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Drawing

Have you ever been in a Hotel Conference meeting room for a Corporate business that you happen to be working for and are bored out of your mind? Me too.

Pinkie Pinkie Pinkie

Then came Pinkie and how to replace carpet with laminate tiles.

We got Pinkie for half price when we bought Jaspurr at a no-kill animal shelter in Redwood City, CA. We had a nice large apartment on the El Camino Real in Burlingame, CA. Beautiful town. Jaspurr and Pinkie were perfect together. They minded each other's space, bathed each other's top of their heads like cats do. An odd thing we noticed was Kellie's underwear being covered over the cat's food bowl after we returned from going out. Sometimes it was a sock. Sometimes, whatever it was didn't make it all the way to the bowl, but halfway from the kitchen door to the cat food bowl. We suspected it was Jaspurr's actions.

Soon we moved to San Jose county in the town of Campbell, CA to be the Resident Managers of the La Mancha Luxury Apartments. The apartment complex was a nice place. One three-bedroom, many two and one-bedroom apartments all surrounding, in a U-shape, a 70 foot gated pool, bicycle gate, poolroom, and laundry room. The neighborhood, a different story. Kellie decided she needed a puppy. Along comes Piglet from NARF (Nike Animal Rescue Foundation). He was maybe 6 months old. Scared. And STANK like the towel that came with him. Piglet had a short history of abuse. Long enough to cause behavior issues. NARF does not give out information such as where their animals come from, obviously to prevent normal good people with rage to retaliate against the animal abuser. That wasn't us. Live and let live, right? Karma's gonna get them. Piglet was a cute little grayish-brown chihuahua with scared watery little eyes and a mean bite. He once almost bit my hand in two when I tried to get him from one room to another.

Then came Lucy, a puppy chihuahua mix with "Honey I shrunk the German Shepherd" breed look came to join us to help keep Piglet company while the humans were at work - even though we already had two adult cats to mind the pups.

David, Kellie's friend, called Pinkie the way Bette Davis might have said, "Oh PINKA, PINKA, PINKA." You had to have been there. It was totally Bette. Because that's who Pinkie was even before she started to shit and urinate all over the carpet of our condo-style apartment. Oh! Pinkie, pinkie, pinkie!

That area seemed to be one of the spots for gang member families who received section 8 vouchers, a federal government's program for assisting low-income families ... until their kid(s) did something so bad that they lost their housing privileges. At least that's what one cop told me. We were living in a, I'll be nice, arm-pit neighborhood. Kellie, my girlfriend, didn't mind the place. She liked the apartment space and all the areas she could set up her plants and herbs whilst I cried and shat bricks regularly the 3 years I lived in that barrio. Oh yeah, Kellie and I were selected to manage the complex upon her request from the property manager after the previous manager was fired. She wanted it because it appeared to have more space than our 1000 sq ft apartment in Burlingame. It actually did not have that much more space, but if you counted the stairs, so maybe like 24 more feet. Me, being temporarily unemployed at the moment of the opportunity had no choice but to go along with the decision.

At least I got to make some friends in the building. Pat and Dave, the friends I made were very cool, educated, evolved, kind, and creative. They now live near me in an undisclosed location. I'm not super gregarious, so I found myself fortunate to have met them. They're like my kind of peeps. Art-, animal-, and movie-loving intellectuals.

Yeah, back to pee-pee Pinkie. And pee-pee Piglet. I think she caught on from pee-pee Piglet. I know Piglet started peeing in the apartment first. I don't know which odor is worse, female cat, or male dog. Neither animal was trainable. And neither odor could be removed no matter what we tried. Not even bleach. That only turned the carpet brighter. Later - as in much later, like after 10 years after leaving that apartment, I had heard from a young dude carpet cleaner, who was cleaning my carpet, that hydrogen peroxide is great for eliminating urine odor. First, you blot-up the urine (if you catch it wet!) with paper towels with the bottom of your shoe - or better use a wet-vac. Then, pour the hydrogen peroxide all over the area the urine had been. Then with a few paper towels, blot that up a bit after it has soaked in to cover the bottom-most layer of piss. No smell left behind at all. Amazing. Had I known this then, all I needed was 1024 sq. ft. worth of hydrogen peroxide and paper towels, and wet vac. Actually, no, that would not have prevented the two infamous pee-pee Ps to continue to piss (and shit) any and everywhere. That solution is just for special accidents. Pinkie and Piglet were out to fill the rugs with pee and poo, where ever there could, as often as they could. As if it was a contest.

At the time I was working 10 hours a day in Potrero Hill, CA. (San Francisco). Besides her perhaps territorial or bipolar behavior of not using the litter box, Pinkie was a super sweet cat. She was supposed to be my cat and my responsibility, so I was to take care of her, not necessarily Piglet. She was not one of those flimsy fluffy furry cats with mostly bones. She was all muscle. "Ohhh! Rocky!" I'm glad we never got into it. Her claw tips were thin and sharp. No, we wouldn't have had a brawl. She truly loved me. I would put my face right up to hers, wait a few seconds until I got one small tender lick on my lips. This was just about daily. And, I loved Pinkie. There was no way I would give Pinkie back to an animal shelter. And Kellie wasn't going to let Pinkie or Piglet go either.

Our solution was to rip up the carpet and padding and replace it with 1' x 1' inexpensive laminate tile. Cheap imitation stone looking tile with adhesive on the other side.

If you ever need to do this yourself, here is how we did it: Buy some good pair of gloves, an Olfa knife with lots of blades, a dust mask or two to guard the dust particles of the pure stink that's going to emanate when you cut up the carpet and papping, a pair of goggles, and many large trash bags that you will need to fill little by little of about 1.5' x 2' shaped stinking carpet and padding. You will need a couple other tools; pliers, preferably needle-nose, a mini 5.5" crowbar, and a step stool. You do not want to be sitting on that floor. Maybe some good music or podcast to help you make it through the two or three days of scooting along to get the dirty deed done.

You start from one end of the floor to the other end. Simply cut sections of carpet into roughly 1.5' x 1.5' to 2' strips. The padding is much more difficult to cut, so I just ripped it up. It rips up unevenly and there will be small pieces that will stay in place by the staples the carpet installer used. Those needle-nose pliers work extremely well to remove those patches of stapled down padding. Not all staples will have padding stuck to them, so watch out for those random staples. I became obsessed looking for the dang staples. Just when I thought I got them all, I found more. The mini crowbar works well to lift up all those thin track strips at the edges of the walls that were there to stretch the carpet down. Once finished with moving everything sweep the floor. Vacuum the floor, sweep the floor, and vacuum some more. Wipe down the floor leaving no particle of anything behind. Otherwise, the laminate tile will show a bump from the tiniest of whatever flake is left behind.                                                                                                                                          

Laying down the tile is easy, except for the uneven sections near the doorways. That takes some measuring and patience, and you'll be good. I'd suggest starting in the center of the floor and match each tile perfectly even in one direction. Then come back to the first tile that you laid down matching the edges perfectly heading in the opposite direction.

And, don't forget the upstairs. It came out looking pretty good. Pinkie had no choice but to use the little box. However, Piglet continued to lift his leg on anything that didn't move. I moved back to Burlingame so I cannot continue the story of Peepee Piglet.

Squee, the Scrub Jay

In September 2002 I had the opportunity to raise a Scrub Jay. For a month I house-sat for friends who were living in Ashland, Oregon. Prior to agreeing to house sitting, they had taken in a baby bird that had fallen from a nest. Nests, there are in pine trees, so it was a high fall. It obviously had some kind of trauma to her/his head and legs. Of course, I still agreed to house sit along with the disabled baby bird. After a month caring for Squee, as I name the baby bird, they let me keep her/him.  

So, we came to find out he did have a broken leg and cerebellum damage that wasn't that easy to diagnose until he was a teenage bird. The leg had to be amputated because it had grown sideways in the way of the good working leg. I never understood what he said, but he often tried to copy what I was saying with a cute little crow-like speaking voice. He was also affectionate. His poop was too big a slimy, otherwise, I would've let him sleep with me.  

Yes, I know I was supposed to take Squee to a wildlife rehabilitation center, where all injured wild animals are supposed to be taken. But we had already bonded. I loved the little guy. The knowledgeable bird caring people call it imprint. I call it human-bird love. By the way, if you ever find yourself in the position as I did, mealworms alone will not suffice their diet. My vet, who did not report me to the wildlife rehab. informed me worms are mostly mineral. They need more protein and cat food would do.

(To be continue).

Attraction, one way

This one really got me. Hard. We chatted online (America Online Chat app) two nights in a row before she sent me her picture. Mine was already posted on my profile. She was model material, even at her age. Her profile stated 50+. I imagined 51, 52 years old at most. A few weeks later she confessed she was wearing a wig in that picture. So what. Her eyes, her smile, those lips, oh her delicious lips. Sweet and sexy face. Just a tiny bit of beefy luscious revealing cleavage.

The first time we met I was overwhelmingly enamored. She smelled like the stairway to heaven. Every word she spoke, the way she spoke, her voice, sounded like an Eartha Kitt song. Her smiles warmed my heart. Looking at her skin made my mouth moist. And, her eye’s dance sent me to a new magical world as I sat there in her Mercedes-Benz passenger seat. I barely knew her and already lost in gullible romantic emotions.

As we sat there puffing some good herb and chatted, it was on my mind to make love with her, but knew she wasn’t the type to take me home at our first meeting. She was presenting herself, but not going to give anything yet.

We had become buddies. We both loved watching Sex in the City, Six feet Under, going out to movies, plays, out to dinner. My lust, and like grew equally. My feelings for her were a mix of wanting her as a lover. One night, after I had gone out drinking with some buddies, I felt the need to express my feelings to her. It was 2 a.m. and I paged her. She must have been up and called me back immediately. She could tell I was drunk. She was polite and kind as always. “Do you think we will ever get to make love?” I asked. Drowned and numbed by booze I was prepared for the worst of answers. It wasn’t a bad answer. I wish I had been less intoxicated so I could have better remembered her sweet-sounding voice when she said, “At this point in time, I do not know.” We said good night. And for a few more minutes I danced around my house in my underwear singing aloud to myself, “She didn’t say no, she didn’t say no.” I went to sleep with a smile on my face and desire in my heart.

Through-out the next several months she kept not saying “no”, but she never would say yes. Not even a maybe. I kept imagining she was secretly in love with me but hiding her feelings for some deeply hidden reason. A few times she told me she was both comfortable and excited when she was near me. This was followed by her saying she was attracted to me but not in a sexual way. This confused my romantic ideas about her. So, she wasn’t attracted to me sexually at this point in time. I remained hopeful. People do change. Ya never know. I kept imagining hundreds of reasons why she wasn’t "into me". She’s open in so many other ways. Maybe she was asexual. She must be into women. I decided to wait for the day she noticed me differently. Possibly a time would come when she was in an amorous mood I, would let her flirting lead to every drop of her pent-up sexual desire and let her take advantage of me.

She traveled often for her job. It wouldn't bother me a bit while she was out of town. This next work trip would bother me more because she was also going to meet a man that she had met on the internet, just like we had. This guy just happened to live in the same city as her destination. She didn’t mention this to me until right before I dropped her off at the airport terminal curb. Not but, three-four hours pass by, I got home and I received an email from a stranger. Apparently, she had her new internet friend email to let me know that “she has gotten there safely and was in safe hands.” Nice to know she had arrived safely, but it kind of felt like a dig. She had to of known this would hurt. A nudge to turn me off. A sadistic one. That bitch!

This same night I went out with my buddy for some beer. I told him the latest of my on-going crush/non-mutual attraction saga and mentioned the email I received from her new internet friend. My buddy remarks, “Oh that’s great. She’s over there probably telling this guy about how much you’re infatuated with her and gets him to send you an email letting you know she’s in good hands. They’re probably having a laugh about it right now. Then she’ll take him to her hotel room and suck his dick.” My reply, “Oh thanks. That’s not the image I want in my mind. Especially when I pick her up from the airport.”

Buddy, “Oh that’s great. You take her to the airport so she can get some of his dong. Then you get to pick her up after her lofty licking over your feelings. I tell you what I’d do. I’d pick her up at the airport and act normal like everything’s cool, nothing is bothering you. Then when it gets real quiet in the car scream, “WHORE!”

Boxed In Poem, 2007

Boxed In

Why do people try to box each other in?
They want to put you in a place.
They say, "You are this, you are that. And, you should stay there and you should do that."
They want to box you up.
Put you in a box. As time goes on, the boxes they make get smaller.
The apartments are smaller and smaller.
The rooms are smaller, the cubicles are smaller, the ceilings are lower, and the view is limited to the box next door.

Chess game

October someday, 1997 

It was a late afternoon in the later summer of the late 1990s. I went online, on Yahoo games, to play a game of chess. Back then, it was free. Maybe it still is, I don’t know, I have not checked. Back then, I was obsessed with the game. There was an option to turn a chat window on or off while playing the game. Therefore, you could chat with your opponent during the game. Other players, if the game was set “public”, could also join to watch, and they would also be able to chat. Most players were average decent people who would comment on a move like, “nice move”. It was a way to make the game as humanly interactive as possible, being you could play with anybody in the internet world. Most of the time I left the chat option on.

This day before, I had lost almost every game I played the day before. I was seriously addicted. You know, like how people get addicted to buying lottery tickets, doodling while they’re on the phone, or those lazy self-entitled persons who never use the left/right indicator when changing lanes. This was me about chess. 

This particular game, I did not want to lose. Therefore, I searched for a player labeled with a gray square next to their Yahoo Chess game name. Gray square players were titled Provisional. It didn’t necessarily mean they sucked at the game, however, if you were playing in the game long enough and did not advance in the skill you would remain a gray squared player. Yet, master type players playing their first Yahoo chess game would first be displayed as a gray square next to their chosen on the site their first time. If they continued in playing in the site, they're eventually advanced quickly to blue, then purple, them or, and if they were really great, they would have a red square next to their Yahoo Chess name. One also takes the chance when playing a gray squared player. 95 out of 100, they were truly amateur players. 

I consistently remained a Blue Square. Not great, but I was persistently competitive. I stayed a Blue Square by continuously playing Blue Square players and some high Grays. I didn’t mind, I simply enjoyed the game at the rate I was positioned at that time. Occasionally a low blue square or high Gray would kick my ass. Now, no worries, we all lose and win sometimes. All, in good gamesmanship.

So, this one day wanting to play a game where I’d take a chance on a provisional player being beginner, I searched for a gray square. Found one. Yahoo Chess game name was Benbighard81. Sounded like a name a 13 or 15-year boy old would make up. I don’t mind playing young kids. They have a lot less life to worry about and some are damn good at the game. I was white, so I moved first, a pawn, two squares forward. He moved a black knight, my left side. Then, he clicked, “UNDO.” In Yahoo Chess one has an option to undo, given their opponent grants permission. I gave permission so he could undo his move. A couple of minutes pass, and he makes the same move. I normally did not like granting UNDOs, but there was the possibility he slipped on the mouse or made an honest mistake in his move. This second request was OK. It wasn't obvious why he wanted to take back the exact move a second time, and it was soon enough to put my pieces in harm, so I granted his second UNDO request. I felt too generous already even though it was just the second move made of the game.

About six or seven moves are made between us. He makes a blatantly bad move endangering his queen. My next move of a pawn would capture his queen. I requested an UNDO. I deny. In the chat window, he writes, "bastard." I reply nothing. I capture his queen with my mere pawn. He types, "Fat bastard...ugly fat bastard." I write nothing. I wait for his move on the board. He doesn't make a move, but types, "you suck." A few minutes pass, then he moves. He's not a bad player. He was aggressive and played well, but I think he doesn't give enough thought between moves. We make a few more moves and I capture another major piece. In the chat window, he types, "Fuck you. I bet you are a fat ugly bastard." He continues typing these kinds of words, yet continuous on with the game. I continue to capture many of his pieces and at last, put his king in check. He types again, "Fucking ugly bastard. He could have moved to remove his king from being in check, but he just types, "Fuck you, you homosexual bastard. Fucking fat bastard.

He left the table naturally without politely resign. When your opponent leaves an unfinished game, the remaining player must wait ten minutes until a prompt appears requesting to force his forfeit, cancel the game, or save the game. I waited out the 10 minutes then I forced forfeit on that fucking fat ugly homosexual bastard.