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Expounding on Nothing

Impartial Observer

 
FULL MOON

This month we are blessed with a "Blue Moon", which means that we will have two full moons in one month, one at the very beginning, and one at the very end. The "Blue Moon" will occur on July 31st, the second full moon in one month, which happens occasionally on our Earth, in our solar system.

Tonight, if you have not noticed and bathed in the glory of this full moon, we are inundated with "Soma", the Vedic blessing of the sweetness of life, the SUGAR of life itself. Drink up.

Cheers!

 
Due to the Fourth of July Parade on Sunday, our street has been assigned a "detour street". All of the cars that would normally travel through east to Will Roger's Beach on Sunset will be diverted up our street, sent west on Albright, then south on Via de la Paz, to again travel west on Sunset.

It's a dilemma.

Do we hunker down, endure endless noise, idiots, and hibernate, imbibing on brie, hot dogs, and margaritas, OR, do we escape our hood, and head to another undisclosed location.


Decisions, decisions.

 
Will the person(s) who sent two door alarms addressed to Kellog Dollins please identify yourself. Immediately. Thank You.

 
GOODNIGHT, SLEEP TIGHT, DON'T LET THE O'S BITE

Mr. B has tucked himself in bed alongside 59 foam letters. 51 of them are O's.

 
FOR THE RECORD

I hate hippies. I hate tye-dye anything. I hate dreadlocks (unless you are officially from Jamaica of course), Birkenstocks, pot-smoking, frisbee throwing, and Grateful Dead listening hippies. I hate free love lunacy. I hate calling everyone "man" as in "hey man" (especially toward women). I hate that "let's all stand around holding hands and swaying cause life is about peace and love and harmony and brotherhood" hippie bullshit.

I do, however love the musical "Hair".

 
Mr. B and I arrived home safely after a rather long journey. The drive from Georgetown was uneventful, but the Impartial Observer and I found many random yet fascinating things to yak about. Due to summer travellers, it took us almost an hour to get our boarding passes and through security to our gate. After procuring two iced teas, one blueberry muffin, one small bag of nacho cheese doritos, and one tiny bag of ritz bits, we found a place to sit at our gate. A mere two minutes later, it was announced that our flight would be delayed 45 minutes or more. Harrumph.

So, we moved to a nice table next to a window, and had our snacks. Our flight arrived from Vegas, and we scrambled on with the "pre-board" crowd. Mr. B chose to sit in the very last row on the left. We managed to spill the remains of Mr. B's iced tea all over the aisle, then settled in. A very nice flight, and voila, home james.

Laura, Timmy and Jazz were all happy to see us. Timmy sleeps on my keyboard as I write this post. Mr. B is simultaneously watching a video, playing a computer game, running water in the bathroom, and singing an unrecognizable tune.

I'm going to drink my green tea.

 
Well, today is the day that we must depart from The Divide. Mr. B is hiding under his covers in bed with a sad face. These transitions are never easy for him. Hopefully I'll distract him enough with talk of Train Town and the new Bounce-A-Round in our backyard to make today remotely bearable for him.

 
Now that Mr. B has spent more than a couple of hours in what he would describe as "probation" (THE BAG has been taken away as consequence for behavior that atypical brains consider unacceptable), he is now looking for THE BAG. He remains calm; a very unusual and unexpected happening.

We shall see what transpires.

 
Mr. B made incredible progress today by accompanying me to the market, without bringing along "THE BAG". It took a bit of coaxing/tricking/smooth talking, however, we made it through one hour plus without "THE BAG". Good job B.

 
Did you ever notice that when you eat a bit too much, that you soon feel the need to indulge in even more food, namely, SWEETS?

I hope this sensation passes soon.

 
Overheard at the Placerville Brewfest last evening:

"No dude, my first beer was at breakfast."

"This beer tastes like an armpit."

"Where's the car! Where's the car! Where's the car!"

"Oh no, HIDE! My ex is here with her mother."

And finally, a common refrain:

"You don't look like you are from around here." (To me of course. I guess I look like I'm from a place far, far away from Hangtown.)