That's about right?

What I just thought is somewhat, awful, but it may work. I think that anyone voting against women's basic rights, usually health, usually fat old fucks who couldn't pull muscle, must wear a monitor. Catheter it in and measure the level of sexual thrill they get from preventing the basic. If the monitor flags the voter as as loving the No a little too much , pre and such? They will be fired, and put on an odd register. That should sort that bullshit out.

Weather Wanker.

This morning is moving at treacle trudging pace. Why am I up?  I don't want to be up in this weak, slow choke, morning air, though as I type, I can feel the coffee kicking in, making a little more sense of the day. I already kicked going to the improv last night, as it would have been difficult to turn up and perform, as unconscious as I was. Tonight, I want to go to Joe's play, though it depends on how long I can stay in today.
You humid, would be stormy, soup air wanker! Even  my pooch doesn't like you, and spends most of your days snoozing, waiting for the arrival of your way more popular cousin Temperate. Have a bit of a rain, sort your shit out.

Soup.

Yesterday the weather was brutal. Topped out around 93, feeling 95, and breathing through a blocked sieve. That was the day Beth and I decided was the day we should do lots. Tried to start my car, dead. I think it came out in sympathy.
"What on earth are you two doing outside? Go back in, the football and the the air conditioning are on."
With the help of our neighbour, got the car started. Went to my Optometrist and picked up the sample contacts, which I know are going to work out way better. Beth stayed in the car as we were running the battery back in. What next?
Hit the freeways, got a little lost, ended up at a car wash that Beth told me was great. She wasn't kidding. You roll the car onto a conveyor belt, stick it in neutral, and are taken into the future. This car wash is what the Jetsons promised. And?
 Jimmy Johns where they can make a really good sandwich, quicker than you can fill your drink. Home.  Football, air-conditioning and a very nice dinner.
This morning, out playing with Abbey before the apocalypse rolls in. I know its going to be bad, the weather people are doing everything but giggling and licking their lips over it.
Air? soupy but do-able. Am I still going for a haircut and improv this evening? You bet your soggy hat.

Bark-tacula.

Abbey come in! Its 4am and Abbey, groggy but fully engaged, is barking up a dream battle, at whatever smell it is she objects to, in the quiet of a very dark garden. She came in when I insisted that nothing was going on and that her epic early morning barking was reducing our popularity exponentially.
. She came in, headed straight for the couch and crashed out. I'm not convinced she was actually awake at all during any of this. I'm a bit embarrassed about the noise, but quietly impressed that she will stand her ground, conscious or not.

Recycle day you say? Bugger.

The recycle is emptied every 2nd Tuesday. You would think I'd be able to remember that, and put out my bin out the night before. You'd be wrong. This morning , as often happens, the sound of the recycle trucks emptying the bins over the road echoed through my house. Memory restored. Bugger! I've got about 5 minutes to sort this out, or the rubbish can take another 2 week holiday in my garage. Charging(? sort of) down the garden, trailing a dog who thought this must be time to play. Dog sat confused, sorry Abbey, and I bundled into the garage. A massively full, we'd forgotten to put the bin out a few weeks ago, recycle bin sat leering at me.
"Good luck with that," it seemed to say.
Grabbed the handle of the bin and rolled it out into the alley. The weather today is predicted to top 90 degrees, it appears to be starting with some aplomb. Rolled the bin across the alley into its "Empty me now please," space.
Back through the garage into the garden. Abbey sat looking at me.
"Play now?"
Sorry Abbey, having performed a bin move that was ticket worthy, I now need a glass of water and a sit down.
"Oh…"
She'll be passed out in an hour (90 degrees and rising), and can dream of running the garden, with someone quicker than me.

DI-saturated

I went to my Optometrist yesterday, to get my yearly bad/positive? news.
Bad,
"You know there is nothing we can do about your sights except hope for the best?"
Good,
"You can still see? That's me fucked in the sweepstake." (made that bit up)
My prescription has changed, so that the awful is balanced out a little better. And my new glasses look very cool. I then had my eye's dilated, pressure checked and went on my way, looking for somewhere nice for lunch. If you've never had your eyes dilated, you look like a manga cartoon character and you have to wear shades until it wears off. I found a really good American Korean restaurant, the owner is the old head chef from Barcelona and had a fantastic lunch. I left afterwards to head down to high st, The sky above me opened like a bath. Now soaked, sight dodgy at best, I kept walking in order to find a cab before I drowned. Cab found, home in time to get ready to watch the America game, which was great! Eyes have now shrunk back from cartoon level which is good, but I kind of like the look of horror they promote in the unsuspecting viewer.

Playing the cards I'm dealt.

When I was younger, all I wanted was to play in bands with my brother Kev. If I hadn't got ill, I'd be doing that to this day. Unfortunately my hands packed up and I had to think of something else. I'd done improv and really enjoyed  it, but I'd always wondered what doing stand up would be like.
I'm funny with my mates, must be a sign, right? No it isn't. Being funny around your friends is lovely but its not what stand up is. What you need is the ability to take public criticism from hundreds of people, whilst you are learning. Not so much a skill, more being determined, and a little touched.
Even after I knew I had MS I figured, I'll do this, 20 minutes of work a day? I'm in.  20 minutes a day my arse, once comedy has you, you work the whole time, even when you think you are not. Brilliant! I'll do this I thought, and got pretty good at it. MS comes in, comedy over.
Shit what now?  Well, I married the love of my life and moved to America. Good plan, great plan! And? Hmm..
I then read the audition notice in The Dispatch for Shakespeare in the park. I'm English, how hard could that be? Really quite hard, it turns out. Loved doing that, met loads of great people. I'll do this. MS comes in, acting over. Bugger! whats left?
Improv, music, writing and comedy. Outside of the killer neurological nightmare, I'm the luckiest fucker I know.