State sanctioned pr[e]ying

It seemed that it was going to be a quiet news day here in the hills. But normal network programming has been interrupted by the local affiliates with this story.

I love a good political scandal even on this penny ante scale. I mean the entire amount of the bribes was less than $120,000. Our state lawmakers are not an ambitious lot. Boss Tweed wouldn’t have gotten out of bed for less than 6 mil. I can only surmise our politicos were too busy dismantling healthcare coverage for the poor in our state and protecting the sanctity of marriage from the godless homosexuals to aspire to more.

Stick to what you know

The last few days have not been all that great here in the hills. My shoulder has been bothering me. Again. After the unfortunate accident in which I broke my collar bone I endured three surgeries to repair the damn break. I spent six months in a figure eight back brace and sling while taking electro-magnetic field treatments before the doctor gave up on the break healing itself and ordered surgery. In the first operation they put in a small metal plate and 4 screws, 2 one each side of the break. Less than 3 weeks later one side of the plate popped loose. Not fun. So a second surgery was ordered.

The second operation involved removing the first hardware and replacing it with a longer metal brace with eight screws. The break never healed, so for a few years the clavicle was held in place by the hardware alone. Then one day BC and I found a life size marble bust of the goddess Hera in an antique shop in London and we decided to buy her. The shop had it delivered. It arrived in a wooden crate that took two burly delivery men a great deal of effort to push/pull up the front steps to the entrance hall. BC tried to pay the delivery guys to unpack it and place it the niche but they smartly declined. I decided we could do it ourselves and proceeded to attack the crate with a hammer and chisel.

You can guess what happened after that. The bust weighed 300 lbs. When we lifted it with a lot of cursing and straining it start to slip from my grasp. I grabbed it under the tits as it slipped and then I felt a snap in my shoulder and my arm sagged. Turned out the metal plate, already weakened by normal wear and tear, broke in half. Strangely it did not hurt much. Stupidly I put off going to the doctor until it did start hurting. So I had a third operation.

This time they removed the scrap metal, cleaned out the scar tissue, and put in 3 interlocking metal plates with 10 screws. Now I am bionic. The break eventually healed. The only problem was my shoulder ached when ever there was a change in the weather. Truly. That was a small price to pay I felt.

My last visit to the orthopaedic surgeon the x-ray showed some resorption around the screws. I was told that meant the hardware was loosening up and might need removal later. Well kiddies, I think later is finally here. I awoke with an achy shoulder Thursday and sure enough we had a storm that night. The storm passed but the ache hasn’t stopped and it is driving me mad. I now feel the plates moving whenever I raise my arm too. Bummer. So I will call the doctor tomorrow and I’m sure I will need a fourth operation.

This weekend whenever I passed that effing bust of Hera on the stair landing I had the urge to take a sledgehammer to it and turn it into gravel.

The moral to the story is that gay boys should stick to what they know, like statues of David. Oh, and never grab a goddess by her tits.

Answered prayers: flip side

Was it so wrong to pray a little for warmer weather?

If it warmed up, Garden Boy [GB] would probably work shirtless. And if GB worked shirtless that would make me very happy.

My prayers were answered. Today it got very warm. But not before GB called and told me he couldn’t start work until Saturday. Then one of my central A/C units decided to die and can’t be fixed until tomorrow when a part arrives.

I am the only one working shirtless around here today. And I’m not very happy.

*sigh* Sometimes I don’t appreciate God’s sense of humor.

Ah, youth!... Ah, history...

In order to help alleviate my boredom I decided I needed a hobby. I thought I’d try gardening. I know. I know I’ve already said I am a house plant’s worst nightmare. But I’m going to try anyway. I want an herb and vegetable garden. And I want dry stack stone walls built around it with a centred fieldstone path. My neighbour said that his son could probably do the work. I vaguely remembered the kid as a scrawny teenager that didn’t look like he could run a garden tiller much less build a stone wall. But I told him to send him over to talk to me.

Yesterday, the neighbour’s son showed up. He turned out not to be a skinny teen at all but a 6' 4", body of death, face of a male super model, smokin’ hot, full grown porn star fantasy. I was amazed to learn he was just home from his junior year in college. Dear Cher, when did all this happen? Obviously I need to keep better track of time... and my neighbours. I have never been attracted to young guys though. Well, I was when I was their age. But now I’m old enough to have sons that age I find the whole older man/younger guy concept unappealing and possessing a high ick factor. No, really. However, I guess he was easy on the eye if you like that ho-hum kind of flawless young Greek god perfection. Besides I’m sure the guy is straight. My gaydar didn’t ping once. .....dammit.

We walked over to where I want the garden and discussed the size and layout of the plot. I told him what I wanted him to do to me in a garden and he sketched it out on a small spiral notebook that took him forever to pull out of the back pocket of the faded denim tightly stretched over a callipygian bubble butt that would bring tears to the eyes of a lifeless stone statue. Not that I was actually staring looking, mind you, because he wasn't my type. And while he struggled to dig this thumb and forefinger into the snug rear pocket his bicep bunched and bulged under tanned velvety skin and veins on his perfectly muscled forearm stood out from his exertions. Underneath the sleeveless T-shirt his dinner plate size pecs swelled over a set of six pack abs. But really, all I was interested in was his help with the garden. When he squatted his thigh muscles nearly split the thin worn jeans that strained to cover powerful legs that you know could wrap around and squeeze you hard enough to find religion again. Oh, sweet baby Jesus! Yes, Lord! Praise God! Not that I cared because that would be, well, wrong. We discussed the wall construction while he tapped his pen against his pouty, perfectly formed lips that were just made to be kissed, licked, and bitten in the heat of wild chandelier swinging hot monkey sex. But I was too distracteded to really make that kind of gross observation. I was amazed by the sudden rapid change in my pulse the weather. I was It was getting hotter by the minute.

Anyway, we made a deal. He starts this week. But I have never been so glad in my life to see someone drive off. As soon as his car rounded the turn in the drive I could finally exhale and relax my stomach muscles. I wonder what that was all about.

Now I’m rethinking botox and maybe an eye lift thinking maybe after the vegetable garden we definitely should get married I should start planning a flower garden.

One down, one to go.

I made up my mind to keep my house in London. I still think I will eventually move there permanently. Until then I plan on dividing my time between the US and the UK. I called Bill Sunday and gave him the news. He was OK with the whole thing. He’s going to start looking for a place. But he said they may decide not to buy as central London properties are so expensive and they love the house.

That leaves me with the decision about the place here. I am leaning toward staying here. I think I’ll call my realtor, decline the offer, and pull the house off the market. I am not ready to give up our house. Maybe one day, but I don’t think I can do it just yet. And I like the idea of having S & P for neighbours.

Having said that, there are two things that really bug me about living here.
1. I never had allergies until I moved here. Now I sneeze from April until June. I hate that.
2. The local Nashville network affiliates and newspaper are crap. I hate not having a good newspaper and local news show.

That reminds me, every news report this week has been drug related. Who knew there was such a huge drug problem in Tennessee? Not I. Well that’s not exactly true. I vaguely remember a National Geographic article years ago that said marijuana had become the state’s number one cash crop. Now the big scourge is crystal meth. Forget the days of moonshine stills, evidently today every hillbilly and his brother/uncle has a meth lab. Tennessee has become the meth lab capital of US. I always associated drugs with big cities. Sadly, that’s not true. They’re everywhere, even here in small town America. Our local hospital in the nearest town recently had an incident where a nurse witnessed someone steal a morphine patch from a patient's chest and flee. I think I’ll dig a moat around my property and pull up the drawbridge.

I have managed to ramble from real estate to drugs. I think you have suffered enough. I’ll quit before I bore you even more with the latest stories about this or that local “celebrity”.

“Come on, Sam. It’s time to walk the north forty and plan that moat”.

Make up your mind, Scarlett

I have some important decisions to make and frankly they are driving me crazy. While I was in London Bill and Claudia told me that they wanted to buy my house. They have rented the house from me for the last two years. Bill knows that he is going to end his career in London so it makes sense for him to invest in a house. But I’m not sure if I really want to sell.

BC and I bought the house and then did major renovations top to bottom, inside and out. It’s a terrace house in South Kensington. There is the house itself and a self contained flat on the lower ground floor (or basement as we would call it here) that we designed as a rental unit. That’s the flat I use. We bought the house in 1983. Since then the average house price in London has risen 740 percent. And in the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea the figure is almost double that. That makes the house one of the best investments we ever made. If I did sell the house I would make a lot of money.

When I decided earlier this year that I was tired of the isolation here in Tennessee I planned to sell the house here and move back to London. But I have been having second thoughts about selling it. Despite my gripes I love this place. BC was an architect and he designed this house for us. It has all the things we always wanted in a house. BC designed the kitchen of my dreams. I could run a restaurant from this kitchen. I have four ovens, warming drawers, refrigerated drawers, two sinks, two dishwashers, wine storage cooler, Viking range with six burners and grill, Sub Zero refrigerator and freezer, and acres of granite counter tops. Can you tell I like my kitchen? The house sits on sixty acres of rolling hills with great views. Oh, Sam says I forgot to mention his favourite spot, the pond where he swims in the summer. It is my mini Tara or Neverland minus the llamas, chimp, paedophile, and little boys. But in the interest of truth I must admit there is a fair amount of Jesus juice and porn.

I am not trying to brag about my house. It is after all just a house. Before we could afford to build it we had to work very hard for many years, save, and invest wisely. I just want you to know that it is a dream house. If I sell it I will be giving up our dream. Yet it was always a lot of house for two people and it is now even more for one.

A couple of things happened this week. The county tax appraisal arrived. The countywide reassessment happens every six years. The value of the house has increased 30 percent. Luckily that won’t translate into a larger tax bill (yet). The state is using the reappraisal to set the tax rate for the county to bring in the same amount of revenue generated last fiscal year. So the house as an investment has appreciated nicely. S and P called Tuesday and reiterated their interest in buying 10 acres or so from me and building a home. We discussed this in Baku last week. It would be great to have them as neighbours. Then this morning my realtor called with an offer she received. She had an open house while I was on vacation. So there is a potential buyer.

The blogging may be hit or miss for a while since I have a lot of thinking to do. ...Fiddle de de... What do I really want? Sell or not sell. Stay or move. If so, where? And most important, what in the world do I want to be when I grow up? ...*music swells*... I'll think about that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day... Excuse me now while I pour myself a little....ah, juice. Wait, wait, wait....it's Cinco de Mayo. Make that a margarita.

Planning the next trip

I enjoyed London so much that I have decided to go back this fall. I’m thinking of staying September to December. I’ll take Sam with me. He has just about forgiven me for leaving him at home this trip. The day I got home he ignored me for hours. He refused to budge off the couch when I tried to get him to go upstairs to bed. Later that night he woke me up when he jumped on the bed, pushed me to one side, and snuggled against my back. It is good to be owned by such a benevolent dictator.



I have conferred with Sam and he approves of London. However he insists we cross Hamburg off our itinerary.