family ties that blind

I am feeding two dogs for ten days. My stepbrother and his boyfriend, along with my other stepbrother and his wife, have gone to Maui for a winter vacation.
They complained bitterly – the two men partners, that is – about the neighbors, just before they left. It seems one of the neighbor’s occasional live-in friend (and an employee I assume in the restaurant our neighbor owns here in town) parked her across the street in front of our parents’ house, instead of in front of her friend/employer’s house.
My one stepbrother and his boyfriend love to complain about the neighbors. I can’t quite figure out what it is, but they can always find something. Or one of them always does something to set off the kvetchingsturm, like this time, when one of them parked her car across the street from our house, instead of across the street from their house.
G. has even gone so far as to leave notes on their trash cans (please don’t leave these in the street, especially if they are going to be five inches into our side of the property line [the wind blew it away – they never saw the note {I asked}]), or stuffed a “request” into the mail slot on the front door (it would be better for the entire neighborhood if you did not leave trash all over your front yard [I think the dog may have eaten that one]), or this time, when he went and rang their doorbell at 7:30 on the morning he and my other brothers and sisters were scurrying around to leave for Hawaii. Oh I am so sorry I did not realize you used that space to turn around and get into your little parking spot there please forgive me.
“She’s Lesbianese,” my boyfriend-in-law growled and then laughed.
I smirked, “You know what the capital city of Lesbanon is?”
He stopped. No, what, Danial?


“¿No has tomado nada?” my lady love from Tijuana asked me.


This flu just isn’t that bad, yet, and I always prefer to keep my eye firmly on what the symptoms are.

Especially this flu, the first I have caught in many years, and which has a reputation of coming in two stages. The second, they say, is much worse.

six weeks

If things all pan out, in six weeks I will be in San Miguel de Allende, participating in the writers’ conference and its workshops.

But I still need to learn whether I will be paid or not for the work I am just finishing now.

If I don’t get paid, it would be almost impossible for me to go. I would have to borrow the money and then repay it after I got paid. But if I don’t get paid, I could not repay, and so, there it is: if I don’t get paid I cannot go.

So I have not officially registered for the conference yet.

But time is running out.