C. Michaels's Blog, page 3
October 2, 2013
Shootout In Mazatlán!
My dear friend, designer of a beautiful new clothing line, recently spent two days on a photo shoot for her new website. Here are some of the players planning the photo shoot. But first, I have to tell you a few stories of the glitches prior to our arrival at this beautiful hotel.
One of the models and her husband stopped at a restaurant for breakfast before the shoot (he has low blood sugar and must eat when his body screams at him). The waiter said he could serve them but wanted to know what food they would order before they sat down. "Why would you ask us that?" the husband inquired.
"Why sir, it is early," the man replied. "I still need to run to the store to fetch the food that I will cook for you."
Ha! I just love this town! His story reminded me of the time I sat down to have lunch at an outdoor cafe. Soon after I ordered a beer, I noticed the waiter running across the road to purchase the beer at a small convenience store!
Next, when I arrived at the home where we were to gather, it was pure chaos. There were accessories spread all over the dining room table. I looked at the mess in amazement, and thought, "Right, all these are going to go home with the right owner."
Then I heard a cry. The bathroom door had been locked from the inside, no one could enter. "Ah ha!" the man with the low blood sugar cried. He found a butcher knife and used it the way one would use a credit card to break into a locked room. It worked! The joke in the room became how to pronounce the word, knife. Mind you, we were a multicultural group in the room. The Spanish speaking players were told how to pronounce the word in English. Then I heard it pronounced in English but with Spanish phonics. It came out as, Ka knee fay! Oh, what fun. If only we all spoke English with Spanish pronunciations... it would be so much easier to learn.
The man with the low blood sugar (he had forgone the hotel breakfast) then found some week old bread in the kitchen, and politely pretended to rave about it's flavor. Maybe his blood was happy so he confused it for his taste buds.
We were soon ready to make our way to the shoot, a beautiful hotel in the Golden Zone, situated on the shores of the Sea of Cortez. We were in business.
We were off and running now. Well, running, no. The humidity was so high, it was tough for anyone to smile.
Such devotion these great models showed in the extreme hot weather!
I mentioned two days of shooting. This shoot took place in the old part of town where the architecture screams of the old days when the Germans migrated here.
We were up in the hotel, and down in the Machado Square all morning, again in high heat and humidity.
This shot can be summed up with only a few words... PURE SATISFACTION.
Lots of planning for the logistics needed to take place. This kind of thing doesn't just happen.
Oh, what a beauty, and yes... I am referring to both the model and the sea.
I rather enjoyed watching the shoots, all three models were naturals. What a diverse group of ladies, all enriching the photos with their own personalities and showing off the dresses with such grace.
Love this photo... If you look carefully, the price of a room is $650. Don't worry, that is the cost in pesos!
Why, what is this all about? Ah, I realize as I wipe the sweat from my face. "It's a wrap!" From the sandy beach to the old part of town… palapas to German architecture, this little town of Mazatlán has so much aesthetic scenery to offer the eye. What a great team we had congregated for those two days. Through heat and humidity, these troopers did a fine job. Oh, and the cerveza at the end of the day tasted mighty fine as our reward.
September 25, 2013
Day Of The Pigeons
I recently made the final payment for that new sensational carport next to my house. What a great feeling that was. My life became very quiet on the homeland with the workmen gone, but left me with these beautiful new improvements to stare at different times of the day. Yes, I have a new habit. When climbing my stairs, I stop and stick my head out the window to get that great feeling from all the new splendor. I still need to have the house pressure washed, but the new construction is a grand treat. It was the day after I finished paying for this new structure when something terrible happened, something so fowl that it has given me nightmares since. That morning, I turned on the shower but something stopped me from stepping in to let the warm water rinse my body… an odd odor from the water. It was disturbing to say the least. I turned off the water and threw on some clothes. Climbing the stairs to my terraza, the roof deck, I was able to see the top of the tower where my two large water tanks live. Sure enough, the evidence was overwhelming. One of the lids had shifted in a wind storm, leaving an opening large enough for a bird to fly in for a drink of water. I was sickened.
Quickly, I phoned a friend who came out to take care of the problem; he arrived within hours. We negotiated the fee for him to clean out the tank, and get rid of whatever had flown into it, that fowl thing that had stopped me dead in my tracks from entering my shower.
For some unknown reason, this tower attracts pigeons… I've seen as many a dozen of them lined up along the wall. A few years ago, I even anchored one of those fake owls to this upper chamber. The instructions said, Just attach this creature to your tower and no birds will dare go near this area. Ha! Can I sue for false advertising?! When I look up toward my tower at any given time of the day, I will see these nature wonders with wings perched near my plastic scarecrow, sometimes on top of him! They see me and I know they are laughing, mocking my very existence. They have become the root of my home owner frustration. They poop like rabbits. I mean everywhere. I have a beautifully tiled terraza on my rooftop, full of pigeon poop. Ugh! Yes, these rascals provide me with no love, but rather, filth to constantly clean up. Unlike the other beautiful birds, the iguanas, the geckos… these guys are not my friends.
You can imagine their delight when the wind blew my water tank’s lid open. Why, this was like providing them with a swimming pool in the tower resort they had taken over. I envisioned them standing in line to take the first dive in this marvelous pool of water; maybe enjoy the liquid as a cocktail, wash off a bit. Oh yes. There is a reason these winged fowls love my tower.
Tomas, my savior, climbed the ladder to the tower to take a look at the problem. I stood, helpless on the terraza, hoping for news that would not make me want to throw up. Sometimes, you don’t get what you wish for.
Tomas removed the lid and I heard a sound of agony slip from his lips. THERE WERE TWO BIRDS IN THERE. The smell had to have made neighbors pinch their noses. He looked down at me with an odd expression, disbelief… “You took showers with this water?!”
I was mortified! My words stumbled out of my mouth, the utter embarrassment hijacking my confidence. Then a thought came to light. Tomas had house sat with Rani while I was out of town the last month! I mustered up some courage and shouted upwards, “Hey, mister. You must have showered in it too!”
I realize now how childish I must have sounded, but I had him. No more humiliation for me. I was blindsided when he responded, “No way, lady. The last wind storm we had was the night I house sat!” He could be seen calculating the days by the way he looked at his watch. It didn’t take much time for him to look down at me and laugh, an audible, cocky laugh that told me I was finished with this war of words. Tomas was right, he was clean and I was guilty of showering in this smelly liquid.
“I didn’t know, really! I didn’t smell it until this morning! Please, just clean it so I can take a shower. Please, this is our secret. My friends won’t understand how I could not know. Pleeeaaasssseee, Tomas!”
Tomas went through a 5 gallon jug of Clorox, a quart of laundry detergent, and two hours of scrubbing the sides of this tank. I lowered my head and left the roof to spray the ground where the smelly water had drained.
When Tomas was finished cleaning up, I handed him the money we had agreed upon. He turned to leave when I tapped him on his shoulder. He turned to me with questioning eyes when I lowered my voice the way you do when you are saying something that you don’t want others to hear. “Tomas,” I whispered, “here is some more money, but if you take it, you are agreeing to never tell anyone about the shower incident.”
He looked into my eyes, searching for something before smiling and taking the money. We had a bond built upon an issue that would never be mentioned again. We had risen to a higher place of trust and admiration, and nothing would ever take that away. Yes, this would be remembered as the Day of The Pigeons.
Did I learn anything? Sure. If you are going to put out hush money, don’t turn around and write a blog about it.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
September 18, 2013
If You Give A Mouse Your Bedroom…
Living in the tropics is a fantasy come true, but with all its glory comes some annoyances. Mother Nature can be tough on us, especially in the summer months. She seems to be a trickster because she is constantly testing us with high heat and humidity. Now in reality, I believe she isn’t a cruel Goddess, but then again, she certainly isn’t the best at problem solving. For instance, where are all the critters supposed to live when the heat becomes unbearable? Did she provide homes for them? No, they have been forced to skitter into your home when you are distracted.
Recently, I noticed the markings of a mouse living in my home. Each morning, there were new scatterings all over the house. After much detective work, I concluded that he was living in my spare bedroom, but ventured out at night to party. At this point, I was feeling cocky… “I’ve got you now, you little beast,” I exclaimed. Then it hit me, memories of readings I shared with my daughters all those years ago, I laughed.
If you give a mouse your bedroom, he will probably ask to party in your house while you sleep.
Well, I have changed the words somewhat, but the same concept applies.
I was thrown into a war that I did not want to fight. If I had been a congress woman, I would have voted a definite NO. I don’t like war, but what choice did I have. There was no diplomatic way to talk him out of my house, no other country who was his friend who could to talk sense into him. I was stuck.
I started my warfare by closing the bedroom door. “Ha! No more partying at night, you little beast.” My next move was to drive to the store in search of weapons. I came home with sticky trays and delicious snacks to lay on the floors of my tenant’s home.
Each morning for about a week, I would check the food and sticky tray. This guy was way too smart to step into the goop but he was eating his refreshments. He still left me evidence, however, that he was able to run around the room, ugh! One tough cookie, my enemy was. I knew it had to be just a matter of time, so as any good hostess would do, I replenished his munchies.
After about day eight, an odd thing happened.
There was sawdust that had spread from the inside of the door to the hallway outside his room, suggesting he was attempting to eat his way out. This guy was desperate. Where he got the energy to do this is beyond me. I quickly found the box I was feeding him from to make sure it was not a treat but an actual weapon. It was tough reading, still working on my Espanol, but I did determine that the weapon ingredient was part of his diet.
That night, I was up late when I heard the vicious sounds of this guy trying to eat his way out. I had realized earlier that day that he was actually eating a thin board that frames my magic box (That’s the name I gave my air conditioner. When my dog gets too hot, I tell her to go stand by the magic box). I became angry with his sounds, he had totally outstayed his time in my house. I went to the door and threw it open. He must have scurried under the bed. Good, we didn’t need to have eye contact. I stormed over to the window and opened it. I looked toward the bed and shook my head before leaving the room. I went back to my work only to hear him trying to chew through the wooden frame again! “I thought you were smart, you dummy!”
I had to wait two mornings before I was convinced he had finally left through the window. I heard a chorus singing in my head, the sun came out; the walls in my bedroom seemed to be smiling. The war had ended, and I assume with no casualties. Life improved that day for Rani and me. We didn’t like sharing our home, the nightmare was over.
Did I learn anything? Sure. Never give your bedroom to a mouse.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
Recently, I noticed the markings of a mouse living in my home. Each morning, there were new scatterings all over the house. After much detective work, I concluded that he was living in my spare bedroom, but ventured out at night to party. At this point, I was feeling cocky… “I’ve got you now, you little beast,” I exclaimed. Then it hit me, memories of readings I shared with my daughters all those years ago, I laughed.
If you give a mouse your bedroom, he will probably ask to party in your house while you sleep.
Well, I have changed the words somewhat, but the same concept applies.
I was thrown into a war that I did not want to fight. If I had been a congress woman, I would have voted a definite NO. I don’t like war, but what choice did I have. There was no diplomatic way to talk him out of my house, no other country who was his friend who could to talk sense into him. I was stuck.
I started my warfare by closing the bedroom door. “Ha! No more partying at night, you little beast.” My next move was to drive to the store in search of weapons. I came home with sticky trays and delicious snacks to lay on the floors of my tenant’s home.
Each morning for about a week, I would check the food and sticky tray. This guy was way too smart to step into the goop but he was eating his refreshments. He still left me evidence, however, that he was able to run around the room, ugh! One tough cookie, my enemy was. I knew it had to be just a matter of time, so as any good hostess would do, I replenished his munchies.
After about day eight, an odd thing happened.
There was sawdust that had spread from the inside of the door to the hallway outside his room, suggesting he was attempting to eat his way out. This guy was desperate. Where he got the energy to do this is beyond me. I quickly found the box I was feeding him from to make sure it was not a treat but an actual weapon. It was tough reading, still working on my Espanol, but I did determine that the weapon ingredient was part of his diet.
That night, I was up late when I heard the vicious sounds of this guy trying to eat his way out. I had realized earlier that day that he was actually eating a thin board that frames my magic box (That’s the name I gave my air conditioner. When my dog gets too hot, I tell her to go stand by the magic box). I became angry with his sounds, he had totally outstayed his time in my house. I went to the door and threw it open. He must have scurried under the bed. Good, we didn’t need to have eye contact. I stormed over to the window and opened it. I looked toward the bed and shook my head before leaving the room. I went back to my work only to hear him trying to chew through the wooden frame again! “I thought you were smart, you dummy!”
I had to wait two mornings before I was convinced he had finally left through the window. I heard a chorus singing in my head, the sun came out; the walls in my bedroom seemed to be smiling. The war had ended, and I assume with no casualties. Life improved that day for Rani and me. We didn’t like sharing our home, the nightmare was over.
Did I learn anything? Sure. Never give your bedroom to a mouse.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
September 11, 2013
Hmmm, Walmart or Massage?
I have been feeling sorry for myself the past months over the debacle of not owning a camera in a place where there are so many great shots to shoot. I should be assigning a compartment in my purse as a permanent home for this gadget so I can be quick on the snap when I see a worthwhile subject. Then it happened one day, an amazing feat.
I visited with a friend in Phoenix last month and asked if we could find a Walmart instead of getting a massage. What?!
I was on a mission that no massage, tour, no food or wine could hold me back from accomplishing. I had made up my mind to buy a CAMERA.
When I returned home, an idea came to me... why not use the first blog of each month to show photos of the things I write about? Well, here is the first installment, folks.
The photos in today's blog are of the new carport I boasted about in the August 28th blog. Yes, I know... she is a beauty, and thanks for thinking that.
It may seem as though I am acting like a realtor now, but actually, it is the proud homeowner that is shining through.
I always feel warm and comfy around arches, they were a real must in this design.
I went crazy when I picked out these deliciously fun hand painted light features. Great fun. I even have a switch on one of the pillars to make these beauties glow! Let me think, camera or massage...
Hmmmmm, camera or massage. I think I made a good choice. Now if you would all excuse me, I have to jet. I barely have enough time to get to my massage.
Rather a warm entrance, wouldn't you say?
Here we have a side view just in case the beauty has not yet captured your imagination. 
Oh my... how did this get here? Well, I guess I might as well introduce you. This is Mr. Green Jeans, a new friend at my home. If anyone knows what he is, please feel free to say so in a comment. He is not as flat as a gecko, not an iguana... what kind of lizard is this Mr. guy? ___________________________Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
____________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
____________________________
August 27, 2013
Pilot Light
I’ve had working men at my villa doing all sorts of great things to beautify my little home these past few weeks. Well, some of the improvements really don’t fall into the beauty category.
They built me a 5K litter cistern! Yes, I am now one of the lucky ones who still has water even when the city pipes run dry.
I decided that since they needed to tear up my driveway, I might as well have them build me a carport. What a beauty it is transforming into! Then, it only made sense for them to tile the drive. It became a necessity to enhance the new structure. Oh, and the new gate. It’s next to the new construction, so we couldn’t let the old nasty looking gate take away from all that new beauty. They will soon be replacing it with an English garden gate… the kind of gate you would expect to see in a mansion’s garden.
I am enjoying all this. After living here over seven years, it’s about time I did something to my precious home.
With the commotion of the construction comes some good and bad stories. First, the good.
The work men are very nice, and love to smile. When I go out, I always say something funny to the boss by using my best Spanglish. I can tell when he understands me because he smiles, then turns to the others to repeat what I said in Espanol. That’s when I’m rewarded with their laughter. I just love these guys.
Now the bad.
Things get broken when there are workmen making things better for you.
I have a water system that I developed; it helps make my watering job easier. On two sides of my house, I have spigots. I enhanced both of them by connecting a T apparatus to the facets. This allows me to simply turn a lever for the water to gush on one side of my yard, while at the same time, have a lever to turn on the other. Wow, this cuts my work time in half (isn’t that the way of modern laziness?). Evidently, one of the workers didn’t understand how to use it. Suddenly, it was leaking… a thing that I could not live with. I waited until they went to lunch to fix it (I didn’t want to embarrass anyone). A quick trip to Home Depot gave me the supplies to put my invention back to perfection.
Then, I had a devastating experience with my main water to the house. Saturday evening, my ears noticed that my water pump was humming, a sound that I had grown used to… BEFORE I HAD THE NEW CISTERN INSTALLED. I ran outside, and sure enough, my new 5K litter cistern was empty! The pump was trying to pump water to the top of my house where my two tanks that feed my shower, everything inside live. But, it was doing that dry pumping thing. To my dismay, I turned off the pump, wondering if it was burnt out… damn! And, of course, it was discovered the night before the guys’ day off! I started investigating the problem, soon discovering the culprit. Someone had turned off the faucet that draws water from the nightly city flow. What?!
I turned on the flow, knowing that I would need to wait for morning to check the level in the cistern.
To my joy, the next morning, the water Gods had filled the cistern. But, I was still full of apprehension. Terrified that I was still in hot water, (go ahead, this is your break time to relieve your tension from my story and laugh) I turned on the pump. Damn! Still a humming sound. I decided to leave it on for 10 minutes to see if it would begin sucking the liquid gold from my cistern. I timed it. Amazing how quickly a day, month… even a season can pass me by, and yet, this segment of time seemed to be stagnant. When the time for my test finally completed, the hum was still ringing in my ears. Damn! I had nearly given up when a thought crossed through my mind. I went back to the crime scene and began toggling the switch for the pump. I had almost given up when I heard a tiny whimper of a heart beat. I suddenly felt like the star doctor in a movie flick. I wasn’t going to give up! I was going to bring this heartbeat back! I kept it up, running out of breath as I worked (that was probably my imagination seeing me give mouth to mouth), when there it was! The sound became strong, I had done it… I had saved the pump from the funeral palace where gadgets lay in peace!
Entonces, (that means and then in Espanol) the next mishap was discovered the following morning, it was early on Monday. I woke up realizing that my body was sticky from the extreme humidity in the air. I smiled before getting out of bed, anticipating the gratifying shower experience I was soon going to get. But when I tried to engage in this luxury, I discovered that there was no hot water. “Nooo!,” I exclaimed.
I dismantled from my shower effort, threw on some makeshift clothes, and went outside to the heat tank. What I saw dismayed me. The water hose had been draped over the dial of the apparatus so the new concrete path could be laid (I forgot to tell you about that enhancement). Evidently, the weight of the hose had made the pilot light go out.
“Ok,” I said aloud. “This is not a big problem, just relight the pilot.” I opened the little metal door to the tank and looked inside, but everything seemed blurry. “Oh,” again, I said out loud. I ran inside to find some reading glasses (they are strategically planted in each room of my home and even in each of my purses). When I returned to the tank in question, I peered inside. The blurriness was gone, but I still couldn’t see a place to light the pilot. Damn!
Now, there is something I need to enlighten (pun) you about myself… I pride myself on having done home improvements, and repairs to all my homes over the years. I have tiled floors, bathroom walls… installed toilets, electrical fixtures. I can do so many cool things without the help of a worker. With this new information, you should be able to understand my embarrassment over the fact that I was stumped over the lighting of a pilot light.
Many thoughts went through my mind. “Ok, the guys are due here in about an hour. I will ask one of them to light this thing.” To, “Maybe I don’t really need this shower, I have a day or so before people will notice my smell. That will give me time to look up a how-to recipe on the internet.”
When the men got to my home, I peered out the window… wondering, wondering. What should I do? Then, as luck would have it, I noticed one of the neighborhood gardeners had wandered over to my work site. He was sitting on a stack of cement bags talking to my work men.
I went outside, and said, “Ramone.” I used my index finger to motion him to follow me (many years ago, I saw this trick done in a Dippy Do commercial). He was wonderful, got it right away. He followed me around the corner of my house, I handed him a lighter, and pointed at my problem. He smiled, and went through the process of priming the pump, and then performed magic with the lighter. All was well, when we heard a distressing sound… it was aweful!
A skirmish sound from either a gecko or a baby iguana inside the tank made our eyes get big. We looked at each other with expressions of pain. Then he waved his hand and said, “Está bien.”
My eyes squinted, a brief thought went through my mind, and then I smiled. “Sí, está bien.” He walked one way to join his friends, and I walked the other to get ready for my shower.
The moral of this story? If you are going to live as a squatter, choose your hiding place carefully. Now, in all honesty, I believe the little guy was able to leave the way he entered.
Ahhh, no more problems. All is good. Wait, they still have another few weeks of improving my home!
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
They built me a 5K litter cistern! Yes, I am now one of the lucky ones who still has water even when the city pipes run dry.
I decided that since they needed to tear up my driveway, I might as well have them build me a carport. What a beauty it is transforming into! Then, it only made sense for them to tile the drive. It became a necessity to enhance the new structure. Oh, and the new gate. It’s next to the new construction, so we couldn’t let the old nasty looking gate take away from all that new beauty. They will soon be replacing it with an English garden gate… the kind of gate you would expect to see in a mansion’s garden.
I am enjoying all this. After living here over seven years, it’s about time I did something to my precious home.
With the commotion of the construction comes some good and bad stories. First, the good.
The work men are very nice, and love to smile. When I go out, I always say something funny to the boss by using my best Spanglish. I can tell when he understands me because he smiles, then turns to the others to repeat what I said in Espanol. That’s when I’m rewarded with their laughter. I just love these guys.
Now the bad.
Things get broken when there are workmen making things better for you.
I have a water system that I developed; it helps make my watering job easier. On two sides of my house, I have spigots. I enhanced both of them by connecting a T apparatus to the facets. This allows me to simply turn a lever for the water to gush on one side of my yard, while at the same time, have a lever to turn on the other. Wow, this cuts my work time in half (isn’t that the way of modern laziness?). Evidently, one of the workers didn’t understand how to use it. Suddenly, it was leaking… a thing that I could not live with. I waited until they went to lunch to fix it (I didn’t want to embarrass anyone). A quick trip to Home Depot gave me the supplies to put my invention back to perfection.
Then, I had a devastating experience with my main water to the house. Saturday evening, my ears noticed that my water pump was humming, a sound that I had grown used to… BEFORE I HAD THE NEW CISTERN INSTALLED. I ran outside, and sure enough, my new 5K litter cistern was empty! The pump was trying to pump water to the top of my house where my two tanks that feed my shower, everything inside live. But, it was doing that dry pumping thing. To my dismay, I turned off the pump, wondering if it was burnt out… damn! And, of course, it was discovered the night before the guys’ day off! I started investigating the problem, soon discovering the culprit. Someone had turned off the faucet that draws water from the nightly city flow. What?!
I turned on the flow, knowing that I would need to wait for morning to check the level in the cistern.
To my joy, the next morning, the water Gods had filled the cistern. But, I was still full of apprehension. Terrified that I was still in hot water, (go ahead, this is your break time to relieve your tension from my story and laugh) I turned on the pump. Damn! Still a humming sound. I decided to leave it on for 10 minutes to see if it would begin sucking the liquid gold from my cistern. I timed it. Amazing how quickly a day, month… even a season can pass me by, and yet, this segment of time seemed to be stagnant. When the time for my test finally completed, the hum was still ringing in my ears. Damn! I had nearly given up when a thought crossed through my mind. I went back to the crime scene and began toggling the switch for the pump. I had almost given up when I heard a tiny whimper of a heart beat. I suddenly felt like the star doctor in a movie flick. I wasn’t going to give up! I was going to bring this heartbeat back! I kept it up, running out of breath as I worked (that was probably my imagination seeing me give mouth to mouth), when there it was! The sound became strong, I had done it… I had saved the pump from the funeral palace where gadgets lay in peace!
Entonces, (that means and then in Espanol) the next mishap was discovered the following morning, it was early on Monday. I woke up realizing that my body was sticky from the extreme humidity in the air. I smiled before getting out of bed, anticipating the gratifying shower experience I was soon going to get. But when I tried to engage in this luxury, I discovered that there was no hot water. “Nooo!,” I exclaimed.
I dismantled from my shower effort, threw on some makeshift clothes, and went outside to the heat tank. What I saw dismayed me. The water hose had been draped over the dial of the apparatus so the new concrete path could be laid (I forgot to tell you about that enhancement). Evidently, the weight of the hose had made the pilot light go out.
“Ok,” I said aloud. “This is not a big problem, just relight the pilot.” I opened the little metal door to the tank and looked inside, but everything seemed blurry. “Oh,” again, I said out loud. I ran inside to find some reading glasses (they are strategically planted in each room of my home and even in each of my purses). When I returned to the tank in question, I peered inside. The blurriness was gone, but I still couldn’t see a place to light the pilot. Damn!
Now, there is something I need to enlighten (pun) you about myself… I pride myself on having done home improvements, and repairs to all my homes over the years. I have tiled floors, bathroom walls… installed toilets, electrical fixtures. I can do so many cool things without the help of a worker. With this new information, you should be able to understand my embarrassment over the fact that I was stumped over the lighting of a pilot light.
Many thoughts went through my mind. “Ok, the guys are due here in about an hour. I will ask one of them to light this thing.” To, “Maybe I don’t really need this shower, I have a day or so before people will notice my smell. That will give me time to look up a how-to recipe on the internet.”
When the men got to my home, I peered out the window… wondering, wondering. What should I do? Then, as luck would have it, I noticed one of the neighborhood gardeners had wandered over to my work site. He was sitting on a stack of cement bags talking to my work men.
I went outside, and said, “Ramone.” I used my index finger to motion him to follow me (many years ago, I saw this trick done in a Dippy Do commercial). He was wonderful, got it right away. He followed me around the corner of my house, I handed him a lighter, and pointed at my problem. He smiled, and went through the process of priming the pump, and then performed magic with the lighter. All was well, when we heard a distressing sound… it was aweful!
A skirmish sound from either a gecko or a baby iguana inside the tank made our eyes get big. We looked at each other with expressions of pain. Then he waved his hand and said, “Está bien.”
My eyes squinted, a brief thought went through my mind, and then I smiled. “Sí, está bien.” He walked one way to join his friends, and I walked the other to get ready for my shower.
The moral of this story? If you are going to live as a squatter, choose your hiding place carefully. Now, in all honesty, I believe the little guy was able to leave the way he entered.
Ahhh, no more problems. All is good. Wait, they still have another few weeks of improving my home!
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
August 23, 2013
August 21, 2013
My God, Really?!
I have a friend who I meet every Thursday morning. We begin at a coffee shop in the Golden Zone, then migrate to the beach after some great discussions… only to enjoy more ponderings about life. Yes, this is a nice event of the week; easy going, and always enjoyable… that is until we witnessed an almost mishap last week. But to really give you the impact I’m after, I need to go back further in time…
I had reached the coffee shop around 8 am, and there she was… a parking spot for my little Jeep, and right in front of the entrance that would lead me to the liquid my heart desired! I knew it was going to be a good day, what better omen could there be? That was about a month ago.
I remember that day, the enjoyment of having a great conversation over our espresso dobles, then venturing over to the beach for that glorious walk. The street we have to cross is a main drag, the gateway into the Golden Zone. It’s a one way, on both sides of a meridian that houses beautiful palms.
Many lovely hotels waiting for that excited tourist live on this road, several of them surrounded with enthusiastic out-of-towners who have been driven to the city by bus.
Oh, the busses… I have never had the luxury of riding in one of these glorious coaches, but I’ve been told that many of them have personal TVs like you can find on long-distance plane rides. Most of these extreme carriers are painted with bright colors that scream, well, at least boast, of their rich status in the bus community. And their size? Oh, my. These beauties on wheels are of a colossal size that takes my breath away! I’ve never been one to get excited at the sight of a bus, but then, I haven’t lived long in this city where they show off their beauty, each vying for bragging rights.
I remember crossing the road after our coffee chat, oohing over the busses parked in front of the hotels, walking through a spectacular hotel lobby (our normal route) to get to the beach, and removing my sandals in preparation for that first touch to my toes as my feet landed on the sand. Oh, what a joy. We did our normal walk, discussing our dreams, our lives in this city, real estate, politics, movies… you name it. There never seems to be a quiet moment on these walks. Sometimes, we take a big hit by a surprise wave, (I hate the feel of wet clothes against my skin) but even that makes me laugh. I remember that day… I was wearing a ruffled skirt. I saw one of those surprise waves scurrying toward us, so without thinking, I grabbed my skirt to raise it, hoping to save myself from that soggy discomfort. Two women talking on the beach saw me, and began laughing. I mimicked to them, pretending to raise my skirt all the way. Another laugh. Great fun.
Every week is like this… laughing with the other beach people, great conversations, a good time. That day, when we returned to our cars, we went through our goodbye ritual, acknowledging our fun time, and looking forward to our next walk.
The next weeks were not so fruitful… I had to work at finding a good spot to park.
The side roads in this area, as with most in Mazatlán, are very narrow, and with cars parked along the side of the road, they become a challenging course that could make any novice get blurry-eyed by the beads of sweat dripping from their eyebrows. Gross as it sounds, this is where the sweat collects until it has to go somewhere. Do you know the sting it creates when it enters the eye balls? Even worse, if you have lotion on, the pain nearly blinds you. I no longer apply cream to my forehead because of this, but only during the summer months. I do hope this doesn’t make me age in an odd way. I fear that I will keep my youthful complexion everywhere except above my eyes, where I will have skin that looks 20 years older than the rest of me. I guess that’s what bangs are for, no problem.
Back to the story… we were sitting on the patio outside the coffee shop last week, enjoying our espresso dobles. I was deep into conversation about something that had happened that week, when my friend interrupted me.
“Oh my God, NOOO!”
I turned to look in the direction where his wide opened eyes were aimed, and inhaled deeply. My hand flew over my mouth!
One of the magnificent, humungous busses was turning onto the narrow street in front of us. The fortunate driver who had found the parking spot that I had been lucky with only a few weeks earlier suddenly didn’t seem so lucky. It appeared as though their car would soon look like a crushed piece of metal you would expect to find in a wrecking yard!
We watched, it was all happening in slow motion. We froze. We uttered hopeful words under our breath. I now had both hands clinging to my mouth. Slowly, the driver eased his carriage into the turn. The crucial time came when it looked hopeless, that poor car, that poor car’s owner! The bus was within half an inch of taking it out.
Slowly, slowly, we watched the miracle happen. The driver continued and finished his turn, never to touch the sweet, lucky car whose owner had felt smug when finding this delightful spot to park.
We both let out an “Oh my God, did that really happen?”
I then turned around to face my friend, and said, “Now, where was I?”
***
As you can imagine, I was excited to see the great parking spot available the following week. I thought, Wow, this is definitely a good omen telling me it is going to be a great day! I smiled as I passed by the greatest parking real estate one could imagine, and drove a couple of blocks before finding a good place to rest my Jeep. I smiled, and said aloud to myself, “Yes, it really is going to be a great day.”
_______________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
I had reached the coffee shop around 8 am, and there she was… a parking spot for my little Jeep, and right in front of the entrance that would lead me to the liquid my heart desired! I knew it was going to be a good day, what better omen could there be? That was about a month ago.
I remember that day, the enjoyment of having a great conversation over our espresso dobles, then venturing over to the beach for that glorious walk. The street we have to cross is a main drag, the gateway into the Golden Zone. It’s a one way, on both sides of a meridian that houses beautiful palms.
Many lovely hotels waiting for that excited tourist live on this road, several of them surrounded with enthusiastic out-of-towners who have been driven to the city by bus.
Oh, the busses… I have never had the luxury of riding in one of these glorious coaches, but I’ve been told that many of them have personal TVs like you can find on long-distance plane rides. Most of these extreme carriers are painted with bright colors that scream, well, at least boast, of their rich status in the bus community. And their size? Oh, my. These beauties on wheels are of a colossal size that takes my breath away! I’ve never been one to get excited at the sight of a bus, but then, I haven’t lived long in this city where they show off their beauty, each vying for bragging rights.
I remember crossing the road after our coffee chat, oohing over the busses parked in front of the hotels, walking through a spectacular hotel lobby (our normal route) to get to the beach, and removing my sandals in preparation for that first touch to my toes as my feet landed on the sand. Oh, what a joy. We did our normal walk, discussing our dreams, our lives in this city, real estate, politics, movies… you name it. There never seems to be a quiet moment on these walks. Sometimes, we take a big hit by a surprise wave, (I hate the feel of wet clothes against my skin) but even that makes me laugh. I remember that day… I was wearing a ruffled skirt. I saw one of those surprise waves scurrying toward us, so without thinking, I grabbed my skirt to raise it, hoping to save myself from that soggy discomfort. Two women talking on the beach saw me, and began laughing. I mimicked to them, pretending to raise my skirt all the way. Another laugh. Great fun.
Every week is like this… laughing with the other beach people, great conversations, a good time. That day, when we returned to our cars, we went through our goodbye ritual, acknowledging our fun time, and looking forward to our next walk.
The next weeks were not so fruitful… I had to work at finding a good spot to park.
The side roads in this area, as with most in Mazatlán, are very narrow, and with cars parked along the side of the road, they become a challenging course that could make any novice get blurry-eyed by the beads of sweat dripping from their eyebrows. Gross as it sounds, this is where the sweat collects until it has to go somewhere. Do you know the sting it creates when it enters the eye balls? Even worse, if you have lotion on, the pain nearly blinds you. I no longer apply cream to my forehead because of this, but only during the summer months. I do hope this doesn’t make me age in an odd way. I fear that I will keep my youthful complexion everywhere except above my eyes, where I will have skin that looks 20 years older than the rest of me. I guess that’s what bangs are for, no problem.
Back to the story… we were sitting on the patio outside the coffee shop last week, enjoying our espresso dobles. I was deep into conversation about something that had happened that week, when my friend interrupted me.
“Oh my God, NOOO!”
I turned to look in the direction where his wide opened eyes were aimed, and inhaled deeply. My hand flew over my mouth!
One of the magnificent, humungous busses was turning onto the narrow street in front of us. The fortunate driver who had found the parking spot that I had been lucky with only a few weeks earlier suddenly didn’t seem so lucky. It appeared as though their car would soon look like a crushed piece of metal you would expect to find in a wrecking yard!
We watched, it was all happening in slow motion. We froze. We uttered hopeful words under our breath. I now had both hands clinging to my mouth. Slowly, the driver eased his carriage into the turn. The crucial time came when it looked hopeless, that poor car, that poor car’s owner! The bus was within half an inch of taking it out.
Slowly, slowly, we watched the miracle happen. The driver continued and finished his turn, never to touch the sweet, lucky car whose owner had felt smug when finding this delightful spot to park.
We both let out an “Oh my God, did that really happen?”
I then turned around to face my friend, and said, “Now, where was I?”
***
As you can imagine, I was excited to see the great parking spot available the following week. I thought, Wow, this is definitely a good omen telling me it is going to be a great day! I smiled as I passed by the greatest parking real estate one could imagine, and drove a couple of blocks before finding a good place to rest my Jeep. I smiled, and said aloud to myself, “Yes, it really is going to be a great day.”
_______________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
August 14, 2013
What Kind Of Dog Is That, Anyway?
What Kind Of Dog Is That, Anyway?
My dog, Rani, is a Chow Chow. Odd how her breed name repeats itself. But I am digressing. A Chow is a magnificent looking dog; her tongue is purple, and she has a tail that curls up, accenting her long luscious hair. This tail reminds me a bit of a horse’s mane with its extended flowing locks, but of course, Rani also has that delightful curl. She has a course undercoat that, in her case, is a grey color, but additionally, she has a beautiful top coat of dazzling black straight hair that literally flows with the air current, much like the slow motion flicks we see of a beautiful dog or woman running on the beach. Yes, I believe Rani could take the prize for beauty in any competition.
A few months ago, I took her to the doggy beauty salon for a cut. Knowing that the steamy season was nearly upon us, I told the cutter to use her finest blade. When I picked her up, I was surprised with the shock of my life. Her beautiful black hair was gone, only leaving the grey undercoat exposed. I would have cried, but instead, laughed while all the while saying, “Rani, you are so beautiful.” It is true, dogs don’t use mirrors (try getting your dog to stare into one… they won’t do it), so words alone tell them how they look. And, may I say, the words are very important. If you say them correctly and with the right tone, their tail will viciously wag, and if they can, a smile will appear over their mouth (Rani has a nice smile). All was well with this cut for about two weeks.
One morning, I was in the kitchen brewing my much needed coffee, when Rani walked into the room for her breakfast bone. “Rani,” I exclaimed. “Come closer, something is on your back. Let me get it off you.” I laughed when she got closer… she had a small black tuff of hair growing out of her grey undercoat… just one spot. “Well, you now have a unique look.” I told her.
During the next week, more of these circles appeared on her back. I would take her for our morning beach walk where folks would stare and laugh. “What kind of dog is she, anyway?!” I think that is what they were asking, it was in Espanol.
More time went by when my neighbor came over to share my morning coffee ritual. She took a second look at my furry friend, and exclaimed, “Are more circles appearing on her?”
Rani had taken on the appearance of a Dalmatian! Yes, a spotted Dalmation with a purple tongue, not to mention her Chow Chow head and tail. I told her many times during each day how pretty she looked to ensure that her confidence didn’t falter.
It became more ridiculous each day. Walks to the beach took double the time, with tourists stopping us to take her photo. They would look at her and ponder, what kind of breed is she? The smirks, the smiles, the LAUGHING. It took all my strength to woo her into believing that it was all because of her beauty.
She had become a star, but it saddened me. Finally, her hair spots became long enough to take her back to the doggy salon. The owner is a veterinarian, so naturally when we entered her shop, she took a double look… probably concerned that she had a vitamin deficiency.
She looked at me oddly, maybe she had thoughts of me mistreating Rani. Is there even a drug that can make a grey haired dog transform into a Dalmatiany off-breed? After some discussion, however, she was convinced, as was I, that her problem was all about the cut. The groomer was instructed not to cut below the black hair. When I picked her up a few hours later, she was still the spotted friend I had left with them. But, somehow, without the tuffs of hair sticking out of their spots, she looked much healthier.
I was amazed at how her attitude had changed. As much as I had supported her during the snickering moments she had endured, somehow she knew that she was back to being her beautiful self. It will probably take a few more months before she is completely black again, but her days are now on the up and up. I smiled at her, no more laughing allowed in my house when she is in the room (at least while we wait for the last of the spots to take over her body).
We got home, she demonstrated a good appetite, and then wanted to walk the beach. I pondered what had happened the past months, and after much analysis, it all came down to one thought.
Never judge a Chow by her spots.
Now, if I could only get Maddy (see July 24th blog) straightened out.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
My dog, Rani, is a Chow Chow. Odd how her breed name repeats itself. But I am digressing. A Chow is a magnificent looking dog; her tongue is purple, and she has a tail that curls up, accenting her long luscious hair. This tail reminds me a bit of a horse’s mane with its extended flowing locks, but of course, Rani also has that delightful curl. She has a course undercoat that, in her case, is a grey color, but additionally, she has a beautiful top coat of dazzling black straight hair that literally flows with the air current, much like the slow motion flicks we see of a beautiful dog or woman running on the beach. Yes, I believe Rani could take the prize for beauty in any competition.
A few months ago, I took her to the doggy beauty salon for a cut. Knowing that the steamy season was nearly upon us, I told the cutter to use her finest blade. When I picked her up, I was surprised with the shock of my life. Her beautiful black hair was gone, only leaving the grey undercoat exposed. I would have cried, but instead, laughed while all the while saying, “Rani, you are so beautiful.” It is true, dogs don’t use mirrors (try getting your dog to stare into one… they won’t do it), so words alone tell them how they look. And, may I say, the words are very important. If you say them correctly and with the right tone, their tail will viciously wag, and if they can, a smile will appear over their mouth (Rani has a nice smile). All was well with this cut for about two weeks.
One morning, I was in the kitchen brewing my much needed coffee, when Rani walked into the room for her breakfast bone. “Rani,” I exclaimed. “Come closer, something is on your back. Let me get it off you.” I laughed when she got closer… she had a small black tuff of hair growing out of her grey undercoat… just one spot. “Well, you now have a unique look.” I told her.
During the next week, more of these circles appeared on her back. I would take her for our morning beach walk where folks would stare and laugh. “What kind of dog is she, anyway?!” I think that is what they were asking, it was in Espanol.
More time went by when my neighbor came over to share my morning coffee ritual. She took a second look at my furry friend, and exclaimed, “Are more circles appearing on her?”
Rani had taken on the appearance of a Dalmatian! Yes, a spotted Dalmation with a purple tongue, not to mention her Chow Chow head and tail. I told her many times during each day how pretty she looked to ensure that her confidence didn’t falter.
It became more ridiculous each day. Walks to the beach took double the time, with tourists stopping us to take her photo. They would look at her and ponder, what kind of breed is she? The smirks, the smiles, the LAUGHING. It took all my strength to woo her into believing that it was all because of her beauty.
She had become a star, but it saddened me. Finally, her hair spots became long enough to take her back to the doggy salon. The owner is a veterinarian, so naturally when we entered her shop, she took a double look… probably concerned that she had a vitamin deficiency.
She looked at me oddly, maybe she had thoughts of me mistreating Rani. Is there even a drug that can make a grey haired dog transform into a Dalmatiany off-breed? After some discussion, however, she was convinced, as was I, that her problem was all about the cut. The groomer was instructed not to cut below the black hair. When I picked her up a few hours later, she was still the spotted friend I had left with them. But, somehow, without the tuffs of hair sticking out of their spots, she looked much healthier.
I was amazed at how her attitude had changed. As much as I had supported her during the snickering moments she had endured, somehow she knew that she was back to being her beautiful self. It will probably take a few more months before she is completely black again, but her days are now on the up and up. I smiled at her, no more laughing allowed in my house when she is in the room (at least while we wait for the last of the spots to take over her body).
We got home, she demonstrated a good appetite, and then wanted to walk the beach. I pondered what had happened the past months, and after much analysis, it all came down to one thought.
Never judge a Chow by her spots.
Now, if I could only get Maddy (see July 24th blog) straightened out.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
August 7, 2013
What Happens In Mazatlán Stays In Mazatlán?
What a great slogan this could make for my wonderful little city, it might even get more tourists down/up here (depending on your geography). I believe it worked for a city in Nevada.
Think about it… I know many snow birds that come here each winter to get away from the daily obligations and pressures they endure up north. They migrate here for a few months or so and feel free to do whatever they like. They might engage in nightly dancing, they may pamper themselves with lavish massages… they might even indulge in smoking a peace pipe now and then (I ran into a peddler on the beach a few weeks ago who tried selling a pipe… it was pre-loaded with Mary Jayne!) But there is a problem.
We locals depend on city gossip for our news .
Can you imagine what a conflict this can create to the population here?
I remember The Girls Gone Wild videos (Is that creator in prison now?). I even remember a Saturday Night Live skit where the family from Ohio is watching the TV together only to see an ad come on advertising the videos. Mom is in it!
Yes, there is something grand about getting caught up in a moment. But there is also something devastating about getting caught up in the future because of that moment.
Spielberg’s movie, The Color Purple had a monumental scene with two groups of folks marching through the streets toward each other. One was singing a chorus hailing their beliefs, the other had words of a different opinion. A clash was certainly eminent. Wow, I got goose bumps.
There are certainly newspapers in this town, but you had better know Espanol or have a translator on your computer. Even with a translator, you will need to read each topic several times since direct translations are often so funny sounding that the article alone could be a Saturday Night Live skit.
Yes, these are real problems here in Mazatlán. It’s much easier to rely on gossip rather than work on the translation. You must be careful, however. This can become a rumor mill.
I remember hearing things in the air such as, “See her? She is a loose woman. Go for her and you will be a happy man,” when in fact, she was a nun in street clothes. Or, “Your car must be a make from one of these two years or you cannot nationalize it,” when in fact, the range of years reached over two decades.
The other day, I was on skype with my daughter, Mandy. I told her that I was tired of being in the house tied to my computer, that I was thinking about letting loose and going dancing.
Her reply was, “What?! You are going to Latin Moose?!”
Ahh… great way to describe this town. I imagined the hysteria in the headlines (if it could be translated in an understandable way). LATIN MOOSE LOOSE IN CITY. RUUUUNNNN!
Well, here is the lesson to you, snow birds. No matter how much you think that WHAT HAPPENS IN THIS LITTLE CITY WILL STAY HERE, it is a fallacy. You could find that when you return to your northern homeland that they are surprised to see you. You may find that you are returning to your own funeral service, with friends and family in tears over your being run down by a moose. Actually, it might be entertaining. I remember how Tom Sawyer was a guest at his own funeral.
I speak to family and friends in the states, Canada, and all the way to Ireland. Wow, what would Ireland do with the story of the Moose?
I guess that what you do here might stay here, but then again, maybe not. No worries, you might actually be on TV in an ad. That could be exciting if you’re looking for a career in the movies… OR NOT.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
Think about it… I know many snow birds that come here each winter to get away from the daily obligations and pressures they endure up north. They migrate here for a few months or so and feel free to do whatever they like. They might engage in nightly dancing, they may pamper themselves with lavish massages… they might even indulge in smoking a peace pipe now and then (I ran into a peddler on the beach a few weeks ago who tried selling a pipe… it was pre-loaded with Mary Jayne!) But there is a problem.
We locals depend on city gossip for our news .
Can you imagine what a conflict this can create to the population here?
I remember The Girls Gone Wild videos (Is that creator in prison now?). I even remember a Saturday Night Live skit where the family from Ohio is watching the TV together only to see an ad come on advertising the videos. Mom is in it!
Yes, there is something grand about getting caught up in a moment. But there is also something devastating about getting caught up in the future because of that moment.
Spielberg’s movie, The Color Purple had a monumental scene with two groups of folks marching through the streets toward each other. One was singing a chorus hailing their beliefs, the other had words of a different opinion. A clash was certainly eminent. Wow, I got goose bumps.
There are certainly newspapers in this town, but you had better know Espanol or have a translator on your computer. Even with a translator, you will need to read each topic several times since direct translations are often so funny sounding that the article alone could be a Saturday Night Live skit.
Yes, these are real problems here in Mazatlán. It’s much easier to rely on gossip rather than work on the translation. You must be careful, however. This can become a rumor mill.
I remember hearing things in the air such as, “See her? She is a loose woman. Go for her and you will be a happy man,” when in fact, she was a nun in street clothes. Or, “Your car must be a make from one of these two years or you cannot nationalize it,” when in fact, the range of years reached over two decades.
The other day, I was on skype with my daughter, Mandy. I told her that I was tired of being in the house tied to my computer, that I was thinking about letting loose and going dancing.
Her reply was, “What?! You are going to Latin Moose?!”
Ahh… great way to describe this town. I imagined the hysteria in the headlines (if it could be translated in an understandable way). LATIN MOOSE LOOSE IN CITY. RUUUUNNNN!
Well, here is the lesson to you, snow birds. No matter how much you think that WHAT HAPPENS IN THIS LITTLE CITY WILL STAY HERE, it is a fallacy. You could find that when you return to your northern homeland that they are surprised to see you. You may find that you are returning to your own funeral service, with friends and family in tears over your being run down by a moose. Actually, it might be entertaining. I remember how Tom Sawyer was a guest at his own funeral.
I speak to family and friends in the states, Canada, and all the way to Ireland. Wow, what would Ireland do with the story of the Moose?
I guess that what you do here might stay here, but then again, maybe not. No worries, you might actually be on TV in an ad. That could be exciting if you’re looking for a career in the movies… OR NOT.
__________________________________________________________
Got comments? You will find the comment box below this story.
__________________________________________________________
You can read all about drama in my novels. Check them out at www.cmichaelsbooks.com, author of Twisted Thrillers.
__________________________________________________________
