Bah, Humbug!

cat

Happy Holidays!

Trying to get into the holiday spirit by putting together Rie Waits’ and my annual Christmas duet. Making progress. Got the basic tracks down and tweaking it here and there. Hope to have it ready by next weekend, maybe sooner. We’ll see.

Snowed a bit today in the Philly area.  We got only about 2″ in Andalusia, not enough to plaster pictures of the snow onto Social Media like most everyone does when even just a coating exists. Planning on visiting Sarobia tomorrow to get some exercise and photographs. Probably the white stuff will be all melted by the time I get out there.

Been sitting on my backside all day, playing with musical instruments. I guess that can be considered exercise, especially with the drum track I put together. Felt like the Little Drummer Boy.

Was lucky that the pains-in-the-butt downstairs went out today, allowing me to pound on the electronic drum set and not worry about getting evicted by their renewed complaining to the apartment-complex management office about my noise-making, like the last time I drummed while they were at home during the day.

This afternoon I heard their front door slam as usual when the left. Peeked out the window to see their driving away. Hallelujah, it’s party time!

I learned not to drum at night from their calling the cops on me; definitely not pleasant company to be found knocking at my door at 10:30 P. M. The first time the neighbors called them, I had headphones on and didn’t hear the patrolman’s initial knocks, which turned into pounding before I realized the policemen were there.

The second time they called the law, I was playing my guitar softly, not drumming at all. Maybe it was my singing that got to them. This time I heard the knocks on my front door right away. I couldn’t believe they had called them again. I was making a concerted effort to be as quiet as possible, but no cigar.

The management office served me a notice, stating I had violated my lease after over twenty-one years of living here, by making excessive noise; and I’ll be out in the street the next time they receive a complaint. Nice to have friendly neighbors and an understanding landlord. With the rent I’ve paid during all that time, I should be owning this flat.

Most likely, I’ll be out of here anyway when my lease is up in the spring. Someone had been letting the air out of my car tires. Fortunately they are “run-flats,” meaning they’re roadworthy without air temporarily for about 50 miles. I’m willing to bet on who has been doing that; although, I’ve yet to catch them, not to mention people keying the still, almost pristine paint job, leaving new scratches every time I look at my automobile.

Ended up buying locking valve-stem caps and put them on the Cooper. Haven’t had any trouble since; however, I wouldn’t be surprised to find a knife-puncture. Sucks to have enemies.

Anyhow, ’tis the season to be jolly. Bah-humbug!

Got my Christmas cards mostly done. Still a few to send out. Been shopping for gifts throughout the year, so I’m finished with that already. Used to wait until the last minute, forcing my having to fight the crowds on Christmas Eve.

‘Twas an annual tradition for me to do that. Didn’t feel like Christmas otherwise; but I’ve gotten older and much wiser, methinks, and try to alleviate whatever stress that’s unnecessary. These old bones can take only so much anymore.

For this weeks cover, I redid one from a while ago, called, “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” exactly the way I feel right about now. Allow me to share it with you.

Hopefully next week’s journal entry will include Rie’s and my Christmas duet. Until then, thanks for stopping in to read this, and for your continued support.

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About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at Lulu.com.
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