I once had a Spanish girl whose name she kept secret from me. She followed me around the streets of Madrid, and upon reaching my hotel, asked, in broken English, if she could have her picture made with me. I think she thought I was famous. And I looked the part. I had my hair slicked up and out, my Italian leather jacket, with a designer shirt, and a five o'clock shadow to boot. We smiled nervously at each other while her freind snapped photos of us. Suddenly her friend began calling out an instruction in Spanish that my English ears could not understand. She paused as she searched for the word....."Kiss" she shouted triumphantly.
I thought I would get a peck on the cheek or maybe the lips if i was lucky. I turned to face her, and before I got my proper kiss footing, was mauled. It was a mellay, of lips and limbs and hair. I was overtaken, and soon afterward found that I was missing a pocket watch, a packet of train peanuts, and my lucky coin which turned out to prove otherwise.
I don't know why I tell you this except that somewhere I know that you understand the common blunder of mistaking beautiful Spanish women for filthy bearded gypsies.
Andrew
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Monday, October 04, 2004
Friday Night Phillip
It was a pretty day with an unseasonable cool on the air due to our recent bouts with Hurricanes Ivan, Jean, and Karl. I crept passed my friends from Mobile sleeping soundly on the couch, away from 80mph winds and destroyed apartment complexes; taking refuge in my one bedroom apartment located on the brink of a downtown, tired from torrential rains and weather sirens. It was about 5:30, and after brewing some coffee and having a cigarette, I put on a flannel shirt and went for a walk with my hands stuffed deep into my pockets. The way a man burdened with thought staggers toward conclusion.
A 350 lbs homeless man named Phillip asked me for a quarter, and when I told him I didn't have any change, said, "How 'bout a five?" Philip comes by and God-blesses me for the five spot I gave him that following Monday, and has become regular fixture on my front steps. He cleans the street in front of my house, picks the cigarette butts out of my flower garden, and he's washed my car a few times. Each task earning a five dollar bill, cigarette, and a ride to the Salvation Army, or his "mamma's house" as he likes to lie about. A neighbor of mine, a local evangelist, also employs the man power of homeless Philip, promising to pay him on Sunday AFTER he attends church service. Philip would rather have the immediate five spot, but can be seen making his way, sweaty and out of breath, to the preach's porch around 8:30 every Sunday morning.
I sometimes have visions of Philip turning and killing me, coming at me with a lead pipe or breaking through my flimsy door and tossing me from my roost on the balcony with no rails, huffing away with my clock radio and some Creedance tapes-the only thing of mine with any real value. I am not as concerned with it as I probably should be, leaving the door open when I go inside to get the cash or the glass of water, testing his patience, his limits, his rehabilitation. Yet there he is, sitting idly on the porch, the beginnings of his large a$$ facing me as he stares off into the trees, thoughts of cheap bourbon and possibly, hopefully the Holy Spirit, wandering in the heat. He takes the glass of water and God-blesses me as though I've sneezed, as I drop him off in a field near my house.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
Finally Came in Handy...
Tucker peeked his head in my room around 8:04 this morning. Apparently my alarm had been going off since around 6:30. I have no idea why or how I was still in bed, but there I lay, naked, and half covered.
"Duuuuuuuude", was Tucker's word for this.
My eyes are barely open, swollen from the ridiculously short amount of time they had been closed, and I'm trying to fill in the "Do I call in?" equation.
"Is there anyway to make it there on time? How much vacation time do I have left? Have I ironed anything anyway? Do i NEED a shower? Did I shave yesterday or the day before? Have I screwed up too much this week for this to be ok with managers? Is Narcoleprosy a believable disease?"
It all hinged on my hair.
There was absolutely no time for a shave, and definitely not a shower as I had to be at work 4 minutes ago. I considered the option of rolling out of bed directly into some dress pants and a tie, yet before any of this, I had to see if it had appeared I had been sleeping. I gave myself a look in the mirror and there before me was the same looking guy I had seen the morning earlier-post shower that is. Aside from the fossil marks on my face left by the orthopedic pillow, I looked like a million bucks. My hair was perfectly unkempt and needed no further attention. No water, no shampoo, no wax/gel/mousse/snot whatever. I instantly dressed and shot out the door, hitting the Interstate less than four minutes later.
I arrive and no one seems to notice, partly because of the bank scam going on over the phone with one of our managers giving the go ahead to call the cops, but mostly because my hair looked soooo good.
It finally came in handy. Years of having church people noogie me and say, "Fergit your comb?" Ages of scrutiny from bosses, telling me it's "stylish, but un-professional". Eons of black women remarking "Yo hair look gooooood. How you git it to do dat?". It all finally paid off. Right when I needed it to, it came through. This is, of course, a landmark day for me and my hair. Usually it's position on things is complete rebuke and rebellion. Picture day in high school met with sudden cowlicks. Job interviews met with the one dangling bang that refuses to stand. First dates met with white flakes, dangling bangs and sudden cowlicks-all despite me.
I'd like to send Athena a Thank You card. Athena is the Greek woman who is responsible for the original cut. She was a goddess in more ways than one.
From the rat's nest
Andrew
"Duuuuuuuude", was Tucker's word for this.
My eyes are barely open, swollen from the ridiculously short amount of time they had been closed, and I'm trying to fill in the "Do I call in?" equation.
"Is there anyway to make it there on time? How much vacation time do I have left? Have I ironed anything anyway? Do i NEED a shower? Did I shave yesterday or the day before? Have I screwed up too much this week for this to be ok with managers? Is Narcoleprosy a believable disease?"
It all hinged on my hair.
There was absolutely no time for a shave, and definitely not a shower as I had to be at work 4 minutes ago. I considered the option of rolling out of bed directly into some dress pants and a tie, yet before any of this, I had to see if it had appeared I had been sleeping. I gave myself a look in the mirror and there before me was the same looking guy I had seen the morning earlier-post shower that is. Aside from the fossil marks on my face left by the orthopedic pillow, I looked like a million bucks. My hair was perfectly unkempt and needed no further attention. No water, no shampoo, no wax/gel/mousse/snot whatever. I instantly dressed and shot out the door, hitting the Interstate less than four minutes later.
I arrive and no one seems to notice, partly because of the bank scam going on over the phone with one of our managers giving the go ahead to call the cops, but mostly because my hair looked soooo good.
It finally came in handy. Years of having church people noogie me and say, "Fergit your comb?" Ages of scrutiny from bosses, telling me it's "stylish, but un-professional". Eons of black women remarking "Yo hair look gooooood. How you git it to do dat?". It all finally paid off. Right when I needed it to, it came through. This is, of course, a landmark day for me and my hair. Usually it's position on things is complete rebuke and rebellion. Picture day in high school met with sudden cowlicks. Job interviews met with the one dangling bang that refuses to stand. First dates met with white flakes, dangling bangs and sudden cowlicks-all despite me.
I'd like to send Athena a Thank You card. Athena is the Greek woman who is responsible for the original cut. She was a goddess in more ways than one.
From the rat's nest
Andrew
Thursday, July 15, 2004
An Angry Wake
Hey,
The lake was fun. I am burned to a chrisp. We hung around the rock for a while but mostly swam around our place and threw each other off the jet ski. A little tubing, a little boating, you know. I slept on the dock for a long time, which might be the reason I'm baked on the front side. It was a long and restful nap, and I felt as though I had lapsed into a coma. I woke up to someone pouring beer on my head.
My friend's hot sister came. She just graduated law school and is about to move to California, so she made for good conversation, and ended up being a lot of fun. Another one of his friends came from Atlanta, and another from Florida. Everyone was finishing a masters program or had graduated years ago. It was pretty funny being stuck in the boat of education. Everyone is smart and successful, and then me, the village idiot, napping soundly on the dock with beer on my head.
I did see a boat full of lesbians however. Either that or the German National Softball Team. No kidding. And short hair, the thick necks, the cigarette, the dock short bathing suit, the whole bit. Then there were some real athletic types on there with the bull dikes. They were somewhat feminine, but with an Amazonian quality to them. Smoking, drinking, swearing, hating men, seething from a bitterness regular lobos can't understand. They floated around the rock for a while, but it was so obvious that it was a lesbian boat, that eventually people began to stare for uncomfortable periods of time, while others snapped pictures, and mothers began telling their children to get back in the boat. The lesbian love boat left just as they had come, with a loud engine, and an angry wake.
Wave
Andrew
The lake was fun. I am burned to a chrisp. We hung around the rock for a while but mostly swam around our place and threw each other off the jet ski. A little tubing, a little boating, you know. I slept on the dock for a long time, which might be the reason I'm baked on the front side. It was a long and restful nap, and I felt as though I had lapsed into a coma. I woke up to someone pouring beer on my head.
My friend's hot sister came. She just graduated law school and is about to move to California, so she made for good conversation, and ended up being a lot of fun. Another one of his friends came from Atlanta, and another from Florida. Everyone was finishing a masters program or had graduated years ago. It was pretty funny being stuck in the boat of education. Everyone is smart and successful, and then me, the village idiot, napping soundly on the dock with beer on my head.
I did see a boat full of lesbians however. Either that or the German National Softball Team. No kidding. And short hair, the thick necks, the cigarette, the dock short bathing suit, the whole bit. Then there were some real athletic types on there with the bull dikes. They were somewhat feminine, but with an Amazonian quality to them. Smoking, drinking, swearing, hating men, seething from a bitterness regular lobos can't understand. They floated around the rock for a while, but it was so obvious that it was a lesbian boat, that eventually people began to stare for uncomfortable periods of time, while others snapped pictures, and mothers began telling their children to get back in the boat. The lesbian love boat left just as they had come, with a loud engine, and an angry wake.
Wave
Andrew
Everyday Lesbian
My Thursday routine usually consists of getting Thai food to go, eating and smoking cigarettes on the balcony and watching the crazy Asians in my apartment complex attempt to fly fish in the drainage ditch. I would tell them that there are no fish in the drainage ditch, but they get so excited when they're lines get snagged on a stick I would feel too bad popping their small bubble of hope. They cuckle and caw in their native tongue and splash around, then, after reeling in the stick, one of them usually says a swear word really loud and pitches the stick back into water. The process repeats itself and I light another. Much like popcorn during a movie.
Then I write a few letters, smoke, do some ironing, make some long distance phone calls, and drink until I pass out in the recliner out on the balcony.
I bet being a lesbian for a day is a lot more glamorous. Maybe I'll take up a hobby, like fishing.
Everyday Lesbian
Ange
Then I write a few letters, smoke, do some ironing, make some long distance phone calls, and drink until I pass out in the recliner out on the balcony.
I bet being a lesbian for a day is a lot more glamorous. Maybe I'll take up a hobby, like fishing.
Everyday Lesbian
Ange
On the Road Again
I was going to the beach. The Hughes' annual beach trip is this week, and I was supposed to go down this afternoon (Friday) and stay until Sunday. The weekend would probably consist of hearing myself get fatter, as the Hughes like to indulge the senses while on holiday. I like to indulge the senses around 6:30 every morning, but that's beside the point. Anyway, turns out, the parking garage I use along with the valet service had a profoundly negative affect on my car. Apparently they left the headlights on and after a couple of hours Jaun Honda breathed her last. (I know Jaun is a male name, but all cars are women--temperamental, cost a lot of money, and can look incredibly sexy yet never put out)
I do have a good story,
I was working in Slapout, Alabama last week. I was on my lunch break smoking a cigarette and reading the paper after my lunch at the local diner. I'm a sucker for diners. Good food, ugly people, and sweet tea with the sugar content to make a diabetic implode. So I'm sitting on this bench out side the local apothecary down the street from Dusty's Diner and Movie rental. Now picture a 23 year old man with killer good looks dressed to the nines in my starched whit shirt and deep blue Talbot tie, reading the Advertiser and smoking a cigarette. I stood out like a boner in church. This old blue pickup pulls up right in front of me and out steps one of the most hideous women I've ever encountered in real life. She wasn't skinny, she was skeletal. Her leathery skin was wrapped tightly around her gaunt face which fronted a peanut sized head topped with long wispy red hair that looked as if it had been fried in motor oil. God couldn't make an uglier creature. She looked the way Simon's breath used to smell. I instantly fell in love. She approached me and I glanced up from my paper.
"Weeeeelllllll Shiiiiiiiiiyyyyyt! Yer bout the best looking Jee-hova's Wittnessed I ever seen! I jist wanna come sit in yore lap and........." Something in Hick I couldn't understand. I took a long pull from the cigarette and told her I'd like to show her some pamphlets but I left them on my bike back at the diner. She thought that was the funniest thing she'd ever heard, and slapped herself in the hip to prove it.
The Friday previous, I had bought gas from her at the Petro station. We talked about the rise in tobacco tax, and how much cheaper things are outside of Montgomery. So she remembered me and on her way out made some remark about having a "sweet @ss."
Back at work, hours later, I cashing check after check and sort of in a rush to clear the lobby when I look up and there in front of me is Lesha, her red wispy hair pulled back into a ponytail revealing age lines that made her face look like a road map of Iowa. She began, "I swore you was a Jee-hova's Wittnessed outside. Yer dressed jist like one. You know, if I wudn't in-volved, I'd eatchoo right up. But mah dawter, she's sangle."
"Oh really," I say, "how old is she?" I really don't know why I was entertaining the idea of meeting this woman's daughter, actually I think I was more or less trying to get her to say something I could make a note of later. Then it happened. Follow closely.
"Sheez 21, but she aint here."
"Well where is she?"
"Oh she gone down to that DAVE con-sert. She loves Dave, he11, we all love DAVE......"
"Who's he playing with?"
This is the part where I first noticed something strange about her, besides everything written above.
She looked around, as if checking to see who was listening, leaned way in to where I could smell her putrid vomitous cat-@ss breath. "Willie Nelson." she hissed.
"Oh yeah, I love Willie Nelson, The Highway Man, the Rambler, I listen to him all the time," I gushed. "Probably one of my all time favorites, boy, that would be an awesome concert to go to. Is she a fan of Willie too?
She leans in, and whispered, "Willie's my deddy."
"Fcuk and alas!" I thought.
"Let me see some ID", I instantly retorted. Part of me, a big part of me wanted to believe her. I wanted her to be Willie Nelson's daughter more than anything.
She pulled out her id and as I gazed down on it and read the name 'Lesha Nelson Hardover', she said, "Don't believe me do ya?"
"I don't know, I...."
"Look at me", she said, "You think i want to claim that ugly b@st@rd."
I gazed long and hard into that boney mug. It was him. I swear by the day I was born it was him. The gaunt, skeletal face, those big doe eyes mounted deep into that peanut head, the long wispy red hair that look as though it had been deep fried, it was him without the y chromosome.
"Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain?" I squeaked. And with this statement she tipped the rim of her aviator sunglasses down to reveal eyes bluer than that a Roman bath. "That sunuva b1tch NEVER paid child support."
I cracked up. I laffed so hard that everyone started to stare. Brian, it was her. It was Willie Nelson's b@stard womanchild. And she works at a Petro station in Slapout. Isn't that perfect?
I'll be there at Jubilee tonight, sweating away with all the white trash hicks and hayseeds of the earth. But somewhere, somewhere, there she'll be. Probably drinking a lot more than she should, chain smoking and humpdancing with some guy two generations younger than her. God Bless America.
Can you believe it?
Your humble correspondent to the south,
Andrew Greene
I do have a good story,
I was working in Slapout, Alabama last week. I was on my lunch break smoking a cigarette and reading the paper after my lunch at the local diner. I'm a sucker for diners. Good food, ugly people, and sweet tea with the sugar content to make a diabetic implode. So I'm sitting on this bench out side the local apothecary down the street from Dusty's Diner and Movie rental. Now picture a 23 year old man with killer good looks dressed to the nines in my starched whit shirt and deep blue Talbot tie, reading the Advertiser and smoking a cigarette. I stood out like a boner in church. This old blue pickup pulls up right in front of me and out steps one of the most hideous women I've ever encountered in real life. She wasn't skinny, she was skeletal. Her leathery skin was wrapped tightly around her gaunt face which fronted a peanut sized head topped with long wispy red hair that looked as if it had been fried in motor oil. God couldn't make an uglier creature. She looked the way Simon's breath used to smell. I instantly fell in love. She approached me and I glanced up from my paper.
"Weeeeelllllll Shiiiiiiiiiyyyyyt! Yer bout the best looking Jee-hova's Wittnessed I ever seen! I jist wanna come sit in yore lap and........." Something in Hick I couldn't understand. I took a long pull from the cigarette and told her I'd like to show her some pamphlets but I left them on my bike back at the diner. She thought that was the funniest thing she'd ever heard, and slapped herself in the hip to prove it.
The Friday previous, I had bought gas from her at the Petro station. We talked about the rise in tobacco tax, and how much cheaper things are outside of Montgomery. So she remembered me and on her way out made some remark about having a "sweet @ss."
Back at work, hours later, I cashing check after check and sort of in a rush to clear the lobby when I look up and there in front of me is Lesha, her red wispy hair pulled back into a ponytail revealing age lines that made her face look like a road map of Iowa. She began, "I swore you was a Jee-hova's Wittnessed outside. Yer dressed jist like one. You know, if I wudn't in-volved, I'd eatchoo right up. But mah dawter, she's sangle."
"Oh really," I say, "how old is she?" I really don't know why I was entertaining the idea of meeting this woman's daughter, actually I think I was more or less trying to get her to say something I could make a note of later. Then it happened. Follow closely.
"Sheez 21, but she aint here."
"Well where is she?"
"Oh she gone down to that DAVE con-sert. She loves Dave, he11, we all love DAVE......"
"Who's he playing with?"
This is the part where I first noticed something strange about her, besides everything written above.
She looked around, as if checking to see who was listening, leaned way in to where I could smell her putrid vomitous cat-@ss breath. "Willie Nelson." she hissed.
"Oh yeah, I love Willie Nelson, The Highway Man, the Rambler, I listen to him all the time," I gushed. "Probably one of my all time favorites, boy, that would be an awesome concert to go to. Is she a fan of Willie too?
She leans in, and whispered, "Willie's my deddy."
"Fcuk and alas!" I thought.
"Let me see some ID", I instantly retorted. Part of me, a big part of me wanted to believe her. I wanted her to be Willie Nelson's daughter more than anything.
She pulled out her id and as I gazed down on it and read the name 'Lesha Nelson Hardover', she said, "Don't believe me do ya?"
"I don't know, I...."
"Look at me", she said, "You think i want to claim that ugly b@st@rd."
I gazed long and hard into that boney mug. It was him. I swear by the day I was born it was him. The gaunt, skeletal face, those big doe eyes mounted deep into that peanut head, the long wispy red hair that look as though it had been deep fried, it was him without the y chromosome.
"Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain?" I squeaked. And with this statement she tipped the rim of her aviator sunglasses down to reveal eyes bluer than that a Roman bath. "That sunuva b1tch NEVER paid child support."
I cracked up. I laffed so hard that everyone started to stare. Brian, it was her. It was Willie Nelson's b@stard womanchild. And she works at a Petro station in Slapout. Isn't that perfect?
I'll be there at Jubilee tonight, sweating away with all the white trash hicks and hayseeds of the earth. But somewhere, somewhere, there she'll be. Probably drinking a lot more than she should, chain smoking and humpdancing with some guy two generations younger than her. God Bless America.
Can you believe it?
Your humble correspondent to the south,
Andrew Greene
Monday, July 12, 2004
So Much Polish Game
This weekend I had so much game.
I was swimming at my apartment complex's pool, when low and behold, this absolute goddess is swimming near me. She was wearing a white bikini which complimented her sun soaked almond skin and cherry wood hair. Other guys had tried to talk to her earlier, clumsily dangling their feet in the water, searching for words that wouldn't come, and performing feats of bravado off the diving board. In response, she would casually turn her head, looking skyward, a thousand miles away.
Eventually most of the guys gave up. That is, except for moi'.
I took my shirt off, porno style, and made my way to the pool. As i jumped in, I gave a girlish squeal, as the water was a little colder than i had assumed. Strike one.
Strike two came as my roommate threw a tennis ball at me, and when i jumped up to catch it my bathing suit stayed in the water, as my young taut butt shot skyward.
Strike three followed immediatly after strike two. Instead of reaching for the tennis ball, I reached for my bathing suit waistline. The tennis ball sailed through my defeating hands, smashing into the girls cheek
Tucker (the thrower) immediatley screams-half warning-half laughing, like the "Caaw" of a crow, then runs behind the corner.
So here I am. The only one to be angry with. I waddle over to her and take her head in my hands and lean it back as if I'm looking up her nose. At first she tried to wrench herself away from me, but after a brief tussle, she relaxed, and i brought her back up for air. She wasn't bleeding, but the scuff of the tennis ball had definately seared into her face.
I apologized and she started to smile, then stopped has a lense from her sunglasses surfaced between us.
She huffed around for a minute, fishing the rest of her face from the pool, before she said anything to me.
Turns out she's from Poland, which explains the expletives I didn't understand, and her father is a fighter pilot in the Polish Air Gaurd. I guess he's attending the War College at Maxwell.
"Weren't you guys the ones to defend yourself against Germany with swords and horses?"
I was obviously not the first to say that to her, and she responded with a very mechanical and robotic repsonse. After that, she asked me my name. I was a little flattered that the hot girl wanted to know MY name, ME, MY name. But then i realized by the tone in her voice, that she was asking so she could later report me.
I told her I would be out at the pool next Saturday around the same time. She said something in Polish I couldn't understand, but I'll bet it was something about wanting to see and talk to me again, and about how hot I looked without a shirt on.
Maybe I'll bring an extra pair of sunglasses.
I was swimming at my apartment complex's pool, when low and behold, this absolute goddess is swimming near me. She was wearing a white bikini which complimented her sun soaked almond skin and cherry wood hair. Other guys had tried to talk to her earlier, clumsily dangling their feet in the water, searching for words that wouldn't come, and performing feats of bravado off the diving board. In response, she would casually turn her head, looking skyward, a thousand miles away.
Eventually most of the guys gave up. That is, except for moi'.
I took my shirt off, porno style, and made my way to the pool. As i jumped in, I gave a girlish squeal, as the water was a little colder than i had assumed. Strike one.
Strike two came as my roommate threw a tennis ball at me, and when i jumped up to catch it my bathing suit stayed in the water, as my young taut butt shot skyward.
Strike three followed immediatly after strike two. Instead of reaching for the tennis ball, I reached for my bathing suit waistline. The tennis ball sailed through my defeating hands, smashing into the girls cheek
Tucker (the thrower) immediatley screams-half warning-half laughing, like the "Caaw" of a crow, then runs behind the corner.
So here I am. The only one to be angry with. I waddle over to her and take her head in my hands and lean it back as if I'm looking up her nose. At first she tried to wrench herself away from me, but after a brief tussle, she relaxed, and i brought her back up for air. She wasn't bleeding, but the scuff of the tennis ball had definately seared into her face.
I apologized and she started to smile, then stopped has a lense from her sunglasses surfaced between us.
She huffed around for a minute, fishing the rest of her face from the pool, before she said anything to me.
Turns out she's from Poland, which explains the expletives I didn't understand, and her father is a fighter pilot in the Polish Air Gaurd. I guess he's attending the War College at Maxwell.
"Weren't you guys the ones to defend yourself against Germany with swords and horses?"
I was obviously not the first to say that to her, and she responded with a very mechanical and robotic repsonse. After that, she asked me my name. I was a little flattered that the hot girl wanted to know MY name, ME, MY name. But then i realized by the tone in her voice, that she was asking so she could later report me.
I told her I would be out at the pool next Saturday around the same time. She said something in Polish I couldn't understand, but I'll bet it was something about wanting to see and talk to me again, and about how hot I looked without a shirt on.
Maybe I'll bring an extra pair of sunglasses.
Friday, July 09, 2004
Maid in Montgomery
So I have my three month evaluation this morning. I'm sure I'll be gotten on to for my long lunches, frequent bathroom trips, and extensive email use. But Brian, this is what makes me Andrew Greene. They should have known this going in. I've told you about my hair right? They wanted me to comb it down, so i told them where they could put the comb.
I need to be around creatives. This brain of mine is starting to feel like congeal salad.
So I'm house sitting this week. The people who own the house have a pool with nothing but an adolescent hedgrow growing around it. No fence, no privacy, just stubby hedge. I wake at 5 am, and decide I'm going to start my day with a swim. The pool is covered in Crape Myrtle buddlings, fallen from a thunderstorm the night before. White and pink and purple little petals spread like an afghan across the glassy surface, and so i dove right in. I felt as though I were part of a second rate trashy romance novel. At this point i decided to go in the buff. It was early, and the early morning so and so could act as a rudder, i thought, and no one would have to know. I'm back stroking, the white, pink, and purple petals sticking to my wet skin, my anatomical sundial telling me it was 5:45. I do a couple of laps, then put on my aviator sunglasses and lay on a float and smoke a cigarette. I'm drifting in and out of consciousness, when i hear the gate open, and look up to see the maid coming down the walk.
This in and of itself is funny, but what kills me is how queer I must have looked. I could have been the cover model for Naked Man Page Magazine. I'm laying on a kid float, half mast, covered in white, pink, and purple crape myrtle buds, wearing only aviator sunglasses, smoking a cigarette.
There is little you can do when your stark naked. You can try to hide yourself, but you just end up looking more retarded and somehow, more naked. If you just sit there, in all your glory, it places responsibility on the other person. They've walked into a naked atmosphere, trying to hide makes the atmosphere clothed and puts the naked person in fault. Had Adam and Eve pretended nothing was wrong, we could be seeing some great rack right now. I decided to change the atmosphere.
Hidelga, or whatever her name was, saw me and immediatly averted her eyes, "Oohhh,.....Sorry." she remarked as her pace quickened towards the back door.
"Your check's on the table." I called after her.
I then did something which has made me laff all day. I have no idea why i did this, but it seemed right at the moment. LIke I was giving Hidelga the finger or something. Scolding yet taunting her at the very same time
I rolled off the float like a bloated walrus, the aviators and cigarette still attached to my face. I stayed under water for a while, waiting, thinking. I knew what Hidelga needed, what she deserved, what she was begging for.
I planted my feet firmly on the bottom of the pool and pushed myself towards the surface with all my might, the cigarette flecking apart, going from half mast, to full salute. As i surfaced, I thought of the picture that was to be burned into Hidelga's mind for all eternity. It would probably race across her mind during those idle moments of dusting an amoir or lowboy, or perhaps she would think about it while removing soap scum from a tile wall. I burst from the water and did one of those hump-back whale dives, where your a$$ is left sticking out of the water, hanging in the air. Every guy who has ever been naked in a pool has done this. And I did it for Hidelga.
I wrote the above this morning and was cracking up, now that it's noon, I'm not so sure that it's funny any more.
tobbacky
I need to be around creatives. This brain of mine is starting to feel like congeal salad.
So I'm house sitting this week. The people who own the house have a pool with nothing but an adolescent hedgrow growing around it. No fence, no privacy, just stubby hedge. I wake at 5 am, and decide I'm going to start my day with a swim. The pool is covered in Crape Myrtle buddlings, fallen from a thunderstorm the night before. White and pink and purple little petals spread like an afghan across the glassy surface, and so i dove right in. I felt as though I were part of a second rate trashy romance novel. At this point i decided to go in the buff. It was early, and the early morning so and so could act as a rudder, i thought, and no one would have to know. I'm back stroking, the white, pink, and purple petals sticking to my wet skin, my anatomical sundial telling me it was 5:45. I do a couple of laps, then put on my aviator sunglasses and lay on a float and smoke a cigarette. I'm drifting in and out of consciousness, when i hear the gate open, and look up to see the maid coming down the walk.
This in and of itself is funny, but what kills me is how queer I must have looked. I could have been the cover model for Naked Man Page Magazine. I'm laying on a kid float, half mast, covered in white, pink, and purple crape myrtle buds, wearing only aviator sunglasses, smoking a cigarette.
There is little you can do when your stark naked. You can try to hide yourself, but you just end up looking more retarded and somehow, more naked. If you just sit there, in all your glory, it places responsibility on the other person. They've walked into a naked atmosphere, trying to hide makes the atmosphere clothed and puts the naked person in fault. Had Adam and Eve pretended nothing was wrong, we could be seeing some great rack right now. I decided to change the atmosphere.
Hidelga, or whatever her name was, saw me and immediatly averted her eyes, "Oohhh,.....Sorry." she remarked as her pace quickened towards the back door.
"Your check's on the table." I called after her.
I then did something which has made me laff all day. I have no idea why i did this, but it seemed right at the moment. LIke I was giving Hidelga the finger or something. Scolding yet taunting her at the very same time
I rolled off the float like a bloated walrus, the aviators and cigarette still attached to my face. I stayed under water for a while, waiting, thinking. I knew what Hidelga needed, what she deserved, what she was begging for.
I planted my feet firmly on the bottom of the pool and pushed myself towards the surface with all my might, the cigarette flecking apart, going from half mast, to full salute. As i surfaced, I thought of the picture that was to be burned into Hidelga's mind for all eternity. It would probably race across her mind during those idle moments of dusting an amoir or lowboy, or perhaps she would think about it while removing soap scum from a tile wall. I burst from the water and did one of those hump-back whale dives, where your a$$ is left sticking out of the water, hanging in the air. Every guy who has ever been naked in a pool has done this. And I did it for Hidelga.
I wrote the above this morning and was cracking up, now that it's noon, I'm not so sure that it's funny any more.
tobbacky
Monday, June 07, 2004
Micturation
Morning Klint
Do teeth really matter. I met a gal today who had a great face, and even greater rack, and her personality wasn't bad either. Should it matter that her teeth look as though they were mangled in a train accident.
I was peeing behind the dumpster at Brewsters icecream yesterday. It was raining and so i had my NorthFace Jacket on with the hood pulled over my head, and my hoo-haah flaggling out of my pants like a loose fire hose with the water turned full blast. I heard a noise and instictively turned to see. As we all know and understand, when wearing a hood the whole body has to turn in order to obtain full vision. There is no peripheral vision with a hood on your head. The first thing I see is this look of shock and disgust, then as she glances down, a slight blush and hungry grin. This is typical, except that the reaction usually doesn't come from a 16 year old teenybopper. I didn't know quite how to feel. I was sort of proud, then sort of sick. No matter, I finished micturating and she finished taking the trash out. It was a little weird when i ordered a double scoop of pistacio nut from her 3 minutes later. The rest of relationship was a quiet understanding.
I think Tube likes me. She comes around and waves an awful lot. Poor Tube.
Have a good weekend?
Spurning forward,
Silt slitter
Do teeth really matter. I met a gal today who had a great face, and even greater rack, and her personality wasn't bad either. Should it matter that her teeth look as though they were mangled in a train accident.
I was peeing behind the dumpster at Brewsters icecream yesterday. It was raining and so i had my NorthFace Jacket on with the hood pulled over my head, and my hoo-haah flaggling out of my pants like a loose fire hose with the water turned full blast. I heard a noise and instictively turned to see. As we all know and understand, when wearing a hood the whole body has to turn in order to obtain full vision. There is no peripheral vision with a hood on your head. The first thing I see is this look of shock and disgust, then as she glances down, a slight blush and hungry grin. This is typical, except that the reaction usually doesn't come from a 16 year old teenybopper. I didn't know quite how to feel. I was sort of proud, then sort of sick. No matter, I finished micturating and she finished taking the trash out. It was a little weird when i ordered a double scoop of pistacio nut from her 3 minutes later. The rest of relationship was a quiet understanding.
I think Tube likes me. She comes around and waves an awful lot. Poor Tube.
Have a good weekend?
Spurning forward,
Silt slitter
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