I was listening to Leonard Cohen last night. If you don't know who he is, listen to The Future. He's a spoken word poet turned musician who has this amazing, gravelly voice that makes my toes curl even though I know he's like 75. That does not, however, stop him from being a total pimp. Somewhere back in the 90s, when he was in his 60's he went on some talk show, maybe Letterman, and arrived with Rebecca DeMornay on his arm. They were engaged, no joke. I don't think they actually got married, she woke up one morning and said, "Dude. He's 65, even if he has the voice. Maybe I better not go there."

Imagine if some old lady was sporting a boytoy on her arm, some 35 years younger. Would we think she was a pimpette or a dirty old lady? I totally want to be as cool as Leonard Cohen, even when I'm old. You ever notice that some people age and others just get old? I really don't want to turn into some old bat that talks about (a) people's gall bladders and (b) my own gall bladder and (c) how many people I know that have died. And then old people wonder why relatives never come see them. I hope somebody has the heart to shoot me if I ever get like that.

This is pertinent because of the cranky old guy who lives next door to me. We live next door to the Consulate of Nepal. Yes, he's actually a government official and he handles the complaints of Nepalese citizens living in Mexico. He's like the embassy, only smaller. There has to be a certain population to support an embassy. Otherwise you get a cranky old dude as your "Consulate."

So I'm totally in an old school vendetta against this guy, even though I didn't actually start it. Apparently the cranky old dude who lived in my house (before I moved in two years ago) put the trash basket too close to his front gate as a mortal insult. (We have high-off-the-ground wrought iron baskets, very decorative, hung on posts, where you put the trash because there are a lot of wild dog packs in the city that roam the street and will get into the bags if you let them.) Since the pole the basket hangs on is rooted in the ground on a cement block, old Mr. Nepal had best get over it because we're not moving it. Our failure to move said basket (even though its lodged in the ground on a cement block!) seems to have sparked Vendetta No 2. Now he bitches at me anytime he catches me outside, sometimes in his drawers, usually regarding what's IN my trash basket. Honestly, I'm not in charge of the trash in my household. My maid takes it out and the garbage guys collect it on a daily basis.

But old Mr. Nepal will come out of his house to bitch because it's not tidy enough. I'm like, "What the hell, it's TRASH. You want a ribbon on it?" Then he will further cheese me off by saying, "Have your girl take care of it." That makes me want to sock him in the jaw because my "girl" is probably fifty and she's a very nice lady who works twice as hard as anyone else I know because her husband is disabled. The lack of respect in his tone makes me want to kick him. So I put out a bunch of really stinky meat the next day since I'm not allowed to go around starting international incidents with the Nepalese Consulate.

This glimpse into my life serves as a segue, believe it or not. See, I put this Google code on my site, and now I know where my readers are. And to my amazement, I have a BUNCH of them. They must lurk because they don't comment, but wow, was I excited. I am international, baby! The keyword is "international." Say it with me, boys and girls.

So here's a shout to my readers, worldwide. Yo, I got people in Tokyo, Seoul, Kampong Bujit Hijau, Aalsmeer, Galway, York, and of course all over the US, Canada and Mexico. What, no love from Australia? Damn. I gotta work harder. So here's the thing, my sweet lurking friends. I want you to say hi, even anonymously cos I'm happy as hell you're here.

PS - If you came here looking for Ebook Thursday, check on Bam's site. I've got a review over there.

Labels: Ebook Thursday, random