Jack, and if you can believe this, Jill, met via online dating. For Jack, he grew tired of going out to clubs with his friends just to stand and watch others dancing and meeting at night clubs. For Jill, she had heard from a few girlfriends that for all the hoards of frogs that there are out there, a few princes do exist. Two of her girlfriends found compatible mates and married and so for Jill, she felt that there was hope for her.
As far as curves and scales go, both Jack and Jill were moderately attractive. Jack started working out a few years back when his father had quadruple bi-pass surgery. In the recovery room, Jack’s father had tubes sticking out of his chest and a breathing device strapped to his face. The idea that he one day could end up like his father in a hospital, drove Jack to begin to begin physical exercise around the age of thirty. Jack was thirty five on the first date with Jill. Aside from being fit, Jack wore horned rim glasses and wore his hair on weekends to look like rats ran about on top of his head. Hair went every which way and stayed that way with the help of mousse. Jack looked at the models in his Men’s Health Magazine and decided that if he was going to land the woman of his dreams, he had better get more hip with the look. Jack showed up in a collared shirt untucked with a black vest, worn looking jeans that were frayed at the bottom and a pair of black shoes. The Men’s Health Magazine told him to wear cologne with Pheromones so that subliminally his date would be more prone to want him sexually. Something about neurotransmitters something something. Men don’t remember the details as much as they remember that the pheromones can trigger sexual excitement.
Jill had posted a really attractive picture of herself with her ex-boyfriend who was really her fiancé but since there was never really a true date picked, he was more of an uncommitted boyfriend. The picture was from New Year’s Eve 2001. Jill had a great smile in the picture; she was trim and showed maximum cleavage in her silvery sparkling dress. All that remained in the picture that would lead anyone to think that she was with someone was the hand that rested on her shoulder without a body on the other side of it. Yes the picture was of Jill and yes it was from nine years earlier, but she really did not think she had aged that much or gained that much weight and her smile created the best picture of herself that she could ever remember taking. Jill dressed in a summer dress that went a few inches above her knee and showed off her toned legs and arms. Jill had been running along the banks of Lake Michigan and had a healthy look to her. Jill was confident albeit nervous to be meeting yet another man at a restaurant in downtown Chicago in hopes of finding someone that would be compatible enough to lock in with or at least want to see again. On paper and in the brief conversations, Jack seemed like a regular guy and so she agreed to meet Jack for dinner.
Jill sat at the bar of the Spanish Restaurant and ordered Sangria while she pretended to look at a message on her cell phone, fully aware that Jack had exited a cab out in front of the restaurant and was walking towards her.
“Jill?”
“Oh hi! You must be Jack…”
They both wondered what they should do next. Would it be too cold and distant to extend a hand or should we hug? Jack was going to extend his hand when Jill reached out and hugged him. Jack nervously hugged and patted Jill on the back the way Gorbachev hugged Reagan at one of their summit meetings, with slaps on the back.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I decided to take a cab and the cabbie took the scenic route here and well anyway… That is shall we say, my bad…” said Jack.
“Um… That’s fine, that’s fine. Things happen, you know… Should we tell them we’re here?”
A perky young woman led the way past tables and tables of other couples who were dining out on a warm summer evening. Jack couldn’t help but look at the ass of the hostess. It was very tight looking and symmetrical and it appeared as though she was wearing no underwear. To Jack and many other men, there is the allure of no underwear. The hostess walked away. Out of sight, out of mind.
Jill smiled nervously to show a cute dimple on one cheek. Jack had not noticed that Jill had a clef chin in her photos. It was a little too Kirk Douglas for him. It was a demerit to be certain but not a deal killer yet. Jack did notice her ass too and her plump looking chest that showed just enough cleavage but not too much so that other woman nearby would comment to their dates.
“I love Spanish food. Tapas is totally my favorite right now. I was sort of on a sushi kick for a while and then Dr. Oz killed it by showing everyone the microbes that live on tuna and so I’m like done with sushi right now. I so want to go to Spain someday. I bet the Tapas there is unreal,” said Jill, while holding the sides of her chair, bouncing her left leg and hunching her shoulders.
“Oh yeah… I love good Tapas. I was in Spain a few years back and it was, shall we say, quite awesome,” said Jack, while looking around the room rather than at Jill.
Jill took notice of the lack of eye contact and the furrowed brow. Jack had a permanent look of worry on his face due to his furrowed brow. It made him look rather unapproachable to most women. So far Jill thought Jack was acting like a pompous asshole but she wasn’t ready to trade him in yet. Just then Jack was getting a phone call. He held his index finger up and answered his client. Jack was an attorney and his client was the father of an eighteen year old who had been busted for open alcohol and marijuana in his car.
“Yes Mr. Anderson, I got your message and had every intention of calling you back. I’m currently at dinner with a friend and am not at liberty to discuss the case with you. You have, shall we say, my word that I will call you first thing in the morning. We’ll pow wow before court and I’m sure I can get him supervision. At some point though, throwing money at problems is not going to save him, shall we say… Okay, okay then… I’ll call you tomorrow morning… Right, right… Okay then… Yes, yes… Will do… Buh bye…” said Jack.
Jill dialled her sister Jenny and hung up. Jenny was instructed to take Jill’s call in the event of an encounter with a total freak. Jenny called back immediately. Jill did it to show Jack just how inconsiderate in was to take a call. Jack didn’t get the message. Instead he took the chance to check messages on his Blackberry. Jill saw this and hung up right away, telling her sister that she had pocket dialled her by mistake.
“Once again, I’m so sorry about the interruption. It’s a good friend of a friend whose son got himself into trouble with the law and is facing jail time for not complying with the judges orders,” said Jack.
“Right, right… You said you were an attorney,” said Jill.
“And you work for a realtor?” Asked Jack.
“Yes… I’m the personal assistant of this woman who is like one of the top sellers in Chicago. She gets most of her leads through the women’s club of the North Shore,” said Jill, still bouncing her leg and hunching her shoulders.
“Well that’s cool…” said Jack, even though he really did not think it was cool.
Jack told Jill about running a 5K in New England and about his Alaskan vacation and co-ed volleyball on Tuesday nights. Jack mentioned that he really loves to listen to Jazz and was a fan of Frank Lloyd Wright homes. Jill mentioned that she did spin classes and swam three days a week and that she really liked Maroon Five and Sugar Ray and that she had tickets to see Sugar Ray later that summer. Jack had never heard of Maroon Five or Sugar Ray. He said he had heard of Sugar Ray Robinson and Sugar Ray Leonard. It was an attempt at a joke. Jill wasn’t familiar with the boxers and so the joke died.
Jill had been to Las Vegas and really wanted to go to Arizona but had never really been too many places. Jill was a Cubs fan and Jack said he really did not like baseball. Jack said he kind of liked football but really didn’t. Jack just did not want to come off like an irregular guy.
Jack and Jill finished a pitcher of sangria which was about three glasses each. Jill was quite buzzed and Jack felt mellow. The bill came and Jack had figured out that he had dropped is wallet. Suddenly the buzz and glow was gone. The realization that all his credit cards were gone just about ruined his night. Jill paid for the dinner even though she knew she was overdrawn on her debit card and would be getting a call from the bank Monday morning. Luckily it went through. Jill was scared that she may have reached the $1,000.00 overdraft limit. She had $22.00 before she reached $1000.00.
Jack and Jill went back to Jack’s apartment in a cab. The whole way to Jack’s house, Jack was too distracted to talk at all. Jack kept thinking about his accounts being cleaned out. Jill sat in the cab looking out the window on the right side with her arms folded. Jack ordered the cab to wait as he galloped up the steps to his townhouse. He emerged with a look of relief on his face as he held up his chunky looking wallet with over a dozen cards and wads of cash.
“God! What a relief! I though I left it in the cab I came over in and then I thought it may have fallen out of my back pocket… Here, I’ll take care of the cab…” said Jack.
Jill refused to take the $120.00 for the meal and drinks but Jack would not have it. They went back and forth for a while until Jill finally accepted. Jack then asked Jill if she would like a glass of red wine and to sit up on his roof deck. Jill said yes.
Up on the roof was a beautiful view of downtown Chicago and the near south side. Jill saw the hot tub and asked how often Jack used it. Jack offered the tub and Jill accepted. A gentle breeze blew across them as they sat in the hot tub, holding up their red wine in their glasses, listening to jazz on Jack’s Bose audio system and looking at the skyline. The more Jill drank, the more she liked Jack. Jack loosened up and became wittier and less pompous. Between them, they finished off a bottle of red wine and wound up kissing and embracing in the hot tub. Before long they were in Jack’s bed in the throes of passion. Jill closed her eyes while Jack orally stimulated her. Jack was spelling out the alphabet in cursive on her clitoris while Jill moaned a bit and pulled on his hair. Jack got as far as the letter L before Jill pulled him and guided him towards their consummate moment. Jack learned about the alphabet spelling on the clitoris from the Men’s Health Magazine too. They claimed he would not have to get to the letter Z and they were right.
Jill woke up feeling dehydrated and had a strong headache at the base of her skull by her neck. Jack was outside on the deck talking to another client in his underwear. The digital clock said nearly two in the morning. Jill suddenly felt silly lying in the bed of a man she did not really know or know if she would ever see again. What would they say to one another once Jack got done talking on his cell phone? Would he feel boxed in and really want Jill out of his house? Jill didn’t want that to be the case. Jill decided to make a pre-emptive move. Jill slipped on all her clothes and walked out of the front door. Jill caught a cab on South State Street and went home. As Jill lay in her bed next to her Calico Cat, she thought about the entire evening. She began to drift off when she received a text message from Jack.
“Wow! I must really have missed the mark tonight. I’m sorry you felt you had to leave.”
Jill wasn’t sure how to respond. She really wished she had not left after all after receiving his response. While she was thinking about what to say, another text from Jack came through.
“Okay… I’ll go out on a limb. I find you really attractive, smart and pretty. I did not lure you back to my cave in hopes of sinking you. I really did think I lost my wallet and since we were at my place, I thought we could just stay. I thought you had a good time and maybe you did. Maybe this is just what you do. A million first dates. Well hope you had a good time. Jack.”
Jill laid in bed smiling. In the battle of the sexes, she had won. Jill went from feeling like she had conceded too early to feeling like the winner in the driver’s seat. Jill began to type while gently biting her bottom lip.
“You passed the test. It all hinged on your response. You’re a prince and not a frog… How do you feel about a jog by the lake tomorrow and then some brunch?”
Jack responded quickly.
“I would like that more than I could tell you. Sleep tight. Until the morning. Jack.”
Internet Dating
November 29, 2009 by blackhumouristpressI Vill Charm Your Fu#*king Snake
November 23, 2009 by blackhumouristpress“Who the fuck is going to pay for my fucking television? Huh? You mother fuckers killed my television.” Yelled a glassy eyed Mexican man with a strong accent.
Hector had come home from a small factory on Chicago’s west side. His job was to make grinding wheels for machine shops. The owner hired illegal aliens to make the wheels for him in a basement of the factory. It was an ingenious scheme. It would have been like putting Anne Frank to work behind the refrigerator. OSHA people would have closed the factory down in a second if they knew what was going on in the
basement. The air swirled with silica that went into making the wheels. The foreman wore a device that looked like a World War I gas mask that had two little air vents around the mouth. All the workers used paper masks and they were issued two a week. Hector worked ten hours a day and made eight dollars an hour. Hector had come from an area of Mexico called Jalisco. Hector paid a man close to $8,000.00 to take him across at Tijuana. The men, who took his money, provided him with fake papers. From there, Hector took a bus to Chicago to live in a studio apartment with his cousin and four other
men. A studio apartment is nothing more than a room that serves as everything but a
bathroom.
Hector started a side project of doing handy man repairs on the side. Sylvia, a seventy year old Jewish woman, hired Hector to fix some small items in her apartment and before long, Hector was living with Sylvia. Hector was a short dumpy Aztec looking man with dark, ruddy complexion and black eyes. Hector hated the United States.
Hector saw an invisible wall that kept his people invisible. Nobody seemed to notice that at all the restaurants, car washes and front lawns in upper middle class areas around the country, functioned because of undocumented Hispanics, primarily Mexicans. Hector knew that as an undocumented, illegal alien, he had to settle for whatever job and money he could find.
The silica made him wheeze and his eyes tear. Hector often coughed but thought nothing of it. Hector had been watching El Salvador playing against Mexico. It was a tied game in the 78th minute when six firemen axed the door open and began smashing all the windows out. Hector grabbed the arm of one of the firemen and as the fireman struggled; his axe went right through the 70 inch, high definition television that Hector had just purchased. It cost Hector the equivalent of ten days of work. The fireman apologized and walked out. Hector found out later at work that El Salvador won the match.
Sylvia stood on the sidewalk, trying to calm Hector while holding her parakeets in
a small cage. Hector had just downed several shots of tequila and wolfed down a six
pack of Tecate. All he wanted to do was watch the match on television and fall asleep on
the couch.
Hector and Sylvia found a motel on Lincoln Avenue called the Rio Motel.
Hector was checking into the motel that doubled as a convenience store too. Behind the bullet proof glass were cigarettes, pop, condoms, pain relievers and so forth. The Indian proprietor looked at Hector, a Hispanic man in his mid thirties and the seventy year old Jewish woman holding two birds in a cage, while dressed in pyjamas, was
impressed with that. Ajesh the proprietor was used to seeing all kinds of outrageous things but felt that the odd couple were the most unique of the night. Just as they were settling up with Ajesh, a young black, homeless man came in.
“Yo man, I’m just coming back for my cigarettes… I was in here back before y’all started foh the night and left my cigarettes here on the counter… You kin look at the tapes, I was here bout foh clock…”
“I don’t know nothing about no cigarettes, bro… You better leave now,” said Ajesh.
Hector slipped Fifty dollars cash under the bullet proof glass and handed it to
Ajesh. An Indian musical played in the back ground on a small television. There was one woman dressed in a Sari with twenty men, dancing in unison with her in front of a palace. Everyone of the dancers, were good looking people and light skinned to the point of looking Anglo with a hint of Indian. They were dressed in yellow and orange. They were all smiling, fit and happy. Ajesh was heavy and very dark and looked unhappy. He had a great disdain for the patrons who frequented the motel he purchased from a Korean couple several years back. The patrons used it to use and sell drugs, they used it to have secret rendezvous and some used it for prostitution. Illegal aliens used the motel as their
only means of living since they were fearful that a background/credit check would reveal the fact that they were not living and working in the country legally. Hector lived with Sylvia and so he had an apartment to go where there would not be four men to a room. Sylvia had companionship. She had someone other than birds and a television for interaction. Even though Hector was surly, he did appreciate the old woman letting him live with her. The relationship was non sexual for the most part. There had been a few
occasions where the chemicals within Hector, built up and drove him to do something that he would not have done otherwise. This poor decision making was aided by Tequila. Sylvia actually liked it quite a bit. It had been years since she had sex with a man. That night, there would be no sex and very little talking. They were both disturbed by the fact that they were instantly displaced from their apartment due to the fire.
“Hey man, I just want my motha fucking cigarettes… Look on the motha fucking tapes if you don’t believe me,” said the black man, with even glossier eyes than Hector.
“If you don’t leave now, I vill call the police,” said Ajesh, sternly.
“Fuck you, you fucking A-rab mothah fucking, carpet riding, snaking charming motha fucker.”
Ajesh emerged from behind the bullet proof room with a good ole Louisville Slugger. It was a thirty two ounce bat, which is to say that it had some weight to it. It was supposedly signed by Bo Jackson, who once played baseball for the Chicago White Sox and football for the Oakland Raiders. Ajesh held the bat up as if he were playing Cricket, which he was once very good at back in India. Ajesh was not a small man and was not afraid of black men who tried to intimidate him. In fact Ajesh was secretly hoping that one of them would cross the line so that he could brain them with his bat and then tell the police that he was being threatened with death by some transient.
“Who’s the mother fucker now? Mother fucker… Try some stupid shit, bro. I vill charm your fucking snake…”
With that, the transient man walked off and Hector and Sylvia went up to their
room. The room was musty as if mold was growing somewhere and the toilet smelled of urine like an outhouse. The bed had nothing but sheets on it and every spring on the bed
could be felt. Hector turned on the television to find two Indian men having sex with an Indian woman in a garden while sitar music played softly behind her feigned moans. Sylvia fell asleep talking to her birds, Hector fell asleep watching the Indian manage a trois. They too were good looking Indian people, this time with their clothes off.
Pills
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Twisted Inksters
November 3, 2009 by blackhumouristpressNow this story might seem like it’s going all over the place and it is but it’s not every day you run across some exciting people who are worthy of having their stories told.
Eddie George, a man with two first names, was called Ed, Eddie, Edward, George and Georgie Boy. As well as Boy George but that got him really angry to hear that nickname. Eddie grew up in suburban Detroit in the eighties and fell in with a group of gear heads that listened to the Stray Cats and a lot of older Rockabilly music. Racing old cars and listening to hillbilly rock was what Eddy and his brother Jimmy and Cousin Virgil did. They eventually each took to playing instruments and over the course of twenty something years, they became a great Rockabilly trio that went by the name of the Inkster Twisters. They grew up west of Detroit in a Wayne County suburb of Inkster and actually lived right on Inkster and so the name was a natural.
By day Eddie was a police officer within the city of Detroit. Eddie hated his job for the most part but really liked having guns and being able to go as fast as he wanted in his police cruiser. When Eddy wasn’t working, he was playing music and firing all sorts of collected fire arms that he acquired over the years. It all started with confiscating weapons from potential criminals and then never turning them over. It innocently started with storing them in his police cruiser trunk and forgetting about them by accident. There was a Thompson machine gun used by gangsters during the Roaring Twenties and Dismal Thirties, double barrel 12 gauge shot guns with the barrels and then sawed off too. There were 357 magnums and Saturday night specials. Eddy began to collect and over the course of twenty years, he had quite a collection. On the day Eddie met Tulip, he was listening to Eddie Cochran on a CD player that was hidden under the dashboard of his 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air. The car was in mint condition and the AM radio still worked great but Eddie wanted to hear all his Rockabilly favorites all the time and so he bought a CD player but hid it within the car. It was sort of like seeing an Amish farmer in a horse and buggy but talking on a cell phone. I heard they do that now.
“Ma’am … Suppose we start at the beginning,” said Eddy to Tulip.
“Well my husband Bill had been drinking and he came home belligerent as usual and started smacking me around. I told him I was leaving this time for good and he went and got the gun you see over there and threatened to shoot me. He put the barrel right to my head… I’m sorry but I’m still all shook up over this… He put the barrel to my temple and cocked the hammer. I thought about my four children and what life might be for them without their mother and I fought back. I was able to twist the gun in Billy’s hand and the gun discharged in his face,” said Tulip while sobbing.
Billy lay on the couch with most of his face missing and a section of his head. Chunks of skin and scalp stuck to the walls and couch where Billy was laying. It was gruesome to be sure and a sight that would have made most people unaccustomed to such activities, clutch their stomachs. Tulip was cool as a cucumber as the expression goes and Eddie was in love. All Eddie could think of was Tulip’s pretty face and nice figure as he listened to the mostly bogus details of events.
Now they questioned Tulip and her children and took finger prints and then there was more questioning before it was determined that all that took place was as Tulip had said. Tulip was free to go about her life and she did.
Tulip was a young woman of twenty six years of age, tall and slender with an angelic face, the sort of face that could get anyone to believe that she did not take a gun belonging to her third husband and kill him with it. This was roughly around the same time that her husband Billy had inherited over a million dollars from his well to do aunt who never had children of her own. That money came from her husband who worked for the Ford Motor Company for almost forty years. Billy’s aunt’s husband bought a lot of stock in Ford and saved and saved and then died and left it to his wife. His wife, the aunt of Billy and Billy in turn was the husband of Tulip, third husband and father to the twins who happened to be the youngest of the four children belonging to Tulip. Confusing? Well the aunt left this money to Billy. Billy was a man of almost fifty years of age married to a woman half his age, that being Tulip, who spawned twin boys belonging genetically to Billy and Tulip collectively. Billy had adopted the other two children that belonged to two other men that Tulip had been married to beginning at the age of 18. Now keeping all this in mind, Billy had made out a will and named his loving wife Tulip as the executor of his will as well as the 100% recipient of his kingdom on earth. Tulip got the house, cars, boat, snowmobile, motorcycle and a little over one million dollars.
The first time Eddie had consummated his relationship with Tulip, he was amazed to find that Tulip still had the body of a young woman who had not given birth. The skin all over her body was firm and without any marks that might lead one to believe that she may have given birth once or multiple times as was the case with Tulip. Tulip had gaudy tattoos in various spots all over her body. There was the red rose on her shoulder with the name of her first husband Joe and then a gothic looking skull bearing the name of her second husband Phil, four stars around her ankle signifying the four children she bore and then a blue picket fence above her vagina that read, “ home sweet home”. That last tattoo was Billy’s idea. He paid for that tattoo and the five thousand dollar boob job for Tulip.
Over the course of time and that time being three months, Eddie married Tulip, sold his home and had a home built from the money from the sale of his home and a donation from Tulip. This bi-level was brick with a basement and six bathrooms in Inkster. The master suite had a hot tub, whirlpool and a bidet for Tulip. Tulip thought that was an ingenious idea upon going on their honeymoon in France. The caveat in getting a home together was that it had to be decked out in 1950’s era furnishings. Tulip and Eddie went to estate sales all around Detroit and suburbs and found metal cabinets, kidney bean coffee tables, old radios and televisions and so on. When they finally moved into their castle, it looked like something out of Leave it to Beaver. Tulip bought a 1959 Cadillac with huge gondola fins, cut her hair to look like a teenie bopper from the 1950’s and became the quintessential Rockabilly chick. Tulip’s new thing was going to all of Eddie’s performances in and around Detroit, Toledo, Cleveland and even Chicago. Life was perfect for Tulip and Eddie, the four children and two dogs but as usually the case, there was a fly in the ointment.
Now Billy before he died had been a frequent customer at a strip club up in Oakland County, far enough away from home. A young mother with a child by the name of Crystal thought that she had Billy on the hook. Billy had told Crystal that he would divorce his wife and marry her. Billy also happened to mention that he had come into money and was going to start a business that he had not quite decided on yet and try to live happily ever after. It sounded all good to Crystal. Crystal was living in a trailer park with her alcoholic mother who had a job standing on the corner of busy streets holding signs alerting customers to the fact that a particular store would be closing and that the contents were being liquidated for nearly nothing. Crystal began stripping and before long, found a man that could save her from everything. That man was Billy.
Crystal began to write anonymous letters to Tulip after the death of Billy. These letters were left on the windshield of Tulip’s car or in the mail. The letters were always letters cut from magazines to form words and sentences. The letters were varied a bit but mostly said about the same thing.
“I know you killed Billy, you bitch. I’m going to turn you in.”
Crystal went to a detective in the Detroit Police Department and turned over letters from Billy that stated his love for Crystal and how he was going to leave Tulip and marry her. Before long, Tulip was back in court and the case was re-opened. The letters and gifts to Crystal including pictures of Billy and Crystal together during a Miami vacation were all pretty strong evidence. Crystal was weepy on the stand and built up the love between her and Billy to be quite a bit more than it ever was. Truth was that Billy was just stringing Crystal along and never really had any intention of divorcing Tulip and marrying her. It suddenly became quite interesting to not only Detroit and the people of Michigan but to the late night Headline News show that followed the case heavily. They interviewed people that knew all parties involved and played and replayed pictures of Tulip with her children and Eddie and then of her in sunglasses walking out of a courthouse while holding hands with Eddie. It became quite a circus. This all came to a halt the night that Tulip broke into the trailer belonging to Crystal’s mother and attempted to shoot Crystal. Crystal and her mother were both shot at close range but not killed. Ironically, Eddie was dispatched to the scene of the crime and had the responsibility of gathering up his own wife. When Eddie came home to collect Tulip, she was in the kitchen making oatmeal cookies and listening to Tammy Wynette’s song, Stand by Your Man.
I could spend the next twenty or so pages telling you about the court case where Tulip cried and screamed and had to be restrained or about the plethora of reporters that stood guard outside their home. Tulip wound up going to prison, Eddie got the kids and money and then something really bizarre happened. Eddie fell in love with Crystal and wound up marrying her. They all live happily in Eddie’s custom built home that is decked out with furnishings and appliances from the Eisenhower era. Crystal played the part of the loving wife. I’m hoping poor Eddie does not get knocked off anytime soon. Crystal could be found looking up poisons on the internet on one of the computers at a branch of the Detroit Library. A young and pretty single woman, living hand to mouth as they say was the part time branch librarian who noticed what was left on the screen by Crystal. This young librarian watched the whole thing for years unfold on Headline News. If necessary she was ready to step in with evidence. More than once the young librarian lay in bed thinking of ways she could meet Eddie. It was all just a matter of time.
Dites Moi…
October 27, 2009 by blackhumouristpressDites moi lentement … La vie, Australie, le mer des caribe
Dites moi lentement… ce n’est pas necessaire a travailler
Dites moi lentement… Vous me comprend ma couer totalment
Dites moi lentement… Vous etes jeune avec beacoups des temps
Dites moi lentement… Quand vous etes mort, il y a un place pour vous
Dites moi lentement… Bon anniversaire comme les autres et beaucoups pour l’avenir
Dites moi lentement… Nous habitons au Canada dans une petite maison pres de la mer
Dites moi lentement… il y a un raison pour tous les choses et peut-etre un jour je vais a comprend
Gypsy Voodoo Queen Martini Maker
October 21, 2009 by blackhumouristpressIt all at once hit Glad. Her husband had been having an affair with a woman the same age as their children and their son was in trouble once again with the law. Glad began to cry as she stood in front of the prison. She felt so helpless and alone. Glad wondered what it was that she could have done in her life to deserve what was happening to her.
Standing outside his cab, within a few feet of Glad was Horatio. Horatio was an average European looking man with a strong five o’clock shadow. He had been talking to his cousin who had just opened up a martini bar on Halsted Street on the south side of Chicago. His cousin reasoned that since so much of the south side was being bought up by developers, it was just a matter of time before young urban professionals would troll the neighborhood, looking for a place to wet their whistles. His cousin went by the name of Toula. It was really something too hard to pronounce in Hungarian and so she went by Toula and told people that she was Greek. When Greeks spoke Greek to Toula, she could speak Greek. Toula once had a husband that was Greek and he spoke Greek to her. Hungarians would have known she was a Gypsy if she spoke Hungarian to them. Instead she claimed that she was Greek and cut down on discrimination.
Horatio hung up his phone and approached Glad who was sobbing heavy. Horatio suspected she was robbed or assaulted in some way and genuinely wanted to help.
“Lady… You okay, lady? Why you crying, lady? Somebody try to take your money, lady… Come on, why you crying?”
Horatio, rubbed Glad’s bare arm. Ordinarily Glad would have been taken back by such a thing by a stranger, but she was actually comforted by the stranger whom she did not fear. She explained what was going on to Horatio. Horatio offered to help her occupy time for the next half day.
“I gotta place you can visit, lady… It’s a really nice place. It’s run by my cousin Toula… We’re Greek, lady? You Greek?”
“No, I would say I’m mostly Irish with a little English and German…”
“No wonder you cry… You all mixed up, lady. I cry too if I not know if I German or English… During the war, you would know which side yourself gone try to kill the other half…”
With that Glad smiled and laughed a bit. Horatio gave her a napkin from Dunkin Donuts from his glove compartment and herded her into the cab. Horatio had a CD of Frank Sinatra playing in his cab.
“You like Frank? I like Frank a lot. When I live in Europe, I like Frank. He the reason I move here. I say to myself one day… I gonna go to Chicago just like in that song Frank sing about… Don’t worry bout nothing, lady. I gone take you to Toula. You gone stop and talk to Toula. Toula gone help you feel better and you gone look at the world like it a sunny day… It a nice day to be alive, lady… You gone see.”
Horatio called Toula and they spoke in a Gypsy dialect of Romanian as Horatio drove towards her martini bar that had been open less than two months. The martini bar was only a few blocks away from US Cellular Field, home of the Chicago White Sox. At the ball park, the players were getting ready for the game against the Chicago Cubs. The White Sox won the night before and were poised to repeat during the afternoon game.
Toula was readying herself for overflow of patrons from the well established drinking holes of White Sox fans. Toula believed that blue collar baseball fans, would like something different. She was right. Many people in the area liked the idea of a bar where martinis were served. Toula served beer but it was beer from Greece. Many were reluctant to try the beer because they could not read the label. It looked too foreign to them.
Horatio told toula in their Romanian dialect, that he had a really nice woman who
was all alone in Chicago and that she needed a place to help her feel better while she waited for her son to be released from jail. Horatio explained about the accident that her husband was in and the discovery of an affair too. Horatio believed that Toula could help. Toula had the ability to make people forget whatever was on their mind for a while as they watched and listened to her speak and gesture. Toula appeared to dance as she walked and she spoke poetically and cryptically.
“What do you believe, my beautiful friend?”
“Do you mean faith? I was raised Catholic…”
“You were raised Catholic… That means that someone had imposed their faith upon you at an early age and you have yet to decide for yourself, what it is you believe…People who know me call me Queen Toula.”
Toula had lived in New Orleans for ten years and while there, she became interested in a Voodoo museum in the French Quarter. Toula herself lived on Dumaine, down the street from the museum. Toula became very involved in Voodoo and believed with all her being in it’s powers.
Toula cut a lemon peel from a lemon as she spoke to Glad. Glad sat on a bar stool at the bar. Nobody had come in as of yet, it was still morning. Toula proceeded to make two martinis for Glad. One was made of apple and the other pear. Toula explained that she was a bonified Voodoo priestess. Glad was sceptical. Toula knew that Glad lived a pretty straight forward life and that Voodoo sounded make believe.
Toula locked the front door and took Glad to a room in the back that had statues, beads and candles burning. It was called a gris-gris room. Behind that was a former closet that was turned into an alter room. Around the alter were notes, locks of hair, trinkets, photographs. Glad was impressed.
“Give me something that represents you…”
Glad took out a photograph of herself that she thought made her look very attractive. She kept it with her for days when she felt ugly. Glad would take it out and look at the photograph and feel better about what she looked like. Toula began to blink and held the photo close to her cleavage. Rhythmic music played in the back ground. It seemed African. A lot of drums and a tamborine and some call and response in a foreign language. Toula began to dance in a circle. Her summer dress clung to her as she got sweaty. Toula had the body of a teenager. She was wiry strong and very fit looking. The trance like dance went on for several minutes. Glad kneeled in the corner and watched. The music sped to a frenzy and then it stopped. Toula dropped to the ground in a pool of her own sweat. Glad thought that she had collapsed and came to her aid. Toula looked up with piercing eyes and grabbed Glad by the chin so that she would carefully hear all that she was about to say.
“You have to believe me without doubt… Do you understand? You have been racked with self doubt your whole life. You have gone day to day feeling as though you were never good enough. You have let others walk on you and you have wallowed in your self pity… You are going to change all that beginning today. It starts now…”
Glad took a drink of the martini that was mixed to perfection. It was an apple martini that was tart yet sweet. She guzzled the martini down and then took a sip of the pear martini. Glad had always hated the texture of pears. It made her skin break out into goose bumps whenever she bit into a pear. Apples never had that effect on her but pears did. Glad took a sip and broke out into goose bumps. She told Toula that she could not drink it. Toula with a stern face and intense eyes, pushed the drink back into her hand.
“You must drink it… It is part of the gris-gris… Do you want this to work? Do you want to believe that change is possible? Then drink it…”
Glad wolfed it down and felt nothing more than buzzed. All that Glad had to eat were a bag of cookies that she bought at the airport in Detroit. That had been hours ago. The drinks hit her immediately. Toula left Glad in the room to reflect on what would be different from that point on. Toula went back to conjure up two more martinis. One apple the other pear.
Glad sat on a bar stool and ate peanuts out of a bag and sipped martinis. She had
one pear and one apple. At noon time, Glad was on her sixth martini. There was a band of young black men, playing jazz fused funk for the patrons that were downing a few drinks prior to going to see the White Sox take on the Cubs at US Cellular Field. Nobody spoke with Glad and Toula was racing around making sure that everyone had drinks with her two man staff. It was their busiest day. Toula would be able to pay the rent with just that one day. Within an hour, the people filed out and the band sat at the bar to have a drink. The band was taking a break until after the game. One of the men in the band was a man named Anthony. Anthony was a tall black man of nearly fifty years of age. He had the body and energy of a man half his age. He wore bib overalls with a tank top t shirt underneath. He wore a White Sox hat and laughed heartily at everything said. He sat besides Glad and stuck up a conversation.
“Motown… Oh yes, oh yes. Spent mucho time in D town. Matter fact I lived just round the corner from Tigers Stadium in Corktown. Shit… It was dangerous foh a brotha in that hood. I member once driving my 1968 Chevy Impala down Michigan Avenue round bout there and some young brothers threw a brick through my passenger window. I’m just driving listening to some Marvin Gaye and the next thing I knew. I was wearing the glass of my passenger window and a brick sat on my lap… Hee hee hee… First I was
like… I’m gonna whoop me some ass and then I remembered me once dropping bricks from the overpass on the 94 back when I was a lad…Hee hee hee… God took while but he didn’t fo-get. He might take while to get back to you but all deeds will not be fo-gotten… All in all though, De-troit a good town. You want some good food… I mean really good foh the soul, honest to goodness, soul food to rest the soul and make you feel good foh living, there a restaurant off seven mile and a woman go by the name of Matilda… She was in her late fifties and built like a kettle… Pretty nuff smile and sweet as her sweet potato pie… I taste that food, that pie and I said to her, I done found the love of my life…hee -hee hee… Yes ma’am… Every time I got a gig in De-troit, I stop there… You probably ain’t never been round them parts… You probably from way out west somewhere… I’m right ain’t I girl? Yes sir… north and west, way far way from the hood… I ain’t hating though. You all got nice homes, nice restaurants and people obey the speed limits… Hee hee hee… What brings you to the south side of Chicago?”
Glad did not hold back. She took a good half hour to tell Anthony about her relationship with her husband, problems with her son, her lack of sex and low self asteem. Glad told Anthony about her plan to get into shape and eat better. She told Anthony that she was going to internet date and find a good man to be with who really appreciated her. All Anthony could think about was having a casual romp with a sexually frustrated woman. It did not matter if she was a bit homely and unfit. Anthony had a thing for women with smaller waists and large asses. He always marvelled at that phenomena of nature. A twenty inch waist and thirty eight inch hips with buttocks large enough to set a drink upon it.
Anthony used to believe in monogamy and fought hard to be exclusive to his wife. It was during a six month job working on a cruise ship that things changed for Anthony. He had been working with three young women from Sweden who believed that if you wanted to have sex, it was possible to do without having any other feelings other than sexual attraction. Anthony understood their point of view and quickly adopted it. Anthony’s wife was not so understanding or tolerant. It had been nearly ten years since his divorce. Anthony was much happier and really appreciated the variety and more than happy to not slog through the mundane necessities of day to day life, with each woman he met. That was for their husbands.
“Come on… It’s much more comfortable upstairs…” said Anthony as he lead Glad up the stairs.
At that moment, the White Sox had scored three runs in the sixth inning and were
ahead. There was still about an hour or so until the hoards returned either despondent or euphoric over the outcome of the game.
Glad had never been attracted to black men. There was something too raw about them in all facets of who they were. Of course Glad tried to be open minded and tried not judge all blacks the same but she could not help it. Black men were scary and strong and when they had their minds up to rob or rape you, it would be done. Black women were sexual too. Glad had decided that all black women constantly ooze sexuality in how they look, talk and dress for nothing more than attention from black men. Anthony was the exception.
Anthony thought about sex every twenty seconds like any boy with an extremely high libido. Being nearly fifty years of age, Anthony learned that he could have all that he wanted by being nice, attentive and patient. It nearly worked every time. White women would talk and drink and before they knew it, Anthony was just like white men. He wasn’t so scary after all. It was the same with Glad. Glad never panicked as Anthony helped her remove all her clothes. Glad never panicked either when Toula walked into the room and joined them in the bed. Glad kept her eyes closed and enjoyed her sexual spontaneity more than any sexual experience she had ever had before. After nearly an hour, Anthony dressed and went down to start playing again with the band as customers began to return. Toula too dressed and headed down. She took Glad’s chin in the palm of her hand and asked her if she felt better. Glad felt much better. In fact she masterbated again while the post game interview went on. White Sox won 4-3 against the Cubs. The booze would flow like water in Bridgeport that night.
Glad fell asleep for close to a half hour. The sound of the drums and bass woke her from her slumber. She dressed and made her way down the stairs. The room was shoulder to shoulder and required some tunnelling in order to get through the door. Toula was feverishly mixing drinks and Anthony had his eyes closed while playing a Stan Getz tune on his tenor saxophone. Neither Anthony nor Toula noticed Glad leave and within a few days, they both forgot they had met her. They both meet so many people everyday.
Look Away, Dixieland
October 19, 2009 by blackhumouristpressMy new novel, Look Away, Dixieland is now for sale.
I invite you to take a look inside.
Make the intellectual investment.
Department of Levity
October 16, 2009 by blackhumouristpressSergio was an American born Cuban that could pass for a middle easterner and so he took Arabic as a linguist in the military. Languages came easy to Sergio. He spoke English and Spanish without an accent and learned all Romantic languages quickly and proficiently and was directed by the military to take Arabic. After Sergio’s military days, the government started a covert task force that took pre-emptive moves to find those within the borders of the United States that would be most likely to leave the states to train as a terrorist and come back to America to commit acts of terror. Most people interviewed were nothing more than delusional misfits with varying degrees of mental illness. But the government held out hope that they’d find those fit enough to carry out terrorist activity.
9:00 am Monday- Outdoor café on South Beach in Miami. Sergio is wearing a collared long sleeved white shirt, sun glasses and pretends to be speaking to someone on his cell phone when Dr. Trent Shores walks up. Trent hears a lot of guttural words in Arabic. Trent understands nothing of what Sergio is saying on his cell phone. What was being said loosely translates to this; Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens Brown paper packages tied up with strings, These are a few of my favorite things. Sergio hangs up and extends his hand to Dr. Shores.
“Salaam Mr. Mohammed, I had to take a plane from New York to Cleveland then to Buffalo and then here. I wanted to be sure I was not being followed. I truly believe the feds are following me. They know I’m a medical doctor, they know that I was once an active member of the Communist Party of America back in college and they know how I feel about the direction of this country,” said Trent while looking side to side.
Sergio looked intently at Trent as everything was being recorded on a high fidelity wire attached to Sergio’s chest. Trent’s breathing could be picked up by the expensive recording device. There was no mistaking what was being said.
“I am a historian who has studied the fallacies of American history. The nonsense about the holocaust really gets my goat. It’s no coincidence that Jews run this country, the banking system and so on. Look at the money we give to Israel… It’s a crime,” said Sergio.
“Well my friend, hating Jews is not enough to get you into our elite troop of liberators. Tell me how you see society as a whole, my friend,” said Sergio, while rubbing his scruffy whiskers with his thumb and fore finger.
“Well aside from Jews, people have become so stupid in this country. Stupid things appeal to stupid people. Music, movies and television as part of pop culture in this country have dumbed down society here. This culture is a disease that will dumb down the world. It must be stopped. If I could confide something with you, Mr. Mohammed… I am trying to come up with a drug that will control the minds of people through subliminal messages. If I could do this, I being the creator of this drug, could steer this country back in the proper direction. I believe my product could be very useful to your organization. I am willing to be your chemist, your scientist, your chief consultant in matters such as this,” said Trent.
“How are things coming, my friend?” Asked Trent.
“I’m glad you ask… It is coming along well. I have used this on dogs thus far with very positive results. I can get dogs to do things on my command. Angry, vicious dogs are rendered completely submissive and totally cooperative,” said Sergio.
“Would you be willing to go to our compound oversees to discuss this option with others within our organization? We are very pleased by your letter to us via the internet and find comfort in the fact that there are Americans such as yourself that are willing to be apart of the solution that is best for the world. This madness must be stopped. We need intelligent and motivated individuals such as yourself to help make ideas a reality. Where can we reach you, Dr. Trent?”
Sergio reported to his direct superior that he had a prospect on the hook. They had lured in a disenchanted American citizen who appeared to be willing to join forces that were bent on destroying the United States through an obscure site on the internet. Sergio was ordered to seek out the doctor for a second interview at his hotel near downtown Miami. Sergio met the mother of the doctor at the door of there hotel room. Her name was Sylvia and she was an older Jewish woman with a patient smile. Trent’s mother stepped into the hallway to discuss Trent’s condition with Sergio. It was at that moment that Sergio learned that Dr. Trent Shore was actually Harold Fishman.
“Sir… I’m not sure exactly what Harold discussed with you. Just so you know, Harold suffers from delusions and has been diagnosed as schizophrenic. He called me and made the mistake of calling me from the hotel phone and I tracked him down here. The institution that he was living at cut funding and I had to take him in back at home again. That darn internet is horrible for people like Harold… I apologize if he has promised you something. He is not a millionaire, a doctor, a scientist or part of the royal Dutch thrown… I hear all of them.”
“I see… Thank you for your time madam,” said Sergio before excusing himself.
Sergio got into his car and immediately phoned his boss to discuss yet another dead end.
“Joe? Another flop… Yea, yea… Look, we’re getting nothing but crackpots. Most of these guys are living in a parallel universe and have trouble making their beds in the morning… Well I understand and yeah I like to eat and pay my mortgage and so I continue to do this but this beating them to the punch thing by putting cryptic ads on chat rooms and so on, is just attracting weirdoes who live alone with their mothers. We’re beating dead horses… Alright Joe. Where do I go tomorrow? Idaho? A former band of white supremacists who want to go to train in Afghanistan… Okay. You say former though, huh? How does one stop being a white supremacist? Okay… That’s fine. I’ll make my way to Boise by tomorrow. Just how many have we actually gotten to try and board a plane for Afghanistan? That many, huh? Well as long as the government believes we’re making head way, that’s all that matters. At least we won’t be exposed for trying to sell $200.00 toilet seats, right Joe? Give my love to the wife and kids… See you next week Vegas. Don’t forget to bring your golf clubs… Sure, we’ll have a swell time.”
Women in Bars
October 13, 2009 by blackhumouristpressBlackhumouristpress’s Blog
October 10, 2009
Women in Bars
Tags: Detroit, Bars, Women, Grosse Pointe, Long Island Ice Tea, Infidelity, Red Wings, Greeks
Sarah and Angela made plans for two Fridays in a row to leave their homes in Grosse Pointe to have a drink in Hamtramck which is a little island of a town encompassed by the city of Detroit. After a few cancellations, they met at Small’s. In the main room was a noisy garage band. Sarah and Angela found a table under a television where Fox Detroit was agonizing over the unravelling of the Tigers in the last days of the 2009 baseball season. Neither of them was interested in that nor anything else going on in crowed bar that cool autumn night. Catching up was all that they really hoped to do.
Sarah was the mother of four children and was married to a second generation Greek man who owned his own garage. Demetrius inherited his father’s garage that was started back in 1959. Demetrius made a good buck and lived a fairly simple life.
Angela was the mother of two children, one of which played ice hockey on a team with Sarah’s son. Angela and Sarah became friends immediately and carpooled to hockey games and practices and eventually became each other’s confidant.
Sarah ordered a Long Island Ice Tea and Angela had a Corona Light. A young fat man with mutton side burns, many tattoos and a backwards Lions hat on, put ten dollars in the juke box and played every Ramones tune available. Sarah blinked hard and shook her head.
“Have you figured out when boys become men? This little cherub probably still lives at home and plays drinking games in his parent’s basement in between X Box tournaments with his equally unmotivated friends who are living at home with their parents,” stated Angela, while leaning her chin on the palm of her right hand.
“Um my loving husband is sitting right now in my living room with his brother and cousins, watching a Red Wings game on a seventy two inch television. Four fat Greeks wearing Chelios jerseys, eating wings and drinking beer. I could walk naked in front of all of them and they’d never notice. His fucking brother is such a goddamn pig too. He makes that sound when you’re sucking snot up from somewhere in your throat. It is so damn gross and then he swallows it.” Said Sarah.
“I hate it when his parents come over and the wives of his cousins and brother. Everyone is Greek and they all speak Greek and I’m just running around making coffee for the old people who are ripping on me in Greek because I’m not Greek. Thank god I’m not Greek. Something happens when those Greek chicks have kids. Their hips expand and they grow moustaches. I shit you not. Even the good looking ones get fat asses and facial hair. When I first met his parents they assumed I was Greek and then they wanted assurances from me that the kids would go to Greek school on weekends to learn to read and write in Greek. My Greek god turned into just a fucking Greek. Him and his cousins, brothers, their wives, his parents and their Hellenic hip disease… Honest to Christ almighty. I’m immersed in the fucking white sauce of life.” Said Sarah, while Angela laughed uncontrollably.
Sarah was short with brown hair and carried a few extra pounds. Sarah’s inspiration unbeknownst to her was Angela. Angela had her last child a few years back and began to work out religiously. Angela’s husband had told her that he could not get aroused since she had become more matronly than he had anticipated. Angela signed up for spin classes, Pilates and swam. Everyday she tried to get in between a half hour to an hour of exercise. Within six months, Angela had lost forty five pounds and looked and felt better than she had in years. Angela’s husband still criticized her one too many times. Angela had found more than exercise to occupy her time.
“I have something I have to get off my chest,” said Angela after taking a swig of her beer. “I’m seeing a Polish poet who works during the day as a plumber”.
Sarah laughed as though Angela had told a joke. Angela wasn’t laughing. Sarah reached across the table and grabbed Angela’s forearm.
“I want to hear about this and don’t leave a fucking detail out,” said Sarah.
“I told Tom for weeks to fix the P trap under the sink in the kitchen. I thought he had done it and I open the cabinet to get cleaning solution to clean up a spot where the cat has taken to pissing over and over and the cabinet had fallen apart totally. I could see the foundation through a hole where there used to be wood. I was so pissed. I go into the den and he was looking at porn or something on the internet. As soon as he heard my feet stomping towards him on the hardwood floor, he turns off the monitor… So fucking childish… Anyway I ask him why he never took care of it. He shrugs like my other kids and says he forgot. I was so mad that I went to the hardware store to get the parts myself. I connect it all up and water is spraying everywhere and I’m about ready to cry. There I am under the sink with a pipe wrench and I have whining kids asking for pudding pops and Tom gets upset because he’s trying to watch football and the kids are yelling. He gives them each a granola bar and tells them to play downstairs. Mind you, I’m under the sink with black shit all over my arms and he never attempts to stop watching football which he could tape if he wanted to and help me with something that he should have done. Instead he tells me that I’m going to fuck it up and sure enough I do. Instead of crying, I put on my running shoes and took the kids to the high school track with me and they walked while I ran. I ran three miles and came home and made cookies and never gave another thought to the damn leaking pipe. Tom runs the water and it’s now spraying all over everything under the sink. He says with his smug assed smile that he knew I would fuck it up. My sister tells me to call this handy man named Marek and he comes over the next morning. This guy walks in and I just knew even before he said one word that we were going to connect. He disconnects what I put on and adds some Teflon tape and it works perfectly. Marek tells me that I did a good job except for the tape and he gets ready to leave and doesn’t charge me. I force the guy to take a fifty and I’m thinking that’s that. A week later, I’m right here in Hamtramck at Trowbridge having coffee one night and low and behold my plumber is reading poetry. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a t shirt and nervously reads his poetry in English with his cute Polish accent. There were maybe a dozen people there and I waited until he was done and bought his book of poems and had him sign it. Well one thing leads to another and we get together and he reads my poems and I his and then one night we go to dinner and wind up back at his place for hours. I can’t tell you how many times we made love. It was love. You know when you’re fucking and when it’s actually the act of love making. Every time is so good and I can’t wait until the next time,” said Angela.
Sarah had her mouth open as if someone had poured cold water on her. Sarah asked the obvious question.
“Tom? Tom understands that I’m there but I’m gone. He can smell it on me that something has changed. He had the balls to say to me the other day that I act too good for him now that I got in shape. I told him that I’m the same person I was when my ass was too fat for him. There’s just less of me than before. Have you started running yet? Are you doing the 3K with me at Thanksgiving?” Asked Angela.
“I’ve been begging Demetrius to let me have a dog. I want a dog that will jog with me. Maybe a Doberman or something that’s built to jog. I’m up to a mile a day. It takes me twelve minutes but I’m getting better.” Said Sarah.
“So if you want a dog just go buy one,” said Angela.
“It doesn’t work that way when you’re married to a macho Greek. He says if I blow him once in a while, I can have the dog. I’m blowing him twice a week now and last week I wind up getting a cold sore and he’s so sure that he’s going to get herpes on his nut sack that he makes me give him a hand job. Can you believe it? Like junior high, honest to god. I get olive oil and am jerking his cock while ESPN is on the gigantic television. He’s just about to cum and Stavros calls for me to bring him a drink of water. Demetrius gets so pissed and then I gotta start all over again. My damn right arm was cramping and I offer to go in the shower with him since I’m on the rag and he’s horrified that I suggested a little shower sex. I told him it will be fun kinda like mixing a porno with Psycho. He could watch my blood go down the drain. Anyway he tells me to shut up because he can’t concentrate. Finally he cums and I make sure it goes straight up in the air and lands on his precious Red Wings home jersey. He jumps up and mops the come off like it was fucking ink. He thanks me and I tell him I better be getting a team of mush dogs like they have in Alaska,” said Sarah.
At that moment a young cocky guy walks up holding a beer. He had longish blond hair and wore a Fedora with ripped up jeans and a sleeveless shirt. He lifted Angela’s purse up from the stool next to her and sat down uninvited.
“What’s up, ladies?”
Sarah liked the attention but Angela did not appreciate it. The young man could not hold a blow torch to the Polish/plumber/poet and she let him know in so many words.
“Um Kid Rock… You may not have noticed that we have chosen this table away from everyone else because we wanted to be alone. We don’t want you to go away thinking that we are going to crawl out of here and into a bed with each other because we don’t play for that team. Had you been in tuned to clues, you may have noticed too the rings on both or our ring fingers which is a symbol in our society of marriage. Now marriage may not matter to you and that’s cool but we really don’t want or need the company right now. I’ll buy you a drink if you go away,” said Angela harshly.
The young man walked off and Sarah and Angela continued to share details of their day to day lives. They shared things about their children, things they wanted out of day to day life and the physical changes they hoped to make in their homes. They shared intimate details of their lives and cherished the time they set aside to check in with one another. The speed and demands of day to day life made their meetings a necessity for sanity and order. They hugged as they got to their cars and promised to meet the next Friday. The next Friday did not happen nor the Friday after that. It would be a little more than a month before their next opportunity to connect. You can be sure that they’ll both have something they’ll want to discuss. They always do.
