The Parable of the Fig Tree

Dogs. Figs. Not a good combination.

Our massive fig tree in the backyard started dropping fruit about a week ago. I have to admit I was concerned about the dogs, but they didn't seem to show any interest in them. And why would they? They've never shown any interest in anything healthy before. I really should have picked them up, but there were so many of them and the squirrels seemed to be doing an OK job of it on their own.

But all that changed this morning.

I'd let the dogs in the back yard a couple of times this morning and didn't think anything of it, but as I sat down to write a different post, all of a sudden my older dog started acting frantic and jumping at the back door. I assumed he's seen a cat or something and let him out.

He proceeded to run to the grass and start eating it maniacally, something they do when their stomaches are upset. But I had never seen anything like this; he was acting possessed. I tried to approach him but he started to growl at me. Now I was starting to panic because I hadn't a clue what was wrong.

And then he started to make that awful dog-wretching sound, the one that starts with the dry heaves and usually ends up with me on the floor with a bucket and carpet shampoo. Luckily, we were outside this time. And sure enough, soon up came all the grass he'd just eaten and two (TWO!) fully intact figs!

He didn't even chew them. How he got them down in the first place I'll never know.

He seems OK now, but I'm keeping an eye on him. It appears I'll be spared a trip to the vet. I did a little checking online and was relieved to discover it isn't uncommon for dogs to eat them and they aren't poisonous. It did also say that fermented figs on the ground act as an intoxicant on dogs. Makes 'em drunk.

After the last couple of days I may have to give that a try later today.

I'm Lovin’ It

Yesterday I was out running errands and I decided to be bad.

I decided to eat at McDonalds.

So shoot me.

There's one not far from our house, the one that was razed last year and replaced with a Next Generation version.

I walked through the doors and was shocked at what I saw... it was PACKED! I mean, at capacity. It looked like an airport at Thanksgiving. Even the ball pit in the plastic bubble play area was standing room only. What the hell was going on? It was 1pm, long past the normal Bako lunch hour. If you're eating lunch at 1pm in Bakersfield you must be European.

The lines at the counter were long and I thought about going elsewhere, but I just didn't feel like driving around aimlessly in the heat. So I joined a line and just accepted the wait. But the lines were moving surprisingly fast and I soon discovered why. Almost everyone ahead of me was only ordering drinks. Come to think of it, as I looked around the restaurant, few people were actually eating anything. And that's when it dawned on...

1. It's summer.

2. In Bakersfield.

3. McDonalds is air conditioned.

4. And they're paying the power bill to cool it.

What I had stumbled on was "Bako Daycare".

One look around the restaurant confirmed it. The booths by the windows were full of elderly folks, nursing small coffees and reading newspapers and cheap paperback books. They'd obviously been there awhile and weren't going anywhere. There were gaggles of listless, surly teens, ignoring each other while they texted. Probably texting other teens at the Burger King across the street. And around the perimeter of the enclosed play area were the hard looking moms with bad tattoos staring blankly into space, when they weren't stepping outside for a smoke.

"NO! Mommy is NOT turning on the air conditioning. It's too expensive! Put your shoes on, we're going to Micky D's."

Just about everyone had nothing but a drink, an iced coffee of a small soda. It's probably the minimum you buy without getting kicked out.

And then, while I was shuffling up to the counter, something magical happened...

I got cruised! By a guy! A gay guy!

There are so few gay men in this town to start with, and the ones that are here are so deeply closeted they would never make eye contact with another guy. For fear their wives would catch them. The pickins' are so slim that my gaydar has been offline since the day we moved here. I can't think of an single instance where I saw someone and suspected they were gay.

It also means I'm way out of practice. When I first caught him staring at me the first thing I thought of was, naturally, "serial killer". It never occurred to me that maybe he batted on our team. But the third time I caught him he flashed me a smile and I finally figured it out.

He was handsome, in a Bako kind of oil rigger/farmhand sort of way. Probably late 30's, a little stocky with a goatee, blue eyes and a killer smile.

I smiled back.

He was in the next line and for the next several minutes we shuffled side by side, stealing glances and little grins. We ordered at the same time and then found ourselves inches from each other at the drink machines.

And then, just like that, it was over. He was to-go, I was dine-in, our orders came up and we were like two ships passing in the night. We never even said "hi".

Which is fine. Nothing would have happened because I'm happily married, or as married as you can get in this backwards state. But I have to admit, I was flattered. It put a little bounce in my step for the rest of the day.

All the same, I thinks it's better no to mention it to the boyfriend.

He would kill me if he ever discovered... I ATE AT McDONALDS!.

Seriously, I'd never hear the end of it.

I'll tell him I saw the guy at the Post Office.

All The News That Fits

I have to admit that I usually start my days here in Bakersfield in a pretty good mood, and for that I owe a debt of gratitude to the morning news. It's never less than entertaining, although not for the reasons they strive for. Somedays it's down right hysterical. Picture your high school putting on a newscast and you get the gist of it.

A perpetual problem is running the wrong video, which oftentimes results in some interesting juxtapositions.

"City leaders say that without a budget in place they may have to resort to drastic measures..." drones the anchor over images of a building engulfed in flames.

Actually, now that I think about it, that may have been the correct footage... it's Bako after all.

Yesterday morning the female anchor did most of the broadcast with her bra showing. It was amusing at first, but after about 15 minutes the boyfriend took pity on her. "Maybe we should call in and tell them?" he said. I said "no, they'll figure it out", and after about another 30 minutes they did.

Our current fixation is the weatherman. "Didn't he wear that same suit yesterday?" asked the boyfriend. Why yes he did. It would be hard to miss... it's brown and two sizes too small.

"I wonder how many days he's going to wear it?"

That was three weeks ago.

"Let's take a look outside" says the weatherman as they cut to one of the pointless traffic cameras. On the screen you can kind of make out a deserted road. And bird shit. The camera has been covered in bird shit for months. And the sad thing is they know about it. "Yeah, we need to get someone out there and clean that camera" he says every time, but they never do. Every morning you get to watch the sunrise over Bakersfield through streaks of bird droppings.

But the best part, I find, are the infomercials. In an effort to pad out the newscast and appear more big-time than they are, they've apparently signed up with some syndication operation that books little 3 minute "interviews". Ostensibly it's a news or lifestyle segment...

"And here to talk about childhood obesity / auto safety concerns / summer travel tips is __________."

They cut to some stranger in a studio in New York. He or she is probably doing dozens of these "interviews" for flyover country, back to back to back. To them, Bakersfield is just some name on a check list, somewhere between Altoona and Cedar Rapids. After briefly touching on the the purported subject, we get to the real reason we're here...

"It's all spelled out in my new book/ website... www.shamnewscast.com."

Occasionally, it's for some worthy cause, say Breast Cancer. And on even rarer occasions it features a real life celebrity.

"Look! It's professional golfer Phil Mickelson! And he's talking to us here in Bakersfield!"

The other day, there was one that was an absolute car wreck. It was fabulous.

It was British actress Miranda Richardson, and she was talking about turtles. Evidently, she narrated a documentary about the plight of sea turtles. I'd tell you more, but we never really got to it.

The anchor was completely starstruck and immediately started asking her about past films and co-stars. I guess she should get points for actually knowing who she was.

Ms. Richardson tried to steer the conversation to the matter at hand.

"But really, I'm here to talk about the Tuh-tles" she said in a clipped British accent.

The anchor didn't take the hint and kept up her line of Hollywood questions.

"So what was it like filming 'Harry Potter'?" she asked.

"BUT THE TUH-TLES..." Ms. Richardson implored, looking clearly exasperated.

Things were spinning from bad to worse.

"Are you going to miss 'Harry Potter'?" the clueless anchor continued.

"TUH-TLES!" begged the actress. She was almost shouting at this point.

You could see her eyes darting left, offstage, obviously hoping someone would pull the plug and put this interview out of it's misery. At one point I actually thought she was going to walk off the set.

Ultimately, it did end, too soon for my taste. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time.

Final Destinations

Well, that's one less escape route.

Over the weekend, Allegiant Air, an airline I'd never heard of before, quietly discontinued flights from the sad, little local airport to Las Vegas. They had only just launched them in November, with much fanfare, but there just wasn't enough demand to justify them. It would appear that while the Bakersfield locals have no problem gambling with their health by living here, it's a different matter when it comes to their cold hard cash.

Back in the Go Go Boom Days at the turn of the century, Bakersfield took a gamble of their own, investing millions to upgrade the airport into something approaching respectability. The end result... Meadows Field. It was going to be a great, big, beautiful tomorrow and Bako was going to be the next great megalopolis and needed an airport to support that pipe dream. I gather that at one time it actually hosted a fair number of airlines and flights.

But then everything came crashing down and now the airport sits mostly vacant. Every time they show it on the news it just looks so forlorn. They really need to see if they can rent it out for filming. Maybe a zombie movie. Might as well try and get some use out of it.

At any rate, they still have a handful of flights, mostly connectors to cities that have flights that actually go somewhere. Your choices are Denver, Phoenix, Houston, LA and San Francisco.

As far as choosing an escape route goes, I think we can safely scratch Houston. If there's one place I can imagine hating to live more than Bakersfield, it would be Houston. Actually, all of Texas... just scratch it.

And now that I think of it, Phoenix too. The Arizonans have shown themselves to be a little too wacky in recent months.

I hear Denver is lovely, but I'm a little too old to learn how to operate a snow blower.

So that leaves LA and San Fran.

Now you would think that with all my whining on the blog that the obvious choice would be LA. And who knows? We may yet end back up there one day. But over the past couple of months, out attitudes have... shifted. The longer we're away, the more we seem to be adopting a "been there, done that" mindset in regards to the City of Angels. Nothing personal. "It's not you, it's me..."

See, here's the thing. To try and divine the future, some people read horoscopes, some people are into astrology. Or numerology. Or other ologies. But we recently discovered something about our own lives. It would appear that hints to our future...

Hang on our walls.

Years ago when we redecorated the living room at our townhouse, (and by "we", I mean "the boyfriend") we couldn't find exactly what we were looking for to hang on the wall over the couch. So we decided to make our own art. We were both fans of mid-century architecture and hoped one day to own one of those houses. So we painted and abstract vision of a Neutra house and put it up. And wouldn't you know it, within a few months we found just such a house and bought it.

And then a few years ago, the boyfriend gave me a framed Fortune Magazine cover as a Christmas gift. The covers of the magazine in the 30's and 40's were each beautiful lithographed work by famous artists of the day. A boss had given me one as a gift and I had started collecting them. Unfortunately, around the time I discovered them, so did everyone else. I had collected four of them before the prices got out of control. The one the boyfriend gave me made five. And this is it.




I have to be honest... I wasn't a fan. Don't get me wrong, it's nice in it's own way, but it certainly isn't one of the best. But it was given in love and soon joined the others on the wall. I think what I disliked about it was that it was such a bleak desolate vista...

Just like outside of Bakersfield!

Seriously, it looks just like all the wasteland south of town. And north. And east. And west.

It would appear that what we choose to hang on the walls determines our fate.

So with that in mind, when it came time last week to finally finish decorating our bedroom we once again ran into the issue of what to hang on the walls. None of our existing art or prints really worked and we hadn't found anything else that we liked. So once again we decided to make our own. I'd find some photos or graphics on-line and trick them out and we would get some cheap frames. As I sat down at the computer I asked the boyfriend what our theme was and then we both realized that whatever we chose might determine our fate.

"What's it to be?" I asked.

"San Francisco" he replied.

So we now have prints of the Golden Gate and Lombard Street hanging in the bedroom.

Let's hope that the third time is the charm for this drywall voodoo spell.

Sunday Inspiration

Nothing Succeeds Like Excess

The other day one of my clients e-mailed me with some revisions to a project...

"I spoke to my client and he decided he wants to go with look number 2, but he was wondering if he can get the photos a little larger?"

Sure, no problem.

About a minute later my cell phone chimed with a text. From the same lady.

"And he was also hoping to maybe see the logo in more bluish tones."

Wow. She's a multi-tasker. Must be in the car on her way to a meeting. Busy busy, busy.

About 2 minutes later I received another e-mail from her...

"And he was hoping he could see something by Friday".

Huh?

I e-mailed her back and asked why she was sending me directions with both e-mail and texts, and this was her reply...

"I had to use the bathroom."

Oy vey.

I think we have finally arrived at the point where we have too much technology for our own damn good.

The fact that this woman didn't feel she could wait three minutes to drop a load before sending me directions says more about the sorry state of affairs than I could ever write. Leave aside the fact that from now on, whenever she sends me a text I'm going to be picturing her in the can with her panties bunched around her ankles. The bottom line is it's just all too much.

I couldn't even tell you half the things my iPhone does, and that's just fine with me.

And "social media" is turning out to be more of a curse than anything else. And a huge time suck. My thoughts on Facebook are all over the blog. If I wanted to waste time seeing what people are up to, I'd rather go here. At least it's entertaining.

I joined LinkedIn under duress from one of my LA clients. She literally wouldn't give me any work until I signed up and "linked" to her. It's really nothing more than a virtual unemployment office since the only people who correspond on it are looking for work. Or looking to steal your contacts.

I tried Twitter but blew it off pretty quickly. The whole thing is predicated on "following" people, and I've never been much of a follower. Plus, the 140 character limit makes everyone sound like they have Tourette's.

I have my work featured on half a dozen portfolio sites and it's turning into a full-time job just to keep them updated. And stressful. If I let any of them lapse for more then a week I get passive aggressive reminders that I'm an on-line loser.

And then the other day I saw something that just about made my head explode. It was a TV commercial for some store-bought cookies. Or maybe it was cookie dough. To be honest I don't remember what it was for, other than cookies were involved. Near the end of the spot, up popped a QR code on the screen, like the one above.

So here's the deal...

In theory, when you see a QR code pop up on the TV, you're supposed to scan it. To do that, you'll need to freeze frame the image. Which means you have to have a DVR. Don't have one? You'll have to get one in our Brave New World. You'll also have to have a smart phone. With a bar code scanner. Don't have one? You'll have to go and download one from one of the many app stores. Once you've scanned the code, it will take you to a super secret web page that only the Kool Kids know about, a page with a dollar off coupon for cookies. Or whatever. Then, all you have to do is forward the webpage to another computer that's hooked up to a printer, and then print off the coupon so you can take it into the store to get your measly dollar discount.

Doesn't that sound like fun?

You'l now have wasted Lord nows how much time to get the stupid coupon, and the minutes you used up on your smart phone will probably cost more than the "deal". In the end, you're actually paying more for the damn cookies than if you just did a typically normal impulse buy in the store.

This is the wave of the future. People rushing around playing "Dora the Explorer" with a barcode scanner. No thanks.

PS. If you are in fact one of the Kool Kids, there's a fun little surprise embedded in the code above. If you can't beat 'em...

Enjoy.

A Change of Scenery

I'm not quite prepared to declare victory in the War of the Cockroaches, but things are markedly better now that the house has been sprayed. At least when we do find them inside, they're dead. Outside is another story... The Killing Fields. There's a ring of dead roaches maybe two feet wide circling the house. Disgusting.

So in a show of good faith, I've swapped out the background for something a little less unsettling.

Unless you have a problem with cows.

A Plum Shame

"I tried to stop them, but it was too late..."

It was Jim. In his front yard. With a cocktail. As usual.

I was expecting a check so I had gone out to the mailbox, but it was 106 and the mailbox was too hot to touch. Maybe the reason there are so many house fires here isn't meth labs after all. Maybe it's just the mail spontaneously bursting into flames.

But back to Jim... what was he babbling about?

He pointed to our plum tree, the only fruit tree that's in the front yard and not protected by the fence.

It had been stripped bare.

"Bunch of neighborhood kids, from down the street. They were there with trash bags stealing all your fruit. I shooed them away but it was too late. Looks like they got just about everything. I told them they were stealing, but they didn't care. Fuckin' kids."

Fuckin' kids is right.

I was so bummed. I was planning on going out to pick plums once the sun went down, but now there was nothing to pick.

Well, kids... payback's a bitch. I'll get them at Halloween. Not with anything traceable, of course.

Actually, I don't blame the kids.

Can you imagine a world where middle school kids, home for summer break, sitting in the air conditioned game room playing Grand Theft Auto, would suddenly decide it would be really fun to slouch down the street in Death Valley heat to steal some fruit? Yeah, neither can I.

I blame the parents. Bunch of white trash Fagins...

"Go steal some fruit or no Helper for you!"

I suppose I should be grateful it was only fruit they stole, although for all I know they're casing the house too. I guess I'll have to rethink our security arrangement. I thought Jim, forever drunk out in the front yard, would act as a deterrent. It looks like that plan is no longer operational.

Like Wildfire

Well that was fast.

I had lunch with my buddies, the Gossip Girls, on Friday. The following Monday, last Monday, I received an email from my client, the one that had been making booty calls across the street. She said she had a job for me but it was so complex it couldn't be described over the phone or through e-mail. We would have to meet.

That proved not to be true when we met the next day. The job was so simple Helen Keller could've figured it out with an e-mail. But then, that wasn't really why I had been summoned.

"So you live over in ------?" she said.

I had never told her that. She had obviously... heard.

Two days! And over a weekend at that. I have to say I was impressed.

"Why yes, I do" I answered innocently.

"What street do you live on?" she asked.

I told her.

"What's your address?"

I told her.

"That is SO funny" she lied. "I'm dating a guy who lives right across the street!"

She was in complete damage control mode.

It occurred to me I should probably express some surprise that she was no longer with her husband, but really what was the point?

I knew.

She knew I knew.

And I knew she knew I knew.

Besides, the word was she had deleted him as a Facebook friend weeks ago.

Now, in hindsight, I didn't realize what a risk I had taken. She very well could have written me off as a snitch and decided not to do business with me anymore. But my actions had revealed me to be something more than a snitch.

Now I was a source.

'What do you know about -----?" she asked, inquiring about the business dealings of one of my lunch companions.

This Day In Mayhem

Watching the morning news I see that new rankings are out and Bako is third in the nation for car theft.

There's a suspected meth lab burning near downtown.

And scariest of all, a man was gunned down and killed in an alley three blocks from our house. Surprisingly, the cops weren't involved.

We have a word for days like this here.

And that word is "Tuesday".

Random Good Things About Bakersfield #17

Fruit!

I'm not talking about the crop dusted orchards outside of town, or the questionable produce in the market that's been shipped in nitrogen from Chile. I'm talking our own fruit!

When we first looked at the house back in September, it had sat empty for over a year. The front yard was so overgrown and unkept that you couldn't even see the house from the street. The backyard wasn't much better. Shortly after we moved in, we hired a crew to at least clear out the worst of it and it was only then that we discovered we hadn't just bought a house, but we had our own little mini orchard!

We have an orange, a tangerine, an apple, a plum and two fig trees! Plus one mystery tree; it's growing some fruit I've never seen before and no one we've asked has a clue what it is. It may be a kumquat tree, or some alien tree known only to Bako. If you lived here you'd know that isn't such a stretch of the imagination.

Right now the plum tree is so heavy with fruit that the branches are bowed to the ground. We finally went out and picked a bunch and I have to say they are the sweetest and most delicious plums I've ever tasted. Probably because it's about as organic as you can get here. It wasn't so much as fertilized during it's years of neglect. The oranges are wonderful too. The tangerines aren't quite there yet, and we'll have to wait for the fall for the apples.

And then there are the fig trees, one of which is simply massive. We didn't even know what it was until a week ago; we're city boys and not much for figs, so we were completely ignorant. You would have thought I would have a clue - all those years of art history classes and centuries of artists covering up everyone's naughty bits with fig leaves... now it makes sense. The fig leaves are humongous! You could totally hide John Holmes, with room to spare, with these leaves.

So there you have it. We're about as close to a Whole Foods as you'll find for a hundred miles.

Better Late Than Never. Not.

So today is the day. The day we finally hit 100 degrees for the first time this year.

Now everyone can breathe a sigh of relief; we should have crossed this line a month ago and the natives were growing alarmed.

And with over 50% humidity, it should make for a lovely day.

Just. Fucking. Lovely.

Now the new guessing game begins, guessing the first day we drop BELOW 100 degrees.

I have dibs on October 21.

Sunday Inspiration

Such A Deal

My God these people love their yard sales. It seems like every other house in the neighborhood is having one today. It's like the Rose Bowl swap meet out there, with a caravan of cars going house to house to house.

I'm convinced most of the customers are really just scouts from the competition. Picking up deals and then going home and marking it up a buck and putting it back out on the lawn. All they are doing is selling the same crap to each other over and over again.

"Honey, look at this deal I just picked up for $5!"

"Didn't we just sell that an hour ago for $3?"

“So A Roach Walks Into A Bar...”

The exterminators were outside killing things, one hopes. The dogs and I were safely quarantined inside the house. After about an hour there was a knock on the door.

It was Chad, the lead assassin.

"So we dosed you pretty hard" he said. "Keep the dogs inside for at least half an hour and then you should be good to go. Should start seeing a lot of dead bugs very soon."

From his mouth to God's ears.

He then turned serious. "There was, however, one spider's nest in the garage we just couldn't get. I don't think we actually have anything strong enough to kill it. C'mon, I'll show you."

I was horrified.

He led me around the corner to the open garage and pointed to this...



Happy Halloween! I had forgotten it was there.

Chad doubled over with laughter and I admit I cracked up too.

Exterminator humor... who knew?

Chad and his accomplices were soon on their way.

Did it work? Too soon to tell.

"C'mere" said the boyfriend as he flipped on the patio lights last night.

Out on the concrete, scores of cockroaches were scurrying all about. True, it wasn't as bad as Wednesday night, but it still looked like a scene out of "Starship Troopers".

"I think it failed" he said. He seemed totally defeated.

"I don't know, honey" I said. "They seem a little more confused and listless than usual. Let's give it some time."

We did make it through the night without anything skittering across the bed, so that was one small victory. And we did wake up to a higher than normal body count, although not the killing field we had been told to expect. Certainly not enough to make much of a difference.

My fear is that the locals heavy reliance on pesticides has led to mutations that are now beyond the reach of man. Perhaps in the end, Bakersfield exists only as a Stephen King cautionary tale.

A Sight For Sore Eyes

The causes of the latest Bako funk were many.

Primarily it was work related. Business has been booming for the past four months. It's been quite the turnaround from 6 months ago and I am eternally grateful. Getting paid is another matter, but it is what it is. Several weeks I almost had more work than I could handle. Almost. But all that changed this week as we entered the summer doldrums. I wrapped up a huge job and had another put on hold. One of my clients is on vacation and I've yet to hear back on a couple of projects I bid on. All in all it's left me with way much free time. When I was busy I didn't have time to dwell on our current circumstances here in Bako, but this week is different and it doesn't make for happy times.

The second reason is the weather. We haven't yet crossed the triple digit threshold but we've been flirting with it all week. And as the old saw goes, "it isn't the heat, it's the humidity." How someplace that is essentially a desert can have swamp-like humidity is just one of Bakersfield's enduring mysteries.

And finally, the bugs.

The cockroaches have been almost unbearable and we reached our breaking point Wednesday night when the boyfriend flipped on the patio lights and a black sea of roaches went scurrying for the darkness. It was like watching the tide rush out and it was disgusting. More worrying than the roaches has been a new arrival... black widow spiders. They've been multiplying for weeks and some morning's the patio furniture is cocooned in their webs. I'm terrified to let the dogs in the yard fearing they'll poke their noses where they shouldn't and I'll end up rushing them to the vet. Wednesday night the boyfriend issued an edict...

"Tomorrow, you're calling an exterminator. Get them out here ASAP."

His preference was for me to call a local outfit, Banks Exterminators. Why? Because their commercials run constantly and they have an infectious jingle that sticks with you like a bad aftertaste ("Say Hello Banks, and Bye-bye- Bugs!"). I thought that was a dubious reason to pick a service, so yesterday morning, after I posted my sad sack post, I set about the mornings priority... finding an exterminator.

I had just Googled "exterminators Bakersfield" when there was a knock at the door.

When I answered it, there stood a Nordic god! A tall, blond, strapping young buck who looked as if he had just stepped out of an Abercrombie catalog, fresh off the polo field, or maybe lacrosse. He was half my age and ridiculously handsome. He was wearing too tight khaki shorts and an even tighter white polo shirt, which hugged his wide, well-built chest.

"Hi, I'm J.T." he said as he extended his hand.

I have to admit, I was taken aback. You don't often see attractive people here. Especially standing on your doorstep. I probably made a fool of myself like a lecherous old queen, but I just couldn't help myself. I kept staring at his...

Shirt.

Embroidered on the pocket it said "PEST CONTROL".

He started his sales pitch and I just said "Yes".

That seemed to take him by surprise.

"But don't you want to know about our specials?" he asked.

"Sure, whatever, can you start today?" I said.

It really seemed to throw him off his game. He had been trained to go through the whole spiel and was obviously not used to someone capitulating so quickly. He asked if he could come in and go over everything. Sure, why not. Did I mention he was ridiculously handsome?

He pulled up a barstool and I then proceeded to learn more than I care too about roaches and other pests. He confirmed one thing I suspected - the unusually long, cool, wet spring had made the normal roach problem here much, much worse. He also answered one nagging roach question I've had since we moved here. Every morning, particularly during the summer, we'd wake up to dozens of roaches seemingly dead on their backs. When you went to dispose of them you'd quickly discover they weren't dead.

"Yeah, they tend to flip on their backs at night to cool off" J.T. explained.

That's probably all you need to know about Bakersfield... too hot for roaches.

We filled out a contract and he explained they'd start first thing in the morning. And sure enough, they're here right now, going through their elaborate de-bugging routine. I'm so fed up with all the pests they could just go ahead and do an airdrop of DDT on the house and I'd be OK with it.

So hopefully we'll finally get a handle on the bugs. It's it looks like it's going to be a good 10 to 15 degrees cooler today. And I'm meeting with a potential new client later this morning. Taken all together, it appears to have broken the spell. This morning things are starting to look up.

BRB

I woke up this morning in one of my periodic "what the hell happened/how the fuck did I end up in Bakersfield" moods. Eventually it will pass, like a migraine. But until it does, I'm not feeling particularly pithy. Check back tomorrow, or you can go amuse yourselves here. It's the local blog that chronicles the comings and goings of all the movers and shakers and their ne'er-do-well children.

I think you'll agree, it's a "must read".

It's there you'll discover that "...the San Joaquin Valley scored a low 3.8 on a scale of one to ten (ten being the best), a reflection of our lower demographics, high illiteracy rate and high number of first generation immigrants. If the Valley were a state, it would vie for last place on the index with West Virginia."

Wow... I feel better already.

That Should Help...

The city of Bakersfield just hired a mural artist to beautify downtown.

He's blind.

Seriously, what could possibly go wrong?

Gang Bang

Look what popped up yesterday! I am quivering with anticipation.

Before we moved to Bakersfield, I thought Fourth of July fireworks were nothing but a childhood memory. I was under the impression they had been banned in all civilized places. But, lucky for us, this place aint civilized!

They sell fireworks here, and a LOT of 'em. This place goes absolutely bonkers on the Fourth. And they don't limit themselves to the wimpy "safe & sane" fireworks, they go to Mexico (or the nearest Indian reservation) and stock up on professional grade explosives. We were shocked last year to see Disneyland-quality aerials being launched from neighboring subdivisions. Sure, the odd house burns to the ground and fingers go missing, but that's how the Founding Fathers intended it. It's right there in the "Declaration of Constitution" or something.

Last year we were unaware of the local's proclivities and just barely caught the tail end of the festivities. It was an orgy of fire and flames and explosions, streets completely showered in sparks. The entire town was engulfed in a cloud of sulfur and smoke. It looked like Hell's Waiting Room, which, well...

This year we know better and we're going all in. We're going to get some sparklers and cones and candles, some Molotov cocktails and I.E.D.'s... you know, your basic "starter pack".

Global Cooling

I thought it felt a little cooler this morning...

Lawn And Punishment

I hate to admit it, but when it comes to the front yard, I'm a failure.

The first couple of times I mowed the lawn, it was awful. But I cut myself some slack because it had been over 30 years since I'd done it. But it's been 5 months now, and I show no signs of getting any better at it. Whatever Mad Lawn Skillz I had when I was 13 are gone and I don't think they're ever coming back. It's embarrassing.

It's also dangerous. I never appreciated as a teen just how lethal these machines are. I can't believe my parents actually let me operate them unsupervised, and that was back before they added all the modern, idiot-proof safety devices. Every time I mow the lawn I'm convinced I'm going to lose a foot. And the edger? Forget it. That thing scares the shit out of me. I've opted to let the lawn slowly creep onto the sidewalk rather than deal with that death machine.

So despite my best efforts, our yard pales in comparison to the neighbors. Especially the Republicans. All their lawns are neat as a tack. A prime example is Bob, around the corner.

He mows his lawn in a perfect diamond pattern that would be the envy of any Major League ballpark. The lines and angles are so exact you could probably chart the stars with it. Then again, that's one of the qualities you expect in someone of his persuasion... military precision.

There's only one solution that I see... a gardener. I'm going to have to step it up and make more money.

Sunday Inspiration

Baku #11: Summer Begins

Roaches dart quickly.
Baby shit brown, the sky sulks.
Crank the AC, hon.

P.S. I've steadily been increasing the roach count on the background. I've wanted to give my devoted readers a true sense of living here.

Next week they'll get bigger. That's how it works here.

Summertime, And The Livin’ Is... Nevermind

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes the pleasant part of the year in Bakersfield. Thanks for coming. Buh-bye."

The temperature has crept into the 90's and is supposed to cross into triple digits early next week. The air has already turned foul. It's Summertime in Bako.

Actually, we really lucked out this year. We got about 8 weeks of really nice, Spring-like weather. Last year the window between the cold, clammy Winter and the blast furnace Summer was only about 3 or 4 weeks, which the natives tell me is about average.

Actually, the nice weather seems to have thrown the locals for a loop. When the temperature stuck around in the 70's into May, they seemed pleasantly surprised. When we received unheard of rain in May they became a little confused. And once we reached Memorial Day and the weather was still nice, they kind of freaked out. Bakersfield is supposed to be a pizza oven by then.

We may yet pay for the extended mild weather. There's talk of this being a hotter than normal summer. The thought of it is enough to make me reach for a razor blade.

It's been a wacky year of weather and it's only just half over. Record rainfall here in Bako and record snow and floods across much of the country. Biblical twisters down south and now a predicted killer hurricane season. You'd almost think the climate was changing or something.

But here, that's just crazy talk.

The Gift Of Gab

It's really a shame there aren't more gay men here, because this town if overflowing with one of our favorite commodities...

Gossip.

There were many aspects of small town living for which I was ill-prepared, but I have to admit I'm a little shocked at just how up in everyone's business these folks are. In LA, if you're so inclined to do something disreputable, it's easy to slink off into the shadows and do what you have to do and no one's the wiser. Not so here.

I suppose a lot of it is to be expected in a town this small. Everyone knows, or knows of, seemingly everyone else. Everyone seems related to each other through friends, or work, of family or marriage. Or all of the above. And these people know how to dish the dirt.

I befriended several of the woman at the first agency I worked for, and we remained friends after the agency went belly up several months later. We gather for lunch about once a month and I always sit in awe at their amazing knowledge of everyone's peccadilloes. It's like watching "Dallas" or "Dynasty", minus the money and class.

They know who was spotted dining alone with his secretary while the wife was away. They know who was spied down at the Crystal Palace doing jello shots on a school night. They know who keeps a stripper as a girlfriend on the side, but the wife doesn't mind because she's banging the DJ at the Hourglass out in the parking lot. They know who was grinding on boys her son's age over at the Elephant Bar and who just got out of rehab. They know everything!

Now I have to admit that they've been invaluable to me as I've tried to build up my business. In addition to all the sordid dirt, they also know which businesses are doing well and which aren't, who's difficult to work with but pays well, and who's a notorious deadbeat. They've steered me to some valuable clients, and for that I'm grateful. But let's be honest, we meet for the dirt.

Up until now, I was only a spectator. Although I'm slowly meeting more people and have a sense of who everyone is, I just didn't have any dish to contribute to the conversation.

Until a few weeks ago.

One of my clients is well known around town. I met her last year when she was going through a nasty divorce. Then shortly after the first of the year, she and her husband unexpectedly reconciled. They revealed their reunion in true Bako fashion, parading arm in arm up the center aisle of church one Sunday, to audible gasps. The word on the street was everything was hunky dory again.

About a month ago, on a Friday, I had just finished a job for her and e-mailed it off. It was about 3 o'clock and I had nothing pending so I decided to knock off early and take care of some housework. I was outside watering some plants when all of a sudden she pulled up and parked across the street.

Why was she here?

Had I forgotten something?

Was she dropping off a job?

It then dawned on me that she didn't know where I lived.

She got out of her car and I was just about to say something. She was wearing giant Jackie O shades and was glancing furtively up and down the street. She then rushed up to the front gate of the condo across the street, whipped out some keys and let herself in. It was pretty clear from her actions that this wasn't her first time at the rodeo.

I know next to nothing about the guy who lives there. I've only ever seen him once. He appears to be late forties and he drives a BMW. That's all I know.

Maybe it was innocent. Maybe he was a client. Maybe she was just dropping something off. When the car was still there two hours later, it seemed pretty obvious... she was having an affair! But maybe it wasn't her. I snuck across the street to check the car. Here's a helpful hint: If you're going to be carrying on an illicit affair in this town it's probably best to ditch the vanity plates. Especially if they have your NAME on them.

They seem to have a regular Afternoon Delight schedule, Wednesdays and Fridays.

So I was thrilled to finally have my first real scoop. And as luck would have it I was having lunch with the girls the following week. When we finally met for lunch, I eventually got to my story. I told them what I knew and settled back in my chair with the sense of satisfaction of a six grader who just delivered their first book report.

The three of them scowled at me.

"AND...?"

And what?

"What's his name, where does he work, what does he do... we want details!"

I sheepishly told them that that was all that I had.

"Amateur" one of them said with disgust.

Well how was I supposed to get that kind of info?

Exasperated, another of them explained.

"You Google the address, your run the plates..."

Run the plates?!?! What am I? Fucking InterPol?

"Give me the license plate. I have a girlfriend down at the DMV."

These women played to win, and they didn't take prisoners.

I have to say, the whole episode left me a little shaken, but I think I've learned a valuable lesson about prying into other people's lives.

And that lesson is... you can get a shocking amount of information on someone just by Googling their address. I now have his name, employer and school history. I also know what he paid for his house. Maybe I can get his credit score if I have time.

The girls will be so pleased when I see them tomorrow.

Escar-GO!

Having evidently exhausted the Biblical plagues, it was definitely time for something new... snails!

Millions of them. Everywhere. Evidently that poor, distraught woman I crossed paths with back in April was a harbinger of things to come.

No one seems to know why we're under siege. Probably from the above average rainfall we've had this year. Whatever the reason they've been a major nuisance for the past month. In the pre-dawn morning, when I take the dogs out, the front lawn in nothing but an undulating sea of them. They slowly disappear once the sun comes out, going where I haven't a clue. But by evening they're back.

At first I tried to take a zen, more Buddhist approach to them. They're God's creatures too, after all. Now I just don't care. I actually took some sadistic pleasure in mowing the lawn on Sunday, zigzagging across the lawn in an act of snail genocide. We've tried snail poison, but it seems to have no effect. Like all pests here, they've probably become resistant to all the pesticide that's regularly dumped on the city. They've... evolved.

The worst part is now the dogs have taken an interest in them. Not eating them, not anymore. They learned that lesson last week, the hard way. I caught them both munching on them when I let them out in the morning, and they were not happy campers for the rest of the day. Now they just hunt them down and snatch them and toss them around. And they lick them. Why? Who knows. Maybe it's like licking certain toads and frogs. Maybe they get a little high. More power to them if that's the case. The way this week is going maybe I'll give it a shot. Anything to dull the pain.

At any rate, it's probably a temporary phenomenon. The forecast for next week is for more seasonal, thermonuclear temperatures and I'm guessing that will be the end of them.

Pros And Cons

"Livin' the life, Eric. Livin' the life."

I was walking the dogs around dusk last night and passed Jim and his prison buddies hanging out in the front yard, having some beers. I asked him how he was doing and that was his response.

My God, I wish I was that delusional. It would make living here so much easier.

I've learned quite a bit more about Jim in recent months. He spent some time locked up, for what and for how long I don't know and I don't want to know. He's a recovering drug addict and a not-so-recovering alcoholic. Obviously. This morning he was watering the lawn, screwdriver tinkling in hand and it wasn't even 7am. He makes some money scavenging junk with his friends and then trying to sell it, usually by displaying it out on the front lawn. This week it's a half dozen doors and a ceiling fan.

Jim has these impromptu get togethers almost every evening. Actually, they kind of go on all day long.

There was a time when living across the streets from an ex-con would have made me uneasy, but that's just unavoidable here. Seems like half the town has done time at some point. And besides, we consider Jim a friend and his buddies seem fairly genial. With them hanging out all day it's like a full-time Neighborhood Watch and saves us the cost of putting in an alarm system.

The parties used to stretch into the night, but Jim lives with his gay dad Erich and they recently changed Erich's schedule down at Walmart and he has to get up at 3am. So if Jim doesn't wrap things up by around 8, Erich comes out and shoos everyone away so he can get some sleep.

One other thing I learned about Jim is he has a girlfriend. We haven't had the pleasure of meeting her, but Jim says that we will.

In October.

When she gets out of prison.

The Shape of Things To Come

I saw my first "Palin for President" bumper sticker today.

Tough Sheet

Saturday was set aside to do some shopping, always a dismal prospect here.

The bottom line is that you just don't have many options here. There aren't that many stores and they tend to be Cliff Notes, abridged versions of the one you could find in the city. They carry a narrow range of merchandise, so odds are no matter what you're looking for, in clothes, or food, or housewares or anything, they won't have it and have never heard of it. And in the rare instance they actually carry what you're looking for, it will be out of stock. Everything here is perpetually out of stock.

"We should be getting some more in next Thursday" they say.

It's always Thursday, don't ask me why. Maybe giant cargo planes swoop in on Thursdays and do emergency airdrops out in the fields, like a Third World country. Which when you think about it, isn't that far off the mark.

"Yeah, you really need to go to LA for anything. Or shop online. If you shop here you're just going to cry" one lady friend advised me. Boy, was she right.

There's WalMart, of course. Six of 'em. Open 24/7. If you find yourself needing adult diapers or a new set of tires at 3am, it's your lucky day. There are a couple of Targets, and then down at the mall there's a Sears, a Pennys and a Macy's.

When we first moved here and exited the freeway near the mall, I said "Thank God, they at least have a Macy's." But they really don't. It's "Macy's Basement". It's where all the other Macy's from all over the country dump all the crap they were unable to sell, all the outdated fashions and what-were-they-thinking styles and slightly damaged goods. I went in the Men's department once and it was a sea of Ed Hardy bedazzled T-shirts. There may have also been some Member's Only jackets and parachute pants, I couldn't be sure. And it was all piled high on crowded tables like a garage sale.

Luckily for us, it hasn't really been an issue since we've been so destitute shopping for anything hasn't really been in the cards. But lately, things have improved and we finally found ourselves with a little disposable income and some desperate needs. Chief among them... sheets.

We moved here with probably half a dozen sets of sheets, but one by one our cheap appliances have been picking them off. Our sadistic washer beats them to a pulp, and then the nuclear dryer shrinks them to size of dish towels. We were down to one set and it was pretty threadbare. So the boyfriend set off around 10am to find us new sheets.

He came home three hours later, empty handed and near tears.

See, we made the executive decision when we bought our current mattress to go for a "Standard King", as opposed to the "California King" which is all the rage these days. The reason was simple: the dogs. Although they appear small, they have the remarkable ability to stretch to cover half the bed. We needed the extra real estate. We've never had any issue buying sheets for it before. It is, after all, called "standard" for a reason. But not here.

The boyfriend went to two Walmarts, a Target, Bed, Bath & Beyond, Sears, Pennys and Macy's. Nada. It wasn't that they didn't have anything he liked, it's that they had nothing.

I offered to treat him to lunch and see if we could find some other options. And as we were driving around, we came across something new... Homegoods. It a new housewares store from the fashionistas at TJMaxx. It was worth a shot.

So in we went. It's kind of like a swap meet. We saw all the bedding along the back wall and the boyfriend immediately headed back and started digging and within a few minutes... Voila! Standard size sheets! Three of them!

The electric neon green set we immediately discarded. Life is just too short to wake up to that every day. Which left us choosing between the two remaining sets.

"You don't HATE polka dots, do you?" the boyfriend asked.

Not anymore. Not if it was the best we were going to do.

At least it will be easier to spot the dogs. My little dog is the same color as our old sheets, and a couple of times I've flipped her into the air because I didn't see her when I was making the bed. I'm sure she'll be happy now.

That makes one of us.

Sunday Inspiration

Roll With The Punches

Another Friday night, another night on the town. We haven't given up yet.

Tonight, we were in the mood for sushi. Now, we had found a halfway decent sushi place months ago, but it was kind of pricey and the sterile, early 80's, Duran Duran decor left us a little cold. Plus, they didn't serve one of our favorite dishes, shishito... Japanese peppers. I had thought they were a staple of every sushi joint, but they had never heard of them there.

So on this night, the boyfriend whipped out the phonebook (yes, people actually use those here) and made a call to a hole in the wall sushi place he'd spotted just down the street from us. He asked if they had shishito and they enthusiastically answered "yes", so off we went.

I was a little dubious. The restaurant is in a strip mall next door to Home Depot. One of the Home Depots. There must be about a dozen of them here. It honestly didn't look very promising, even though the parking lot was packed. But it turns out looks are deceiving, because once we opened the door we were shocked at what we saw.

The place was huge! Certainly couldn't tell that from the street. Half of the space was a traditional Japanese restaurant with a smallish sushi bar at the back, but the other half was a full on teppan restaurant just like Benihana.

We promptly christened the restaurant "Bakohana".

The place was packed and it seems that the locals think of it as a special occasion place, something that became abundantly clear after about the sixth rendition of "Happy Birthday" rang out. We were seated at a table for two and given menus. We were asked if we wanted something to start. I ordered hot sake and the boyfriend ordered a large Sapporo. And then we ordered edamame and... shishito.

The waitress looked at us blankly. "What?"

Fuck. Really? We explained what they were and she said she would check with the chef, and she soon reappeared and told us that although they weren't on the menu, the chef would happily make them for us. A sense of relief washed over us.

Until they arrived.

They were definitely peppers, but they appeared to be stuffed with deviled ham. Not a great start.

In situations such as these, I leave the boyfriend in charge of ordering. Partially because he's better at it, and partially because I'm too vain to bring my glasses into the restaurant to read the menu. He slowly marched down the list of sushi, checking off the usual, the yellowtail and halibut and spicy tuna and such. And then as he got to the bottom of the list, there it was...

"The Bakersfield Roll".

Oh, we had to have that!

We placed our order and while we waited we tried to imagine what was in a "Bakersfield Roll".

Ground beef?

Tater tots?

Chicken fingers?

The food soon arrived and I'm happy to report, it was all delicious. Even the Bakersfield Roll, although I'd be hard pressed to tell you what was in it. It seemed to have shrimp tempura at it's core, surrounded by spicy tuna and God knows what else. I think there was avocado too. The whole thing was drizzled with a sweet sauce that looked like molé, but that couldn't be right. It doesn't really matter, it was all good.

So I have to say the evening was a success. And I'm happy to report we can now add another "good restaurant" to our Bakersfield list. In a year and a half I think that makes three!

The Vast Wasteland

No, not Bakersfield. Hollywood.

I now have enough time and distance from my former career in Hollywood to finally realize an important aspect of it:

It is seriously fucked up.

I still do occasional work for a handful of agencies in "The Biz". The kids they employ these days are absolute whizzes on the computer, but they can't think for shit. So the agencies come back to us old-timers, the people they laid off, to generate enough ideas to keep the youngins busy. And such was the call I received on Wednesday:

Hollywood: "Hey! You up for working on some ideas for a new TV show? It's a comedy. On Fox."

Me: "Absolutely.... what's it called?"

H: "They don't have a title for it yet."

Me: "OK.... what's it about?"

H: "Single girl discovers her finance cheating on her, moves out and in with her best guy buddy. And his roommates."

Me: "... and the roommates are wacky, right?"

H: "Of course."

Me: "Who's in it?"

H: "Some indie film chick.... don't have her name. She's quirky. The guys are nobodies."

Me: "Where is it set?"

H: "We don't know."

Me: "What do they do? Are they slackers or professionals or what?"

H: "We don't know."

Me: "You're not giving me a lot to work with..."

H: "Just make it funny. The four of them. Funny. And quirky. But no couches. Don't do any ideas with couches. Fox hates couches."

Me: "Huh? Why?"

H: "We don't know."

Me: "So it's kind of like 'Friends'?"

H: "It is, but it's not. Make it 'Friends'-like, without being 'Friends'".

Alrighty then. So, being the consummate professional that I am, I banged out about two dozen ideas, none of them with couches, and emailed them off yesterday.

So this morning they call back.

H: "They LOVED everything. But they want to go a different direction."

Me: "Great... what is it?"

H: "They saw this ad for 'Weeds'.... it's whats-her-name and she's holding a huge chain."

Me: "Why a chain? I don't watch the show."

H: "We don't know. But Fox loves the idea of a prop. A girl with a prop. No guys. Just a girl. And a prop."

Me: "What kind of prop?"

H: "That's up to you. That's why we hired you. Come up with ideas of the girl with a prop."

Me: "But... I know next to nothing about the show, I don't know where it's set, I don't know what this girl's character does. Where am I supposed to find some props if I know nothing about the show?"

H: "Just make it funny. It doesn't really matter."

Me: "So I should just choose random shit? A softball? A whip? A timebomb? What?"

H: "As long as it's funny. The timebomb probably isn't funny. But the whip... that's funny. More ideas like that."

Oy vey.

So I just emailed off my 'prop' ideas. I hope I don't hear back from them. I never thought I'd see the day I'd rather work on John Deere tractor ads than the crap coming out of Hollywood. But such is life.

House Of Blues

The news from the housing market is suddenly looking bleak. Again. Of course, that isn't news here. The Central Valley is ground zero in the housing crash.

When we were looking at homes six months ago I was stunned at the number of foreclosures, most of them selling for a third or quarter what people paid for them at the height of the market. And the news is even worse for new construction.

To say Bakersfield was "builder friendly" would be a gross understatement. At the peak of the market new subdivisions were sprouting almost weekly out in the farmland that surrounds the city. And now hundreds, maybe thousands, of brand new homes sit rotting out in the fields. The homebuilders are so desperate to cut their losses the've been drastically slashing prices for over a year. If you were unfortunate enough to have bought one a year or two ago, you may be looking at an identical house across the street selling for half what you paid.

Assuming there's a house there at all. When the economy tanked the builders pulled the plug on everything leaving many of the housing tracts half built. Your neighbors for the foreseeable future may be nothing but concrete slabs. And those parks and playgrounds and rec centers and pools that were going to be part of "Phase Two"? Well, yeah.... that's not gonna happen. Sorry.

Things here are so bad you can't even give a house away. Seriously.

We're right in the midst of the "St. Jude Dream Home Giveaway". Every year they raffle off a brand new home. Tickets are $100 and the proceeds go to the St. Jude Children's Hospital in Memphis. Last year I remember it was a huge deal where they raffled off a $200K home in a dodgy neighborhood in a live, televised extravaganza.

This year they raised the stakes and the "Dream Home" is valued at $400K and it's located in a nicer neighborhood. Tickets went on sale back in March and evidently things aren't going so well. It would appear that even to the locals, homes in Bakersfield are overpriced at $100.

The first sign of trouble came about a month after the tickets went on sale. Suddenly the prize became "a brand new custom home valued at $400,000... OR $200,000 IN CASH!"

Several weeks later the ads on TV were tweaked and the prize was now "$200,000 IN CASH! (or a brand new custom home valued at $400,000).

And ever since they've been adding new inducements, each time bumping the actual house down to the bottom of the list. The last time I checked it was "$200,000 IN CASH! A $5000 FURNITURE SHOPPING SPREE! $3000 IN GROCERIES! (or a brand new custom home valued at $400,000)."

The actual drawing is on Father's Day, June 19th. It'll be interesting to see how it plays out. If someone chooses the $3000 FoodMax gift certificate over a home in Bakersfield I think it will be a very bad omen.

Then again, not all the housing news is bad. The boyfriend, out of curiosity, punched our address into Zillow and discovered the estimated price of our home has actually risen 10% since we moved in. Now... I'm not one to draw conclusions, but the only thing that's changed is there are now more gays in the neighborhood. I think it's fairly obvious we work wonders on home values.

Just Sayin’

Can't believe I missed this. Oh, right..... I hate Jay Leno.

From a touchy local blog....

* ... JAY LENO: The "Tonight Show" host, remarking on how former Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger's mistress was discovered in Bakersfield, takes this shot at our town: "Neighbors got suspicious when they learned it was the only house on the block not manufacturing meth."

*rimshot*

Short Bus Stop

As cynical as I am, even I have to admit that Bakersfield isn't without it's small town charms, as I discovered this morning.

I was out walking the dogs when a school bus rumbled around the corner. As it was passing by, I heard the air breaks go off and the bus came to a screeching halt right beside us. The driver's window slid open and a pleasant looking woman leaned out.

"I used to have two dogs just like yours and I always enjoy seeing you out walking your dogs every morning. It always makes my day. Today is the last day of school and I won't see you guys for awhile and I just wanted to let you know."

How sweet is that? You wouldn't find that in the big city.

"When I went through my divorce, the husband got the dogs and I got the kids. He's always getting the better end of the deal."

And with that, her window slid closed and she trundled off on her route.

Thank you lady bus driver! You made my day too!