My girl Wanni just brought home a new little kitty from the pound and we've named him Einstien cuz he's a real ladykiller and brighter than most. Just the cutest damn critter I've seen in a long time. I've never had a dog or a cat before so it was yet another bold stroke in my attempt to paint a lush new life for myself. Mind you, I've been eagerly pursuing my "life makeover portrait" for about 7 years now and I must say that, while the rest of the world may be going to smithereens in a sleeping bag, my little slice of paradise continues to improve with every gesture. BUT... The first night home, Einstien charmed the pants off us and I was able to feel a glimpse of the kind of love that I suppose only pet lovers truly know. The next morning I woke up to find a HUGE pile of steaming catshit positioned dead center on my new couch. I moaned and pouted to my girl but finally I just had to laugh. Life and love will always be free but for everything thing else we must pay dearly.

Example: One year ago I was blessed with an unbelievable new place to live. It has all the bells and whistles- great location, nice neighbors, wood floors, washer, dryer, parking etc. There's a coffee house right next door, an awesome video store on the corner (sorted by directors/actors!), trees everywhere, the Gold Line nearby, and every thursday there's a killer farmer's market. My little oasis in the painting, I suppose.

Ah, but there is one caveat. We have one neighbor, Penny (name changed) who has been plucked by God from the nearest television sitcom and lovingly placed in the retirement home next door. Funny thing is she is quite active and far from "retired". Every day she returns home from who knows where and parks her assed out white 90's Hyundai in the back alley adjacent to our house and honks her horn until someone - anyone - comes along to help her out of the car. We feel sorry for the old gal so, of course, Wanni or I will go out and help her along. But here's the rub: she is extremely unsanitary (think pee and fritos). And here's the double rub: she's rather abrasive and just doesn't seem at all that helpless. Can u feel me on this one? It's really fucking with my comfy "I'm-a-nice-guy-patron-saint" image of myself.

Ah, the divine and just balance of good fortune. The Old Man in the Sky blesses us with a lovely house and a bitchin cat but throws in an almost comical, unkept, unretired retiree and a b-side of steaming cat poop to keep all things humble and thoroughly in check.