Every Man in The Room

I went out last night to my favorite lounge. I like to put on a suit once a week and hit the town. My friend John is the manager of the place. We usually talk about politics and the absurdity of life. It’s my once a week social hour.

I was standing by myself when a woman with a pair of large breast came up to me and gave me a big hug.

“You look so nice in your suit,” she said.

She was a middle-aged woman, and pretty good looking at that. She took me by surprise with the hug. I still got it, I thought to myself. She hugged me again. I liked the feel of her breast as they smashed against me. She walked to the restroom. I lost track of her.

            I was outside talking to John when a waitress interrupted us. "There's a drunk lady hopping table to table. She's bothering the patrons." she said. 
            John went inside to take care of it. I saw him a little while later with the lady with the big breast. She was being shown the door. Eighty-sixed. My ego suffered some with the realization that the woman was hitting on every man in the room. 

The Tree

There’s a tree in my neighbor’s backyard. It has been trimmed on more than one occasion. It’s a big beautiful tree. It stands straight and tall. Every few years my neighbor will lop off the top of the tree to protect his view of the city.

I was feeling kind of down the other day and I found myself staring at the tree. I thought, wow! That tree has seen its fair share of disappointments. The scars are evident. The branches are thick, and then blunt, as they taper into thinner branches that have grown back after each hacking. I thought of the trees branches as failed relationships, death, and economic hardship, the things in life that can bring you down.

            The tree could’ve given up a long time ago, but it’s still standing, and it's greener and prouder then ever. 

Dirty Bird

            I have a convertible. It’s an older model but it works just fine. For the most part I leave the top down, it’s Los Angeles and the weather is mostly sunny.

            I was going to the studio to record some tracks, and I got into my convertible. I noticed that a bird had crapped on my center council, right square in the middle. It was an amazing shot. I looked around and there were no trees above my car, no ledges or over hangs. The bird had done it on the fly. I got to thinking, what’s the probability of that? I mean really. It was perfect timing on the bird’s part, perfect trajectory. It would have made the Air Force proud. I thought of the bird looking back and laughing. Nice shot dirty bird.

The Oddity

            Have you ever known somebody who tells the same story over and over, and no matter how many times you've seen them it’s like the very first time every time. I wonder why that happens, is it lack of memory, or is it that the person just wants to be heard. What do you do in that situation? Do you say yeah I know, I’ve heard that story six times before, or do you let them tell it over and over? I figure if they can’t remember that they’ve told the story six times before, they’ll never remember that I told them I’ve heard it before.  I guess it doesn’t matter what I say, they’re going to tell the story one way or another. That's the oddity.

Bottom Beating and Taco Feeding

Well, we had them dancing last night. The kids were going ape, drunkards more than likely. Two different women slapped me on the ass while I was playing. My posterior is exposed as the ladies make their way to the restroom; it’s an odd stage configuration that leaves me venerable to the abusers. At my age you take what you can get.

            After the gig on my way home I like to stop at a makeshift taco joint. It’s in the parking lot of a local tire center and auto repair shop. It’s common in Los Angeles to set up shop on a good corner, or in front of your house and sell tacos. This place sells tacos al pastor in a manner I haven’t had since my days traveling on bus through Mexico. They have an excellent choice of salsas and the fellows manning the grill have an energy about them that reminds me of Mexico. I think they’re from Mexico, it’s hard to tell.      

Credit

            Credit is crack for the masses. People do there best to get swindled. It’s a competition really, with credit scores and credit ratings. People actively participate in getting monetarily abused. Credit cards are the worst. You’d be a dang fool to have one, and you’d have to be a bigger fool to use it. I had one once and I used it, but I felt terrible about myself knowing I was beholden to a corporation. It doesn’t seem to bother most people like it bothered me. I felt trapped having that credit card. I used it mainly on women, dinners and good times. I went over board once and went over my credit limit; the corporation was angered and revoked my privilege, oh boo-who, you mean you’re not going to monetarily abuse me any more? 

Mother's Day

Mutter’s Day and brunch, not exactly made to order but something different for me. Good old mom, she’s still doing well. She’s getting up there in age, but she’s healthy with hardly a grey hair on her head.

It was an all you can eat affair. I wasn’t all that hungry. I tried to eat my fill, but frankly I failed. The United States is a strange place. The cultural expectations are mystifying, gorge, eat more than you need, you may never get another chance. I don’t fit in with the Mother’s Day restaurant manner.

            I should‘ve had the crab legs. I wanted them, but they were just sitting there cold. I don’t like to eat things that sit around cold. I start thinking about parasites and indigestion, the history of the crab. It’s best to stay away when you start thinking like that. The risk is not worth the reward.