Monday, April 24, 2006

sun day

the sun was up yesterday, and it was warm, and the lawn needed mowing and the cars washing.

so i venture out, pale and shirtless to tackle the mower. a few months ago, when we were moving off base, and i desperately needed to get the lawn mowed that day to pass our inspection and get authorized, i borrowed my mom's mower (cause ours had gone tits up due to strategically-placed old cigarette butts in the gas tank--no. 1 is without a doubt an evil genius).

i spent a half-hour yanking and pulling to get that hunk of shit started. damn near pulled my arm out of socket. cried, cursed, i think i may have even kicked the thing in frustration. ended up asking the fella that was cleaning the house if he could do the yard as well, and paid him to get it done.

well, our yard is a rainforest, and desperately needs to be mowed, so i am going to need to figure out why the thing isn't working.

fires right up. first try. coughs out blue smoke for a few minutes, sputters, settles into a rythm. ready to go.

i just stare at it. in amazement at first, and then with growing, glowering disgust. "you bitch." i hiss at it. "you fucking benedict arnold." it stares back as if to say, "eh." and shrugs shoulders that don't exist, picks something from its teeth, and says, blase, "fuck off. let's do this, shall we?"

so the lawn is mowed. the rest of the clan is out washing cars. no. 1 snags the hose and attempts to water anyone that crosses his path, laughing maniacally, as if he has just brought a man made of dead parts back to life with lightning. birds chirp, the sun shines, water droplets glint like tiny bottled rainbows, we laugh.

the cars get clean, we get wet, one of the daughters of the familia latina across the street comes out to talk on the phone and ogle p. they are always ogling p. d and i agree that as long as p is around, no one is ogling us. i ogle my wife.

we spend the majority of the day in the sun, soaking it up and reveling in a cloud-free day, the most beautiful thing we could imagine after months of grey skies and drizzle.

later on, my wife and i are a little pink around the shoulders. p, who is half-mexican, is rock lobster red on all exposed skin. i can't help but ask him how the fuck he ended up so baked, since he is half-mexican. he just laughs and admits that he doesn't know.

we jam, i toss my bass on the floor and stomp on it (a little annoyed with how work went) and break a couple of keepers on the knobs. luckily, i have replacements. my wife accuses me of trying to break my bass so i can get a new one. i tell her, had i wanted to break it, it would be in pieces right now. (i usually toss my bass so it lands flat out, with minimal damage to sensitive parts. in this case, i think the stomping was the culprit for the broken keepers. our band room is carpet laid over cement, as opposed to your usual wood/pad/thick carpet combo, so that might have had alot to do with it too. not that you care.) we jam some more, duly impressing the little mina that has come over to hang out, and spends the entire half-hour jam watching p and little else.

in the end, a fun time was had by all.

darth sardonic


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