Comfort Food
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Posted:Nov 28, 2005 5:28 am
Last Updated:Oct 31, 2006 9:07 pm
7083 Views
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The first time I wanted to cook bacon after leaving home, I called my mother for advice. She has a degree in Home Economics and taught for many years at the highschool when I was young.
She told me to put my largest frying pan on the stove, turn the heat up as high as it would go, throw the entire package in without seperating the pieces, seperate and turn the pieces as they browned, and be sure to remove the pan from the burner before they reached the flash-point.
I chickened out and ordered a pizza.
I wonder how many of her former student's houses have burned to the ground. LOL Gotta love her!
Reposted from my comment on 2X's blog.
This has been my favorite recipe since I was 13. This is my comfort food of choice.
Spinguini With Clam Sauce
You will need:
2 cans of chopped clams preferably not packed with sugar ( clams + sugar = shudder + gag )
1 stick of butter,unsalted what the hell is margarine?
1 bunch of parsley preferably Italian- the flat leaves stick to the pasta better than the curly leaves
all the garlic you have on hand I'm serious
one or many bags of freshly grated parmesan cheese if you have a block of parmesan reggeione, call me and I'll be right over, seriously
1 lb. package of spinguini linguini will work in a pinch, and puhleeease not spinach or flavored retch
Fill a large stock pot half full of cold water, add a few pinches of kosher salt, place on a burner set to maximum thrust and put the lid on it.
Place a large saute pan ( one with a lid ) on the stove and set the burner to cozy. Toss in the whole stick of butter and smile big. It's gonna be good.
Rinse the entire bunch of still banded together parsley and shake semi-dry. On a cutting board ( not the one you use for raw chicken or opossum ) hold the bunch down and chop the leaves as finely as you can until you reach the stems. Toss the stems into the trash, and dump the leaves into the melted butter to wilt. Do not reserve any leaves for garnish. Fuck presentation- this is about flavor.
Gather all the garlic on the cutting board, smash with the side of the blade until the skins pop, remove cloves from their skins and slice thinly. Add to butter and parsley and stir with a wooden spoon. I like wooden spoons because they absorb flavors and bacteria. Bacteria is just another name for nutrient. My Dad is a microbiologist, and I'm rebelling here. Bear with me.
Open the cans of clams, drain liquid into a glass and set into a cool, dark cabinet where the cat wont find it and drink it. He already eats better than me.
Open a bottle of dry, Italian white wine. ( This was always the tricky part when I was a , but I have since mastered the cork screw. ) Orvietto Classico Campogrande used to be a favorite, but ripple will do just fine. ( If you have a bottle of Amarone, call me. I'll be right over. I know it's red, but seriously. ) Drink a glass while waiting for the butter to turn slightly green and the pasta to finish cooking. The smell of garlic should be entering the pores of your skin by now.
When the pasta is al dente, drain it into a colander, being careful not to block the drain thus marinating your pasta in sink-soup. I know the cat likes to hang out in the kitchen sink after using the litter box. I've seen him. Your sink might be different, but he gets around. Allow the pasta to drain.
Retrieve reserved glass of clam juice, put on counter, pick up cat and return to floor, pour into saute pan as if pouring a beer ( Don't pour out the last little chunky bits. That's where the shell pieces are. No I wont tell you what brand of beer I drink, but it is cheap. grrrrr ) and turn up the thrust to cheery.
Dump the drained pasta back into the stock pot and add a little extra virgin olive oil, stir to coat and prevent pastaballage. Sorry, no virgin jokes here. I cooked this recipe for five years while still a virgin. I was an extra virgin for two ( alright, one ) of those years. Then I started masterbating. How could I resist ..... telling a joke?
Dump the cans of clams into the butter/juice sauce. DO NOT scrape the cans to get every last bit. That is where all the crappy, shell fragments are. I hate those things crunching in my head while I chew. Put the lid on the pan, and turn up the boost for a quick three minute boil. Remove saute pan from the burner and pour contents over the pasta in the stock pot.
Stir to coat completely and add all the parmesan cheese you've got. ( If it's reggione, call me. You need special instructions, and I need directions. ) Continue blending until satisfied with results. If you have any heavy cream in the fridge, then be my friend and add a snort to the pasta. Pour remaining contents of wine glass in for good measure. Stir. Smell. Stir. Smile Big. It's gonna be GOOD!
Serves: ME! Make your own!
Unless you have Amarone or Parmesan Reggione!
There it is. The easiest recipe with the longest directions you have ever seen. Enjoy!
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numb
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Posted:Nov 20, 2005 5:36 pm
Last Updated:Oct 24, 2007 6:31 pm
6889 Views
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I am feeling the unforgivable numbness of a conversation that goes nowhere, resolves nothing and is an endless revolving of the same statements, misunderstandings and arguments.
no communication
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no understanding
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no conclusion
.
just unforgiveably numb
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2
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My First CyberSex
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Posted:Nov 13, 2005 10:00 pm
Last Updated:Mar 5, 2006 9:27 pm
7058 Views
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I can't even imagine cybersex. As you shall soon find out:
Tormentemptation: so do you cyber
ME: huh?
Tormentemptation: have cybersex
ME: people do that
Tormentemptation: all the time
Tormentemptation: where you been
ME: im still here
Tormentemptation: never mind, you wanna
ME: im game
Tormentemptation: oh baby ur gonna love it
ME: have we started
Tormentemptation: oh im so ready for you now
ME: this is it, right
Tormentemptation: once I start theres no stoppin me baby
ME: do I start now
Tormentemptation: oh your so ready, your hard at the thought of it
ME: oh yeah, im so hard now, my cock is beating with a distant rhythm
Tormentemptation: im supposed to do that
ME: how
Tormentemptation: oh i can feel it, how do you want me
ME: badly
Tormentemptation: are you gonna get into it or what
ME: im into it
Tormentemptation: oh your inside me now thrusting i never knew it could be like this
ME: me neither are we spooning
Tormentemptation: you like to spoon why
ME: it keeps a hand free for nipples and stuff
Tormentemptation: nipples and STUFF what were you born in IOWA or something
ME: howdya guess
Tormentemptation: i really wanted to cyber
ME: we're cybering
Tormentemptation: no we arent
ME: i started
Tormentemptation: no you didnt
ME: wanna try again
Tormentemptation: why bother
ME: i can get into it
Tormentemptation: STUFF it
ME: are we starting again
Tormentemptation: im thru with you
ME: wow im good
Tormentemptation: oh yeah your the man
ME: right on
Tormentemptation: i gotta go
ME: i could go again
Tormentemptation: no im too sore
ME: carpal tunnel?
Tormentemptation: cya
ME: what
Tormentemptation: see ya
ME: oh okay
Tormentemptation: bye
ME: bye i guess
Tormentemptation: later
ME: when
Tormentemptation: bye already
ME: what you gotta have the last word
Tormentemptation: no
ME: yes you do
Tormentemptation: no i dont
ME: do so
Tormentemptation: not
ME: qwerty
Tormentemptation: HA thats not a word
---------connection terminated----------
ME: well the ending's familiar at least
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5
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SPUN FOR FUN
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Posted:Nov 10, 2005 7:01 pm
Last Updated:Oct 17, 2007 9:04 pm
7016 Views
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HERE'S A KINDHEARTED SOUL WHO NEEDS OUR SUPPORT.
[post 138107]
Please give a little of your time, whatever you can spare.
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Trying Too Hard????
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Posted:Oct 30, 2005 5:14 pm
Last Updated:Mar 5, 2006 9:27 pm
7330 Views
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Here's another piece of Hotmatch history, saved in the nick of time from the timer of the autodelete. I was asked in an email from the first lady I ever contacted here, "Why I chose to contact her?" This was after our initial emails (one of which you already saw My First Erotic Email ).
The events and thoughts in it are the truth, and I did really enjoy the entire process. I just think it is kinda unusual, the things that go thru my mind when I see a really fine BOTTOM.
Anyway, this all took place my first week here.
I haven't done anything like this since.
> Hey Peaches, Well the cat has had his fun, but I am still looking for mine. Let me see...where to start? I guess at the beginning like you requested. Why did I contact you in the first place? It was a dark and stormy night. My second night on Hotmatch to be exact. I was looking thru the profiles after sorting them with the keyword, "Mouthwatering". Actually I have no idea how I found your profile. I almost always search locally. I guess I must have got disgusted and did a 'who is online' search.
Next Page...Yuck...Next Page...Yuck...Next Page...Wait a Minute....Here's Something Nice. Yes, I must admit, it was your BOTTOM that first got my attention. Then I checked your location: NM? I should have known- too good to be local. Then I noticed your age: 45? I was intrigued. 45 and finer than all the 20-somethings in Atlanta. I was curious and wanted to know more, and your profile was just a click away. I thought, "as long as I'm here I might as well give her a '10' on her pic", and after that I started looking around. I checked out our matches- not bad. Looked at your purity score- you naughty girl, you. Fairly comparable to my own- no scary shit hiding there. Then I looked at your personality type. 45, an ass like that, not too naughty, and a Growth Teacher. So intriguing!!! Then I checked out what you were looking for. Erotic Emails- I've never tried that before. Erotic emails with a growth teacher. Erotic emails with a very hot 45 year old growth teacher. Hmmm..."sweetcheeks"...hmmmm, yeah rub it in....boyfriend in CA...hmmmm,rub it in why don'cha. Saw you liked humor very much- feeling better. Erotic emails with women and men? "Eat++++++peach"- okay, maybe that explains something? I can't exactly figure it out because my purity score is too darn high. I think this was before you had completed your additional questions section, or maybe I just didn't see them. Hmmm, a testimonial from another woman...erotic emails from other women, other hot women who want us to know how very sexy you are. Growth Teacher, a testimonial from another woman, "sweetcheeks", NM, CA, my God...your thong, and your French nails. Alright, I'll bite. Nothing to lose except giving a beauiful lady a compliment and possibly receiving nothing in return. Been there before- I'm cool with it. Time to get the gameface on and think about strategy. She probably gets about a hundred emails a day with subject lines like, "Hey Baby" or "Wanna Eat That Peach", so I had better be clever-handed. I had better be nimble-tongued. I had better be quick-witted. Then it struck me-play off her name. "Wanna Eat that Peach", was quickly dismissed. Peachy...Hmm, Peach Smoothie-no...Peach Pie- Lord no...Fuzzy Navel- I wonder. I've got it- Peachy Keen! I liked the meanings of keen: having a point, intellectually acute, highly sensitive, intense, enthusiastic, wonderful. I think it could work- make my message stand out and get noticed, but no way is she going to reply to some loser without a picture. Well maybe; she's in NM, has a boyfriend, and doesn't imagine that I will be typing out those emails with my face unless I need both hands free for something. I don't even remember what I wrote. I just tried to be polite. The main thing was just having a subject line that would keep me out of the trash with the rest of the hairy-back Marys. So I sent it, and I got a reply right away. I got a reply!!! Oh wait, it's just a crappy autoreply. Well at least she got it, and I'm going to bed 'cause all this has worn me out. The next day I got a wink. A Wink!!! A wink???? Well now what the hell am I supposed to do? It was kinda nice. I've never so much as received an autoreply before- let alone, an autoreply and a wink. So I thought about it all day at work. And I thought about your picture all day, too. Kept my spirits up, ya know. I made notes about what I could say. Something short and sweet. Damn! I need another clever subject line, too. Am I making this too hard? No, I'm not settling for just a wink. I really want to try and reach this lady. Something clever and subtle- Peaches start with a flower...Peach Blossoms. That's good- signifies a beginning. Now no slacking off on the message this time. She's really going to read it and think about whether she should contact me. So I tried to come up with something that would let you know that I understood how things really were and how they could progress. Left everything up to you to choose. The ball was entirely in your court now. So I sent it, and I'm not falling for this autoreply again. Deleted it quickly just in case a messy inbox might scare you off. I was pretty darn pleased with myself when I got your reply. Thank you again. I have no idea what all this network stuff is about. Well Peaches, I hope you have enjoyed this true story. Only the names have been changed to protect the slightly impure. Darn, I've almost run out of space on this email. Maybe I'll tell you a little about what I look like next time. Oh and the story must continue. You're still the Peach-of-My-Eye. Sweet dreams, Spin
Hope you enjoyed it. I just hated the thought of losing it.
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FUK'N TRUK
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Posted:Oct 29, 2005 2:33 pm
Last Updated:Mar 5, 2006 9:27 pm
7184 Views
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I drive an '84 Toyota 3/4 ton truck. It's never had a radio or even an antenna. I almost love my truck, and I get offers to buy it all the time.
Why should I sell it when it only has 203,467.2 miles on it? A friend of mine has over 400K on his, and it is 2 years newer.
This year, its age finally caught up with it. Almost every month it has been in the shop.
Head gasket, oilpan gasket, front seal, radiator, water pump, water pump housing, thermostat, timing chain and assembly, AC compressor, (I would actually sell my soul for air conditioning in Atlanta. It is better to have briefly known coolness, than to have roasted for all eternity.) starter, clutch master and slave cylinders, brake master cylinder, brake load compensation valve (WTF, $600!), battery, and tires have all been replaced. It runs great and is still cheaper than a new truck.
This morning I was putting a bag of trash into the bed of the truck, and I saw something odd. Lying behind the cab was an empty pack of cigarettes and two new, sealed Trojan condoms. I am at a loss to explain why they are there. I could understand the empty pack but not the two perfectly good condoms.
Being the imaginative and paranoid person that I am, I spent all day at work trying to figure it out. I just can't seem to figure it out. I wonder if someone is trying to say to me,
"Stay out of my fuk'n spot or you'll be the next thing smoked around here!"
Then on the way home after work, and I hope this isn't related somehow, I was in the fast lane driving behind a red F-150 with a Senator license plate and one of those, " W Still The President ", stickers. The slow lane had a garbage truck in it. There was nothing I could do except follow.
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My First Erotic Email
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Posted:Oct 23, 2005 9:16 pm
Last Updated:Mar 5, 2006 9:27 pm
7446 Views
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Like the title said, this is it. I wanted to put it here so the system wouldn't delete it. Getting close to the time limit. Maybe I'll use it as a benchmark for future writings or continue the story. I've actually never written anything erotic before. *chuckling* I don't even think I've ever written a dirty word before, to tell the truth.
Here it is, my first effort, my first contact on this site. I haven't heard from her in quite a while. Hope she's having fun.
The morning sun coming thru the sheers finally found me and nudged me until I give into consciousness. I don't remember opening the drapes. Oh yeah. You were up earlier. I have the day off, and I intend to enjoy it. Fully awake now I roll over onto my back, flop my arms out at my sides, and sigh as I watch the ceiling fan spin shadows from the rising sun across the ceiling. I search my memory to discover why you aren't here now to help me get this day started the way I had planned last night. I roll over on my side and move my hand gently over the sheet where I had imagined I would find you in the morning. I can almost feel your shoulder, your waist, and the thrilling curve of your hip as I move my hand down. Wait a minute! This isn't how I had planned to start the day. I'll wait for your return so you can join me. Flop onto my back again, arms out straight to my sides, and try to remember how soon you will be with me again. I remember waking up to the sounds of you finishing in the shower. Darn! That would have been a great way to start the day, but too late now. Even better- she'll be back in bed still slightly damp and smelling like lavender and tangerines.... Finally, after what seemed like ages, you walked into the room still towelling yourself dry. "Don't bother and jump back in here", I thought as I pulled the sheet down on your side. Seeing the movement you wrapped the towel around yourself whilst giving me your best "Is that all you ever think about you darling boy?" smile. "Sorry. No time, gotta run a few errands before work", you said as you turned to the dresser and openned the top drawer. The drawer you have playfully forbidden me from ever opening, but I know all the contents of it as well as I know my own face. I perked up a bit. The sight of the damp towel clinging to your curves and swells as you leaned forward and sifted casually through the drawer's contents had me thinking again. I rolled over onto my side so I could prop my head on my hand and watch two of my favorite things: your body and your careful selection of undergarments. You glanced up into the mirror and gave me a wink. (We haven't talked about it yet, but I know that you are aware of my fascination in your selection process and enjoy adding a little drama to it for my sake. Maybe we'll never talk about it. Some things are best if simply allowed to develop on their own.) The added suspense had given me time for my gaze to move up and down the thrilling combination of curves I just call your legs, but would call much more if I were a poet. "Errands, Damn!", I had thought and almost fallen into despair. I guess you must have seen the flash of disappointment on my face; and you let the towel drop and turned so I could see you standing there nude. As my eyes moved up your legs again you shifted and playfully tilted and slightly twisted your hips to one side. "Coy. Hiding something?", I had wondered to myself as my gaze continued up over your flat tummy and jewel of a bellybutton. You moved slightly into your best debutante slouch. Your shoulders moved back slightly, and I was amazed as always by the beautiful lift of your breasts and your nipples that had hardened from their damp morning chilling, or maybe something else I hoped. Your elbows were bent upward at an acute, almost pleading, angle. Finally, after enjoying these secrets that few men have known; but many must have pondered, another secret was revealed to me. With formulas, algorithms, and magic known only to yourself, you had made your selection. Hanging casually from the pointer finger of your right hand was a very sexy and blue lace bra. From your left hand an even sexier baby blue thong dangled promisingly and dangerous. "This just might turn out to be a great day after all", I think....(More to come, Peaches. Be sweet.)
> > Spin..
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OH, BOY!!....An Historic Victory
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Posted:Oct 23, 2005 6:58 pm
Last Updated:Oct 17, 2007 8:53 pm
6900 Views
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The change from Summer to Fall always triggers alot of memories in me. The changing colors of the leaves, the fragile and chilly feeling in the air and the approaching holidays combine to remind me of important events from my past. It is a nostalgic time. A time to take stock and harvest the bounty of my life. Halloween, in particular, makes me think about my childhood. I guess because it is one of the holidays truly meant for . Sweet candy and scary stories, a combination only a could truly apprehend.
Today I remembered the first time that I ever beat my Mom at my own game.
Living in the North the seasons are even more dramatic, and many other things change besides the leaves. Clothing for one, due to both fashion and necessity. Somber browns and rusts, muted greens and blues, and infinite shades of gray formed the new palette for our back-to-school clothes. The clothes themselves were changed; sleeves, pant's legs, and... gulp... underwear lengthened to offer more protection against the cold.
Now please don't get me wrong. I am mostly in favor of wearing underwear, except while asleep. I'd rather stick to my BVD's, and would never dream of going commando. Postal, maybe; but never commando. When I was a , I was even more particular about my underwear. It had to be a certain brand; and the tags had to be removed, or it would drive me to distraction all day.
( Nowdays I'm lucky if I can find which waistband goes with the tattered remains of my briefs. I have to put it on seperately- usually over my shoulders; fold the fabric of the brief over it, and tie it off so the whole thing stays in place. )
Fall and Spring were secret times of dread for me. I had to change from short to long underwear in the Fall, and long to short underwear in the Spring. It took a week of pure torment for me to adapt. Imagine if you can, being acutely aware of your underwear every second of the day for a solid week.
( Those ladies wearing thongs right now, you have my highest appreciations and deepest sympathies. Thank you, and I want you to know that I also think pantylines are very sexy, too. )
Every morning I would pitch a tantrum about having to put on the long underwear. And every morning my mother would lift up my pantleg to look for the underwear's cuff over my socks. She had to be certain that she had won the battle and wouldn't be sending her only off to freeze to death before the school bus took him to first grade. It was often below zero as we waited, and Moms will be Moms.
One morning I had a brilliant, a cunning, and a devious plan to avoid another day of itching and fidgeting. I found my Mom's scissors and snuck them into my room. Then I took that day's pair of long underwear into the closet with me, and I cut the bottom eight inches off of each leg.
( Funny, that's also where I cut my own hair about a year later. Hahaha, I just remembered that. Wow! Was she mad. Wooohweee! )
I hid the evidence under my bed, put my briefs and socks on, and put the lengths I had just cut on over my socks. Once I had my pants on, I was all set for inspection. I ran up to her and lifted my pantleg so she could witness my willful compliance. She sent me off to school with a hug. How smooth was that?
I had a wonderful day at school full of comfort and gleeful smugness. I rode the bus home happy and without a care or a single fidget. I got off the bus and ran to the front porch. As my foot hit the top step the front door opened. There stood my Mom, my modified longjohns in one hand and a belt in the other. I was busted for certain. Two thoughts in my little brain: shoulda put back the scissors, and shoulda staged a convincing tantrum. Woe is me.
A raging blizzard is nothing compared to my Mom in full fury. Nothing can chill you to the bone and put fear in your heart faster. She stormed and threatened, but I didn't back down. Not this time. It was just too important. The stinging of a spanking would fade in an instant compared to the endless torture of wearing the wrong underwear. After an eon of deliberation, at last I triumphed. I Triumphed?
I think she was impressed by my resolve and my creativity. Or maybe she just didn't want to waste any more money on long underwear that I might cut up. It didn't matter. I had earned the right to wear the underwear of my own choosing.
She warned me, "You'll freeze to death outside!"
But the memory of my victory and the whooping I had escaped was more than enough to keep me warm.
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The Sky...The Earth....A Point Somewhere
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Posted:Oct 21, 2005 5:52 pm
Last Updated:Mar 5, 2006 9:27 pm
7105 Views
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i grew up on the prairies of south dakota.....being a on the prairie was a magical thing.....it has always been a part of me, perhaps even the landscape of my soul.......i lived in a very small town, only 250 other souls sharing a common ground.......at the age of 9, i started working for the local farmers......'bean walkers' they called us......we walked up and down the rows of growing soy beans and pulled out the mustard, corn and cockleburrs that grew too close to the plants for the tillers on the tractor to uproot.......in the summer, when the beans were ready, the farmers would call for the of the town to come and work for the few weeks needed to ensure the harvested soy beans would be free from foreign seeds......and able to earn the farmers the highest price when they went to market............. everyday at 6a.m. i would ride the miles on my bicycle to the farm where i was working, meet with the farmer about which field would be mine and then ride to the site of that days labor. it was usually around 7a.m. by the time i leaned my bike against an old fencepost, hopped the fence, and began my walk through the field. i was usually damp from my ride through the morning air and the soy beans were still dripping with dew as i walked along their rows. this was always the low point of my day and my spirit. i was tired from the long ride, my upper half was damp from the morning fog and my lower half was soaked from the morning dew that i disturbed off of the wet, green leaves i walked amongst. a morning on the prairie is always chilly, even in the summer. a fourteen acre field waited silently for me to walk through it before the noonday heat sent me home. it was a daunting sight; and other fields continued beyond it to the horizon in every direction, my future mornings waiting and growing all around me. i walked on, four rows at a time, starting along the edge and walking from one end of the field to the other pulling spiny burrs, prickly mustard leaves and sharp corn stalks as i walked across the field. ahead of me lay rows overgrown with these weeds, and behind me lay rows of uniform green and shape, straight and seemingly endless perfection. i always felt tired, damp, cold, overwhelmed and so very alone as i started. The prairie is an amazing place. i was absolutely alone. the only human being from horizon to horizon, and the tallest thing as far as i could see. the soy beans ran in perfectly spaced, parallel rows from one horizon to me and then on to the other horizon over the gentle slopes of the hills. i was a tiny, tiny buoy in an ocean of waving, green, perfection. above it all, the sky stretched to cover this ocean with an almost infinite dome of blue. as the sun rose i watched the color of the sky change from pinks, oranges and yellows into infinite grades of blues. the clouds floated without purpose or stormed many, many miles away. so far i couldn't hear the thunder but i watched the lightening and the gray slant of the rain as it fell. grasshoppers fled before the giant who disturbed them. dragonflies lifted into the sunlight and flocked around me, displaying their jewel-like forms as they flew backwards only a foot away from my nose; intrigued by me as i was by them, and beckoning me to join them. i felt my steps grow lighter as the weight of the earth relaxed its grasp on me. i felt the weight of the sky lift from my shoulders as the sun rose steadily higher. the wind was its laughter calling me to play, but i had work to do and the rows streamed behind me as i raced the sun; its path across the sky, and mine along the ground. until i had no shadow and the field lay finished, row upon row of green perfection. i ran to my bike and the miles home flew by. i joined the sun's laughter, knew the earth was my keeper and the sky was my home.
I left the prairie twenty-five years ago, but it still has not left me. Growing up under the big sky has left its mark on me. Every few years I feel the need, a primal urge, to return to the prairie. To feel the pull of the sky, the embrace of the earth, and to remember how it felt to be an infinitesimal giant.
(it's late and this still needs alot of work. been kicking around these ideas for a quarter of a century now and i don't really know how to best express them.)
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Seat Sniffin
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Posted:Oct 16, 2005 3:45 pm
Last Updated:May 27, 2008 7:49 pm
6853 Views
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That strange point where friendships begin...
The newest guy in my department has been there for years.
I've been there since "Who Laid the Chunk". I guess that means a very, very, very long time. I don't know for sure. It's one of my Dad's less lucid sayings.
"Uglier Than a Fence Row of Hairy Assholes", now that one is pretty self explanatory and one of his more graphic ones to boot."Hell Bent for Leather", is somewhere in-between for me. Anyway, Dad doesn't feel the need to explain these sorts of things to his , and I'm probably a better man for not asking. I'll just have to trust that he'll let me know which of many more is appropriate for his headstone. It will probably be the only one in the world that makes someone millions with pictures of it on t-shirts. I called 'dibs' already, and No Longer Big Sis (HA HA) will get her share if her bounty hunters ever find me. "Shit and Fall Back in It" is my prediction at the moment; and "Clubfooted and Shits Too Close to the House" is still a contender, but maybe he'll mellow eventually.
My department is very small. Just a few strange guys who have worked together long enough to establish an equilibrium in the madness. The introduction of someone new always upsets the old apple cart for a while.
News that we were getting a new coworker was met with the usual,
"That's It! I fuckin' quit! I'm not Puttin-Up With This Shit!"
Yes.
We are a poetic ( pathetic ) bunch of whiners.
So the New Guy gets there, and he's nice, and he's normal, and we don't know what to think of this. They've never sent a nice, normal one our way before. But still, there he is. And he looks happy to be stuck here with us, and that's enough to make us all a little suspicious.
We take the time to welcome him and get to know him. During these 'normal' conversations he casually lets little enticing morsels of information about himself drop. The first 'tasty' one is that he has been kicked off of A-OL 17 times in the past year alone for 'breach of etiquette' and 'inappropriate' screen names.
I'm startin' to like this guy.
Then one day I said something to him that he couldn't quite hear. He said, "Shot WHO With a Limber Dick?" And I just had to laugh and ask him where he heard that one. He told me that it was one of his Dad's favorite sayings.
I'm startin' to like this guy even more.
After he'd been there for about two weeks we were all getting used to his presence and the old apple cart was back on all fours. It was close to Christmas, and one of our coworkers came back from lunch all excited about a present that she had just bought for her . It was one of those little bicycles that folds up and you can throw it into your trunk or the trash with ease.
So we all start telling her that it's a pretty cool idea, but it just doesn't look too practical. I mean the wheels were the size of dinner plates for Pete's sake. We can't imagine an adult riding such a thing. To prove us wrong she invites us outside for a demonstration. We all file out into the parking lot and watch as she unfolds and loosens and telescopes and tightens and adjusts and whatever until the most ridiculous looking thing on two wheels is ready for its maiden voyage.
We had been standing in a circle watching the transformation, and we widened it enough to allow her to ride around inside. I have to admit that it was pretty cool. She finished proving us wrong and contracted it back up again like some Swiss Army knife on wheels. Some of us gathered around and talked about other gift ideas and holiday chitchat, but I was busy looking at the minibike and wondering if I could ride it given my long legs.
I saw the New Guy walk over to it. I figured that he was thinking the same as me and wanted to give it a test for himself. He reached down and picked it up. I was walking over to see if I could help set it up and maybe have a turn myself when something unexpected happened. He lifted the minibike up until the seat was right under his nose. I didn't know exactly what to think: maybe he was examining some fine detail of construction. Then he started to smell the seat: not like a casual whiff of the old milk carton, but more along the lines of one getting to know another.
This went on for some time. He's just standing there inhaling the seat, oblivious to the world, with his eyes closed. It was the craziest thing I had ever seen around there. All I could do was stare. I think my mouth might even have been hanging open a little. Others took notice and stared dumfounded as well. More and more of us were just standing there unable to believe our eyes.
Finally, the owner and rider of the bike stopped talking and turned around to see what everyone was looking at. When she saw what the New Guy was doing: I have to say, I have never seen such a perfect and simultaneous look of disgust and amusement in my entire life. Seeing it brought me back to my senses and I started laughing. I couldn't stop. My eyes teared. My ribs seared. I couldn't breathe, and I could hear everyone else laughing. In the midst of all that, the New Guy just looked up and asked, "What?"
I almost died that day.
We knew he'd fit right in.
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TURTLES
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Posted:Oct 14, 2005 9:56 am
Last Updated:Nov 11, 2007 5:25 pm
6796 Views
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I sit and I stare
at the open air....
I like driving over bridges.
It's like some strange intersection of two different worlds that almost never quite meet.
I can remember playing games on roadtrips when I was a where you have to hold your breath whenever you ride over a bridge. I'm glad I didn't go to New Orleans when I was a . I never would have made it over that unbelievable bridge without cheating. I barely made it over as an adult. My gas light came on the moment I drove onto it. I hope I have another chance to drive there again. The Jazz Festival was fun. Where else can you see Phish and B.B. King on the same day?
I drove over one of my favorite bridges the other day. The river far below me was surging with all the recent rain. Many of the rocks I'm used to seeing were under water. Only one was visible in all that water.
I don't know why, but I wondered what that rock might think or feel at a time like that. I imagined its wonder and awe at the new world it had been pushed into. A world it had only glimpsed briefly thru the water's distortion. I wondered what it thought of the sky and the wind and the sun. How it felt to have the warmth of the sun and to be dry for the first time. Then I wondered what it thought of the way the river continued on around it, touching it but leaving it to its own devices on the way to places the rock might never know. I wondered if it missed its kin and the old world that lay just below the surface, waiting for its eventual return.
It was a day of birth, the joining of a new world and all its possibilities, a day of wonders and trepidation. A day of Joy.
My two wishes for the brave new rock: for it to truly enjoy and be thankful for the chance the fates had given it, and that it would be a long time before a turtle came along and parked its hard ass on top of it.
Happy Birthday, me.
Your present to me is wanting to drop by so you could read this.
Thank you. I'll treasure it. 
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FOOd
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Posted:Oct 11, 2005 2:27 pm
Last Updated:Mar 5, 2006 9:27 pm
6494 Views
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Here are four things I would never eat off of a nipple.
Guacamole
That's just so wrong.
Cranberry Sauce
The texture just aint gonna work for me.
Chutney
I'd be too busy trying to figure out what the hell it is to enjoy it.
Onion Rings
I don't know. This might actually work for me now that I think about it.
Use tempura batter, instead of cornmeal, so they would be smooth.
Let them cool down a bit but leave them a little greasy.
I'll let you know...
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YUNG and DUM
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Posted:Oct 7, 2005 12:26 pm
Last Updated:Mar 5, 2006 9:27 pm
6636 Views
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sigh....
What's worse: wanting what you can't have or having what you don't want rubbed up against you?
Today at work a young lady, half my age, dropped in on her day off to visit with some of her coworkers.
Just so happened I was on her list. I don't know why.
She was wearing the shortest skirt I have ever seen, (Any shorter and she would have needed a hairnet...I swear.) and a very, very tight top.
She did look nice, but serious overkill for dropping by work.
Just so happens I was first on her list. I don't know why.
She walks straight up to me smiling at me the entire way. (I'm suddenly back in sixth grade with my first boner in class...that's just great.) She stands beside me. Close beside me.
I give her a nice compliment and ask what brings her by.
Here comes the old, "It's the only thing I had to wear, and I just happened to be passing by..." And then she presses her right breast against my left tricep firmly and starts moving it slowly back and forth. (Suddenly I'm a 37 year old man with a boner at work...that's just wonderful.)
I pretend not to notice, go on with my work and keep the conversation light and breezy.
(Sometimes it pays to not be a sixth-grader anymore.)
After a few minutes of this and some flashy-flashy eye contact,
she asks, "What time do you get off work?", in a hushed voice.
"Oh I'm working late today", even though I go home in about 20 minutes.
"See ya tomorrow", she says with a smile as she sashays away.
"See ya", and now I'm back in the eighth grade again.
(Which is about the level of competency required for my job.)
She made the rounds and talked to everyone.
I don't know about tomorrow, but I do know that I've been down that road too many times...
sigh....
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