for me, at least.
sex in the morning, (??)
no shower before taking the kids to school, (?!!)
writing a guest post,
and posting a guest post.
I'll be finishing up a post for 2% Milk, shortly,
although I can't say when he'll be posting it.
not "can't say", as in "it's a secret".
"can't say", as in "don't know."
as if you guys didn't know that.
but I will let you know when he has--
and for that matter,
let me remind you AGAIN:
if you're not reading his site already, get the fuck over there and allow yourself some god damn beauty, you deserve it.
and I posted some pictures from my weekend at Zion National Park.
...and I've just discovered that I fell for the old, "add an 's' where it doesn't belong" trick.
godDAMMMMIT, that pisses me off.
I would never have called it "Zions" if I had seen it written, I swear!
I was just following the crowd--pathetic excuse, I know...
oh, grammar gods, who I love so...
I hope you forgive me!!
(I'll be sacrificing a redneck later, to complete the offering)
The following story was left in my comments by a long-time reader,
who is still quite anonymous.
I loved it, and thought y'all might enjoy it, too.
A Story by 'Him'
I'd been drinking alone all afternoon. Drinking slowly, trying to stretch a single jack and black past half an hour without success. I'd been doing pretty well until about five pm, when the people who had jobs started to filter in. Fuckers. Until they walked into this bar, this little shithole off 9th street, I'd been all but alone in my self loathing. The bartender left me alone, polishing glasses and watching the tv over one end of the bar. After all, it was only money that changed hands when I got up for another drink. The only words we said were 'same again', then I retreated to my booth to nurse another drink into a slow death.
You walked in at about 6. I was fairly sure of the time. You caught my eye as you entered with a walk that had a hint of viper in it, distracting me from some disaster or other on the evening news. I didn't much care about people the other side of the world from me, let alone people in booths to either side of me. But then drinking always did amplify my moods. How you didn't shudder with so many eyes falling on you at once was something of a mystery to me, it took me six or seven drinks to cast my cares away and you looked like you'd been dry all day. I'd switched to doubles ten minutes before you walked into the bar. No. Before you slunk in like a hunting cat approaching a watering hole.
The moment you walked in I wanted to get up and introduce myself to you, but I didn't. Something, some self-preservation instinct still bobbing above the surface of my growing inebriation, held me back. Five minutes after you walked in, the first guy to try it on with you, some overweight fuck with a pink face and bad comb-over, probably worked in a nice office uptown, out slumming it with his buddies, he got off lightly with one of your heels ground into his toes. He should've captured the look on his face and tried to sell it. Looks of indignation like that are priceless. That made me smile for the first time since I woke up. Maybe the first time all week.
The second guy was even less lucky fifteen minutes after the first guy tried it on with you. In retrospect he should have seen you for the walking razor blade you were rapidly proving yourself to be.
Maybe he thought he had a magic touch, or he just felt brave, but he came to a bad end as well. I saw him lean in to talk to you, someone had started up the jukebox and although I couldn't place the tune it was loud enough to smother conversation across the bar. When you stubbed your cigarette out on the hand he'd placed on your knee, I knew I had to talk to you. I finished my double jack for courage, luck, and a good word with Bacchus before I stood up.
'Fuck off.' You mouthed just loud enough for me to hear as I walked up to the bar beside you. Not the best of starts, in all truth, but I'd been drinking alone all afternoon.
'I didn't even say hello.'
Personally, I'm dying to know what happens next.
she sounds like the kind of girl who would tear him apart and leave him for dead in a luxury suite, where he would regain consciousness with an idiot's grin on his face and a stack of incriminating Polaroids several hours later.
so happy wednesday to you all--
let's keep the humping to a minimum, shall we?
don't forget to tip your waitress.
and don't be a cheapskate.