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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


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


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


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.

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