Fat Tuesday

February 24, 2009 at 11:01 PM | Posted in Journal | 1 Comment
  Just some random snippets from my life–

  Monday my friend Bunny asked me, "Did you have a happy birthday?"
  "Happiness," I answered levelly, "is all relative."
  "What do you mean?"
  "Well, I didn’t cry this year."

  I walked into Hot Topic with my daughter and looked around.  There was the worker, a seventeen year old pale chick with her hair dyed jet black and the required facial piercings and indecipherable tattoo peering out of her cleavage.  It was some arcane and ancient symbol that meant "spiritual, but an easy lay." She stood, leaning back with her arms crossed, popping her gum and sighing at the same time in the classic bored-yet-cool look.  As I walked past her to the exit, I scoffed at her as I went by and said, "If you think you’re jaded *now*, wait till your *my* age, honey."

  I had talked with Stan about my rentor from the past, but yesterday I said enough to get him to realize we knew the same person.  "Wait, ‘Nicole’?"  Yes, the same one that had rented from me that I knew from Domino’s, he knew from Domino’s also.  It would be hard to be in the witness protection program–I know somebody *everywhere*.
  He talked about his run-in with Nicole, and how big she had gotten.  She is a fat, fat girl.  Not chunky, not a little heavy.  Fat, as in, there are not clothes made to fit her.  Stan said her legs were so fat that they didn’t even move any more, just her feet, like one of those old toys.  Her feet just moved up and down as she waddled.  And she has five kids–what the hell kind of life are they going to have?  Jesus.
  Anyway, I recounted to Stan and Mike something my dad told me many, many years ago…when he was drunk.  Otherwise, this is not normally something a father tells a son.
  "You know how you fuck a fat woman?" he said, grinning and slurring a bit.  I shook my head no, and looked for a way out.
  He leaned forward, talking with his hands as he explained.  "You lay them on the side of the bed with their legs up in the air, and you take a running start at ’em.   You run up to them and kick them in the stomach, and their pussy will squirt out, and you grab it and pull it onto your dick like a boot."
  Yeah, yeah…that’s my dad.

  My friend Serena wanted to show me her new phone.  Some T-Mobile thing that looks like an iPhone rip-off, which is a rip-off of yet another device.  It’s not stealing; it’s "research" and "building on current technology."
  Touch-screen–in the future, if all phones are touch screen, I probably won’t have one.  Why?  Because I’ll be doing what I did with Serena’s phone.  She offered it to me to examine.  Gingerly I take it, and accidentally touch the screen.  "Oh-"
  I press a few things, trying to get the hang of it, but it is oddly counter-intuitive.  Things I want to press don’t respond, but if I gently glide my finger over the display, barely making contact, it activates things.  "Oops," I say, and hand it back to her and quickly start walking away.
  "’Oops’?  What did you do?"  She starts to examine her phone.
  Heading for the exit, I said, "I may have deleted something."  It was my birthday, it was Friday, it was quitting time–I’m getting out of here.
  "Delete?  Delete what?"
  I dig for my keys as I prepare to run.  "Your, uhm…contact list.  Bye."

  Okay–Oh, my God, I swear I did not plan it this way.  I wrote the title down, then started writing random things.  And then I put two and two together–"Fat Tuesday" and the story about Nicole–that’s some funny shit, I don’t care who ya are.

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  1. Yikes. I can totally see Grandpa telling that story though.


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