Groomed

 

I took my dog Max to a nationwide pet store for grooming, and after they checked his vaccination record (dogs have been doing it from the start) the groomer came over to meet him. She went to pet him, and he hid behind my legs and started barking. I apologized, like an embarrassed mom, and said, “He really is a great dog… he just assumes you’re evil.”

She continued the meet-and-greet by reaching her arm underneath him and brushing up against his penis. He nipped at her hand, and she stepped back with an appalled look on her face. My face went confused, and she said, “So yeah, we actually can’t see your dog because he shows sign of aggression.”

I replied, “But you just,” then whispered, "grabbed his penis! Does any dog pass this test?”

She shrugged, and I realized there was no convincing this dick-grabber my filthy dog who was stinking up my house was desperate for a shave. I left and made him an appointment at the other nationwide pet store, where they didn’t grab his wiener, and he got the needed haircut.

My aggression’s been tested lately by looking at stocks I bought after I sold my house in June. All of them went up shortly after purchase, and I thought I was a psychic stock exchanger, and should quit my job because I was about to become a millionaire. My daydream turned into a daymare, and all of them have tanked. It is depressing to see these stocks sitting well below half of what I paid for them. I decided to stop looking, it would be stupid to sell them and take the significant loss, and now I have to hope one of them will turn into some Forrest Gump gold mine when I’m sixty.

One stock is the most upsetting, Electra Meccanica. I decided to buy it after I saw a model in the middle of Arden Fair Mall. A single seater electric car that came from the future. I thought it was genius, but after watching the stock’s line graph’s steep downward trajectory, I wonder if there really is a use for a single seater car. Who is that accepting of their lonely life, they’ll buy a car for just one person?

If the car is intended only as a commuter vehicle, then the mileage isn’t sufficient. The battery can’t even get you from Sacramento to San Francisco in one go. I sent them an email, since I have invested interest, suggesting they make a two-seater model that looks like a Suzuki Samurai or a Geo Tracker. These cars are compact and absolutely adorable — it’s auto fashion forward under the guise of making a better tomorrow. We'll see if I hear back from them. I don’t need any credit for the design idea… I’d just be grateful to see their stock sky rocket from hip youngsters buying these vehicles to carry around their pet bunnies and hydroflasks.

My refrigerator broke this week. It's not even eight months old, but it stopped working, and after eating the approaching room-temperature food, I decided I needed to deal with Lowe’s. I must have made the purchase when Mercury was in retrograde because it was a headache from the start. It took weeks, two credits and repurchases, to just get the damn thing in my new house. The kids and I lived like Europeans with a mini fridge that kept me from shopping at Costco and producing any food waste. Calling Lowe’s is a minimum of one hour on hold, there’s a good chance they’ll transfer you and then have another hour-plus hold, then there is the likelihood the representative is training and has a “drop the call” panic attack. I endured, and the technician is coming tomorrow between 8am and 4pm.

Thursday is our only “activity-free” afternoon and I live for it. Geoffrey started Lacrosse, a foreign sport to me, that I’ve only seen in movies. After going to a few games and all the practices, it is a great fit for my boy since they spend an hour running around and beating each other with long sticks. I’m in awe watching the kids chuck a ball across the field where someone on the other side catches it with their tiny butterfly net. I don’t want to seem in such shock that I find this exchange borderline impossible, but I tell him to practice A LOT.

The games are fun, and the enthusiasm from the parents is next level. This east coast sport migrated over to sunny California, and the crowd cheers like were ringside to an AEW match watching Sammy Guevara flip off the top of a ladder with perfectly sculpted hair while wearing purple leopard print briefs. One mom’s passionate yelling sounds like she's in the bedroom; loud screams and moans, followed up by her kids name. Hilarious.

Kingsley finds the practice and games to be inconvenient. She roams around whatever park were in until she finds some other bored sister to play with, which entails chewing gum and talking about the injustices of not having a sister. I don’t get the pleasure of stewing in this misery because I have two sisters, but I downplay it. I haven't told Kiki that nothing tops getting loud-mouthed drunk on Silver Bullets with your sister. Ah, the good ol' days.

In the morning I get up 15 minutes before the kids to have coffee and write in my journal. I start by writing dreams I had down so I don’t forget them, and then I get into whatever shit my mind’s brewing on. The other morning I was fixing breakfast and Kiki came up to me and said, “You had a dream you were talking to Pops about moving to New York?” 

“Oh, you’ve been reading my journal.” I’ll start writing about how much I miss my sisters to deter her from continuing this invasive practice.

The last few weeks have been isolating, hence the uptick in dreams where I chat with dead relatives. I’m not about to purchase a one-seater vehicle, but it's not a good sign I hope the fridge technician likes to talk. My usual Wednesday morning meeting with Love Horrors has been cancelled. We make scrambled eggs and sourdough toast, discuss fun ideas, projects and jokes, then have a weekly cigarette. It's a slumber party packed into a couple hours. 

    I talk on the phone a lot, but it’s exhausting when the call is dual stream of conscious chatter. I gauge how close my period is based on the tolerance I have for these calls. If I only make it five minutes before hanging up annoyed, then I’ll probably spend the next day eating a box of Reeces Puffs cereal and then tell myself the cure to my upset stomach is an animal-style cheeseburger and French fries.

I take to the streets to socialize, walking my dog. There are the power-walkers who give a wave, but then there are the meandering. If I give myself time, I can turn the walk into quite the social adventure. I recently met 82 year old Will, a widow, retired from the LAPD. We talked for an hour yesterday. I told him about the dog’s Petco visit. He's a cop, and bored out of his mind, and even he thinks dick-grabbing is lousy way to make an introduction.

Max