The California Diary: This weather is like Sybil, and who the hell pays over $1 for canned tuna?

Well, I should say that I’m like the weather, one moment I love this place, the next I’m griping about it. So, let’s get that cleared up.

I’ve lived in Michigan, I’ve lived in Texas, and both places boast of the same thing: If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes. I don’t think that was always true for either state, but Central Coast weather, I feel like I’m married all over again. I have no idea how it’s going to act from one moment to the next.

I wake up and my testicles are up in my spleen they’re so cold. By mid-morning, it’s colder in the apartment than it is outside. By the afternoon I’ve got windows open and a fan blazing (there’s no A/C here). At night, I can barely even enjoy a cigarette my hands shake like a crackhead without crack.

I do prefer being cold than being too hot, I will admit. I just wish I could find one set of clothes that would accomodate the change of climate from hour-to-hour. I have the heater on now set at 65 degrees. It’s cold outside and rainly, and I think it’s below 60. I’m not exactly freezing, but my feet definitely feel like that of a corpse — cold and without feeling. I’m glad I didn’t buy candies for Halloweeners because they’s ain’t a-coming ’round these parts.

Then there’s the tuna.

Bought a few cans because they were on sale for like $1.25 a can. Seriously? They’re like 75 cents in Texas. So I’m making some Tuna Helper (or some knock-off brand, anyway) and all I can think of is how much the two cans of tuna, the butter, and the milk ($4-$5 per half gallon organic) I’m using.

I think I’ve become my grandfather.

This man would buy a six-pack of beer. He’d open up a can, put some salt in there, take a sip, plug the opening up with a napkin, put it back in the refrigerator and go outside to mow the lawn. After about an hour, he’d sit at the kitchen table — wearing his usual khakis, work boots, white undershirt and a hardhat — take a sip of beer, maybe add some more salt, and replace it back into the refrigerator.

This is how pinche — er, frugal — he was.

Later on my cousin admitted to finding his stash of wads and wads of money. They’d take a few bucks here and there and that really pissed me off, honestly. I mean, why they hell didn’t they tell me about that? I would’ve gone in with them!

Anywho, It’s cold here. It’s expensive here, and I’m a stingy bastard. But I like it here.

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