What's in a Name?

After nearly 12 months out of the cat business, we have jumped back in. Circumstances brought a couple of friends of ours to ask if we would be willing to assume the care of a couple of 11 year old balls of feline fur, and we decided...why not? Last weekend we met Sanchi and Mango, and they began to get accustomed to their new home.

Of course, I had a hell of a time remembering Sanchi's name, and eventually began calling him Satchmo, because it was as close as I could get. Then, a couple of days ago, the wife asked how Melon was doing. I said, "You mean Mango?" She admitted she couldn't always remember Mango, but knew it was a melon of some type.

So, for a while at least, we will probably sway back and forth between Sanchi/Satchmo and Mango/Melon...but I suspect we will eventually fall into Mel and Mo.

They don't seem to care what we call them as long as we call them for dinner. They are adapting quickly, and seem very happy. We are introducing them to the dogs slowly and deliberately. So far, they get along great with Tom because they are bigger than him...they seem to have accepted Sam, because everybody loves Sam...they scare the hell out of Sara...and they have yet to meet Katie or Ellen.

At any rate...I give you Sanchi/Satchmo and Mango/Mel...you figure out which is which.

Find Your Center...Ooohhhhhhmmmmmm!

I try...I really try. Keep your cool Fish, it really isn't that big of a deal. But when I see something like this, I just go BERSERK. (For the old farts out there, they might recognize that as a paraphrase of a line from Billy Jack).

Parking lots are my bane. Between the dim bulbs who can't cram a car into one spot, the lazy fucks constantly trolling for the closest spot and the mental midgets who leave the shopping cart in the middle of that spot when the cart return area is all of two cars away, it is all I can do to keep from just ramming the Tundra straight through the front doors.

When I slow down for you to walk across in front of me, MOVE YOUR ASS. Don't slow down, answer your phone and walk along the driving lane instead of across it. Just because you have a big load of crap from Home Depot to load into your truck does not entitle you to park in the driving lane in front of the door and prevent others from coming and going. Haul it out to the parking lot and load it yourself like a man. Hell, if I could cram it all in a Maxima for years, you can sure as hell shove it into your Lincoln or Cadillac "pickup" by yourself.

But tonight I witnessed a new low. Whilst parked at Carino's in the take out spot (don't get me started on how incredibly inefficient that operation is), I was blocked in by a vehicle who had parked at the front door in order to load an elderly disabled gentleman in the front seat. Now, before you get all bent out of shape about how I hate the handicapped, and how your Dad lost his legs in some horrible lumberjack accident providing lumber for the growing industrial revolution, I must tell you there were three (3) vacant handicapped parking spots not fifteen feet from where these selfish SOB's had parked.

For Chrissake, The American's with Disabilities Act was passed for just this reason. Move your rig, haul Grandpa the extra few feet, and spend the rest of the fucking night getting him loaded up. As long as you are out of the way, in your specially designated, front row, premium parking spot, I don't give a crap.

All I am asking for is a little consideration. Thanks for listening.

Happy Freakin' New Year

2009 has gotten off to a glorious start. Got to play golf in shorts and sandals on Jan. 2nd and 3rd. God, I love West Texas.

And, yesterday I received a phone call at home from my boss. He is moving back to Tyler to take over that District. Looks like I will have one final shot at the top job here in Lubbock. Guess I better shine my shoes, rent a suit, and sharpen up my ass kissing skills.