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Walking into the grocery store this morning, I saw the strangest thing. Across from where I was entering there is another set of sliding doors. All I saw were flailing arms, legs and a cane. It took me a second look to figure out that somebody was pinned between the door and the doorframe. It was a little old man who could barely walk. He didn’t get through the doorway fast enough and the door closed on him. I stepped on the entryway and the door opened freeing him. After he got out of the doorway, I had to laugh.
Bacardi and lemonade, beer, beer, beer, hot dog, beer, beer and Bacardi and lemonade. My head is pounding. I am on the couch. I will not move off the couch. I see it’s a gorgeous day outside, sunny, bright, hurts my eyes. I am sweating; it is warm out again. I enjoyed myself last night. First festival of the season. Nothing better than drinking in the outdoors, listening to music, people watching. Wait, how’d I get home? Where are my clothes? Whose clothes are these? Who’s in the shower? Guess I had a good evening. I hope he did too.
How cliché. Standing at the gravesite in the pouring rain. I’ve lived this very moment countless times in movies and TV. Here I am for real this time. For some reason, it was surreal, as if I was watching an old black and white movie, everyone wearing hats, crisp white handkerchiefs slow dancing, black umbrellas swaying, somber song of praise accented by soft weeping. It wasn’t as comforting as an old movie; it wasn’t as orchestrated either. I stumbled upon the ceremony while cutting through the cemetery on my way to the Seven-Eleven to get lottery tickets. I felt lucky.
She has one of the nastiest mouths I had ever heard. Every other word was fuck this, fuck that. I find it rather amusing. I’d talk to her just to hear her cuss. Sometimes I try to imitate her; it just never sounds right. She could piece together obscenities and make it sound lyrical. Her voice has something to do with it, despite years and years of abuse from cigarettes; she still has a dainty, feminine lilt. She’s one hell of a woman. If I didn’t know her personally, she’d scare the shit out of me. I love my Grandma.
She roller skated up to the driver’s side window and placed the tray on the window. Then, she proceeded to toss the entire contents of the bacon double cheeseburger platters and root beer floats into the car. Not just spilling it, but spraying food and drink all over the interior and occupants. I was blinded, hysterical. Soda, Ice cream, fries, mustard, ketchup, onions, bacon, pickle, coating everything, what a mess. I was too busy crying to notice the commotion at that point. I was too busy crying, laughing my ass off at the people in the car next to mine.
We went for a horse ride first thing that morning. We had wanted to go the day before but it had rained continuous. We were the first riders on the trail. The horses were accustomed to the route and didn’t need any guidance. The mosquitoes began their attack as soon as we made the woods. They were unrelenting, thousands swarming. The horses started running faster and faster. The attack continued, worsening the further along we got. By the half-mile mark the horses were in a full gallop. They ran the rest of the trail; the mosquitoes feasted the whole time.
The radio station was playing good music; I was totally getting into it when the announcer interrupted with a special news bulletin. It wasn’t special. It wasn’t news. It wasn’t worth the effort put into airing it. Who determines what is news? I want to speak with them. Better yet, I want to yell at them. Even better, I want to become violent. That could be a special news bulletin. “NEWSMAN ATTACKED BY CRAZED, MALADJUSTED, UNSTABLE CITIZEN”. That would shut him the fuck up. I am now excited by the thought of bashing him, screaming “No News is Good News!!!!”
He came around the corner. She reacted instantly, her face frozen. Reading it, I recognized her shock, surprise and amusement. I waited a few seconds and glanced behind me. I reacted instantly, my face frozen, in shock, surprise, and amusement. He was about 50ish, short compact body, large cowboy hat, jeans far too tight, accentuating his masculinity, deformed. He strutted, acted like he was the most attractive man in the world. He wasn’t. He was an atrocity. He was a spectacle. He was hilarious to watch. He was grotesque. He was entertainment. He was freakish. We laughed our asses off.
They tore down the 41 Twin today. It broke my heart. The Drive-in contained so much history for me. I’ve had so many adventures there. I journeyed to the center of the earth, ruled the jungle with Tarzan, lived with the Swiss family Robinson, landed on the Planet of the Apes, survived the Poseidon adventure, befriended ET, escaped from New York and LA, joined Indiana Jones to thwart the Raiders of the Lost Ark, avoided the Terminator twice, traversed Jurassic Park several times, discovered the Mummy, sailed the Titanic. I guess we needed another sprawling condominium complex in the city.
I bought new sheets and slept in my bed for the first time in 7 years. I hadn’t slept in it because of the hummer. He was middle-aged, slovenly, and hummed continuously. He lived in the apartment next to mine. When I first heard the low, unmelodic drone, I thought someone left the TV or radio on. I soon discovered it was this vile, unclean, disturbed individual. Non-stop day and night, the same monotonous tune, over and over. I slept on the couch so I didn’t have to hear it while trying to sleep. I moved away three years ago.
Could life get any more fucked up? I sit and watch the world unfold on TV every night and I’m beginning to lose all faith in humanity. Someone commits a violent crime, they are victims of society, not responsible for their behavior, I am. What the hell is up with that? The whiny predictable behavior of the accused’s family, “This is WRONG, this is INJUSTICE.” Just once I don’t want to be made to feel like a hard ass because I feel no sympathy for them wailing “My baby, my baby.” “YOUR BABY’S GOING TO PRISON, SHUT THE FUCK UP”
Once he left, I took a shower and felt refreshed. He looked like somebody I should hook up with, so I cruised him, caught him. I was at the library browsing the new fiction when I notice him browsing me. I immediately decided sex was in the offering and let him know. He was 18 and ready for action. We went back to my apartment and lost ourselves in each other for a while. He stayed until almost midnight, had a couple of romps, were very vocal about it. I gave him my number, told him anytime. He’s been back.
I entered my PIN number and waited for the cash monster to spit out my money. And waited. And waited. The cash monster rumbled, grumbled, rattled and shook but never delivered. It gave me a receipt though. Showing $100 debited from my checking account. I didn’t get the money. I stared yelling into the security camera on the machine. “What the hell? Where’s my fucking money you cash whore?” Swinging my arms for dramatic effect, raising my voice to pitches I’ve never reached before. I must have looked like a complete dumb ass, but it sure made me feel better.
The door swung open faster than I expected. My reflexes kicked into action and I proceeded to walk into the side of the building. I knocked myself unconscious. When I came to a few seconds later, my friends were crying, planning my funeral. I was in the front hall and they were dragging me up the stairs, trying to get me to my apartment. They were having a hard time deciding on how to tell my parents. They were concerned they would be hated for letting this happen. I opened my eyes, asked them to join me for a beer.
The slamming of the car door woke me up. It was hot, muggy and late. I had the windows open. I heard voices in panic. I crawled off the couch and went to the window. Two guys were in the process of throwing a third guy, naked, onto the sidewalk. They dropped him, ran back to the car and took off in a hurry. I stared in disbelief. The guy didn’t move. I had to go see if he was all right. Hell, he was naked; I had to see his body. I put on some clothes and went outside.
I have been searching for my lighter for about an hour now. I’ve run across several books of matches in the mean time but it’s the principle of using my lighter that keeps me looking, moving, not smoking. Last cigarette I had I was on the computer, downloading pictures of men in uniform for my viewing pleasure. I found this great picture of a Fireman getting undressed and got distracted, so distracted in fact that I lost my clothes along with my lighter. I found my clothes, now just need to find the lighter, I need a cigarette, real bad.
We were sitting on the grass between the sidewalk and the curb waiting for the fireworks to begin. The kids were behaving for a change and I was excited. The night was warm, damp, cool and muggy all at once. People were dressed in various stages, shorts, long sleeves, jackets, pants, etc and prepared for a great show. A couple with two kids was slowly moving along the sidewalk. As they sidled up to where we were sitting, the woman’s cell phone rang and the man loudly passed gas and the first of the fireworks exploded simultaneously, RING, BRZZZT, BAM
I’ve been searching for Trevor for as long as I can remember. I thought it was Scott, it wasn’t. I believed David was him, wrong again. Another David, another mistake. Daniel could’ve been Trevor, he wasn’t. John was John. He was the closest I have ever come to finding Trevor. Lee tried to be him, he couldn’t. Tim, what was I thinking, he certainly wasn’t Trevor. Jon should have been Trevor, but I won’t get the chance to find out, John still wants to be Trevor. I still want John to be him, even though I still long for Trevor.
The smell of old stale popcorn makes me want to throw up. The cinema reeked of it. I was fighting a losing battle. What was I thinking? I had heard good things about the movie, seen previews and he looked good. I wanted to see him. Hoped to catch a glimpse of him undressed, no such luck though. Not that I would have enjoyed the sight of him, battling the waves of nausea the way I am. It’s a great movie, I’ll have to rent it once it comes out on DVD, even buy it if it’s a special edition.
I was running late. Unusual for me. Woke up early, walked to get a paper, threw on some coffee, cleaned the apartment, did the crossword, wrapped gifts, showered, got dressed and headed out the door. There was a loud POPPING sound. I looked around. I was bleeding from the hip. OH NO, I had been shot. I slowly started to collapse, dropping my packages onto the sidewalk, gifts scattered, my Tupperware soda container open, black cherry soda everywhere, wait, BLACK CHERRY SODA? The lid blew off the container! What a dork I am! I had to go back and change.
He told me I was average. I just stared. After all I had done for him, after that, all he had to say was I was average? I didn’t know if I should be pacified. I didn’t know if I should be complacent. I didn’t know if I should be angry. I didn’t know if I should be offended. I didn’t know if I should be embarrassed. Average. Nothing more, nothing less. Did he mean acceptable average? Did he mean ok average? Did he mean average average? AVERAGE? I was average, middle of the road, run of the mill, average.
He got fired this morning. He was shocked. I wasn’t, he didn’t do a damn thing. He was one of the most useless people I had ever met in my life. Sad thing is, his lame ass will get hired by some other self important loser with a fucked up degree, who thinks he's all that and shit, drives an overpriced Volkswagen, drinks trendy malt beverages while chatting on his cell phone on his way to Wal-Mart because 24 count quilted toilet paper is on sale in his Birkenstocks and Tommy carpenter jeans. No wonder society is all fucked up.
I am in a coma. I am hung over big time. Intoxicated myself with cleaning materials last night. Have guests coming over for the weekend and I needed to clean the apartment badly. Seems like I have a comet headache, a Windex sinus infection and a Pledge ear infection, along with a Dow scrubbing bubbles sore throat. Tonight I clean the kitchen, oh god, I feel a cleanser migraine coming on already, a Dawn detergent rash breaking out, a Mop and Glow backache, I’m in real trouble here, too many chemicals, Head rush, I’m seeing spots, Calgon, take me away!
Police are seeking information about the illegal dumping of used sunflower oil. Officers said several gallons of the oil, plus unsalted shells, were dumped on a papaya farm next to the nut fields. The illegal dumping is killing papaya trees at Senor Guava’s farm, on South Avocado Drive in Coconut Grove, police said. Is it a felony and a violation of Environmental Protection Agency standards to kill innocent papayas? Yes stated EPA director Ruby Red-Grapefruit. Anyone with information, about the illegal dumping and slaughter, or the identity of those responsible for it should contact Community Policing Officer Starfruit at 888-555-5555.
I undressed as soon as I walked into my apartment. The temperature was reaching 100 and I had to get out of my clothes. It was just as hot inside as it was out on the street. I was covered in sweat. Soon I was drenched. I didn’t want to sit down on the furniture so I stood. The hotter it got, the more I sweated. The more I sweated, the hotter I got. I moved in front of the fan, turned it on. The instant blast of cold turned me on. I had to take care of the urge.
I dropped my friends off by midnight and began the hour drive back home. I started out by taking my shirt off to cool down from dancing all night. That led to me taking off my pants. The wind on my body felt incredible. Eventually I stripped completely. What a rush to drive naked. I loved it. I loved it so much; I had to stop the car and, well let’s just say “WOW”. I’m going to take the roof and doors off the Jeep and go for a late night cruise. Just thinking about it makes me want to . . .
He wants to wear matching lounge pants to the fair. He’s out of his mind. I don’t care if he made them especially for me and him to mark some milestone in our relationship. I am not going to walk around the city wearing some fruity-ass pants with coordinating tank tops that scream “look at the faggots”. Why would he even consider doing something like that? He knows how I feel about it, yet he went out, bought material and made the damn things. I appreciate the effort and thought, just not the embarrassment. We are two adults, not kids.
I have the worst eating habits. I do not cook for myself. I do not buy groceries, I eat fast food every meal. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snack, even ice cream. McDonald’s is my favorite. I can eat there every day. I also enjoy Burger King, Taco Bell, Wendy’s and KFC. I am not overweight. I have low blood pressure, low cholesterol levels, low sodium levels. You would think I’d be in terrible shape, totally unhealthy and obese. There’s something to be said about the bad dieting habits. I just don’t know what it would be. I want a Big Mac.
Her tirade took me by surprise. The hostility and anger manifested in her words and actions. I was impressed. I didn’t start laughing in her face. I didn’t mock her. I didn’t just tell her “Shut the fuck up, stupid bitch.” I watch the whole episode. Studied her facial expressions, arm movements, listened to the pitch of her voice, listened to her pronunciation. The point of her outrage was lost to me, I wasn’t hearing her diatribe, I didn’t need to, she’s always carrying on about something stupid, pointless. I studied her so I could make fun of her later.
I fell asleep on the couch with the fan blowing directly on me. My mom warned me about that. I used to laugh at her advice, “what an old wife’s tale.” She was always voicing her opinion, citing cliché after cliché, no matter what the situation, she had advice. I thought it charming, adorable. I didn’t heed a word of it. I woke up this morning with a stiff neck, felt like every muscle was twisted in knots. I can hear my mom chuckling softly about what happened, can envision the cure she will recommend, no doubt a home remedy.
The Tip Jar