Dear God! Enuf is Enuf!

Summer has hit the San Francisco Bay Area with a hammer!

It reached 105 today. Tell me I'm joking! I know I've been smug about the 63 degree summer. But this is ridiculous! In San Fran, we get 3 or 4 hot days a year. This is a lot less than a lot of you suffer through and I know that.

Still, keep in mind that we do not have air conditioning. Frankly we don't need it. We heat up once a year and nearly die from the friggin' heat, but it usually lasts a day or two and it's over.

This spell happened yesterday. It reached 90 degrees in Alameda. Alex and I slept downstairs with the dogs. Our cat Smokey runs a constant temp of 102 so he was fine. We were not so fine. Both Harry and Honey were suffering too.

Sex in hot weather? Are you joking? Nobody can stand the idea of sex in hot weather. That's why I let Alex go for his massage this evening and even left his credit cards and ATM card in his wallet. Babette would refuse him any request for a happy ending if she has half a brain. And if she does not have half a brain, what am I worried about in the first place?

I was suffering. Heat and I do not get along.

We went to dinner at a place on the water this eve hoping for a cooling breeze. Even the three gin and tonics did not make that materialize. I did meet a handsome black man with a red pit bull. Honey and Harry were as intrigued with the dog as I was with the guy.

If it does not cool off tomorrow, I'm booking the first flight available to Finland to visit the luscious Ziva. This cannot be how God meant us to live.

Heat is nasty, no matter how you slice it. It makes me sweaty, angry and impossible to deal with. That cannot be a good thing.

Massage Envy

This is what my husband Alex is doing this lovely Saturday afternoon.

This is not a picture of Alex, but of some white guy getting a massage. Alex is a brown guy, but he's getting a massage too, right now in fact.

At the little mall in our town, a place called "Massage Envy" has opened recently. Alex wanted to check it out a few weeks ago so I went with him. There is a long reception counter with a lot of gorgeous women behind it, in low-cut nurses uniform-type clothes. or maybe it was tight jeans and bustiers, something like that anyway. Okay, maybe it just looked like that to me.

One of the pretty young ladies offered to help us, so I backed up, stood aside, and let Alex explain what he wanted. They made an appointment for Alex later that same day with "Babette", the therapist who would do a deep tissue massage for him. (No, they did not have photos to help in choosing the massage therapist.)

When he got home after his first massage, Alex was very happy and relaxed. He said that Babette had given him a great massage. (Better her than me because Alex's body is so hard it feels like you are trying to massage a tire.) He also told me he had made a standing appointment with Babette every Saturday afternoon at 3 PM.

I'm glad he's pampering himself a little. Alex works hard and he has a lot of stress. Getting it worked out is a good thing.

So now I'm at home alone on a Saturday afternoon waiting for my happy and relaxed husband to come back after his $50 hour-long deep tissue massage. I figure he will leave a 20% tip because that is customary, right?

Ooops! I accidentally took his credit cards, and his ATM card out of his wallet before he left. I also took a couple of $20 bills. Silly me. I did leave him with exactly $60 in his wallet. I hope he doesn't want to buy a candy bar after his massage because if he does, he will be out of luck.

Implicit trust is a wonderful thing in a marriage, don't you think?

Otto and the Kruggerands

I had a boyfriend named Otto. For birthdays and other occasions he gifted me with German gold coins.

I thought he was being very impersonal with his gifts, and I stuck the coins in a drawer and forgot about them for several years. I had about ten coins from the year Otto and I kept company.

Otto was an interesting but strange man who was born in Germany. He moved to America after the war, and worked as a mechanical engineer. I liked his accent and his big hands and his cold eyes. I didn't really like listening to him complain about how hard it was for him to be in the "Hitler Youth" movement when he was 16.

I finally took the coins to a dealer when someone told me I should have them appraised. Much to my astonishment, the coins were very valuable, ranging in price from $250 all the way up to $400 for a couple of them. Who knew?

I sold the coins and bought shoes. And I remembered Otto with more fondness than I had before.

The Episcoplian Minister and Me

Max was a great guy and an Episcopalian Minister. He let me bring my son to the pre-school at his church for free. That was very kind, to my way of thinking.

Max knew I was a "lapsed" Catholic, never went to church, and not really even much of a Christian; but he didn't care. We became pretty good friends when I was in my late twenties, divorced with 2 kids, and living in the City. I guess Max was in his mid-40's at the time.

Max would drop by my apartment a couple of evenings a week, to bring me books, and stayed for a glass of wine, and conversation. He had black hair and the bluest eyes.

We talked about faith and sin and redemption. We compared Eastern religions to Western religions. We talked about books and music. He laughed at my jokes and I laughed at his.

Our hands never once as much as touched in two years. I pretended I didn't see what was in his eyes, and he pretended he didn't see what was in mine.

It was better that way.

Ransacked? Ransacked!

This morning began rather in a peculiar fashion.

First of all, Alex and I slept downstairs for a change. Why we did this, I'm not really sure. Oh, wait, it's because we can! That's right.

I got up a little before six to freshen up before getting Alex his coffee and cereal so I could be sure he got off to work all right. (Does anyone actually believe that?) Okay, I rolled over so he could kiss me goodbye and went right back to sleep.

Although he knows better, Alex telephoned me about 8:30 AM. (I don't get up before 9 because I read that most people die early in the morning. I'm not afraid of dying, but I would much rather do it in bed than on the kitchen floor.) In any case, my feeling at the phone ringing early is always one of "Oh my God! Who died?"

Well, it turns out that Alex went out to the car this morning and saw that the front passenger door was not closed. His immediate reaction was "oh shit, the battery", followed by "What the hell?"

The car had been ransacked. A GPS unit was gone, a flashlight, and about $10 in change. The glove box was emptied on the floor, and the owner's manual and service record paperwork was strewn all over the floor in the back.

I asked Alex if he called the police and he said he had just gotten off the phone with them. "What did they say?", I inquired. He said the cop he talked to was young and he said "No worries, we'll just file a report." What do you mean, he said "No worries?"

I was hoping for a little more action out of this than that! I was actually expecting something like this!

We pay taxes! Why aren't the police here taking fingerprints and looking for clues? I particularly would have liked to talk to that silver haired gorgeous police woman with the crew cut.

Another question, why didn't our dogs bark. The car was in the driveway. Shouldn't they be doing their duty? No, they were cuddled up on the bed with us sleeping away.

My neighbor Mary telephoned about 9 this morning to ask me to come to a Mary Kay party on Friday. Mary Kay is a cosmetics firm and they have "parties" to sell their stuff. I don't like Mary Kay. I don't like Mary that much either. Come to think of it, she may not like me or she wouldn't have invited me to this party. I said no thanks.

And since Alex had already taken the car to work, why wouldn't he just wait till 9 AM to tell me this stuff.

Some days are just more disappointing than others.

What Am I To Make Of This???

This came in the mail this week, to "Alexia". Now I am curious, is there any connection to my husband Alex?

I have no real problem with Alex wanting Victoria Secret lingerie, but I wonder where he signed up to order it.

I am glad he gets a free panty though. Free panties are always good, aren't they? Still, since I do not like Victoria's Secret stuff, I know he didn't order it for me. Was it for him?

When I was first married and 19, I used to love wearing my husbands tighty whities. Still, at Alex's age, I thought we had gotten all past that. I had my moments, but he should have too at this point.

Living with Alex, I have seen no real evidence, but I still worry. Is this why those little pink panties of mine have the sprung crotch? And when did he start using the name Alexia?

Playing Dress Up

It's always been my favorite way to stop being bored. I love dressing up in makeshift costumes.

Alex has come home to find me in a black abaya, complete with the veil, enhanced with long false eyelashes because the eyes are the only thing showing, don't you know. That was a fun one.

I've also done a somewhat chubby ninja for Alex's amusement, but the result was not as fetching as I had hoped for. Leotards require a bit less in certain areas where I may overflow just a bit.

I can always pull out the long black wig, wiggle into a low cut black cocktail dress and voila! Elvira, Mistress of the Dark! But anybody can do that one. I like more extreme costumes.

The Catholic schoolgirl deal is really fun, particularly with high heels. Actually, it's one of my favorites if I am in a particularly slutty frame of mind. (Of course, that doesn't happen often.)

I have a nurse's uniform complete with perky little cap, the white pantyhose and high heeled orthopedic white shoes. I can also do a great Marian the Librarian.

I got a boyfriend one time in the laundry room of my apartment house. I was wearing a gorgeous kimono with a fresh big white gardenia in my hair (which was long and black at the time and held up with fancy chop sticks). Come on! What dude is going to ignore that in the laundry room? Let's get serious.

Chico, the jazz musician who used to live next door to me had a girlfriend, Lisa, who was an exotic dancer. She gave me the most incredible black satin rhinestone encrusted g-string and matching bra. I've had so many years of fun with that! Actually, I passed the outfit on to my Aunt in Oklahoma for her 80th birthday. Yes, she did have a new boyfriend and he liked it too.

I have also done rough biker woman, complete with a bunch of fake tattoos and lots and lots of leather and silver. Or maybe that was just what I felt like wearing to the grocery store that day, I can't remember.

I've also done the Navy crackerjacks and they are great too. The only thing I haven't tried is a nun's habit. Those are harder to come by for some reason.

Costumes are really not just for Halloween.