Summer Vacation Time Is Here

Kellie's Blogging Court

Some bloggers blog anonymously. Well, it's probably no secret that I've taken the full public disclosure route for Living in Kellie’s World.  Not totally though; Kellie still has veto authority, and so far she's only exercised it once – to reject my post about certain bodily functions that sometimes go awry while traveling. But I didn't delete it. The draft is still sitting there waiting for me to say "screw it" and publish it anyway. And since I’m finding it very difficult to write during the summer, the urge to override her veto is very tempting. Too bad she’s also in charge of the Supreme Court.

We leave for our summer vacation on Saturday, and in the past, vacations have been good fodder for my blog. I’m keeping my fingers crossed. In case you missed them, here are some of the escapades from past vacations.

The French Holiday 
The French Holiday – Part 2
Love and Marriage
A Series of Unfortunate Events 

Wish me luck.

Auntie Linda

Today's story isn't a typical Kellie's World piece, but when I sat down to write, this is what came out.

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Top to Bottom: Linda, Joe and Tony

Call me Auntie Linda she insisted. That was difficult because she was only two-and-a-half years older than me. My mother’s only sibling felt more like my sister than my aunt. Linda lived on Essex Street with my grandparents, and I lived on Ridgewood Avenue with my immediate family. We were only a few blocks apart, walking distance for Brooklyn back in the early sixties. Living so close, we saw each other frequently, and while we played well together most of the time, occasionally we fought. When she pissed me off I’d pound my fist in her back, smack between her shoulder blades, taking her breath away. Then my mother and grandmother would argue about who was at fault.

Johnny Depp? Please.

Matthew McConaughey - I get it.

Most of the time I understand why women swoon over certain hunky actors. Matthew McConaughey - I get it. Hugh Jackman, wet (don’t ask me why this is a necessary criteria) - I get  it. But Johnny Depp - I don’t get it. He's always struck me as being a little light on manliness, but women seem to love him. Over 40% of the images in my Facebook news feed are pictures of Mr. Depp. It would appear that a large percentage of the women in my age cohort have contracted a virulent infatuation with Mr. Depp. Kellie is one of the afflicted and her condition has reached an advanced stage.

The Bullfight

Kellie and Joe

I am The Bull. Unfortunately, Kellie is The Matador. And if you know anything at all about bullfighting, you know that the bull never leaves the ring alive; although, I do occasionally get lucky and give her a good goring. Whenever Kellie wants to get her way, she slowly wears me down, lancing me repeatedly, bleeding away my resistance until enfeebled and exhausted, my slaughter becomes inescapable. 

Vacation With Kellie

Just because I haven't blogged about traveling lately, that doesn't mean that Kellie has not been busy filling out her vacation dance card for the remainder of the year. Here’s what it looks like so far:

Downhill

Lesson Learned

It’s Kellie’s World, and that usually means I do as Kellie desires. When I ignore that simple rule and neglect to conform to my wife’s wishes, I usually find myself imperiled, as I did during a skiing and snowboarding trip to Squaw Valley several years ago.

Part III Of My Colonoscopy Trilogy: Routed

This is the third and final post about my colonoscopy. The previous two posts were written before the procedure; this one was written in hindsight.  (post 1, post2)
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Anxiety gripped me as the day of rectification approached. I wasn’t concerned about complications or pain; I was worried about the emotional trauma that comes from getting violated. Butt thanks to a heavy dose of Midazolam, my memory of the event has been wiped clean, leaving no track marks of the dirty deed.

That's Not How You Do It

Photo Credit

Kellie, tears streaming down her cheeks, begged me to release her from her misery. I often have to take responsibility for life’s unpleasant tasks, so I gallantly stepped forward to cut a red onion for her. Pressing into my first slice, Kellie started to say something. In my head, I heard a needle dragging across a record; Kellie was taking exception to my technique for hacking produce. “Hey, that’s not how I slice an onion.” 

Rock My World

About 430 miles into our 970 mile trek from Gold Beach, Oregon, back to our home in San Diego, we decided to stop for the night. When you wait until midnight to find a room, you pretty much have to take whatever you can get. We found a Motel 6. Too wound up from driving to go to sleep, we sat in bed with our computers on our laps, sipping Smoking Loon cabernet from plastic cups.

John Hutchison's Ray Guns Silenced

Today's post is an update of Monday's saga: My Neighbors Have Ray Guns. You may want to read that post first.

John and Nancy Hutchison
Photo Credit

The sheriff finally came for a visit and forced my neighbors, self proclaimed scientist (crackpot?) John Hutchison and his gang, to turn down the volume on the homemade ray gun they claimed was cleaning the Pacific Ocean. My neighbors complied with the deputy’s request, telling him that the ray gun had already decontaminated land and sea all the way up to the North Pole. It was a bittersweet victory. On the one hand, I’m grateful for the silence, but, on the other hand, I may have lost the most fertile source of blog material imaginable. Now, with the ray gun operating at reduced power, who knows what ill awaits us?