The Transporter Couch

I was the PICTURE of sex.  I was wearing a white shirt and white flat-front plants and black shoes and a black belt.  The shirt unbontonned my waist.  My body lean and tan.  My hair …. you already know I have movie star hair.  I heard Air singing “Sexy Boy” evereywhere I went.

 And I was a sexy boy.  Self-absorbed though I was in that moment (and am in general), I was HOT.  People looked at me.  Looked and liked what they saw.  It was a breezy day and the breeze, like a blue silk sheet, would come along and drag open my shirt and expose a nipple.  Few confess but everyone likes a little nipple. 

 That’s all.

The birds are extra active this morning. It’s still dark, and I live in the middle of the city, and they’re just super vocal. Must be mating season!

My friend wrote to me recently about how his wife is disappointed in her so-called friends. I can get behind that. It gave me pause for thought. I can’t tell her or anyone how to live life, but I can tell you how I live mine.

I am a very powerful person. And I don’t mean like the President of the United States I just mean that I recognize in myself the capacity to make or break any situation in which I happen to be. I can work a room. I can charm an audience. I can make love. I can make peace. I can make war. I win.

That’s how I live.

The Lone Ranger was abducted by some vatos and they take him back to their hideout and tie him then go into the other room to drink whisky and plot his demise.  But Tonto had followed them and he sneaks in the window where The Lone Ranger is being held.  The Lone Ranger motions him to come over and Tonto does, and being careful not to alert the attention of his captors The Lone Rager whispers something in Tonto’s ear.  Tonto nods his head in understanding and sneaks back out into the night.  About 30 minutes later he creeps back in and draws in a fetching indian girl.  In exasperation The Lone Ranger rolls his eyes and blurts out, “Goddammit I told you to go get my POSSE!”

OK I take it back. I AM going to be prolific today.

Once upon a time my little sister said, after coming out of the bathroom, “I didn’t get a clean pinch.” That was hilarious. And then recently a friend said, “you can’t squeeze or you’ll make a mushroom.” That was less hilarious, but apt.

I’m not a scat freak or anything. (No offense to scat freaks…. we all gotta have something!) But I do …. monitor the turd. Just to make sure it isn’t bloody or sick. Poor little thing. Wretched piece of waste. It needs love, too, doesn’t it? Well no, it really doesn’t, but it does need monitoring.

I was recently reminded again of the Case of My Italian Boyfriend. At one point during the most uncomfortable parts of this incident, I thought that this was actually a prank, and that the woman was part of some street theater, or even a candid camera sort of television show, anything to remove myself from the random madness of it all.

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