Thursday, December 13, 2012

The Lingering Creepy Weirdness Of Fubbo The Hut

On the left you are looking at a recent photo of Fubbo the Hut.

A long time ago Fubbo the Hut was a distant acquaintance of mine.

I suffer from a syndrome known as having a Hypersensitive Empathy Complex. Years ago, due to that confounding complex, I found myself being too nice to Fubbo the Hut, due to feeling sorry for her, due to all the damage she'd done to herself, both via ingesting way too many calories and via also ingesting too much money that was not hers to ingest.

My Empathy Complex had never kicked in before for someone who was a convicted felon who had done jail time. This was new territory for me.

When it became clear to me that Fubbo the Hut's damage was all self-inflicted I found myself feeling less empathetic. That and I was more than a little offput to learn that my problem with being just too charming and amusing for my own good  resulted in Fubbo the Hut telling people I was her best friend and second husband.

Needless to say, I was mortified. Second husband to Fubbo the Hut? Like I said, mortifying.

Anyway, after over 4 years of trying to be totally rid of Fubbo the Hut, I've given up. I've decided Fubbo the Hut is like a chronic virus, or an incurable cancer, that one just puts up with as best one can.

I get emails from Fubbo the Hut, keeping me informed about her burgeoning flea market career. I must admit Fubbo's flea market career is quite astounding. Apparently Fubbo has now grown very wealthy due to having a flea market that is open once a month for a few hours. I'm guessing business schools across the world are likely studying this business model to figure out how to replicate the success.

Fubbo the Hut also continues to make the mistake of making comments on my blog, with the latest comment only recently discovered, by me, due to the comment being correctly identified, by Google, as annoying spam.

This Fubbo the Hut comment was to a blogging about Pathological Liars. I had used a classic Fubbo the Hut lie as an example of the genre, for blogging fodder. When Fubbo read this blogging, rather than own the lie, Fubbo the Hut chose to instead make the following comment, which, ironically, was full of more pathetic, pathological lies...

"I lie? Your entire life is a lie. I recently attended a reunion where I learned you are still blogging hateful things about me. Really? Is that all you've got? You are a pitiful, ugly, little man. Just so you know, people who you knew in high school know what a zero you have been in life. I am embarrassed I was ever your friend."

I really don't know where to start. But, I will try.

It totally hurts my feelings for someone who is an expert at being as ugly as Fubbo the Hut, and as pitiful, to paint me with that brush. I own a mirror, I am fully aware of how totally ugly I am. And how pitiful I am. And how little I am. I really don't need a really ugly, really fat, really pitiful woman reminding me of my ugly, little man pitifulness.

Fubbo is embarrassed she was ever my friend? Shouldn't she be more embarrassed she thought I was her best friend? And second husband?

What really impresses me is, according to Fubbo, she goes to an imaginary reunion where she has imaginary conversations with imaginary people who somehow read my blog, know the blog author is me, and know obtuse bloggings are references to Fubbo the Hut. This is a rather astoundingly ridiculous stereotypical lie from a pathological liar. I am also really impressed that Fubbo talks to imaginary people who have so accurately tracked my life that they know what a zero I have been at it. It is rather impressive for a zero at life, like myself, to have imaginary people talking about me.

Anyone, with even a passing understanding of psychology, can figure out that it is Fubbo the Hut who worries that others know she's been a big fat zero at life. A zero with a criminal record. It is obvious Fubbo mentioned attending a reunion, where I was the topic, to make me think she was referencing her class reunion, which took place last summer. What Fubbo did not know was I knew she did not attend that reunion. Did not attend, likely out of fear of someone mentioning her criminal record, or the fact that she was now a dead ringer for Jabba the Hut.

In addition to comments on my blog, Fubbo has been caught making comments on other blogs, caught by the magic of IP address tracking. The most amusing instance of this had Fubbo caught commenting her vileness anonymously, then when caught, via the IP address tracking, and made fun of, returning within an hour, to make denial comments, as Fubbo, denying ever commenting anonymously, while being so stupid she did not realize the same IP address tracking info was nailing her. At that point the pathological liar made up the lie that someone else was using her computer, making those anonymous comments.

Have I mentioned that Fubbo the Hut is stupid? Very stupid. Uneducated. Barely made it out of high school. Zero higher education. I would not say such things about someone, except, Fubbo the Hut gives herself unfiltered permission to say such things, and worse, about people, including me.

Over the years since I finally had to terminate allowing Fubbo the Hut to have direct contact with me, I have heard from many people, emailing me with questions. I think they ask me questions due to believing that I am Fubbo's best friend myth, and thus have answers, which I don't, not to all the questions, but I do to some.

For instance...

What does the Fubbo part of Fubbo the Hut stand for?

Fubbo is an acronym that stands for Fat Ugly Beast with Bad Body Odor. Yes, I realize that should make it Fubbbo the Hut, but the extra 'b' really seemed redundant. The nickname also comes from the fact that she bears a remarkable resemblance to Star Wars' Jabba the Hut. At some point in time, when Fubbo neared the quarter ton mark, her neck disappeared, consumed by the fat of her back and shoulders, which pushed her head forward, creating the Jabba the Hut look. Fubbo can not turn her head to look left or right, due to no longer having a functioning neck. I don't know how she keeps a driver's license.

On her blog Fubbo said that when she used to be thin she was into fashion. Was she actually ever thin?

I have never known Fubbo to be what anyone would consider thin. But, I have gone years, at times, without seeing Fubbo. So, she could have been thin at some point in time. I doubt it though. As for being into fashion, all I can think is how would she know what is fashionable? Let alone be into it? I've only known her to be slovenly. With really bad taste. Thus the flea market, junk dealer career, where she surrounds herself with fellow Mr. Haneys, who compliment her on her non-existent exquisite taste, while peddling re-purposed garbage.

Yes, I realize you who are reading this may be thinking what I am writing seems rather hateful. But, please refer to Fubbo's comment above where she said imaginary people had told her I was still writing imaginary hateful things about her. I really don't want to make Fubbo a bigger liar than she naturally is, and so I am trying to be a bit hateful here and thus make one of Fubbo's statements at least somewhat true.

Do you know what Fubbo did to John Bob that caused them to dump her?

The above question perplexed me. Who is John Bob I sat and wondered? I asked one of my Tacoma informants who this is. I got an answer. John Bob Cool Junk. I've met them. These are the guys who took Fubbo on her imaginary free flight to Phoenix for a free lunch, the tale of which generated the annoying comment above from Fubbo. I have no idea what Fubbo did to alienate John Bob. If history is any predictor, it likely involved Fubbo being caught in a BIG lie, or stealing something. Or both.

Do you know if Fubbo is a suspect in the mysterious death of Frank?

What? Who is Frank I wondered when I read the above question. Fubbo is now a murder suspect? I again queried my Tacoma informant. Turns out I've also met Frank. I had a few encounters with Frank and liked him. Frank despised Fubbo the Hut, accused her of stealing from him. And then ended up dead. I have no idea if this is an active homicide case, or what. Frank was a small guy. Did Fubbo sit on him?

On her blog I read that Fubbo has a group of young women lawyers, who get her, and leap to her defense when Fubbo needs defending. This was about something that happened at her show that had people taking sides for and against her. Do you know what she did?

I got an email telling me I should check Fubbo's blog to read the post referenced in the above question, with that email telling me Fubbo had gone totally into nuts mode. I just checked to refresh my memory to see Fubbo has deleted this particularly demented post. This post was far weirder than just the reference to an imaginary group of lawyers who get the incredibly difficult to get entity known as Fubbo the Hut. In the post, Fubbo had one of the imaginary lawyers sending in a Private Investigator to find out who said what about her at her flea market.  I am not making this up. Then Fubbo went off on a tangent about an uncle who molested her, giving her an STD when she was 7, after which her parents accepted  money from the uncle to keep quiet about the crime. Somehow the imaginary doctor also is convinced to keep quiet about the child with the imaginary STD.

To answer the "Do you know what she did?" question. I do not know what had people taking sides for or against her. But, as I've already said, with Fubbo the Hut, it usually involves Fubbo getting caught in a BIG lie. Or stealing. Or both.

Why is your sister involved with Fubbo and chickens?

I have absolutely no idea what my sister is doing with chickens and Fubbo. I know Fubbo has long had a chicken fixation. I remember an incident where Fubbo's chickens were left in her mother-in-law's care with the chickens all ending up dead.

Did your sisters go to Hawaii on vacation with Fubbo?

Not that I know of. I've been told about Fubbo trying get my sisters to go to Hawaii. If I remember right I blogged about this because I found it so amusing.

Fubbo is totally clueless regarding how transparent her embarrassing machinations are. She is no Machiavellian. She is more a clueless fat boob with really weird delusions. And really bad taste in all things that matter. Like knowing when to shut up. And knowing when to say she is sorry for her really bad behavior.

Have you heard anything about Fubbo getting in a fight with a homeless man in a Goodwill dumpster?

No, I have heard nothing about this. Sounds ridiculous. I  don't think Fubbo could get into a dumpster without some sort of mechanical assist, like a forklift or crane.

Fubbo told me you are homeless, living in your car. How do you get internet service in your car?

I think I have already mentioned that Fubbo the Hut is a pathological liar. I have heard from others that Fubbo tells people variations of my alleged homelessness. And that she he has gotten imaginary phone calls from imaginary people in Texas, asking Fubbo if she has the resources to help me in my imaginary dire straits, when the fact of the matter is, no one I know in Texas knows the real identity of Fubbo the Hut, let alone that lying idiot's phone number.
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Well, that ends this amusing blogging about Fubbo the Hut. I'll be sure and share any incoming Fubbo the Hut lunacy should it occur.....

Finding Endorphins On The Tandy Hills While Thinking About Munchausen Syndrome

In the picture you are on the freeway overlook, at the far north end of the View Street trail, on the Tandy Hills, looking west at the Interstate 30 freeway, towards the stunning skyline of beautiful downtown Fort Worth.

As you can see, it is yet one more clear blue sky late Fall day in Texas, with nary any snow remaining that may have fallen on Monday.

Today I was desperately in need of some endorphin inducing aerobic stimulation, due to the fact that the Arctic Blast has kept me from swimming or hiking.

The hiking I could have done, if sufficiently insulated against the cold, but I chose not to.

Today it was warmed up enough that I was able to have myself a very long hike whilst wearing only short pants and t-shirt, what with the temperature being an almost balmy almost 60.

Changing the subject from the pleasant to the less so.

I can go weeks, maybe months, without any input or output regarding Gar the Texan. For reasons not fathomable to me, this week I've been seeing a virtual flood of Gar the Texan incoming content.

For instance,  I had no idea Gar the Texan had so many medical maladies, which require so many different specialists.

The number of Gar the Texan's medical maladies seems to be approaching the level of the entity I call Debbi, because, well, that's her name. Miss Debbi's level of nonstop medical maladies was so over the top it led me to suggest that perhaps she might be suffering from Munchausen Syndrome.

I think Gar the Texan might have Munchausen Syndrome, in addition to his other maladies..

Til this week the only Gar the Texan medical maladies that I was aware of were diabetes and Asperger Syndrome.

But, in addition to those two medical woes, Gar the Texan also goes to a hand surgeon due to something called Dupuytren's Contracture, a Peridontist due to his teeth falling out, an Endocrinologist due to the aforementioned diabetes and a Urologist who prescribed Tadalafil to help Gar the Texan's flagging flagger fly higher than half mast.

I had no idea Gar the Texan was such a mess. Had I known I may have been more sympathetic about his excessive use of cliches whilst obsessively talking about himself...

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

A Happy Birthday Call To My Dad While Dodging Pecans, Villy Valentin & Gar The Texan's Social Awkwardness

In the picture you are looking at the currently leafless renowned giant pecan tree that has some sort of state of Texas heritage status. This particular pecan tree is in Quanah Parker Park, a very short distance from my abode.

I took the picture of the Quanah Parker Park pecan tree and then called my dad to do the Happy Birthday thing.

On my phone, mom and dad's land line's I.D. is AZMAPA.

I expected PA to answer when I called AZMAPA, but MA answered, apparently screening my dad's Happy Birthday calls.

So, I had to relay my Happy Birthday wishes, to my dad, through my mom.

I got gas this morning, up in Hurst, so, since my mom answered, I felt obligated to tell my mom I got gas and how much it cost. $2.86. That is the cheapest gas has been in awhile in my zone.

Three of my mom and dad's grandchildren, David, Theo and Ruby, left Arizona a couple days before their grandpa's birthday. I asked how the visit with the grandkids went. I think my mom said it went fine. I'm not really remembering exactly what was said. I think I may have been dodging a falling pecan.

Changing the subject to something totally different.

Who is Villy Valentin? And why am I getting email telling me Villy has added me to a circle and has invited me to join Google+. What is a circle? What is Google+? I suppose I could Google Google+ and find out.

Changing the subject from one circle to another circle.

Long suffering Gar the Texan is stuck in a vicious circle of self-recrimination, the likes of which I feel totally inadequate to respond to, when it comes to saying anything even remotely helpful.

Apparently Gar the Texan's latest Gal Pal jumped all over his case due to getting fed up with his almost non-stop judgementalizing and over use of cliches while constantly talking about himself.

The Gal Pal getting on his case set off a bad case of Gar the Texan having one of his socially awkward episodes. I do not know the details, but I suspect he likely said things that were totally inappropriate whilst trying, desperately, to say something appropriate, and the effort just spun out of control.

On the plus side, Gar the Texan's latest Gal Pal speaks English, so the moments that spin out of control are not as frequent, or as scary, as it was with any of the Germanic Gal Pals that preceded  this current English speaking GP.

I've actually only witnessed, personally, maybe a dozen instances of Gar the Texan being socially awkward, with the worst example taking place in a Chili's bar. And then there was the bizarre argument about a river running through Shreveport.

I just remembered another incident, the memory of a painfully awkward, socially inept episode flooding back.

Gar the Texan smoking cigarettes in the now defunct Gators, trying to get a Southern Belle to say "Sugar Honey" over and over again, laughing hysterically every time she said the magic phrase. I was very uncomfortable and left soon thereafter....

A 12/12/12 Pappy Happy Birthday Greeting From Texas To Arizona

Today, December 12, 2012, 12/12/12, is my dad's Happy Birthday.

Happy Birthday, Pa.

The last time I saw my dad was March 25 of this year. An hour or so before heading to the airport I helped my Pa plant something called an Easter Egg Bush, or something like that.

I never remember to ask if the Easter Egg Bush every bloomed any Easter Eggs.

In the picture you are looking at my sister, on the left, and my dad on the right. Hidden behind my dad is my mom, making it look like my dad needs a haircut.

If I remember right the name of the town whose restaurant we were sitting in, was Surprise. I may be wrong about that. It's been over 9 months, which is a long time for me to accurately remember anything.

I do  remember I had a cheeseburger. And that the cheeseburger was not as good as the one I would have in Tempe, at an In N Out Burger, the next day. I think it was the next day.

A couple months ago if you had asked me where I would be today I would have said I would likely be in Arizona, going to my dad's Happy Birthday Party, today.

However, my annoying awareness of some relatively annoying duplicitousness had me not in the mood to book a flight to Arizona at this point in time.

I must remember to call Arizona today. My mom will be insisting my dad answer all incoming calls, with those calls likely to be Happy Birthday calls.

I hope my mom also insists my dad has his hearing aid turned on.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

A Three Dog Night At 22 Degrees With CatsPaw Suggesting I Go To Hell With My Damn Character Verification & Gar The Texan's Cliches

Global Cooling deniers can't deny that it is cold in Texas this morning, well, cold, at my location in Texas. I don't know if the entire state is cold. It's a really big state.

22 degrees. Temperature prognosticators are prognosticating that today will be the coldest day of the year. According to my calculations there are still 19 days to go in this current 2012 year, so I don't know how those temperature prognosticators can be so confidently prognosticating that we won't be having an even colder day before 2013 arrives.

Al I know for sure was last night was a Three Dog Night in my bed, and with having zero dogs I had to use 4 thick blankets to keep warm.  I don't like running the furnace or A/C at night, but by about 4 in the morning I gave in and turned on the artificial heat.

Speaking of artificial heat, I got an amusing comment from the always amusing CatsPaw, to a blogging from yesterday, in which CatsPaw sort of told me to go to hell...

CatsPaw has left a new comment on your post "This Afternoon Myrtle Had Me Wondering Where The Hell Matt 2012 Is":

I noticed that Matt visited Detroit on his travels. Given the name of his site, I hope he had time to travel an hour or so west to Hell, Michigan. 

Or maybe that's a trip for Durango. You can go to Hell – get pizza and a beer at the Dam Site Inn and stop in at Hell in a Handbasket country store. Be sure to check the weather report so you don't disappoint Gar.

And hey, that damn character verification IS going to have me telling you to go to ... you know. 

CatsPaw, I turned off that damn character verification this morning. So, far, 3 hours later, no return of the evil Russian spam comments. The last time I turned the damn character verification off the evil Russian spam comments returned pretty much instantly.

In her comment CatsPaw mentioned Gar the Texan and his reliance on my ubiquitous weather  reports,  which brings up the Gar the Texan subject, which is almost always difficult.

Yesterday, or maybe it was the day before, in a blogging titled A Frigid Walk With The Village Creek Indian Ghosts Pondering The Problems Of The Troll Known As Gar The Texan I made mention of the fact that I thought the reason Gar the Texan's bloggings might be less than well received by those who receive such things was the fact that almost 100% of his verbiage is a cliche.

I feared mentioning this to Gar the Texan might cause him to go into verbal gridlock, like the time I casually mentioned that I could not help but notice that he almost exclusively talked about himself when engaged in what purported to be a conversation. I believe this resulted in weeks of Gar the Texan not speaking while he tried to figure out what to say that was not talking about himself.

I probably should have also  mentioned to Gar the Texan that I well understood why he talked so much about himself, due to the fact that he is just so darn interesting, which is the reason I don't talk about myself, that being because I am just so darn un-interesting, and am totally aware of this fact.

Monday, December 10, 2012

Who Needs Mistletoe When You're This Cute?

Just when I think I've totally run out of Happy Holiday material, in comes incoming email, from Spencer Jack's dad, with a picture of Spencer Jack that gives me material for yet one more Happy Holiday Themed blogging.

Speaking of Mistletoe.

I don't recollect ever seeing Mistletoe growing on any trees in Washington.

In Texas I see a lot of Mistletoe growing on trees.

A couple years ago I helped a couple ladies harvest Mistletoe at Veterans Park in Arlington. This vaguely seemed like something we should not have been doing.

I am drawing a blank right now, age-related memory shortfall, but somewhere in the past couple days I saw a lot of Mistletoe exposed on a recently made leafless tree.

Was it on the Tandy Hills? In River Legacy Park? At Oakland Lake Park? Looking up at a tree whilst swimming? I don't remember.

I'd box up some Mistletoe and mail it to Spencer Jack, but, according to his shirt, he does not need it.

This Afternoon Myrtle Had Me Wondering Where The Hell Matt 2012 Is



This afternoon I did my daily Facebook check and saw one of those "Confirm a Friend" notifications. The friend in question was Myrtle. Myrtle is not Myrtle's real name. Myrtle is the name Myrtle and I used to disguise our secret communications from prying eyes, way back late in the last century, while I still lived in the State of Washington.

After I confirmed that Myrtle is indeed a friend of mine I clicked on Myrtle's Facebook link and soon found myself looking at photos of Myrtle. And others. Myrtle has not aged a minute since I last saw her. If anything there appears to be some age reversing. I suspect this is not the result of any sort of surgical intervention, but is instead the result of living happy and traveling the world.

I saw that Myrtle had a link to a YouTube video, a "Where the Hell is Matt? 2012" YouTube video.

I recollect really liking the first Where the Hell is Matt" video, years ago. Well, actually, not that many years ago because I put that Where the Hell is Matt video on my blog, just like I have done with this latest Where the Hell is Matt video.

Matt in the Where the Hell is Matt video is Matt Harding. I Googled Matt Harding and read the Wikipedia article about him. I was curious where he was from, since the last city visited in the Where the Hell is Matt? 2012 video is the town of Seattle in Washington.

From the Wikipedia article I learned there are 5 Where the Hell is Matt videos, with Seattle being the last town visited in 3 out of 5 of the videos.

Via Google I also learned Matt Harding has a website all about Where the Hell is Matt.

On Matt's website I saw the following....


Above it says if the map says "Seattle," Matt is home. I am guessing this would seem to indicate that Matt Harding lives in Seattle. I wonder if he is any relation to Tonya?

A Frigid Walk With The Village Creek Indian Ghosts Pondering The Problems Of The Troll Known As Gar The Texan

Village Creek Bayou Cold Ducks
The wind had the air feeling bone chilling cold today whilst I walked with the Indian Ghosts who haunt the Village Creek Natural Historical Area.

The temperature was a degree above freezing. The gusty wind had me feeling way underdressed, what with nothing covering my ears or fingertips.

The Village Creek Bayou had a lot of ducks floating in it today.

Big cold ducks.

 I was able to get one shot off at the ducks before most of them took to frightened flight.

Changing the subject to something else.

This morning I was surprised to learn, via that observant observer who calls himself Gar the Texan, that the weather and all its related variants is all I ever talk about.

I did not realize this til Gar the Texan pointed it out to me.

In that same informative blogging I learned that Gar the Texan has been trying to get a rise out of people with what he calls "trolling." I think by "trolling" Gar the Texan means he was trying to aggravate people by being aggravating.

Apparently, in Gar the Texan's words, this "trolling" experiment has been an "epic fail."

Gar the Texan is really good at being aggravating. Unfortunately, I don't think he realizes when it is he is being aggravating, hence the trolling failure.

Ever since Google refused to have its ads on Gar the Texan's blog, due to his extremely provocative content, the boy has been thrashing about trying to find that magical formula that causes one blog to gain traction whilst another does not.

I suspect Gar the Texan figured out how to check his blog's Alexa Ranking and was mortified at the result.

I have long wanted to give Gar the Texan a really good tip, but then refrain because I fear hurting his really delicate feelers. But now I'm thinking, delicate feelers be damned, I am just going to give Gar the Texan this really good tip that I've stopped myself from giving due to the hurting delicate feelers worry.

Google and all the search engines like original content. It's like the thing they like the most. Gar the Texan uses way too many cliches. Cliches are seen as non-content by the search engines. If you write a blogging where 50%, or more of it, are made up of cliche phrases, that blogging is not going to be indexed well by the search engines.

In Gar the Texan's most recent blogging, he makes it sound as if he has little of interest going on in his existence, outside of what happens at his job, which he refuses to talk about.

But, Gar the Texan has lots of things he could talk about, outside of his job, and maybe even do so without resorting to excessive cliches.

For instance.

Once a month, or more, Gar the Texan goes on a cruise. I would think those cruises would provide all sorts of original, interesting content. But, you would not know if from what Gar the Texan writes about it.

Gar the Texan went to Cabo San Lucas. He wrote about this on his blog, but pretty much all he had to say was that the cab driver gave him free beer on the ride from the airport to his hotel.

I don't recollect reading a word about Gar the Texan's visit to Las Vegas. I suspect this is because he was mortified to learn that Vegas is not like being on a cruise, as in it is not a passive experience, you have to find your own way to restaurants, shows, entertainment, Hoover dam.

I really think the real reason Google fired Gar the Texan was not due to his adult content, but was instead because Google got tired of reading way too much about testing various insulin pumps, with most of the testing expressed using cliches...

29 Degrees Feeling Like 12 This Monday Morning In North Texas With No Big Snow Drifts

29 degrees early this Monday morning, soon after the sun showed up. A wind is blowing, which, apparently makes it really feel like 12 degrees in the outer world at my location.

I will not be going swimming this morning.

It is not big drifts of snow that are making me think making it to the pool would be a lot of bother, it is this extremely cold temperature that suddenly makes swimming seem unappealing.

A week ago we were breaking temperature records in North Texas, records on the HOT side of record breaking. Windows open, followed by A/C chilling.

And now, it would appear Winter has arrived, 12 days before the solstice.

I am thinking my #1 fun today will come from needing to wear long pants and a flannel shirt. Or maybe a sweater. I think I still have a couple flannel shirts surviving from my years of flannel shirts being a necessary part of a Pacific Northwest uniform.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Mount Tandy Politely Returned My Lost Sunglasses

This morning on my way to swimming I reached for my sunglasses and found I could not find them.

Remembering that I'd returned to my abode, Saturday night, after dark, I figured my sunglasses were likely in my vehicle.

I figured wrong.

Then I remembered that as it got dark, on my Saturday night sunset hike on the Tandy Hills, I took off the sunglasses and inserted them in my t-shirt's pocket.

When I got to my vehicle on Saturday night I removed the t-shirt and installed another shirt. I speculated that it was during the t-shirt removal that the sunglasses fell out of the pocket, and due to the fact that some noisy conversing was taking place, I did not hear the sunglasses hit the ground.

I had not intended to return to the Tandy Hills today. But, since I figured that the summit of Mount Tandy was likely the resting place of my lost sunglasses, I would return to see if I could find them.

Finding the lost sunglasses required no looking. As I drove to my regular parking spot I saw the no longer lost sunglasses. That is they, in the picture above, sitting on their overnight resting spot on the summit of Mount Tandy, looking no worse for having weathered a Texas, late Fall, night.