Archive | September, 2011

Friday Drabble – Hazy Memory

30 Sep

A drabble is a 100-word story.  Write your own 100 word stories on Fridays, and tag them with “friday drabble”. This is my first.

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The ceremony was quick. We threw rice at the happy couple.

Another happy couple. I couldn’t remember much that happened afterward—funny, considering it was a summer spent trying to forget the past.

I recall a beach surrounded by libations and laughter aplenty. Dee and I chased a jellyfish with sticks like little kids.

Flash forward. Next bar, bachelorette party. We weren’t invited. An unimpressive douche bag got my number, I never called back.

I awoke topless on my bathroom floor. Hopeless.

Dee sent a photo. I don’t remember doing this. Hmm, I wonder if Arthur Fonzarelli needs a wife?

 

 

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My night with Wolfman Jack/The reason I stopped drinking cheap vodka

23 Sep

Last year at this time I was running around like a crazy person because I was moving, buying a house, celebrating my birthday, meeting my boyfriend and basically drinking every single night of the week at Frazier’s with my pal Dee Dee. One evening, when I finally had a few minutes to relax before going out, my brother showed me a clip from Burt Sugarman’s Midnight Special:

I enjoyed it, had a good laugh at pretty much everything happening in the video and moved on. My subconscious, however,  had different plans–that tart.

That night, while I slept, my subconscious awoke, got all skanked up and took me on over to the house of Wolfman Jack for perhaps the most disgusting sex dream experience that I’ve ever had in my life. It was awful. Thinking about it now sends shivers down my spine, and no, I don’t mean the good kind. Why would my subconscious betray me in this way? I thought we were friends, but no, not that night. That night my subconscious whore had sex with Wolfman Jack while You Sexy Thing played in the background on my subconscious stereo. Gross.

This is the look he had on his face the whole time:

How appalled are you right now?  Then, to make matters worse, Wolfman Jack kicked me out of his house after he was done. That ass! I didn’t have time to pick up my clothes so I walked home naked. My subconscious even went through the trouble of making the mascara run down my face as I cried. I was just so hurt that Wolfman Jack used me like that.

So what the hell? What did it all mean? Was that some sort of warning? Did Wolfman Jack’s ghost channel me through the cheap vodka I drank that night? How did my subconscious know his address? The world may never know.

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my knight in shining nakedness

12 Sep

Once upon a time, in the far away land of Charm City, I dated a guy who owned a sword. This was not just any sword, no–it was a magical sword sworn to protect me from intruders (I suggested that a baseball bat would be more appropriate, but was quickly told that I “don’t know anything about anything”). So, he became my knight. Ah me, young love.

The castle he rented was….quaint. It was also filthy and hot, so hot that we had to sleep naked. The entire place smelled like a stinky cat farm, but I didn’t mind because I loved him so and knew (imagined) that some day we would get married and move to a larger, more majestic castle in Suburbia–a land rumored to have little to no sightings of crack whores. There, so I’m told, I would never again have to hear the neighbor beating his wife, nor would I have to see a prostitute give a 9 am blowjob. It sounded like a dream come true and with him, it was going to be great.

One HOT summer night, as my naked knight snored soundly next to me, I awoke to a rustling in the room. I looked around, but saw nothing. Then I heard it again. Suddenly, my knight sat up and whispered, “don’t move.” He grabbed his sword and swiftly thrust it into the pile of clothes and other shit he had lying around.

He turned on the light and there he stood, completely nude, with a BIG mouse on the edge of his sword. I screamed. It was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life. It was hardly heroic. We didn’t even get to ride off into a sunset or anything. That evening, I learned that I don’t and will never need a knight–I need cleanliness and modern strategies for catching/removing city creatures.

That happened ages ago. We broke up and life moved on. Whenever I see him in my neighborhood, a breeze of nostalgia uneasily moves through me, but then I remember times like that night. I am happier now, and hey, the house I bought in Hampden doesn’t smell like a stank ass cat farm. Bonus.