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I fought the lawn… and the lawn won


Filed under: and More,Wren's Eye View on Friday, July 15, 2005

There’s an interesting discussion going on below Nuclear Moose Candy’s rant on the indignities of single-ply. Lorelle’s comment reminds me of a photo I took to show Hubby why I don’t like the beach at Oceanside Harbor.

Picture of Oceanside Harbor beach toiletI mean, look at this thing. You know it’s going to be COLD. You know you don’t want to be sitting on this even with an inch-thick layer of tissue lining the seat. Holy stainless steel, Batman.

In the mornings at least, these thrones are clean, hosed out by the hard-working Harbor staff and loaded with the biggest dang roll of single-ply you’ve ever seen, about a yard in diameter (Moose would love it).

But by the time lunch is over, all the TP is gone, the trash cans and at least one of the toilets is overflowing, and unless you’ve brought some backup paper, you’re in trouble.

I’ve seen people at Oceanside Beach leaving the restroom with newsprint on their back thighs, and I salute them.

7 am on Bastille Day

Filed under: So Cal Living,Wren's Eye View on Thursday, July 14, 2005

Picture of Pool Temperature Board

Handles On A Phobic World

Filed under: So Cal Living,Wren's Eye View on Monday, July 11, 2005

There weren’t any in Minnesota, and visiting family members from Ohio rolled their eyes when they first saw one outside our Carlsbad supermarket. This makes me wonder if it’s just a California thing.

Picture of antibacterial kiosk These islands of disinfection are in all the supermarkets I visit, and I’ve seen them in Orange and Los Angeles Counties, too.

They first showed up this winter when the flu vaccine shortage was headline news. The attached signs told us the wipes were for wiping off shopping cart handles, but seemed to really be saying, “Quick! Come inside! You’ll be safe from the flu in here!”

It’s summertime now. The flu and its flaming sword is long gone. And yet the disinfectant wipes remain.

So do all the signs apologizing for any solicitors who interrupt our pursuit of double coupons. And so do those self-checking machines that replace living cashiers and baggers—thanks to them, we don’t have to stand in line with other shoppers if we don’t want to, or have to tell the checker “credit” or “debit” if we don’t want to, or even answer that age-old question, “Paper or Plastic?” Not if we don’t want to.

And now these little disinfectant wipes stand guard at all entrances, ensuring our protection against any ickies left behind by careless, germ-laden shopping cart users. We don’t even have to come into contact with other people’s fingerprints if we don’t want to.

I sense a trend here.

Slim Fast Rider

Filed under: So Cal Living,Wren's Eye View on Monday, June 27, 2005

Hot and smoggy and me stuck in L.A. traffic on the I-5. The exhaust fumes were so bad I had to roll up the windows. And since I couldn’t run the air conditioner without overheating the car, the air just got thicker.

I turned up the radio but after a few seconds it was drowned out by someone who pulled up beside me, someone with a loud, mufferless engine filling the air with an immense throbbing that made my ribs vibrate like our washing machine on the final spin cycle.

For a moment I wondered if I’d been squished by an 18-wheeler and deposited in Hell, only to learn it was staffed by demons on mufferless Harleys. If so, Hell looked a heck of a lot like the I-5 on a smoggy summer day in stop-and-go traffic.

But no, it was the regular ole’ I-5. And as I waited patiently for the chopper to pass so I could more fairly question the owner’s ancestry… I realized the chopper demon wasn’t a he, but a she.

Picture of Woman Riding Harley

She finally pulled up ahead of me and I could breathe again without rattling ribs. The picture is blurry because I was moving and my windshield was dirty (the bees are swarming in Carlsbad) but you can still see what I saw: a woman who waits for nothing and no one.

Me, I’ve spent my life waiting to lose some more weight before I do stuff like go to a pool party and actually go swimming, but I’ll bet this gal goes swimming at ALL her pool parties, and wears the tiniest bikini she can find—maybe even a thong.

Frankly, she appears to be the kind of woman who told the world the hell with it, I’m gonna get me some tattoos and a tube-top and some low-rider jeans and the biggest, baddest Harley sold in America today, and while I’m at it, the hell with the damn muffler, too.

Nobody gets in front of her at in the “9 items or less” line with 32 items and a fistful of expired coupons, nobody whips into the parking space at the mall that she was waiting for, and nobody EVER dings her van when she’s sitting inside it waiting for kids to finish swim team.

And even though I was taking a picture because it would last longer, I knew she could easily poke my eye out with her little finger if she was so inclined—so I didn’t spend any time trying to get the perfect shot. I just put the camera back into the bag and continued my stopping and going on the I-5, all the while wondering how big my butt would look on a Harley.

Knitting up the Raveled Sleeve

Filed under: Bulldog,Wren's Eye View on Monday, June 13, 2005

Picture of Mojo asleepIt’s awfully hard to get anything done around here when I have this cuteness dreaming up ways to distract me.

I mean, when Mojo is snoring so loud you can hear him while you’re cleaning the bathroom upstairs, you might as well put down the Pine-Sol and come rub his belly instead.

Rita’s Spice Cabinet

Filed under: Wren's Eye View on Thursday, May 19, 2005

Rita's spice tin
(Read the rest of “Rita’s Spice Cabinet”)

Warning: I Brake for Hallucinations

Filed under: So Cal Living,Wren's Eye View on Sunday, May 1, 2005

High school marquee sign that says, Katie, will u go to the prom with me? Eric
(Read the rest of “Warning: I Brake for Hallucinations”)

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