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11/01 Direct Link
Always on the right
smooth black fur, radiant
as the night air
tracking beside her as they
climb the Oakland hills.

Thompkins, Davenport, Cunningham
the streets rise up the ridge
to meet the moon, always
on the right his smooth
black fur, radiant as the soft
smell of eucalyptus.

Below them, the bay's pearls
begin nodding off, fewer
still the freeway drums
She said she walked these hills
for him, that he needed
his exercise. The dog

knew the real deal. She,
all eighty some years of shrinking spine
and growing lonliness, did this
because she had to hold on.
11/02 Direct Link
She knew how to excite him. Like the time they stopped along that country road and she stood in the car's headlights, pulling her top up over her glorious breasts. He would write her little notes filled with non-sequiter: wombats make strange bedfellows, beware gun-toting santas wearing velvet slippers, knowledge of electrical wiring helpful. They had beer, hormones and a healthy disrespect for their elders. But they also had love. Wild, crazy love that grew and grew. Even after giving up drink, he still wrote her those little notes and they always kept to those old country roads.
11/03 Direct Link
Scene:
A cop is questioning a distraught teenaged girl.  Behind them is an early 20th century tuffet.  A woman's shoe, surrounded by crime scene tape, lies on top.

Cop: Tell me again why you attacked the spider.

Girl: He sat down beside me, I totally freaked out.

Cop: Did he say anything to you?  Offer you drugs?  Try to put a leg or three up your skirt?

Girl: No way!  Good girl here, just sitting here and eating my cottage cheese.

Cop: In the story you are supposed to run away.

Girl: Really? That sucks.
11/04 Direct Link

Based on actual events...

A man sits in a chair, notebook open in his lap.  Sunlight pours through a window, it is late morning.  He drinks some coffee and stares at the blank pages.

Behind the chair a cat sleeps.  Heavily.  He drinks more coffee and then taps the notebook's spiral with his pen.  Inspiration doesn’t hear him.

He reaches for the remote, channel surfing to a Point Break rerun.  "After the beach football scene..." he promises himself.

Later, it is the sound of his wife's car in the driveway, home from work, which will wake both man and cat.


11/05 Direct Link
At this point I am thinking your name ought to be Checklist if you are a boy or Questionnaire if you turn out to be a girl.  Seriously, we haven't filled out this much paperwork since we bought the house.  And I am not entirely sure we have seen the end.

It's never easy, I know.  But it is totally worth it.  We will welcome you into our famliy and it will be as if you were always there and our lives can finally begin.  We love you already, love just the thought of you.
11/06 Direct Link
A bumper sticker plastered to the ceiling of the Cessna twin prop silently mocks the drum beat thump of my heart, "Warning!  Parachuting is a high risk activity which may cause or result in serious injury or death!"

No shit!  What the hell am I doing?  In approximately ten minutes I'll be jumping out of a perfectly good airplane with a 200 pound man strapped to my back.  I contemplate the physics involved if I pee myself while falling over 120 mph.  Which falls faster?  A nervous first-time skydiver or his own urination?
11/07 Direct Link
Her sweet scungilli tongue offers nothing more to him.  Not now, not ever again.  They are half naked and mostly drunk, making out on her bed.  This is the first he has seen her in over a year since she and her limp dick husband moved out to Texas.  She had been a regular thing.  They worked for the same company but they met at the gym.  He loved her ass, she loved that he was a much younger man who was so obviously into her.  Never underestimate a bored, married woman's libido.
11/08 Direct Link
The wind blows harsh this time of year, the sidewalks are lonely.  The leafless trees huddle together, acutely aware of their differences.  Their bickering never ends.

Across the street, my neighbor's house is decidedly grey.   The Christmas tree he cut down at the tree farm over in Hardyville lies untouched in the bed of his pickup truck.  I think some rodent or other such creature is using it as shelter.  The twelve days are gone now.

This day is almost over, giving way to dusk now.  My desk clock stares back at me.
11/09 Direct Link
To: tim@privateinvestigatorsinc.com
From: lilbopeep@gmail.com

Subject: My Lost Sheep

Tim,

So, like, what's up?  I haven't heard from you in two weeks.  I received a bill from you for "fees incurred".  What does this mean?  Please call me at home to discuss.

Thanks,
Little Bo Peep

-----------------------------------------------------

To: lilbopeep@gmail.com
From: tim@privateinvestigatorsinc.com

Subject: Re: My Lost Sheep

Little Bo Peep,

Please refer all billing inquiries to Claire in Billing.  Her email is claire@privateinvestigatorsinc.com.

Regards,
Tim

-----------------------------------------------------

To: tin@privateinvestigatorsinc.com
From: lilbopeep@gmail.com

Subject: Re: My Lost Sheep

YOU PICKED THE WRONG SHEPHERD GIRL TO MESS WITH!
11/10 Direct Link
This is not going to be an interesting entry.  Seriously.  I've got nothing but filler.  Rough day at the office and my head is about to explode.  The only thing rattling around in my head is the way I screwed up the 7th hole yesterday.  Beautiful three wood off the tee, the approach was acceptable.  20 foot birdie putt turned into a knee-knocking bogey putt of 2 feet in the blink of an eye.  Stupid putter.  But really, why are you reading this?  Haven't you moved on to a better...
11/11 Direct Link
They sat at a table by the window, overlooking the street.  She was drinking a sauvignon blanc, he was on his second beer.  They were discussing that great muse, inspiration: how to get her fickle attention and get her to your party and what to do with yourself when she inevitably leaves early with one of your guests who wasn't invited in the first place.

She talked of regurgitating entire passages for her books in one sitting, he said writing was like shitting pinecones.  He was envious of her.  She kept quiet, knowing she was lying.
11/12 Direct Link
So far, the 100 words a day experiment is working - somewhat.  I am not entirely sure that anything that I'm putting up on this site is anything worthwhile, but it is writing.  I have committed some portion of the day to actually writing.  It is the first time in a very long time I can say that and pass the red-faced test.  The last time I was this hard up for verbs and metaphors I burned all my journals and I stayed away from pens and pencils for almost four years.  Terrible.
11/13 Direct Link
Early Wombat Christmas List

- mincemeat pie for the holidays
- a ms. wombat for bulldozing the brush
- an end to earwax
- perfect scores on my GREs
- 20 year old scotch
- a swing for my 7 iron
- a ballpeen hammer
- online subscription to the Wall Street Journal
- a nice rebound for my 401(k)
- advice on the finest gourmet cheese
- for the Arrested Development movie to hit the theaters, quickly
- to win my suicide pool
- beer
- to learn the purpose of earwax
- no more three putts
- to bowl a perfect game
- to get a hole in one
- one red bean bun, please!
11/14 Direct Link

We stretch out, sliding skin
together.  Soft bedsheets, softer
light, slowly giving way
to our delicious purpose.

Our fingers trace our lust as we lead
each other along the relief
maps of our sex, trading sarcasm
for kisses, for fucking.

A hawk perched atop paprika-
colored rock suddenly takes flight,
stretches to the sky, arching
gently before streaking back to earth
eager for its prey.

Amidst the cacophony of beasts on
this planet, your lips find mine.  Your
sweat invades my cheek.  Mutual
prey.  In the moment of comfort

we share, I concern myself only with
my tongue, your breast

11/15 Direct Link
Stuff on my desk:

My laptop
A mostly empty wineglass
Theater tickets
Pair of sunglasses
25 ft. tape measure
Watch fob
Puerto Rico mug filled with pens and pencils
Several business cards (none mine)
Eye drops
Floss
Sunglasses
Used ink cartridges for printer
Head phones to my iPod, (no iPod)
Registration and insurance card for my motorcycle
Roll of duct tape
Several books of matches
DVD of our Berlin pictures
Xacto knife
Fightin' Phils World Series towel
Charlie Brown's Steakhouse gift certificate
uPro GPS handheld
uPro GPS instructions
two beer coasters (no beer, sadly)
several Home Depot receipts
an old journal from 1997
my old Swingline stapler
bicycle handlebar noisemaker, shaped like a sumo wrestler
$102 cash
An electrical outlet faceplate
Battery (still good)
11/16 Direct Link

Baby I got the Dutch Oven farts tonight!  Yeah, I know I said that last night too.  But tonight it ain't no joke.  It is on.  Up in here, my ass IS a weapon of mass destruction.  It's a foul wind blowin' baby.  Hell, I wouldn't even try sleepin' in here tonight if I was you.  What?  Hold up.  Me, out on the sofa?  Hell no, c'mon baby girl, you know how my back ain't got no love for the sofa.  Have you lost your ever lovin' mind girl?

11/17 Direct Link

How many days can one lazy ass "writer" fall behind?  That's at the heart of things here apparently.  All these random nouns and verbs, phrases separated by commas or perhaps a semicolon - they all blur together as I struggle to keep up and get back on track.  Even more worrisome is the fact that I have run out of things to say.  I'm halfway through my first month and I'm tapped out.  And it's only a 100 word a day commitment.  This is really sad.  If only I had any clue really. 

11/18 Direct Link
'Remote Control' host Ken Ober, age 52

Ken Ober, who hosted the 1980s MTV game show "Remote Control" and helped produce the shows "Mind of Mencia" and "The New Adventures of Old Christine," has died.  He was 52.

His agent, Lee Kernis, says Ober was found dead Sunday in his Santa Monica home.  Ober had complained of headaches and flu-like symptoms Saturday night but the cause of his death wasn't clear.

Ober hosted five seasons of "Remote Control" beginning in 1987.  Contestants in lounge chairs were asked pop culture questions from categories such as "Dead or Canadian?"
11/19 Direct Link
Where the hell is everyone?  None of my Facebook buddies are supplying status updates anymore.   No one has texted back to me in like, forever.  I never liked Twitter anyway.  I haven't checked email since the early 00's.  What I wouldn't do just to hear someone's voice over the celly.

Wait a minute!  I have an idea.  What if I actually stopped to talk to the next person I meet on the street.  Can we still do that?  Is it permitted?  What I wouldn't give for human contact.
11/20 Direct Link
Kelly, having just listened to David thanking her for "setting him straight" on matters of fidelity, enters the family cabana at the BHBC.  With lust in her heart she rushes into the arms (and legs) of Dylan, who has been waiting in said cabana for Kelly and her white summer dress to appear.  What if it had been David who entered? How can he do this to Brenda?  (Insert French phrase here).  The summer of sex in the sand 90210 style thus begins.  Truly compelling, taut with all the juicy bits teasing my brain endlessly.
11/21 Direct Link
Dylan, on the other hand, was more level headed.  Sure, the whole thing with his father's failed parole hearing did provide some drama, but all in all, he knew what was going on.  The thought of running his hands over Kelly's naughty bits proved too intoxicating to ignore.  Brenda was such a limp fish in bed, all drama, never paying attention to what he wanted.  Kelly was different - at least that is what Steve and several of upperclassmen said in the hallways, whispers in the locker room.  While the mouse was away, Dylan would play.
11/22 Direct Link
Late afternoon sun slid through the window coverings in the Taylor-Silver BHBC cabana, Kelly stretched out under the sheets and rearranged her head on the pillow.  Moments before, Dylan padded off to the bathroom for a hot shower, leaving Kelly to reflect on what just happened.

The rumors that swirled at West Beverly High regarding Dylan's prowess in the sack proved accurate, though he wasn't as well endowed as legend had it.  He had seemed distracted though and that did bother Kelly.  Having mediocre sex AND destroying her friendship with Brenda was too much to bear.

11/23 Direct Link

Water cascaded down Dylan's beautiful mug.  This shower was taking way too long.  Damn, he thought, I just fucked Kelly Taylor.  Just the thought of her name brought him to half mast.  This is crazy.

No, check that, Brenda is crazy. She is going to kill them both when she finds out.  And she will find out.  There is no way he and Kelly will be able to keep this a secret.  Dylan is already plotting the next time he can see Kelly and her naughty bits.  One summer...  

11/24 Direct Link
Meanwhile, in Paris...

Brenda was enduring another dinner conversation with Donna, who was perhaps the dumbest creature walking the earth back in the early 90's.  While Donna yammered on about nothing Brenda imagined running a belt sander over Donna's horseface and not-until-next-season surgically enhanced tits.  Insane thoughts of disfiguring her travelmate kept Brenda from even thinking about Dylan for the first day and a half of the trip.  What intrigued her the most were the nightly visions she had of Kelly, wearing that white dress, trying to seduce Mr. Walsh.  Poor girl.
11/25 Direct Link
An Introduction to Voiceovers!

Have you ever wondered whose voice you are listening to on TV and radio commercials?  You too can become a professional voiceover actor!  In this fun and interactive class, you will learn details of the industry, strategy and the importance of your demo tape.  In addition, your instructor will coach you while you make a recording of your voice for a personal evaluation.  Be warned - many who have taken this class have gone on to become real, bona-fide professional voice actors!

Tuition and fees: $40

1 session, Sunday November 25, 10AM-12PM
11/26 Direct Link
OK, the home stretch is here, I must fulfill the obligation.  100 words a day, most of mine have been fairly useless and uninteresting.  But a hundred word snoozefest is still a hundred words.  Like a narration on public radio, but without the cool topic to keep everything woven together.  I am closing in on word quota, at any point divine muse might take pity on me and give me a short fiction burst of genius... I wouldn't hold your breath if I were you.  This will only disappoint you, if it has not already.
11/27 Direct Link

Ever since the Silvers and Taylors joined together freaky Brady-styley living near Kelly has been tough for David.  Like that time he caught her full frontal as she was getting out of the shower (carpet indeed matches the drapes).  Anyway, after enduring all that only to be forced to see her running around, sneaking off with McKay like that is enough to send David over the edge.  Who the fuck does she think she is, lecturing him on the virtues of fidelity all the while pulling that shit?  His knowledge should be worth something, right?

11/28 Direct Link
This is the last time I am going to write this message to you.  I have typed it out four times only to hit delete.  Another three times I didn't complete my thought before the cursor was doing the backspace scrolling dance.  OK.  This is really it.

I think we shoud see other people.  Mostly because I know that you are already taking me up on this suggestion, without even knowing I have offered it to you.

Screw that.  May you contract vaginal leprosy.  May you walk the rest of this life alone.
11/29 Direct Link
Kelly is now have problems getting to sleep at night.  She is kept awake by a recurring dream in which Dylan is fighting the other men she has been with in a strange variation of the game King of the Hill.  Each guy takes a turn to battle the Beverly Hill bad boy mano y mano, sideburn for sideburn.  Dylan defeats each usurper in turn.  In the shadows Brandon is watching closely.  This is the part that freaks Kelly out.  She's never been with Brandon.  He thinks of her as only a sister.
11/30 Direct Link

She had relatively few requirements when dating guys.  Most of her "rules" centered around good hygiene.  She figured that with any quote-unquote serious sociopathic behaviors like stalking, molestation, murder, etc. her natural instincts and intuitions would help her identify and weed out the crazies.  She had been on this planet over thirty years and so far so good.    Score one for instinct and intuition.

However, there was one thing she could not abide by, one quality that was related neither to hygiene nor anti-social behavior she had no truck with: sweater vests.