Crazy about Wildflowers

This from the perch and perix.
Zillions of poppies and other wildflowers everywhere! I guess the fires did somehow fertilize the ground because I don't remember such an abundance other years. There are mostly red poppies but also about four pink ones, lots of purples and different kinds of yellows. When you're on the perch, it's easy to hop down and take a nice brisk walk. I should have snapped a pic of a perfect Arfur-in-five-years-if-he-ever-materializes dog that I met on my way up the mountain.

Either late tonight or early tomorrow we must return to the big, bad city. All kinds of unsavoury (for certain words, isn't the British spelling just right?) appointments await. Let's not dwell.

Anyway, things on the perch are heating up. Crazy about wildflowers we may be, but also crazy generally, as falling off the balcony has become the norm for some members of this household.

Also: Jimmy makes a strange bedfellow.

Yesterday I visited the katastime and made out good, baby! Tons of little cologne vials (Miss Sixty. Decent smelling for summer, actually), two bags, the requisite mags, make-up, some sweet Faber Castell (sp?) pens, and more! Gotta love the katastime for shopping therapy on a budget.

Did I mention, Jimmy makes a strange bedfellow.

So it's back to the rat's nest for 20 days. Hasta lu.

Gripey Groucherson

The dark cloud hanging over the rat's nest threatens the tranquility of the perch as we know it: No sea, no sun for the whole summer! The sentence was handed down yesterday by a jovial doctor who is alarmingly reminiscent of Father Jake aka Father Jack. Remember, it is not so easy to live where I live and do what I do and not spend the summer maxing on the beach...

So I guess it'll be me and Precious (hopefully no precious offspring), looking for full shade and gazing long(distance)ingly at the water. The Dapster suggests picking up a new skill while I'm sitting there crying my fate...Any suggestions?

One of these days I am going to publish a pamphlet of manners for people who take P.T.

Next time when I'm not so tired, maybe I'll write about something really sad I saw on the train today. A young woman ranting about how her parents are trying to marry her off. I just wrote that to remind me which sad train scene I'm thinking of. There's more to it than that. Or the stacks of Bartleby-type ledgers at the tax office today. Should've had my cam.

Dormez bien.

Transforming cold and miserable

This from the rat's nest...
Tragic cold fronts sweeping in. Tragic cold caught by me and tragic amounts of kleenex being consumed. Already 1pm and too lazy to make breakfast, much less lunch. Tragic gollum-like reflection in the mirror.

Must put the power of the human brainium to work. (I was going to say cranium because it's cooler but I think that only refers to one part of the brain or maybe actually only the brain bone(s), aka skull.) Yesterday in a depressing place I was on the verge of tears for no logical reason and I forced myself to pretend to be cheerful and it kind of worked, I lifted my spirits.

So I could be positive about being stuck at home (already cancelled my plans for the day) with a nasty cold MUST BE CURED BY TUESDAY OR ELSE and nothing to do but knit the Dashwood hat. Which, of course, could turn out huge b/c I hate gauge. I can clean the rat's nest or watch old American shows on StarTsannel. I can call a couple of people I've been blowing off big-time.
I really should go out and buy straight pins so I can block the shawl I just finished but guess what? I'm too lazy.

Enough of that.

UPDATES
Amazingly enough, Vromyar's place is being transformed into a CLEAN, TIDY abode by a middle-aged lady with a kind expression. No cucas in sight. The era of Vromyar is ended.

The view from the perch does not look good. There are complaints of insufficient heating and worst of all the threat of usurpation (is that really the word?!?! spellcheck didn't react!) by a big fuzzy thing en onomati Arfur.

ARFUR ARFUR ARFUR

What me roonie?

There are good things and bad things about this place. One bad thing is the inflexible return policy of most stores. My most recent frustration was yesterday, when I went to two different "branches" of the same store to return two of an unopened, non-perishable item. I was told they wouldn't take it back because the packages could be opened, the product used and replaced and the package reclosed. AUGH! When I said that according to that reasoning, so could a piece of clothing be worn and returned, the shop assistant said no, because clothes have tags.

HELLO! Introducing the Chicago *****-American community with 300 ways to return the expensive formal dress you bought for New Year's Eve in whose armpit lining you left sweat stains. ON JAN 1st, looking innocently into the eyes of a pissed off Marshall Field's employee who is sooo onto you but can't say anything because of the store's return policy and hey, you've got a receipt and you just ended up deciding to wear last year's dress again.

Having worked retail part-time for years, I have very specific ideas about customer service, but I kept my battle for a weekday morning when they'll be less busy. At which time I will argue that I spend thousands of **** in that store every year (not really, actually I generally boycott that store, I just went this time because I needed something specific that nobody else had) and it's unreasonable of them to lose my custom for the equivalent of forty bucks. I'm usually good at such things and now it's a matter of pride. I'll let you know.

Unappeased, I proceeded to eat GELATO! Most people here don't eat ice cream in winter, so I was apprehensive about the freshness. No need to worry! One scoop filbert (I think that's what that nut is called), one scoop bitter chocolate. Both fresh. Being on a no-sugar diet for the past month and a half, I was light-headed, drunk with the decadence of the gelato indulgence after my nasty post-holiday return (that wasn't).

NEXT time: Why does everybody here wear black and grey? It's depressing. I do it too but my resolution is to be colorful and swim against the current this year.

Who is Gary Louris anyway?

The only way we can get our blog to appear when you search under the logical key words is if we mention Gary Louris, the "other" Louris. Gary "Louris" was born in 1955 and is a country musician, according to wikipedia. He was a longtime member of a band called the Jayhawks, based in Minneapolis. The real Louris, on the other hand, has a very tenuous connection to Minnesota but was born in a much cooler city than Toledo, Ohio. Unfortunately, his fingers are a few inches too short to play the guitar...

Yule-tide

actually has extra special meaning when you're BALD at CHRISTMAS. Of course, if you're as hairy as ever and blackish and glossy to boot, you probably don't care. In other news, 7-foot blooming rose bush on Christmas. For those of you trying to figure out where we're writing from, you can rule out Chicago. In other news, is it fair to have to work a double shift as watch-creature of a fiery hot furnace with no perks or appreciation or gravy (used literally and figuratively)? I ask you!!!

PS Vromyar is no more. He tore his doorbell out of the wall, leaving a gaping hole in the plaster and our hearts. His last act as a resident of the building was dramatic, as befits him. It might be just a coincidence, but ya don't see so many dead cucas around these days.

Vromyar Strikes

This from the rat's nest:
So this dude Vromyar lives on the ground floor of my building and is at least partially responsible for all the dead cucas on the ground floor. This is because although he is steps away from the trash bin on the street, he leaves his trash out in the hallway, flicking it out the door with attitude, or even out the window. He is weird in several ways and if it weren't so late I would elaborate. One of the potential themes of this blog could be Vromyar profiling. Like, I detect bits and pieces of this dude I don't know and try to build up a profile. You: Hey, don't you have anything better to write about, like P.T.? Me: Guess not. So here's a Vromyar tidbit, start profiling. Christos Dantis at full blast at midnight on a Tuesday. Specifically, "To palio mou palto." Please. In another installment I'll relate K's actual run-in with Vrom himself, or should I say, face-off.

Another feature may be my crotchety old-maid observations made on P.T. This due to the fact that I spend a good deal of time riding in every type of PT every day, except the tram. Auto eleipe.

Dear readers, take my word for it that I know how to punctuate but that is for another venue.

Living in this city, you learn to use all five senses, and when to turn them off for your own survival. Perhaps we will sometimes discuss smells...

Also, thespians and AEK fans, but that could get us in trouble before we even begin.

Also, the unfair distribution of maxi-breaks. Like, who decides who gets to veg out on huge maxi breaks and who has to go back to the city and work (even though most of September is spent schmoozing).

And hey, the rat's nest is being renovated (eventually) and I may need input.
[Dude, I should get a "Rat-atouille" poster for the door as a sort of joke and warning to all who would enter. Maybe I'll use my connections in the video club world.]

Auta pros to par.
Let's see where this thing goes. Please protect the anonymity and location of the author of this blog, Sir Louris B-----son and his faithful assistant authors if you know it or figure it out.