, the engine stalls, and the torrential downpour is accompanied by fierce, screaming winds and sharp lightning.
My house is uphill and I'm still very far from it. I get out and sink to my knees in mud. In seconds, I'm completely soaked.
Just to enhance the extent of my misery, I'll mention that I still have excruciating back pain from some spinal fractures that never properly healed.
I try to scrape some of the caked mud off the tires. I crawl back into the car and attempt to get the engine started - as it makes extremely alarming noises. I crawl back out to open the hood of the car, and in the process somehow manage to slam my right index finger in the car door.
And I'm thinking:
If there is a God, he probably fell off his throne laughing at me.
I'll never know how I finally managed to get the car back to the house, but it took a helluva long time and superhuman effort.
After I limped to the house, I literally had to peel my drenched, mud-covered clothes off on the back porch. When I opened the door to go in, the three cats gleefully darted out.
Picture this:
I'm stalking through a maze of tree-sized weeds, in a tumultuous downpour, wearing nothing but my skimpy Fruit of the Looms and a mismatched pair of socks - - covered in mud and dripping wet, limping from my broken back, with a bloody and swollen index finger - while trying to round up three wayward cats.
Scratch and Bosco went back inside quickly. Scruffy - as usual - got under the back porch and I had to crawl in the mud to remove one of the panels so she could get out.
These were some of the highlights of my day.
It's presently near dusk and still extremely windy.
I'm gonna have a beer and go to bed.
If you happen to be flying by, drop me a few rolls of toilet paper.....and a couple bottles of Jim Beam.
This is a continuation of my two previous posts.
The drive from Texas to Tennessee took longer than expected.
"I'll get there in two days," I bragged. "I'll only need to stay in a motel one night."
It in fact took me three and a half days, and I stayed in motels every night.
I opted to travel on I-40. It was the most simple route, even though it forced me to drive through all the big cities. I arrived in Oklahoma City during rush hour and the traffic scared the living jeeters out of me.
Got a motel room in Shawnee. This time my next door neighbors were two lesbians. They had a huge St. Bernard dog that ran into my room as I was bringing in the luggage. If my cats weren't caged there would have been trouble.
All in all, things were going very smoothly and I was in a mellow frame of mind. Until I got to Arkansas.
I have no qualms about Arkansas. Lovely scenery. Nice people. But.....
.........rotten roads and highways. Haven't been repaired since Betsy Ross was sewing the flag. All right. I'll admit I'm being vicious.
In late afternoon the weather takes a turn for the worst. By nightfall it's pouring rain. I want to stop but there are no motels. No rest areas. No signs of life.
And no signs. Not one damn sign to let me know where the heck I am.
I don't like night driving. I have bad eyes. Night blindness. No exaggeration. I've had surgery on my eyes, but I won't go into that.
As if torrential rain and bad eyes aren't enough, major road construction begins. And detours. The highway narrows into one harrowing lane.
The deluge becomes Biblical. I don't need a vehicle. I need an ark. The rain is pounding so hard that my windshield wipers are useless.
No lights along the highway. Pitch blackness ensues. No white dividing line on the pavement. Nothing to guide me. There was a feeble smattering of reflectors along one side of the road, but suddenly they vanish.
Absolute blackness. Relentless rain. Nowhere to pull over or stop. I'm gripping the steering wheel with both hands, riding the breaks, crawling 10 MPH.
Literally driving completely blind.
You'll never make it, Jon, you're never going to make it.....
As I'm breathing these ominous words, my car is suddenly airborne. I'm flying through nothingness, like a NASCAR Peter Pan.
It's a crappy analogy, but what the hell...
It wasn't until I hit bottom that I realize I went over a cliff. Landed in a very thick swamp of mud. And water. And oozing Arkansas goo.
The impact was brutal but the mud saved my ass. And my car. And the cats - who were ruthlessly tossed in their cages. Cat food and used kitty litter is everywhere.
It takes all of my strength to push open the door against the resisting sea of mud.
Let me mention that I'm wearing a brand new pair of leather boots. Brand spanking new and beautiful. Only wore them for three days.
As soon as I squeeze out of the car, I sink up to my hips in mud. I'm immediately drenched with pouring rain.
There are times when reality is so harsh that it abandons us. Everything seems completely unreal. I'm drifting in the outer realms of the Twilight Zone.
How the hell am I gonna get outta here?
I have a cell phone, but who can I call or text? And what will I say? Hello, I just went over a cliff in Arkansas and don't know where I am.
I suddenly look up at the steep embankment and realize that the highway is at least 50 feet above me. Vehicles are zooming by, seemingly in the heavens.
I decide to abandon all sense of dignity. I start waving my arms and shouting. Can it get any worse than this? I've sunk to the lowest rung on the Ladder of Humanity.
My pathetic pleas were eventually seen and/or heard. An Arkansas patrol car is on the scene.
"Are you hurt?" he shouts down to me.
"Only my pride," I yell up at him.
And I'm thinking:
there is a God. He's punishing me for all my past sins.
"Better get back in the car, " the officer suggests. "You'll get wet."
Get wet? Is he joking?? I'm covered in mud. I look like the frickin' tar baby in Uncle Remus.
The tow truck finally arrives. The driver is like a reject from a casting call for Hee Haw.
His southern accent is so thick that I can't understand a word.
My car is soon chained to his truck and he's plying me with instructions as he performs the extraction.
"Torn th' weeel rait!"
Turn the wheel right.
"Ain seen nutin thes baid inna loong taim."
Ain't seen nothing this bad in a long time.
The crystal clarity of his pronunciation astounds me when he finally quotes the fee for the extraction.
"Three hundred dollars."
No accent at all. I understood every word perfectly.
Fortunately I had cash.
Being extracted from the depths of hell and the agony of humiliation was well worth any price.
This isn't the end of my adventures, folks. There's more to come.
Early last October, when I was in the initial process of moving from Texas to Tennessee, I promised that I'd eventually write about all my adventures en route.
Three months later, it seems like a hundred years have passed. I have a new home in TN. Texas is already a faded memory. My moving adventures no longer seem potent or pertinent.
I now have a new blog. A few of my faithful Blogger friends have stayed with me. Others, however, have moved on. How quickly they forget...... I seem to have fewer readers than I previously did.
In keeping with my promise I've finally decided to write about some of my moving adventures (or, more aptly, misadventures).
Moving day. Wednesday, October 8.
A chaotic ordeal that I only remember in fragments. Thanks to the constantly conflicting messages from my realtors, I initially didn't know what to believe.
"Your house is sold."
"Your house isn't sold."
"We're not sure if your house is sold."
Their past incompetence gave me no reason to believe them now. I wasn't about to start packing until I was absolutely certain the house was sold.
By the time certainty was absolute, I had less than a week to pack: a large house, two storage sheds, a very large storage room, and an attic. And I was doing everything entirely alone.
Adding to my anxiety was the fact that the people who bought my house were extremely anxious to move in. While I was in the fledgling process of packing, they were already bringing truckloads of stuff to my house - -which seriously compounded my confusion. Then they came by with food to cram into my two refrigerators.
They also made numerous impromptu visits along with the realtors- - which greatly subtracted from my valuable packing time. I did everything possible to control my temper. I didn't want to blow it, when I was so close to getting the hell out of there.
For five frenzied days and nights I worked incessantly - with very little food and almost no sleep. By moving day I was so physically and mentally exhausted that my mind was numb, actually frozen.
The night before moving day was beyond belief. Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, they did.
I suddenly noticed that my car had a flat tire. I panicked. I still had a full night of packing to do, but the car had to be out of the way in the morning so the movers could have access to the driveway.
It was already after sunset and there were no lights near my car. I quickly and haphazardly tried to change the flat in the dark. I'd been successfully changing flats since I was eighteen and didn't think anything could go wrong.
Things went dreadfully wrong. As soon as I removed the tire the jack slipped and the car crashed down on its axle.
My panic instantly elevated to new dimensions. My old cell phone wasn't working. My landline was disconnected. Nothing could save me now but Divine Intervention.
Divine Intervention came via the people who bought my house. For some inexplicable reason, they happened to be driving by.
With the help of the Mexican man (who couldn't speak a word of English) and an hour of frantic manipulations, we were able to get the car up on a block of wood and put on a temporary tire. I gave him $100 for his help.
I didn't go to sleep that night - I packed until dawn. The movers showed up very early, before 7:30. If the next seven hours weren't absolute hell, they were a very reasonable facsimile.
First off, the movers informed me that they wouldn't take anything that wasn't packed in a box. I had securely tied all of my hardbound books into bundles. These efforts were staunchly rejected. For the next hour I was frantically packing books into boxes.
The number of things I was forced to leave behind is astounding:
two vacuum cleaners, three TV sets (I'm not kidding), my electric keyboard, a brand new lawn mower, an oversized Jean Miro lithograph, my entire record collection. My father's antique safe (it was empty). A large lamp that was especially made for my parents in 1963 by a renowned Los Angeles artist. It had a gold antique finish with a bas relief of swans.
In truth, I was so frickin' tired and disgusted that I didn't give a royal shit about my possessions.
After packing books for an hour, I had to get a new tire for my car. Then I had to get a vehicle state inspection, which I had forgotten to do a month before. After that I went to the bank to get a cashiers check for the movers and close my account.
Naturally, the movers refused to accept a cashiers check, so I returned to the bank to get a certified check. WTF is the difference?
As soon as the movers left, I hurried to City Hall to close my utility account. The unfriendly lady informed me that I couldn't close my account until I brought the new owners of the house to City Hall to confirm the fact that I was actually moving.
Was she out of her frigging mind?? I was beyond trying to be congenial.
"In your dreams, bitch!" I mumbled and stormed out. I never did close my account and, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.
At this point, my only goal was to get out of Texas alive. I went back to my (former) house to get my three cats. I had them in two large cages. Scratch, my big 8 yr. old cat, was housed in a cage by herself. The two little guys, Scruffy and Bosco, shared a cage.
I crammed the cages in the back seat of my car.
At exactly 3:00 p.m. I got in the car with my trio of felines and began the 100 mile drive north to Amarillo.
This blog post was longer than expected but I had a lot to tell. The excitement is FAR from over.
Just wait until I get to Arkansas.........
