Jean’s Plan to NOT become an Unplanned Grandmother

Jean walks into the South Street Cafe. Her best friend, Shirley, sits on the couch with a look of frustration. Her calming tea can not calm this situation. Shirley recognizes the look she saw 20 years ago. She sits down and hugs her friend.

Jean: “How far along are you?”

Shirley: “It’s not me. Billy got his college girlfriend pregnant. I’m not going to raise the child. I don’t get it. I made sure condoms were available. On our walks, I point out the young unhappy 20 year old boys pushing baby strollers. I repeatedly told him how many Grateful Dead shows I gave up to raise him and how many Built to Spill shows he will miss if there’s an accident. What could I have done differently?”

Shirley might not be an unplanned grandma if she had bought Built to Spill condoms instead of U2 condoms. Billy hates U2!!!

Jean: “You can put out as many condoms as you want but if you don’t know what type of flavor she likes or the right type of color he likes, the condoms will only collect dust. As far as pointing out pregnant 20 year olds, children can’t grasp the cause and effect. Walk onto a college campus and check out the freshmen in line for a credit card. Unless you are in the room when the kids are getting it on, you can’t guarantee they’ll practice safe sex. To ensure that I don’t become an unplanned grandma, I regulate my son’s testosterone levels. For instance, do you stock your refrigerator with lots of cabbage and broccoli?

Billy and his girlfriend eat a black bean burger, with sauerkraut, avocado, and tomato. A disaster waiting to happen!

Shirley: “Yes, in fact Billy and his girl friend love black bean burgers with lots of sauerkraut and avocado with a side dish of goat yogurt, raisins and figs for dessert.”

Jean: “Oh my!!!” Don’t tell me he also likes free range eggs and mushrooms?”

Shirley: “He loves mushrooms!!!! Yesterday he begged me to make him an omelet with my neighbor’s chicken eggs and insisted that the mushrooms and spinach be sautéed in garlic and olive oil.”

Jean: “Jesus Christ, Shirley what are you thinking? I’m surprised half the women in Bennington, VT aren’t knocked up because of your careless cooking! Here are some basic guidelines to help keep this situation to only one unplanned baby. Foods with B-vitamins, vitamin-D, vitamin-E, zinc, monounsaturated fats increase testosterone. Cruciferous vegetables help decrease estrogen levels. Next time Billy says, “Hey mom can I make us a broccoli couscous casserole,” I would respond why don’t you microwave some tater tots and smother them in high fructose corn syrup ketchup. You see, processed food with lots of sugar is the best way to keep your son’s testosterone levels low. Also keep in mind exercise increases testosterone. Every time my son suggests going on a bicycle ride or walk to the grocery store I insist that he takes the car.”

Shirley: “Are you serious? You govern Jack’s sex drive by regulating his testosterone levels through food and exercise? Does this really work?”

Jean: “Yes, I’ll prove it. Remember how horny Jack was when I fed him healthy food and didn’t let him use my car?”

Shirley: “I do. You were on a first name basis with the folks at Planned Parenthood.”

Jean gets out her iPhone. She dials Jack’s number.

Jean: “Jack, did you see the McDonalds breakfast money I put out by the TV remote control. Oh good. You drove, right? Cool. Well, I’m here with Jean. We’re sitting at the South Street Cafe.  The cafe is playing 80’s Madonna right now over the speakers. The song Erotic just ended. Oh you wouldn’t believe who sat down beside us. That cute barista with the long brown hair and the long long legs. She asked how you are doing. You should come down. The smiley barista doesn’t start her shift for another hour. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. Really you would rather sit on the couch, finish your fries, and surf Facebook. Good boy!”

The End

Don’t become an unplanned grandmother.  Educate yourself on what foods not to feed your son:

http://www.menshealth.co.uk/food-nutrition/what-to-eat/eat-up-to-man-up

http://www.charlespoliquin.com/Blog/tabid/130/EntryId/1953/Tip-560-Natural-Tips-To-Increase-Testosterone-To-Get-Leaner-and-Stronger.aspx

http://www.charlespoliquin.com/ArticlesMultimedia/Articles/Article/801/10_Ways_To_Lower_Estrogen_Toxic_Load_.aspx

http://www.livestrong.com/article/461522-foods-that-increase-testosterone-levels-in-men/

 

 

Birthing Sock Monkey

Cambria, California has an eclectic art scene. An example can be found at the Painted Lily Gallery. Artist Sara Blair-Field takes the imagination to a new place with her sock monkey’s. To learn more about the Painted Lily Gallery and Sara’s work check out

http://www.thepaintedlily.net/Home.html

Special thanks to Ginna Mueller for her assistance.

David Bowie, Funny Mirrors, and a Veggie Burrito at the Old Stone Station

The Old Stone Station became a place of refuge for John

At John’s funeral, friends and family dropped fresh cut flowers into the grave. Willy walked to the edge where the casket lay.  He tightly squeezed a David Bowie t-shirt before relaxing his hands.  Willy let the Ziggy Startdust t-shirt fall into the grave.

Clyde asked perplexed, “What are you doing?”

Willie replied, “John loved David Bowie.  Remember how many times he went to the men’s restroom at the Old Stone Station Restaurant?”

A year ago, Willie, Clyde, and John met on a sunny day on the deck of the Old Stone Station. They each planned on enjoying the best Mexican food served on Friday. Ironically, they all wore Mike Watt yellow cat t-shirts and ordered veggie burritos. The three of them quickly realized this serendipitous moment. Conversations began and three tables became one. A Friday veggie burrito tradition began.

Like a digital clock with a strong battery, Willie, Clyde, and John showed up at the same time every Friday and ordered the same veggie burrito.  The tradition changed when John’s wife left him for a young stud and the L.A. city life.  Depressed, John began to eat 1.5 burritos, than 2 burritos in one sitting.  Willie and Clyde were amazed by John’s overwhelming burrito consumption.

John developed deadly feelings for black beans

John replied in a condescending snarky voice, “How can a person not eat two of a these remarkable creations!  The flavors of the beans, sauces, fresh ingredients, veggie burger and cheese make me forget myself.  I am no longer John who gave 20 years of my life to a woman who didn’t appreciate it.  At the Old Stone Station I am simply a tongue who doesn’t need love – only a burrito.”

The guys noticed John use the bathroom more frequently and lose weight.

One day when John left to the restroom, Clyde asked Willie, “Do you think it’s weird John’s bladder has gotten smaller since his divorce?”

The last known photo of John

Willie, “I don’t think his bladder has gotten smaller.   He frequently uses the restroom because the carnival fees to enjoy a circus mirror in private is ridiculous.  At the Old Stone Station the price of the mirror is included in the price of the meal.  He can laugh and laugh as long as he purchases something.  John’s a huge David Bowie fan. He told the restaurant owner he wants first dibs on the David Bowie shirt in the bathroom.  Notice how he looks at the burritos and mutters the lyric, “Oh you pretty thing your driving your mamas and papas insane.”  I’m a huge Paul McCartney fan.  I would pretend to pee a lot more if a Paul McCartney t-shirt hung in the bathroom.”

John heard most of their conversation and paused before returning. He could not let his friends know of his burrito addiction. He decided to mask his bulimia by becoming a David Bowie fan.

The madness turned John into a David Bowie burrito eater.

A month of Fridays passed.  John looked more skinny and unhealthy.

Clyde finely addressed the elephant in the room, “John, what’s wrong with you.  You have grown into the body of 17 year old girl who wants to be a model.”

John snapped, “I look like David Bowie on heroine.”

John went to the bathroom muttering a David Bowie song.

Clyde said, “Willie I have a crazy thought.  Did you see how fast John ferociously devoured his burrito?  He reminds me of my cat, Henrietta. She can eat a can of canned cat food like John can scarf down a burrito. When she can’t eat anymore she sneaks off and pukes up her food.  Do you notice how John eats and eats then leaves to go to the bathroom?  Does John remind you of my cat?”

Willie, “I’ve never met Henrietta but I do know John reminds me of David Bowie on heroine.”

The End.

John’s now in Happy Burrito heaven.

Old Stone Station
713 Main St.
Cambria, CA 93428
1-805-927-4229

Special thanks to Gillian Rowley’s edits.  Check out her blog Allergy Bites

Welfare Walking

The beach in this area cannot be accessed by private land. It’s not fair that only the welfare walkers can enjoy the beach.

“Oh, no,” I think as I walk past the public bathroom. “I didn’t take my morning shit.  I hate it when I get distracted. Now there’s an uncomfortable pressure in my bowels and something brown pushing for freedom.”

Earlier this morning Buddy wrote on Facebook, “I’m fatigued from working lots of hours with only a little rest to watch a sports game. I feel like a limp hot dog after working ten hours to support the Democratic lazy welfare folks.”

Buddy got me thinking about my own lifestyle.  Maybe I need to be more accountable for my actions.  I don’t want to add to my overweight, over stressed friend’s poor health.  I have a job, pay taxes, and do not live off the government in the hand to mouth sense, but I’m a big fan of former Idaho Democratic Senator Frank Church and former Idaho House of Representative Nicole LeFavor.  Right there that’s a big red flag.  Somehow I must be mooching off the system, making my friend work extra hours.  There’s got to be something I can improve on.  Then it dawned on me.  Maybe Buddy is overweight because he won’t compromise his Republican small government principles for his health.  A simple example would be state owned land or state funded projects that people walk on.    Buddy always reminds me that the benefits of small government are greater than the practices of Democratic big government.  I’m sure this applies to over-bloated big government expensive walking budgets.  Just as I decided to revise my walking habits, the Colvils drove by.

The Colvils live up the road from me.  I am one of three or four of their closest neighbors.  They own a large swath of land between the East Village and West Village.  The property has a conservation easement and there are miles of established trails surrounded by a barbed wire fence.

I frantically waved at the Colvils. They stopped.

“Hey Mr. Colvils, this is Mark, your neighbor down the street.  I’m going to go on a  Republican walk.    I need to find some private property big enough to get the heart rate going.  My home is right across the street from your forest.    Now I know a lot of Republicans who can’t afford miles of private land for walking rent a small piece of property at the gym called a treadmill.  I find that TV’s and walls cannot soothe my soul like the sight of a deer or a living forest.   I promise to keep on the established trails.  I’ll even pay you a couple of bucks for wear and tear on the forest.”

Mr. Colvils looks irritated.  “Leave my miles of forest alone.  If I catch you on my forest I’ll have you arrested.” He drives away.

Disappointed after the Colvils conversation I decided to head out on my walk.  I got to the edge of my white picket fence gate.  I reached out with my big toe.  I hesitated.  I figured as soon as it touched the public sidewalk, I would crumple over in guilt and be ravaged by unpatriotic emotions like a baptist with a broken down car who walks into a bowling alley to use the pay phone.  The baptist knows his guardian angel will leave him at the door but he wants to get home to see his family.  I stepped onto the sidewalk.  Surprisingly my big toe didn’t burst into flames and I didn’t start sobbing about being a bad bad Republican sinner.

This brings us back to that uncomfortable feeling in my bowels which now takes on the animal spirit of a turtle.   I walk into the nearest shop.  The bathroom sign reads: “for paying customers only.” I pull out my wallet.  I have $30 cash plus my debit card.   I buy an Americano handed to me in a to go cup.  The destruction of a tree and $2.50 is well spent for a privatized shit even though the public bathrooms are free and a disposable cup would not have been wasted.

Continuing the walk I notice some garbage.  I am not going to throw it away in the public trash can but choose to carry it home to dispose of in a patriotic American fashion.  The three beer bottles and one used condom become cumbersome.  I see a Romney Ryan sign in a yard.  My initial reaction is, “Thank God for a Republican walker.”  I knock on the door.  I  hear several locks unlock.

“Hello, I noticed your sign.  I too am a Republican walker.  I don’t want to burden the taxpayer with three empty beer bottles and one used condom.  Can I give you this trash to be disposed of in a privatized manner?”

The woman glances at me, then at the condom and back at her five blonde blue-eyed children.  In a nervous tone she says, “If you don’t get off my property I’m going to call the cops.”

I drop the the trash and run.

At the beach big waves are breaking and the harbor seals are barking.  I’m tired.  I want to sit down on the public bench or stretch out on the public sand.  The only private space I can find is a restaurant that luckily has a deck with an ocean view.  I look over the menu and see that there is nothing organic or local.  I decide to get a baked potato because Idaho is a Republican state.  I don’t understand why big farms tend to vote Republican.  Big farms are synonymous with big government support.   Shouldn’t agribusiness farms support the Democratic Party?  Small local farms are synonymous with no government or small government.  Republican walking is one thing but I don’t know if I’m ready to eat a big agribusiness Republican diet.    I’m just going to enjoy my potato and hope that the cheese and sour cream covers up the taste of fertilizer, pesticides, GMOs, hormones, antibiotics, and illegal migrant workers.

I leave the beach disappointed.  The beach in this area cannot be accessed by private land.  My feet miss the feel of the sand and the splash of the water.  There’s got to be some way for a one-percenter to buy up some oceanfront property, then charge us ninety-nine percenters a small fee to walk on their beach.  It’s not fair that only the welfare walkers can enjoy the beaches in this area.

I start my trek home midday underneath the blazing sun.  I become insanely thirsty for some water.  I stop at the gas station convenience store.  A bottle of flavored water costs three dollars.  Refreshed, I round the corner to see a family in nice Gap clothes, obviously lower-middle class.  They are lined up in front of the public drinking fountain.  I mutter, “Fucking free loaders.  They can afford Gap clothes and probably have cable TV but can’t buy water.  That woman, who calls herself a mother, needs to get her tubes tied if she can’t provide water for her kids without government assistance.  It’s that family’s welfare walking antics and a socialist-leaning walking government that is destroying this country.”

I yell,  “Victory to the Republican walker!” as I march down the street.

Bacteria Lovin’z

Bacteria Lovin’z illustrated by Rebecca Fritz

And the doctors say
take this pill
it will make you momentarily sane
till you get the bill

And the doctors say
take a vacation
it will make you momentarily sane
till you go back home

And the doctors NEVER say
lower your stress with a little lovin
lower your blood pressure with  a little cuddlin
replace lost bacteria by kissin her mmmmmmm

I want to be a little baby
right out of the womb
antibiotic and chlorine free
won’t you help me please

I need to kiss your bacteria
And lick your bacteria
I need your lovin for my gut
And I need your smile for my soul

We are just two parasites
that need each other to grow

South Pine Cafe Omelet Review located in Nevada City, California

I glance up at a woman who sits down at the table next to us.  She has a look that could easy blend into any line at the grocery store, pass through airport security, and possibly teach a Sunday school.  I smile at her and return to the joys of my South Pine Cafe Omelet.

This particular omelet delights my palette with mushrooms, spinach, red onions, corn salsa, jack cheese topped with red/green pesto.  Despite the delicious taste of the pesto my eyes keep looking at the woman.  What about her holds my attention.  She has a middle class put together appearance.  It not like she’s is wearing a midwestern militia patch.  She laughs and engages in friendly banter.  Then my eyes become fixated on the stack of napkins by her plate.

That’s it the napkins!  How odd for a person who looks so well adjusted to need such a huge pile of napkins.  Obviously she’s on a date with her life skills coach mastering the technique of public breakfast edict.

I whisper to Jackie, “Check out the pile of napkins.  A stack that large requires a big mess.  Watch out at any moment she may start pouring ketchup all over her face or hurl bits of omelet at the other tables.”  As I say this I pretend to hide behind Jackie’s back dodging chunks of egg.

Jackie laughs, “I guess we’ll see.  Did you know my mouth to hand eye coordination is so advanced that I wager I only need to use a half a napkin from start to finish?”

I didn’t make the wager.  Jackie is so clean that she can go four days without taking a shower.

6 cups of coffee, 2 clean plates and a half used napkin later the woman across from us finishes without incident.  She takes the pile of napkins and tosses them on her plate. To my disappoint I look at Jackie, “Let’s go.  That was anticlimactic.  I don’t understand why the woman across from us tries to pass her self off as mentally challenged?”

That afternoon as I sit naked with my toes in the Yuba River and reflect upon the pile of napkins.  I wonder how much of the environment is destroyed out of fear and paranoia of a ketchup dribble.  Why don’t people simply use a napkin as they dribble.  One napkin at a time?  Does the madness end with the napkin?  What about sanitary napkins?  What about adult incontence pads?  7% of landfill waste is attributed to adult diapers.

It saddens me to observe the woman at the restaurant toss perfectly good napkins but it disturbs me more to think she might daily put on a precautionary adult diaper then throws it away because she’s afraid some poo might dribble out of her ass onto her pants.

Click on this link to learn more about adult diapers and how worms can eat a diaper.

http://www.treehugger.com/clean-technology/adult-diapers-clog-landfills-too.html

South Pine Cafe
Nevada City, California
110 South Pine Street
Nevada City, CA 95959
530.265.0260
Hours:
8am – 3pm 7 days a week

Singer Song Writers at Play at the KREUZBERG

For those of you who couldn’t make last nights Songwriters at Play here’s a taste of what you missed.

Thank you Steve for the invite to play!

Songwriters At Play are fun shows, held every week. Pro songwriter Steve J Key hosts top local talent from California’s Central Coast region, and touring professional artists.

Here’s the press release about the July 17 show:

SONGWRITERS AT PLAY

Tuesday, July 17th, 2012

Kreuzberg CA

Seattle Soulful Country Singer Joy Mills in SLO - 6:30-9:30pm

685 Higuera St.
San Luis Obispo California 93401
805.439.2060

Price: Free!

Seattle’s Joy Mills and her band The Starlings wowed us a couple of years ago, and now Joy returns with a new solo CD, Trick of the Eye. She calls it “balladeering and soulful country songs about the ethos and modern myth.” Or perhaps you can judge her by the company she keeps — Joy has shared stages with Todd Snider, The Avett Brothers, Fred Eaglesmith, The Wood Brothers, and Eilen Jewell. Preview her new tunes at 
http://joymills.bandcamp.com/

 An all-star lineup of performers is set for July 17: Holly Ann Phillips, New York’s Julia Poorman, Chicago’s Captain Ambivalent, Atascadero duo Young Ireland, and Cambria’s Brandon Follett. Songwriters At Play showcases are held every Tuesday, 6:30-9:30pm at Kreuzberg, 685 Higuera St., San Luis Obispo. 805.439.2060. The showcase includes one featured act and 5-6 others playing 4-song sets. There is no cover charge. All ages are welcome.
http://kreuzbergcalifornia.com

“Cambria Doesn’t Stink” says my Nose

unhappy stressed out nose

Dear Brandon,

I have an unhappy nose. It has become resentful of the rest of my body. My nose recently pointed out over the last several years:

-my legs hiked the Pacific Crest Trail.
-my eyes got to see works of art at the Louvre Museum in Paris.
-my brain went to the Smithsonian in Washington DC.
-my belly and tongue tasted the Portland, OR food truck scene.
-my arms and chest went on a sea kayaking trip in the San Juan Islands.
-my heart went on a weekend date to Atlanta, ID.
-my toes regularly go to the beach.
-several times a month my fingers go to the petting zoo and recieve a manicure.

Physically the jealousy has manifested itself into stress. Besides my nose being unhappy it’s now ugly. Covered in blackheads. I have promised my nose a vacation. Please help me by answering a few questions.
-Does the BSI use cleaning products with misleading smells that might confuse my nose by making it think it’s in a rainforest?
-Does Cambria have oil refineries, pulp mills, 8 lane freeways, and feedlots?
-Do the ally’s in Cambria smell like piss similar to SF’s ally’s?

Thanks in Advance,

Francisco De Lovely

Hello Francisco,

No, to all the above.  I too forgot I had a nose. One day I had no inspiration. I went to Moonstone Beach to sit in solitude and listen to the small voice found in my heart. That afternoon on the beach my heart whispered nothing profound. However my nose breathed in the smells of Cambria and sniffled out this song. Below are the lyrics and a recording of the song. I now follow my nose instead of my heart.

See you soon,

Brandon

What’s that You Say Nose?

What’s that you say nose?
It might not be good
to live, eat, drink and fuck
by that fuckin smell.

Little baby isn’t cute who wears a smelly diaper.
Hot woman with inflamed tonsils has a smelly kiss.
The man with gangrene has a stinky leg.
Spoiled milk has a pungent smell.
The smell of moldy lentils makes me want to hurl.
My nose has taught me
to stay away from these bad smells.

What’s that you say nose?
It might not be good
to live, eat, drink and fuck
by that fuckin smell.

Cigarettes are smelly.
Agro business is smelly.
Polluted rivers are smelly.
Cheap perfume tested on animals is smelly.
Bombs and blood are smelly.
Growing up I was told my nose has smelled wrong.
They say breathe in the smell of progress.

What’s that you say nose?
It might not be good
to live, eat, drink and fuck
by that fuckin smell.

A performance of What’s that You Say Nose?

I Love the Dirt at the Fiscalini Ranch Preserve

One of the many stunning views at the Fiscalini Ranch Preserve.

My love for dirt started at a young age.

When I was two my parents moved from the paved environment of the Bay Area to the rural lands of Boise, Idaho. An acre of dirt made their eyes grow large, much like a kid at a candy store. Yet unfortunately too much candy can cause a bellyache. Finding the balance between raising a family, working 9 to 5, and managing a plot of dirt was tricky; Something had to give. Luckily the strong bonds that had developed (from what I assume is child birth and breast feeding) could not be broken.
They decided dirt had to go. My family moved into a less “dirt-y” environment: Suburbia.

And despite the move my family still loved dirt. Whenever there was extra money burning in our pockets we spent it on dirt. We became weekend dirt warriors. For as many weekends as possible we eagerly traipsed on dirt for family events & relaxation. The dirt around Stanley, McCall, & Cascade, Idaho became our home away from home.

Even the annual family vacations became dirt-focused. During one of my favorite vacations we explored the dirt between Boise, Idaho & deep British Columbia. There we discovered that Canadians harbor a well-kept secret; their abundance of beautiful dirt.
They call their dirt the Canadian Rockies.

As an adult I still love dirt.

For example, when I was living in Girdwood, Alaska I kept pet worms.  Sometimes people would blindly say, “Your pet worms are more boring than a hibernating turtle.”

My response? “I love dirt.”  Plain & simple.

Here are a couple of links to a few of my favorite dirt adventures:

Yum Yum Colostrum:  A Volunteer Experience at Coonridge Orginic Goat Dairy

Atlanta, Idaho Bicycle Journey

Highwway 26 the Bicycle Tour from Boise, ID to Portland, OR

One of the (many) reasons I live at the Bridge Street Inn is for its bountiful, beautiful dirt. In front of the Inn there’s a white picket fence not to keep in the 2 1/2 kids, control the growing herbs or fence in the dog but to keep out the pavement.

Just three blocks from the BSI are some winding dirt trails that lead to the edge of North America’s western shore.  It’s a great opportunity to see the blooming milk thistle or listen to the birds chirp.

Cambria, California has an amazing section of dirt to explore called the Fiscalini Ranch Preserve.  Click on the link to view photos and trail maps:

http://bridgestreetinn.wordpress.com/2012/04/27/i-love-the-dirt-at-the-fiscalini-ranch-preserve/

I Need a Virus to Slow Down

The Pacific Coast Highway and Main Street in Cambria are a never ending source of creative inspiration.

I Need A Virus To Slow Down
 -Inspired by the flowers smack-dab in the middle of Main Street-

To make a road safer
You don’t -
Widen
Install
Repave
Repaint.

You fuck up the road!

With -
Potholes
Rocks
Planter boxes
Grazing deer.

These obstacles
slow a vehicle
down to a safe crawl.

When a relationship
moves too fast,

Sometimes I need
a snotty nose
to slow down
the Lovin’.

A good virus
to produce
Some chunky phlegm
To dribble down the lip.

Something a
condom can’t protect against.

Something to press down upon
the horny brakes.

A pause to make me ask,
“Am I really in love?”