The Return of the Refrigerator Baron

Hear Ye! Hear Ye! (sound of clanking bell in Town Cryer fashion)

Ladies and Gentlemen, please listen carefully. I'm about to reveal the story of the Refrigerator Baron and his unruly hold over the people of this fair land known as Non-profit Agency.

This Baron has decreed that no food items shall remain nestled in the safe, cool confines of his refrigerator for any longer than one week. For risk of spoilage, overcrowdedness, and unhealthy sanitation the Baron has determined that on Friday nigh any morsel, lunch bag, stryofoam container, or other assorted food storage vessels will be purged from the clutches of the refrigerator. He has employed minions from every department who shall carry out his edict with such force and certainty assuring that his law of the land will be followed to the letter on a rotating basis.

Of course dear people, the Baron is not an unreasonable and vindictive ruler. Quite the contrary. As always the philosophies of the land must be remembered, and one such philosophy-Rule are not Roadblocks-must have been heavy on the Baron's mind when he developed the Law of the Refrigerator Purge. Thus, there are two exceptions to this law. The first is that condiments shall remain exempt from the purge. Rest assured that your mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup and horseradish shall remain completely safe from the ruthless purgers in the Baron's employ. The second exception is that items clearly labeled with a name and date shall avoid certain death and extinction -unless of course the Baron's trusted assistants choose to ignore that exception (foreshadowing).

I shall now share the plight of one such citizen of the Baron's land so that all shall learn from her mistakes. Lady D was well aware of the Baron's rule of the land,and not being too rebellious, she felt willing and able to adhere to it. However, several months ago she became complacent and erroneously assumed that the Baron's minions would exercise logic and self-restraint when administering the Law of the Refrigerator Purge. She had stored a frozen pizza, boxed and bagged, in the Freezer portion and believed that her sustenance shall remain safe and sound from the Friday purge. However, she was quite incorrect in that assumption after finding her boxed and bagged frozen pizza carelessly tossed into the void known as The Garbage Can. Fortunately, this young lady was able to salvage her foodstuff with very little negative consequence as her Digornio Thin and Crispy Pizza was well protected from the coffee grinds, slimy wrappers, and empty Lean Cuisine boxes that accompanied it within the area of waste disposal.

Lady D received a lesson that day that consequently shattered what little faith and confidence in human logic and reasoning she had held. For she believed that the purpose of the Law of the Refrigerator Purge was well-intentioned. And although, she also believed in automomy and personal responsibility, she was able to accept that other land dwellers could contribute to cleanliness and order by becoming involved in executing the law. She herself had participated in Friday purges and exercised sound judgment by refraining to dispose of items that were boxed and sealed. For, dear people, she understood that the purpose of the law was not to have license to toss with vengance anything and everything that was not a condiment or was not labeled. Instead, she understood the purpose of the law was to prevent the smell and unpleasantness of long forgotten pork fried rice and bean burritos that had been known to accumulate in the refrigerator. Therefore, a boxed and frozen pizza would not be subject to such a risk and would remain safely tucked into the frosty recesses of the Freezer, and thus avoid the Garbage abyss.

After some time this lady, whose story I have told, decided to brave the Refrigerator Baron's wrath once more. She had purchased some prime and pricey pico de gallo and pepper jack cheese last Friday afternoon and needed a cool place to store her wares until they could be moved to her home refrigerator later that evening. Having learned her lesson from months before she labeled her grocery bag with this message: THIS BELONGS TO LADY D-PLEASE DO NOT TOSS!

Lo! and behold! Operation Refrigerator Purge was launched once again on Friday afternoon. The lady, believing her items to be safe and well-protected, was shocked and dismayed to find that her grocery bag and $19.24 worth of perishable items had been recklessly tossed into The Garbage Can as punishment for taking up precious space in a vritually empty Refrigerator. This turn of events most certainly leads one to question the consistency and fairness surrounding the enforcement of this law. Furthermore, it perhaps suggests that some receive passive-agressive fueled satisfaction from the implementation of the law, instead of humble pride for a fulfilling a job that will surely contribute to the good of the land.

So fellow countrymen, the moral of this tale of food and woe is that one cannot trust that the enforcement of the rule of law will be upheld with fairness and good judgment in Non Profit Agency Land. You see, there are many who cannot see gray through the black and white of their vision. They can only function in the literal perspective. And although they can follow clear and explicit instructions perfectly and precisely, the risk is that their literal worldview may cause them to make decisions solely for the sake of carrying out an instruction -instead of understanding the rationale behind the instruction and making necessary modifications as logic and sound reasoning warrant. Likewise, let it be understood that even when individuals take the necesssary precautions to follow the law, they still sometimes get tossed out with the trash.

Hear Ye! Hear Ye!

Crazy Chester Followed Me

I'm sure others have known people like this so you can probably relate. You know how there are people in your life that are such characters that you almost believe that they could star in their own novel?

Usually the people I know would be right at home in a Southern gothic novel. Like the crazy neighbor who shot squirrels for the crock pot because he loved birds so much and the squirrels ate all of the bird seed he put out. He ran Arab-Americans driving Mercedes in My-amma (pronounce just so) off the road and laughed about it. He watched "Star Trek TNG" (that's the Next Generation with Capt. Picard for those of you who are Star Trek challenged) and the "Highlander" series religiously and seriously thought that there were aliens perched on the stars above sending messages down. He definitely was a character and I simply can't do any justice on the description of him because this post is not even about him.

This post is about another character. A character that I never really knew personally, but who I have gotten to know from my husband. I don't know why I am posting about this character, really. Other than I know some really good stories about him and because of his eventual tragic fate. So maybe his story is compelling enough for others to read. I don't know?

Anyway, his name was Chester and he was from originally from New Jersey. My husband met him in South Florida in the late 1980s when they both were working at a local pizza parlour delivering pizzas. Chester was gritty, older and wild and extremely attractive to my husband's adolescent whims of partying and revelry. Did you ever see the movie "Over the Edge" with Matt Dillon where there's this planned suburban town that does away with the teen recreation center and all hell breaks loose as a bunch of teens lock all the parents in the school during a very important meeting about the kids and then they burn a bunch a cars in the parking lot because they are so tired of being bored and catching grief from the local sheriff? Well, there's this hangout in the movie that's in a vacant house and my husband fantasized about having a similar hang out where Playboy magazines and Busch beer and the roaches are plentiful and everyone wears Iron Maiden t-shirts. I think that Chester appealed to my husband on that level. My husband was the quiet, normal kid in the movie and Chester would have been Matt Dillon's character. I also like to think of Chester of being Neil Cassady to my husband's Jack Kerouac. Anyway, I say this not so much to romanticize them, but since literature explores these kinds of duos I felt it appropriate to use as an example.

Chester was a bad ass. One of my most favorite stories about Chester is the one where he fended off a truckload of teenage punks looking for a fight.

My husband and Chester were attending a party. As they were leaving and in the driveway of the house where the party was hosted, a truckload of drunken South Florida teenage rednecks slowly drove by. There was the classic and requisite interchange of "What are you looking at?" that went on between Chester and the truckload. The truck stopped and the group of youths got out prepared to fight, as one of the boys came out with a baseball bat in hand.

Now, you have to know a little bit more about my husband to really comprehend the intense fear and apprehension he must have been feeling at this time. He really isn't a fighter. He's not wimpy or anything, and if needed to I'm sure he could hold his own. But at this time he was not feeling very comfortable with the unfolding events, as Chester assumed the ready to fight position and the group of boys tumbled out of the back of the truck bed. My husband saw that he had basically two options at this point. He would either have to jump in and defend his friend once the mob of teenagers, mind you with one wielding a bat, ganged up on Chester and get his ass kicked. Or he would have to flee and leave his friend hanging while at the same time preserving his physical safety. The last option was not likely going to happen because being a stand up guy, my husband has some integrity and a strong code of honor and friendship.

But Chester, being the unflappable character he was, stood up tall and seemingly without fear. As the bat wielder approached, Chester chided him. "What? Big boy needs a bat to fight his battles? Why don't you put that bat down and fight me fair?"

The bat wielder must have realized at this point that he didn't have anything to lose. He had his gang of buddies to back him up in case the fight with Chester got out of hand. So, he did the manly thing and dropped the bat, ready to fight fist on fist.

Quick as a flash, Chester scooped up the bat and started swinging it wildly and crazily-like a bat out of hell (could not resist the pun) which sent the truck load scattering for their safety. You see, Chester had outsmarted these testosterone pumped teenagers by beating them at their own game. Yeah, it was a cheap shot and dirty trick, but when you're outnumbered like that you use whatever weapons you have at your disposal. And because one can only assume that this group wisely sensed Chester's primal strength and bravado, they retreated and decided against engaging into this fight and further. As they all scrambled back into their truck they pleaded with Chester to at least give them the bat back.

Do you think he did?

Hell, no he didn't.

But that's just one example of Chester's character. Sadly, Chester passed away shortly after my husband and I started dating in college. My husband said that Chester was really trying hard to get on track. He got into some trouble with crack addiction and was trying to give it up when he died. He had had a turbulent relationship with his girlfriend and they were starting to get back on track too. When he died his girlfriend and him were out celebrating at a bar. When they left the bar they had to cross a two way divided street to get to the the parking lot. Chester went to cross and didn't look to see if a car was coming and was hit by a drunk driver going the wrong way down the street. I guess he figured that he didn't need to check that way, but tragically that mistake cost him his life.

My husband's father called my husband (who was not my husband at the time but you follow) to let him know what had happened to Chester. I had just moved into a little bungalow duplex and my husband was staying with me most of the time. I remember his sadness when he learned of Chester's fate. I remember feeling rather helpless at alleviating the grief he was feeling at the loss of his friend, and in some ways maybe the loss of his adolscence-as his life was quickly changing. After the dusk turned to nightime and my husband's rhythmic breathing signfied he was finally fast asleep, I remember not being able to sleep. I recall hearing a train whistle moaning in the distance and thinking that it sounded so sad and lonely. It matched exactly how I was feeling.

I don't know why the death of this boy that I never knew had affected me so deeply. I guess it had to do with my feelings for my husband at the time, as our relationship was very new. It might of also had to do with the sadness most of us feel when we hear tragic stories about people, even when we don't know them very well- if at all. It showed me how connected we all really are on this earthly plane and how our relationships with others shape ourselves and those we have future relationships with.

Chester will always be a part of my husband and the man he has become. Chester, on a much grander scale, also represents those larger than life characters like Dean Moriarty that I'm inexplicably drawn to. As it turned out I ended up with Sal instead-which isn't too bad. Nonetheless, Sal's journey would not have been the same without Dean, just like my husband would not be who is without Crazy Chester.

Absence and the Fondness of Heart

Long time, no post.

When I first started this thing I wondered how I would continue to find inspiration to blog. At first the ideas rolled in and I actually started looking at life specifically for blog material. Then there were those days where the blog muse-she just didn't visit me. And then there are other times when I just couldn't find the time to get anything down.

So after a two week hiatus, I have to admit that the time factor, and not necessarily the inspiration factor, is what has been preventing me from blogging regularly. I have had some ideas of things to blog about, but if I don't get them down when the occur to me they are forever lost in the "Land of What Might Have Been." And because I kid around a lot and because I never, ever want to take myself too seriously, I don't for one moment worry that readers have been going through withdrawals from lack of new material. I know how I get disappointed when I visit my favorite blogs only to find that there has not been a new post. But since I'm not of that caliber, the disappointment rests solely on me and my need to see it through- if only for my own sake.

So I could blog about "What My Brother Would Look Like if He Played Lead Guitar in a Local Jazz Fusion Band." Has this sort of thing ever happened to you? You catch a glimpse of someone who resembles someone you know. You do a double take and usually notice that the person doesn't really look like that person after all. Maybe it was the angle or maybe your eyes were just playing tricks on you. I swear though that this guitar player looked SO much like my brother- right down to the hairline, eyebrows, eyes and nose. And if you knew my brother, being a guitar player in a jazz fusion band is the most unlikely of occurrences. However, he could be leading a secret life that we don't know about.

I could also blog about "Birthdays" as my husband celebrated his recently along with the loudmouth at the Outback bar and coincidentally the look alike brother/guitar player too. Why is it that some people command attention and want to include all restaurant patrons in their conversation?

Or maybe about "Loss"- as good friends of ours suffered a miscarriage and my poor sissy had to put her cat to sleep(sniff, sniff). I couldn't do this one justice-I tend to mask grief with an air of humor which would be highly inappropriate in either of these cases.

Another idea to blog about could be tuition woes and how bad credit and not being planful can cause high blood pressure, tears, and aggravation. Seriously though, I'm glad I'm going to the doctor next week because I think my blood pressure feels like it is high, but it might just be an anxiety problem that is causing me to hear the blood rushing inside my head. I received surprise information that I needed to register for a class this summer to avoid having to reapply to the graduate program and thus abide by a new requirement to take an additional dreaded statistics course that was not a requirement at the time I entered the program. And since the reason I even took spring off in the first place, is that the 2 classes I have left to take are only offered in the fall. So, I'm starting on my thesis in order to stay in the program, which was not planned for mentally nor financially in the least. I'm just hoping Sallie Mae will come through by Thursday.

I could blog about the new drug that has entered my home in the form of a satellite dish, receiver, and remote control that offers 185 channels of medicated goo that is now pumped directly into my mindstream. How about the impending swimsuit season and the fact that no bathing suit suits my body type? There was also the breakfast in bed-Apple Jacks and the end piece of a Entenman's raspberry danish-and a beautiful Mother's Day letter where I am proclaimed "the greatest woman in the world". Oh, I almost forgot there was also bra shopping with a 7-well almost 8 year old. What's next the tampon vs. maxi pad conversation?

I guess I kind of blogged about all of these topics to some extent so there's really no need to decide. I just needed to find the time.

Green Thumbs and Red Palms

From the title of this post you may begin to erroneously surmise what it's going to be about. Let me start by saying that it's not going to be about masturbating while gardening. And it's most definitely not associated with a hitchhiking Incredible Hulk and Lady Macbeth's symbolic guilt. Instead of telling you what this post is not about, it might be better to just say what it actually is about-just to alleviate the suspense.

Well, the weekend was spent like many homeowners spend their weekends. Trips to the Home Depot, yard work, and home improvement projects. We moved into our very own home at the end of last June, however we didn't really get involved in any home projects short of hanging pictures and curtain rods. So now that it's spring and most of my azalea bushes are in full bloom my thoughts drift to colorful flowers, buzzing bees, graceful butterflies and lots of mulch. So after picking out marigolds, verbena, geraniums, peonies and other assorted flowering annuals I planted them in front of my azaleas. Never have I attempted to plant before, and I'm okay with the results. Even after Miss Puppy decided to go tearing through my flower bed while playing and I lost one geranium. I'm just having trouble getting the dirt out from underneath of my fingernails and I have to solemnly repent for the several earthworms that lost their lives in the digging up of my flower bed. But if I remember correctly from my tomboy fishing hole days that earthworms can be pulled apart and still survive. But I may have that totally wrong, and thus have no justification for the murderous events that took place in the soil.

Ok, green thumb covered.

Now for the juicy part, the red palms or rather the red fingers, hands, feet, legs, hair and other body parts that were involved in the Great Half Bath Painting Project. Again, after renting for what feels like eons, I never felt that compelled to paint the walls. All that time, energy, and money spent on painting that would just need to be repainted when vacating the property just didn't appeal to me. And so I had resigned myself to drab white or off white walls (and 1970s paneling in that one duplex) during this time period. But now that I own the walls, (well I will in 29 1/4 years if I must be technical), I'm free to paint at will with no repercussions from the landlord. And since I don't plan on moving any time soon, I would be able to enjoy colorful walls for years to come.

So my husband and I decided we would start with the downstairs half bath first. Our reasoning, which makes perfect sense in theory, was that this room was small and indiscreet, so if we made any major errors it wouldn't be too traumatic and painful. We had decided on going with a bold color-RED. Not fire engine, primary red. But rather a deeper darker red. Rum Runner to be specific, which is in no way a reflection of my love affair with alcoholic beverages. The problem revealed itself to us about 10 minutes into the project. First off, the paint was just not going on very smoothly and evenly. There were extremely obvious splotches and roller marks up and down the walls after the first coat. Secondly, the space was so cramped and with very difficult crevices to paint like behind the toilet and sink and around the fixtures-which I did cover with tape. Also, we could only paint in shifts because of the tight quarters and our ample body mass. And using red as the first color to experiment with was not a "bright" idea (see! a pun) as it is a color that needs multiple coats to really cover the walls.

Needless to say after the first coat was applied I wanted to cry. The roller splotches, the grainy brush strokes in the hard to reach places that we couldn't roll, and the droplets of paint everywhere were truly disheartening. I looked to my husband for some reassurance by stating that I had seen enough episodes of Trading Spaces to know that another coat would vastly improve the blood room, um I mean bathroom. To which he didn't help matters.

sidenote: Honey, just some helpful womanly advice, when your wife is freaking out about something the best way to respond to that freaking out is to reassure her, even if it means lying to her. Never confirm her fears with doubtful comments or freaking out on your own part.

Fortunately, the second coat did improve matters tremendously. The only issue now is equipment related, which will be remedied because I went to Home Depot today and got a small roller and edger to smooth and even those hard to reach places. So hopefully our bathroom painting will be completed and we can try to tackle more walls.

Unless of course I pull a Hildy and decide to staple artificial silk flowers, vinyl albums, or hay to my walls.