Another Near-Death Experience

I was heading back to Slob Manor (read: rental housing) from the bus stop at 3:15pm this afternoon upon returning from town. I walked on the sidewalk, facing the on-coming highway traffic. My mind was preoccupied with other nonsense, which I will detail later. About ten feet away from the driveway to the dump, an automobile suddenly swerved and jumped the curb onto the sidewalk. It slammed into the cinder block wall flanking the driveway and left a huge gaping hole. Thankfully, the vehicle was stopped by the wall. If it had skidded three more feet, I would not be alive now to compose the "blog." Or, I would have been critically maimed.

When the dust literally settled, I espied Tom, the drunkard, in the driver's seat. He backed up the vehicle and inched it into the driveway. When Tom, the drunkard, exited his vehicle, he displayed obvious signs of being totally inebriated on cheap booze. Slurring his words, he attempted to blame the "accident" on faulty brakes. He probably was not totally cognizant of the circumstances that nearly caused my demise.

A few minutes later, Tom, the drunkard, came by my squalid room to apologize. I was in the process of more deep cleaning. He asked that the incident be kept a secret between us. Well, I am certainly not going to tell the landlord. I left that responsibility to him. The landlord would probably evict him, although he pays no rent. Sadly, the other tenants (myself included) are involuntarily subsidizing his rent.

Typical Preoccupied Hotties

As I stated previously, my mind was preoccupied with other nonsense. I had a short perusal of Cindy, the hottie gym trainer, at the gym. Unbeknownst to me, baby was apparently working out after completing the morning sessions with her clients. I was sitting on one of the chairs near the entrance as I always do before eventually exiting the gym. I happened to be chatting with a couple of the staff members when baby made her exit. To see her in her tight workout outfit is enough to cause the mind to snap. And, no, baby has not come around yet.

Then, I ran into my formerly-homeless buddy in the Bishop Square outdoor dining area near the bus stop. I mentioned that I have a tentative move-in date for the Chinatown dormitory on November 1st. We chatted about a few other topics, nothing worthy of mention.

Anyway, my mind was preoccupied mostly by visions of the alluring physical attributes of the hottie gym trainer when death nearly greeted me in open arms. The upcoming decision to move out of the dump may actually be adversely impacted by the actions of Tom, the drunkard. He is both a menace to himself and society-at-large. The simple fact is that Tom, in his perpetual drunken stupor, will end up killing some unwitting victim or himself. He will cause endless destruction property, his own as well as that of other people. As I have stated previously, I don't despise him. I just don't want to be his next victim.

Slob Manor Mini-Update®
There's no way that Tom, the drunkard, will be able to cover up his involvement in the "accident" that destroyed the cinder block wall. His vehicle sustained extensive damage along the entire right front fender. Once the landlord sees the damage to the vehicle, there will be little doubt about what really transpired.

Machinations of Squalor

On Thursday, I commenced the deep cleaning of my squalid room at Slob Manor (read: rental housing). When I say, "Deep cleaning," I mean deep cleaning. Why so soon? Well, I may decide to give the landlord my 30-day notice to vacate as early as next week. No, actually, that's unlikely.

Typical Deep Cleaning Hottie

Nonetheless, my squalid room needs to be thoroughly cleaned. So, I may as well get it done while I am in the mood. After my next visit to the cardiologist, I may lose all desire to clean the dump. Heck, I may lose all desire to do anything. I may end up catatonic. Sheesh!

In any case, I have time to ponder the logistics of moving into the pathetic Chinatown dormitory. Slob Manor actually affords me many luxuries (term used loosely) even amidst the squalor. Those luxuries are conspicuously absent in the Chinatown dormitory. Thank Molech that I am an engineer.

Typical Workaround Hottie

I have developed a workaround to use the Waterpik® water flosser. I will simply procure a plastic dishpan. Thus, I will sit on the floor and deploy the device over the dishpan. No one will see me, so the pathetic process will be known only to me (and you, of course). My original plan was to procure a stool that would elevate the device to the height of the hideous industrial sink that is standard in every room. The dishpan is easier to transport and less costly.

There are coin-operated laundry facilities in the Chinatown dormitory. Obviously, I will be doing the dreaded laundry chores only once per week or less. Thus, I will have to procure more inexpensive clothing and underwear. Thank Molech for the new Walmart® store in town.

Typical Hotspot Hottie

What I will probably miss the most is having unlimited Net access. If I relocate to the Chinatown dormitory, I won't have any Net access at all. I will have to carry the tablet computer with me and locate free wireless "hotspots" around town in order to access the Net. Yet, what do I need the Net for? My sources of alternatives news has dwindled down to nothing once I discovered that the latter were "pimping" for empire. I receive no e-mail. And, my Skype® number will expire on September 9th.

Typical Bit-Torrent Hottie

What about Net bit-torrent downloading? Well, I find that there are few "mainstream" flicks left that are worth viewing. The list dwindled into the negative region after I discovered the perverse and outspoken political opinions of many actors and actresses. As for hurdy-gurdy flicks ... well, with the Vienna Sausage on its "last leg," there's little need to test it. And, let's face it, most hurdy-gurdy flicks are of extremely mediocre quality (e.g., bad camera work, poor color balance, bizarre editing).

Typical Insomniac Hottie

With that said, the sole purpose of residing in the Chinatown dormitory, aside from preparing for death, is a place to sleep. Otherwise, no time should be spent there. I would be on the move from early in the morning until possibly 10pm in the evening. The only reason that I need the Net so bad at Slob Manor is that there is nothing else to do in my squalid room while I am there. And, as we all know, I have only a small window of time to sleep thanks to the eccentric nocturnal habits of the other idiotic Slob Manor residents. Don't even get me started on the Chinaman house next door.

Typical Status Quo Hottie

I could, obviously, change my mind and continue the status quo at Slob Manor. There are no other options. Since I am not a wage slave, I have no income. Thus, no landlord will rent a room or decent apartment to me. I can settle for options of total squalor. Very depressing.

Squalor

This morning, I called the property management firm that oversees the Chinatown dormitory. I scheduled a tentative move-in date of November 1st. Yeah, that's two month from now. Another two months at the despicable Slob Manor (read: rental housing). How will I cope?

Typical Dormitory Hottie

Well, the decision to move out of the dump remains tentative because the Chinatown dormitory is even dumpier. Words cannot describe the sheer squalor. I am, of course, thinking with a mind that believes it is still much younger than the geriatric body that houses it. For an old codger, the Chinatown dormitory is more than adequate. It is a mausoleum designed to ready oneself for death.

Typical "Credit Check" Hottie

The application process for the mausoleum ... errr, Chinatown dormitory ... was a joke, just as my formerly-homeless buddy told me. I could have simply brought a check for the first month's rent and security deposit to secure a unit right then. The whole "credit check" story was a ruse. There are always openings at the mausoleum. No waiting list. Although, only a down-and-out loser or an old codger would settle for a place like that.

So, that is why I have given myself two months of time. Of course, I will still need to give the landlord notice of my intent to move. So, I really have only one month. Obviously, I will have to handle the situation with the landlord carefully. I don't want to "burn bridges" prematurely.

Typical Transformed Hottie

Make no mistake, though. Once I move into the Chinatown dormitory, I will be transformed to the lowest class of losers. I will be only one microscopic level above the homeless. And, there's no way back out.

Deprecation

The human mind is an amazing conglomeration of cells. It has the ability to transcend the failing physical body. That's why I have been able to subconsciously fool myself to believe that I am much younger than my true geriatric age. I have been living in denial, that is, denial of death.

Typical Undeniable Hottie

I have been unable to comprehend or accept that I will soon be a 60-year-old codger. I am still subconsciously living as a thirty-something or forty-something guy. No doubt, that's the reason why I have not been moved to make crucial life decisions. What a fool!

Slowly, though, I am coming to my senses. I was awakened by my mortality the day I ended up in the emergency room at the hospital. Subsequently, I have been reviewing my situation. At most, I have about nineteen years left. Provided that I do not have a serious cardiac event, I may have five "good" years left. That's not a lot of time.

Typical Dormitory Hottie

Given that, I can't imagine residing in Slob Manor (read: rental housing) much longer. Why waste my "good" years in a dump populated with mental midgets? So, I contacted the property management firm that oversees the Chinatown dormitory. My rental application has been approved. Whether that is good news remains to be seen. All that's left is for me to provide a move-in date.

Yeah, the decision to vacate Slob Manor is finally upon us. I am more excited about leaving Slob Manor than I am about moving into the Chinatown dormitory. In some respects, I will be in a worse situation (e.g., dumpy room, high crime district, no Net access). On the other hand, I have no good memories of Slob Manor, as we well know. The dump, because of the landlord's poor choice of tenants, has been intolerable during my six-plus years of tenancy. Just sift through the old "blog" for the sordid details. Anyway, why would I want to reside at the dump much longer?

Ariana Marie

Well, I have actually been making preparations to move out of Slob Manor for a while now. That's why I have reduced my possessions (with the exception of the wireless speaker) down to nothing. I have also deprecated the hurdy-gurdy video library (HGVL). No, that's not true. I still have the classic Natasha Vega video clip. And, I have added four Ariana Marie video clips. Baby is the hottest hurdy-gurdy star right now. Hubba hubba!

So, that's where I stand as of this posting. The decision to move out of Slob Manor must be finalized in a day or so. Let's face the facts, though. Slob Manor really needs to be deprecated once and for all. After that, more decisions will come into play, whether I like it or not.

Backlog

Each day is essentially the same as the last. The routine is both rote and mundane. We knew that already, didn't we? The "blog," both old and new, is testimony to mundanity. So, why continue the benign activity? Why post the same crap over and over again? I don't know.

Typical Backlogged Hottie

Perhaps the backlog of hottie pictures that need to be posted is the sole reason. If it were not for the hottie pictures, would anyone visit the "blog"? I doubt it. Are the hottie pictures now the sole purpose of the "blog"? Probably.

Typical "Cleansed" Hottie

In my own life, not much has changed. The "cleansing" diet has yet to be modified. My sole purpose appears to be my daily two-hour workouts at the gym. Aside from that, I have nothing to do. No activities, no friends, no babes. Nothing. Zilch. Zero.

Typical Queued Hottie

There are a lot of questions in the queue. Should I "officially" retire early? Should I terminate any future medical tests and treatments? And, so on. I have been postponing all decisions. Thinking is fatiguing.

Typical Dormitory Hottie

And what about the dormitory in Chinatown? As predicted by my formerly-homeless buddy, I am being "strung along" by the property management firm. I will need some kind of commitment next week if I am to give notice to the landlord of Slob Manor (read: rental housing) by September 1st.

Typical Cinematic Hottie

I have viewed a couple of "mainstream" flicks (via bit-torrent download) on the poor man's home theater system during the past two weeks. Nothing worthy of mention. That, of course, brings another decision to the forefront. Is it time to box up the wireless speaker and possibly donate it to charity?

Slob Manor Mini-Update®
Well, I neglected to mention in the last posting that Tom, the drunkard, pays no rent. He has been residing on the second floor of the dump for free for many moons now, thanks to the generosity of the landlord. He was supposed to be fulfilling regular tasks in exchange. Instead, he collects bottles and cans in various trash receptacles in the 'hood and at Kawaikui Beach Park. He redeems them for cash. What would Tom, the drunkard, do without the landlord? He would be a homeless derelict.

Vanguard of Stupidity

There is just no better sample of global stupidity than the microcosmic Slob Manor (read: rental housing). Its tenants in the main house (with the exception of the ol' lavahead) are the pinnacle of stupidity and ignorance.

Typical Short-Circuit Hottie

Several weeks ago, the fluorescent ceiling light in the first floor common area stopped functioning. I discovered that fact because my squalid room was also affected. Turns out, there was some kind of short-circuit which tripped the associated circuit breaker. I was told that the light fixture was the problem. Tom, the drunkard, was the self-appointed electrician who initially diagnosed the problem.

Subsequently, every evening, I would return to a dark squalid room with no electric power. I came to discover that the idiotic "chef" would flip the switch whenever he arrived regardless of the fact that the light was inoperative. Tired of resetting the circuit breaker, I initially disconnected the light fixture. However, flipping the switch still caused the circuit breaker to trip. Suspecting that the two-way switch itself had an internal short, I disabled it. The other two-way switch in the stairway to the second floor was functioning because Tom, the drunkard, was able to turn the light on from there.

A few days later, the landlord's husband came by. He told Alan that he would replace the light fixture to fix thee problem. When Alan told me about the latest development, I said that the light fixture was fine. The two-way switch was the problem. Alan immediately called the landlord to report my findings. I told him to not mention my name. "No one will believe what I say," I said. "They all think I'm stupid." Unfortunately, Alan did not comply with my wishes. "I believe you," Alan said, justifying himself. "You're an engineer."

Well, Alan's credibility is not very high with the landlord either. So, about two days ago, Tom, the drunkard, was tasked with replacing the old light fixture with a new one. Oddly, he left me a note requesting that I enable the faulty two-way switch. He's the self-appointed electrician. Doesn't he know how to screw one wire back onto the terminal post? So, I removed the faceplate and left the two-way switch and the disconnected wire (with wire nut for safety) dangling.

Typical Trial-And-Error Hottie

In the meantime, I discovered that Tom, the drunkard, has toggled all of the circuit breakers in the house in an attempt to find the one that is associated with the light fixture. He is also using another fluorescent fixture that has a wall plug attached in order to locate the circuit breaker by trial-and-error. Doesn't he know that lights and outlets are always assigned different circuit breakers? Anyway, no one actually believes that I know which is the circuit breaker in question.

This morning, Alan commented that Tom, the drunkard, must finally be working on the two-way switch as he pointed to it dangling from the wall. I told him that I had left it that way, but I won't reconnect the wire. "See, they replaced the light fixture just as I told you," I said. "No one believes what I say." Alan concurred.

As you can probably guess, Tom, the drunkard, knows very little about electrical wiring. Yet, I have been told that he has vast expertise in the area. I don't despise him as I did before. I also believe that he is flat broke. His father was a professional golfer. Thus, the family was somewhat affluent. Unfortunately, both his parents passed on many decades ago. Any inheritance or trust fund money has already been dispersed. That's probably how he purchased a home in Hawai'i Kai many moons ago. A messy divorce forced the sale of the house. He took his disproportionately small share of the proceeds and invested all of it a local solar energy company. The company went bust, and he lost all of the money. His life at age 49 years is over. If anything, I feel pity for Tom, the drunkard.

Typical Humble Hottie

Of course, no one beats the "chef" in terms of arrogance and sheer stupidity. His ego has inflated beyond imagination because he expects to earn over $110,000 per year as a massage therapist graduate from a non-credit program at a local community college. Naturally, the landlord believes that the "chef" is extremely talented and a genius to boot. Who would have guessed? Microcosm of stupidity.

Unbounded

The wireless speaker ... gauge of stupidity. Really? No, not really. I purchased the device back in April. Now, it has to be divested. Same ol' story. Purchase useless junk, get bored with it, mummify. Right? Well, not really. A lot has transpired since then. My visit to the emergency room at the hospital two months later, for example.

Typical Unbounded Hottie

Actually, that's the turning point. My mortality came to the forefront. I was reminded that I am an old codger, and that my days are numbered. Subsequently, meaninglessness became the focal point of my entire existence. Material possessions became even more useless to me. The Vienna Sausage, in its steady decline, declared that babes were now totally out of the question. The hurdy-gurdy video library (HGVL) was exposed to be a ridiculous sham. Everything. Nothing.

I also came to realize that I, just like Alan of Slob Manor (read: rental housing) fame, am waiting for a future that may never come (i.e., denial of death). I have a meager amount of money locked into investment accounts. The accounts are totally liquid, but I don't touch them. Why? They serve no purpose. And, all of the money will eventually be legally stolen from me by one method or another. And, who is to say how long I will live anyway?

The passing of comedian Robin Williams by means of suicide should have been a "wake-up call." When I first heard the news, I suspected that he had underlying health issues, which most likely augmented his melancholia in a bad way. Sure enough, he was facing what would be a long battle with Parkinson's Disease. And, at 63 years of age, he was qualified to be labelled an old codger. Fame and fortune cannot reduce the ill effects of geriatric decrepitude. As you recall, writer Hunter Thompson also faced his demons in a similar and macabre fashion.

Old age has a way of reinforcing meaninglessness because every aspect of a "normal" (read: youthful) life rapidly disappears. Physical degradation and decrepitude prevail. Death is always on the minds of senior citizens. There are no diversions to ease the troubled mind. The body itself can no longer participate in diversions. That is why the mind becomes locked in a downward spiral of despair.

The troubled mind becomes obsessed with freedom. In actuality, the mind, if still intact, wants to flee a dying body. It wants to free itself of pain, disease, agony, and death. The mind wants to live on. In the end, it comes to the understanding that freedom is elusive or unattainable. Death is the only freedom from human bondage. Very sobering.

That is why, at least for me, "entertainment" has become moot. It does not placate the troubled mind. Ever wonder why so many senior citizens turn to guzzling cheap booze daily? Well, now you know. But, I digress. Music, sports, "mainstream" flicks, hurdy-gurdy video clips, shopping ... all moot. I did, however, find solace in the "mainstream" flicks "Divergent" and "The Hunger Games" series. Freedom is the underlying theme. Strange, isn't it? Real unbounded freedom is a solid concern for adolescents and senior citizens.

Treadmill

The results of the treadmill stress test at the cardiologist's office: inconclusive. My situation, however, is not inconclusive. The cardiologist disclosed that there were "abnormalities." He believes that I may have a clogged artery in my heart. So, I will be taking another stress test early next month, a chemical one, with a radioactive substance injected into my bloodstream. The ordeal will take over five hours.

Typical Conclusive Hottie

I am pretty certain that the prognosis is accurate. I have monitored abnormal heart activity during my workouts at the gym, albeit minor ones. The problem persists even though I have been careful to rehydrate during the workouts. So, dehydration was only a minor factor.

A clogged artery in the heart will most likely require extremely invasive surgery. I doubt that the stents remedy will apply in my case. Although premature, I really don't want to consent to surgery. Once such a drastic operation is completed, I will be on an accelerated downhill slide. I'll probably look and feel as though I am 80 years old. And, I will most likely have to take several kinds of medication for the remainder of my life. Old and decrepit. No, thanks.

As you can probably guess, my morale took a big hit. My mortality is always begging to remind me that the end is near. I don't look like a 60 year old codger, and that has been a blessing. My "youth" is all that I have. Yeah, I don't have fame, fortune, or any babes. I have nothing outside of myself and my handful of material possessions.

As I stated previously, I doubt that will live to be 80 years old. And, from what I have seen of people in that age group, I really don't want to. The decrepitude is simply intolerable.

Slob Manor (Read: Rental Housing) Mini-Update®
I was surprised to learn that Alan did not have enough money to pay the August rent for the dump. He earns $82,000 gross per year. A lot is deducted for taxes, which he partially recovers after filing his annual tax paperwork. A good chunk of his money is being sunk into the "McMansion" in Arizona, a place where he does not reside. Really, why doesn't he sell the place while it's at its peak assessed value? Then, why not also cash out his retirement stock fund? He's 62 years old, so there's no penalty. With the money (about $300,000), he could rent a nice studio, purchase an expensive and flashy vehicle, and spend all of his time pursuing young hotties.

Comments Mini-Update®
Rather than create a Speak! Mini-Update® in response to reader comments, I may or may not reply in the comment section. Overall, it would be much easier to facilitate. And, comments will no longer be moderated.

Jamba Juice® - Kahala

Last night, as with every night, I stopped by Jamba Juice® in the den of consumerism (read: shopping mall) in Kahala to procure the main course of my dinner before returning to the dump known as Slob Manor (read: rental housing). I usually order the Kale-rribean Breeze smoothie, a meal substitute. However, I wanted the PB Chocolate Love smoothie, another meal substitute) instead.

Typical Smooth Hottie

The Jamba Juice® girls (most of the employees are young babes) had already blended the Kale-rribean Breeze smoothie for me before I even ordered it. Not a problem. However, they blended the PB Chocolate Love smoothie and gave me both for the price of one.

Actually, in the two months that I have been frequenting the establishment, most of the evening shift employees have come to know me by name. They know exactly what I will be ordering. Often, two or three of them will greet me by name when I enter the place. And, if any of them are in the back, they run out to say hello. A couple of times, one of them has given me her $5.25 dinner credit.

I'm not certain about the reason that I have been given the royal treatment. Perhaps I am the only old codger who stops by every night at 7:30pm to procure a $6 smoothie. Although I find it amusing, I am also quite grateful for the great customer service. And, yes, I still benefit from my rewards points.

Of course, I have not told any of them that I am following a "cleansing" diet regimen, thanks to my visit to the emergency room at the hospital a little over two months ago. The meal substitute smoothies have been nursing me back to health. Many thanks to the Jamba Juice® team in Kahala!

Ol' Lavahead Mini-Update®
There's no way around it. I have run out of good "mainstream" flicks to view. I am now considering the divestiture of the wireless speaker. I have no use for it anymore.

Extreme Mental Tribunal

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of an extended perusal of Cindy, the infamous hottie gym trainer, at the gym while baby was working with a senior citizen client. Later, baby changed into an all-black, tight workout outfit. She completed a quick workout of her own. My mind almost snapped. And, the Vienna Sausage came back to life momentarily. And, no, baby did not come around.

Typical Enigmatic Hottie

In quickly reviewing the chronology of the hottie gym trainer, I realized that I first observed her voluptuous self sometime in the 2006 year. Baby was a drop-dead gorgeous, young hottie back then. I also discovered a few trivial details about her and posted them in the entry titled, "Mental Tribunal Revisited" (December 8, 2009), in the old "blog." Baby, of course, is still a hottie. And, she is an incredible enigma.

After all of these years, baby appears to still be single. I am flabbergasted that no "stud" has been able to tame her. Baby seems to be self-conscious as well, most likely because of her well-endowed attributes. Truly an enigmatic hottie.

After such a long perusal of the hottie gym trainer, I had to take a cold shower in penance of the lust that I experienced. That also abated the testosterone surge. Molech knows, I could have suffered a real heart attack. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa!

False Alarm

The hype over the "category one" hurricane proved to be baseless. There was heavy rain for about an hour this morning. That was it. I was able to fulfill my usual Hawai'i Kai visit. Moms and I had to improvise for lunch because nearly all of the stores and eating places in the vicinity were closed.

The gym opened at 1pm, thank goodness. By 2pm, the place was packed with people. Fortunately, I was able to complete my workout. Then, I returned to Slob Manor (read: rental housing).

To be perfectly honest, I was also duped by the hurricane hype. So, last night, I shopped for a few food items at the supermarket in Aina Haina. Needless to say, I wasted both time and money.

Typical Mass Transit Hottie

The buses were running again in the afternoon. I will be making the jaunt to the den of consumerism (read: shopping mall) in Kahala for the sake of routine. The entire mall, I was told, would closed today. Doesn't matter. I just need to be away from the dump known as Slob Manor for as long as possible. Sheesh!

Dormitory

I finally submitted the rental application for the Chinatown dormitory to the property management firm this morning. The dungy office was located on the tenth floor of an equally dungy apartment building just past the university district. I was not allowed into the office. I had to stand outside a locked gate and speak with the representative through the bars. I was told that my lack of a steady income may prevent me from being accepted. Can you believe it?

Typical Dormitory Hottie

My chosen mode of transportation was the bus, of course. Crowded, late, and stuffy. Lots of decrepit senior citizens, too. The ordeal (i.e., journey) took nearly two hours to complete. I really did not feel any sense of accomplishment.

I am actually ready to move out of the dump known unlovingly as Slob Manor (read: rental housing). I have exhausted the list of acceptable "mainstream" flicks for the simple reason that I won't have Net access once I move on. So, no more bit-torrent downloads. I will also have no need for the wireless speaker. Heck, that was all part of the master plan anyway. I am living a disposable life-style. With that said, I viewed "Avatar" for the very first time. What a flick! It's just beautiful. I really enjoyed it.

There's a major tropical storm on a collision course with the islands. It is slated to unleash its powers on O'ahu this evening. That explains why all of the stores have been so crowded all week. People are hoarding food, water, and supplies. Same old pathetic story every time there's a storm. As usual, I won't be making any preparations. I will be viewing another "mainstream" flick instead. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa!

Surveillance Mini-Update®
The team behind the surveillance 'bot has reprogrammed it to disregard the fake "Booyah!" posting. One has to wonder why so much time, money, and resources have been allocated to monitor the benign "blog." Yet, real "terror" lurks everywhere else. Can you say, "Dumb"?

Hurricane Watch Mini-Update®
The tropical storm mentioned earlier is indeed a " category one" hurricane. Reports indicate that it has not dissipated into a tropical storm yet. So, no bus service tomorrow. Schools will not be in session. Stores and eating places will be shuttered. Even the gym will be closed.

Blow to the Ego

On Sunday, I had an interesting chat in the locker room at the gym. One of the regular guys came in just as I was packing up to leave.

"You come here every day?"

"I try to," I replied.

"I do, too. I can't bounce back as easily as when I was younger after missing several days," he said. "It's tough once you're over sixty."

"How old are you?" I was perplexed. I thought that he was only in his fifties like me.

"I'm sixty one." He smiled uneasily.

"I would have never guessed."

"One of my co-workers told me that I look really young for my age." Emboldened by the compliment, he asked a thirty-something babe, another co-worker, for a date. "She told me, 'You're old enough to be my father.' That was a real blow to the ego."

Well, there you have it, my friends. Another sad old codger story. Babes are not attracted to old, low testosterone codgers. Game over!

Hurdy-Gurdy Hottie Nicole Aniston

With that said, I quickly deleted all two video clips from the microscopic hurdy-gurdy video library (HGVL) that was residing on the tablet computer. Well, I still have the one classic Natasha Vega video clip. But, I digress.

What's the point of the HGVL anyway? There's no need to test the Vienna Sausage anymore. Babes are not going to come around. Does the chicken really need to be choked?

Ol' Lavahead Mini-Update®
More blood work and the restoration of my extreme monk haircut ... the kind of excitement that only an old codger can appreciate. Sheesh!

Convergent

My formerly-homeless buddy brought me pancakes shortly after I arrived in town this morning. He volunteers as a cook at a church nearby, the food of which is given to the homeless. He has been a regular volunteer at another church as well, again feeding the homeless.

Typical Volunteer Hottie

My formerly-homeless buddy's lifestyle has changed significantly since he moved into the dormitory in Chinatown. He only visits the public library once per week. He has been riding the bus around the island nearly everyday, simply to benefit from the air conditioning. No longer is he spending lots of money on computers and other gadgets. On the positive side, he has been able to sleep longer and better since the dormitory is fairly quiet.

I have postponed the submission of the rental application for the Chinatown dormitory, mostly because of the dismal condition of the place. I will most likely deliver it this week. I have no medical appointments, but I must go to the diagnostic laboratory for more blood work on Tuesday.

What exactly is keeping me from just moving to the dungy dormitory in Chinatown? My life is essentially over. No babe is going to come around. My investment accounts will just continue to dwindle. And, Slob Manor (read: rental housing) will never improve unless the quality of the tenants improve. Never going to happen.

I have exhausted the list of good "mainstream flicks to view. My microscopic hurdy-gurdy video library (HGVL) is of no value. There are few Net sites that I care to visit, so Net access is not an issue. There's just nothing left for me but to succumb to dereliction. Sheesh!

Echocardiogram

My appointment at the cardiologist for a non-invasive echocardiogram occurred this morning. Fifteen minutes was all the time required for the test. Only the lab technician was present in the office. So, the results will be disclosed to me later.

Typical Delicious Hottie

Prior to the medical appointment, I dined at the fast food joint in town. I procured two delicious, albeit greasy, chicken sandwiches ($5 with coupon). My formerly-homeless buddy stopped by to chat. Having to now pay rent has forced a change in his life-style. I'll provide details at a later date.

After a long workout in the stuffy gym, I rode the bus back to Slob Manor (read: rental housing) with the usual myriad losers. Once I arrived back at the dump, I discovered that the "chef," true "stud" that he is, had his "squeeze" over for a visit. No doubt, he wanted to show her off to the other geriatric tenants. Unfortunately, I did not see her. So, whether she is a hottie or not is still unknown.

Did you have a chance to view "Divergent" and "The Hunger Games"? Great flicks, eh? If you have any good flick suggestions for the ol' lavahead, don't hesitate to comment.

Surveillance Mini-Update®
The surveillance 'bot made a surprise visit on Friday afternoon. Yeah, it had to make sure that I was not up to any "terrorist" mischief. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa!