I had a dream about Nigella Lawson. She wore a big smile standing in my kitchen doorway with stainless steel measuring spoons in one hand, and a mezzaluna in the other. She was making for me chocolate raspberry pavlova as a belated birthday gift. I sat there waiting for my pavlova patiently, while my friend waited to lick her fingers.
I think I am beyond the help of prayer.
The bee resurfaced the morning after in my diet coke can… a buzzing away. I sang Seal all the way to work that morning.
Smile. You’re exposed.
There are few morning after things more difficult to deal with than rug burned knees.
Damn.
I was barely able to shower since water burns the area, it took over an hour to find clothing that covered the area with comfort, steep stairs are not my friends, and, hose or pants are no-no’s.
*ouch*
How can I flaunt how beautifully I tanned on my recent vacation with scrabby knees? Not at all is the answer. I’m certain I hadn’t had a rug burn in more than 15 years.
Whores knees have I.
If you’ve paid attention to my very few posts of recent, “This mare is in season…” and “Caught in the act…” should provide explanation of why I haven’t had much time to post lately.
I’ll be better at posting next month when spring “fever” wears off. Until then I will post once or twice a week with what little material I am able to share.
Here goes!
This morning while adjusting my mirror on traffic so that I might look at myself while singing Peggy Lee’s “Hey Big Spender”, I noticed a huge bumble bee perched on my inside middle brake light thingie. He was pissed and crawling kinda sideways as if he had a rough Ketel night.
I felt fear – instantly, and then the flashback.
I recall my sister being stung by a pissed off wasp that was trapped in the folded laundry for several hours. He made his escape around 4:00 a.m. after being in the drawer, folded in a piece of clothing since 12:00 p.m. the day before. He hit her at least 6 times before she got away. Her screams could be heard outside of the house.
*…and we thought it was a special treat to line dry clothing at a neighbors house once a month – f*ck that. Back to the dryer went everything after that.*
Anyhoo...
In my car, I watched the bee flip about and then ---- couldn’t see him anymore, so I hit my brakes and hazards, right there at Rhode Island and Connecticut and girlie tipped, with my scarf in the wind, to the back of the car to take a look-see. I only got away with causing folks to miss the light because the 3 cars behind me were all men, and my dress is cut inappropriately. While I stood there in a full oh me, oh my, clutching my pearls stance, the nice man in the Buick asked if I was okay.
I saw the bee, turned again, and the bee again the disappeared. It’s as if he dropped behind the brake light thingie but I couldn’t see a space where he might.
I told Mister Buick I was okay. Jumped in the car, and dipped and sped my way to the office, seatbelt off, while keeping watch for the bee in my rear view – with no more singing on the morning plan.
I turned down my volume and listened to him buzz though I was not able to see him. I had visions of me stopping again in the middle of M Street to get away from the bee once he pulled himself together, and I wondered if I might get a java martini at the St. Gregory (it aint Starbucks, but that’s kind of like a morning drink since it has a coffee bean floating atop – right?).
With my morning songs interrupted, I knew my day would be a mess to follow.
I was tempted to pull over behind several FedEx trucks to ask the delivery guys to help (men in uniform like feeling needed – that’s why they take on those types of jobs) but I just kept a trucking.
I saw the homeless guy while entering my garage. I know he remembers me and gave me the look. I realized when our eyes met that when I roast on the hottest fires in Hell, I’m certain this guy will make sure they keep the brimstone a coming for me.
FINALLY I made it to my garage, left all windows open and parked in a space requiring the key be left. I have hopes the bee will resurface while the parking guys are moving my car about all day.
I hope I don’t have to take bong to a different level by spraying the car and taking taxis for the remainder of this week.
We will see mon!
My part-time job is giving folks my arse to kiss, though recently I haven’t put in many hours – I thought I’d find another pastime, but alas -- I am slowly, but surely returning to the grind.
I decided last year that I should share a little arse kissing requests with folks from all walks of life, so today when a panhandler asked me for spare change, I responded by asking him for a dollar. He started to explain to me his world of issues. I explained that we all have issues, but maybe he should just give up. I added that some are created just to just naturally fall along the waste side and he could be damned for struggling with nature.
He turned and walked away.
I yelled out to ask if his walking away meant a no in response to my request for a dollar.
His response: Demon B*tch.
Go figure.
*nothing like a nice name calling on the streets of Georgetown after a KetelOne lunch*
...Quote of the Day
My lesson was that giving good head does not mean she has a good head on her shoulders.
--Greg Smith (Cafe L'Enfant, Friday, June 10 @ 12:25 p.m.)