2005 - THE YEAR IN REARVIEW

JANUARY

I accepted the position of cafe' supervisor at Borders. I was totally unprepared for (and none too enthusiasitc about) the job, but I wanted the raise in pay. The following month-and-a-half was a learning experience, to put it nicley. How bad was it really? Let me put it this way: I was commander-in-chief of what amounts to a small Starbucks, and I was so coffee illiterate, at the time, that I didn't even know what a latte was! It was that bad! I improved, as one would hope, but I'll never be as good at making coffee drinks as I am at selling books.

However ... I survived and carried on.

Meanwhile, I suffered from a urinary tract infection (very bloody), and had to subsist on cranberry juice and antibiotics. I quit drinking beer and managed to lose 15 pounds!

FEBRUARY

I eagerly accepted the vacated Inventory Supervisor position, which came as a great relief after a month of food servitude.

My dear friend, Amanda, had a big birthday bash at Al Amir (a classy Lebanese restaurant) and we all enjoyed hookahs, belly dancing, and great food.

MARCH

I started drinking beer again. But sparingly.

APRIL

Celebrated Aunt Sally's birthday with a group of old chums at the Royal China restaurant @ Preston & Royal in Dallas. Good food and good friends.

MAY

My birthday was the 6th. And the pleasure-loving Taurus got his fill. A surprise party @ Abuello's Mexican restaurant in Plano really floored me! Everybody was there! Debbie, Clark, Jordan, Amanda, Gus, Natalie, Tracy, Denise, Joanne, Jerry S., Tabitha, and even Abel (from the B&N days!).

The ceiling in Abuello's is painted to look like a bright blue sky. The service is world-class. And they are always near the top of restaurant critics' lists. A great place. Good food. Good fun. Great friends. (However, Abuello's is often uncomfortably full of what my friend, Chris, likes to call "the Dubyahs"; Texans who clearly support and/or resemble our current President and his policies and beliefs.)

Incidentally, Jerry S. and Tabitha (both from work) sat together, side-by-side, for the first time in history that night. A portent of things to come.

Within weeks they were dating. A few months later they were engaged. And, in April 2006, they will be married in a Renaissance-style ceremony on Scarborough Faire's opening day.

Meanwhile, I had a brief affair with a lingerie model who, in those days, worked part-time in the Borders cafe'. We had nothing in common except for a time and a place. She was too young and too ordinairy for me. I prefer someone a little more ... interesting. Naturally, she thought I was weird. I thought she was crazy... She was pretty though.

What I should really say is that she jumped my bones, taking me totally by surprise, and proceeded to rip my clothes off and have her way with me.

So I ain't complaining.

JUNE

Took a trip, at the end of June, to see the parents in scenic, mystical Taos, New Mexico. This meant lots of good food (at their house and in the local restaurants), climbing mountains, traversing gorges, and lots of r&r. Dad and I nearly ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere, which was an adventure. Mom (the artist) went to work on a 7 foot Dementor costume for my part in the upcoming Harry Potter release party. I hiked trail 59 and the Rio Grande Gorge, all in the same day (he brags). Very cathartic and picturesque. We got along splendidly, the folks and I, and everything went perfectly until I got a speeding ticket on the long journey home. The goddamn Texas Highway Patrol were out in force for the upcoming 4th of July. Redneck bastards!

Anyway, my good friend, Tracy, looked after Rerun while I was gone. Thanks, Tracy.

It was at about this time that I struck up a polite, very professional friendship with a beautiful, intelligent Borders customer named Mara (with gorgeous green eyes), who (unfortunately) is engaged, but (fortunately) has become a good friend. I made sure to order two copies of the upcoming Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince for her and her younger brother, and reminded her about the inevitable release party. I also warned her to watch out, that night, for Professor Gilderoy Lockhart as he is (though dashing) quite a cad, and might try to work his winning ways with her. She didn't seem worried. In the meantime, I turned her on to Agatha Christie (quite accidentally), and she got me started on Christopher Moore (who should be read by anyone who likes a good larf).

JULY

Borders (and the world) celebrated the release of J.K. Rowling's latest tome, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. This meant the store was transformed into Harry's magical world, complete with Platform 9 & 3/4, Hagrid's Hut, the Leaky Cauldron, the Forbidden Forest, Snape's Dungeon, and Flourish & Blots - the wizard bookstore.

Professor Snape mixed potions and snarled, cantankerously, at one and all. Professor Trelawney gazed into her crystal ball and predicted gloom and doom for everyone. Hagrid played with dragons and hippogriffs.
Professor McGonagall divided the Gryffindors from the Slytherins by way of the Sorting Hat. Dobby spoke solely in the third person. Harry and Hermione posed sweetly for photos as they were mobbed by fans. But, if I may say so, the dashing Gilderoy Lockhart stole the show, battling a frightening Dementor, and still managing to sign and sell all his copies (shown below) of Voyages with Vampires (left), Travels with Trolls (right), and, of course, his fair and balanced autobiography, Magical Me (center).

Handsome devil, too.

PERSONAL NOTE: Trying to get the younger employees at Borders to wear costumes and ham it up is much harder than trying to get the older folks to do it. The young 'uns is too sophisticated for that kind of tomfoolery.

AUGUST

A group got together at The Londoner (a mock British pub) to celebrate my good buddy Jordan's birthday. It rained and thundered, cacophonously, all day, in fitting English style. The trip across town became an adventure. It was good to see Jordan, Amanda, Gus, Tracy, and all the old gang from B&N. The weather outside made the comraderie inside seem all the more safe and cozy.

In late August, Magical Missives made its maiden voyage. Captained by a maniac, the journey has continued, perilously, on the brink of chaos and cataclysm, ever since.

I also began keeping company with a talented jazz and bluegrass guitarist named Brian (who works at Borders and operated the fog machine for Gilderoy Lockhart's Dementor attack routine). He taught me a few guitar chords. The E-chord was my first, and I'll never forget it. The other two (D and F) haven't stuck, but I've got that E-chord down! I can now play "Wild Thing" and bits of "Back in Black" and some rudimentary parts of "Stairway to Heaven"... however, I often forget where to place my fingers. And those bar chords are a bitch. It can be very frustrating and I often feel like doing this:At month's end, Katrina pounded New Orleans. It was the disaster the sub-sea-level city had always feared. It's hard to wrap one's mind around such destruction, and even harder to write about it without sounding like a dramatic phony.

SEPTEMBER

September saw a quick and sudden barrage of birthdays; Chris, Joel, and Charlie.

Not to mention Bilbo and Frodo Baggins.

OCTOBER

October ended with the annual Halloween bash at my house. This year's shindig was Harry Potter themed (due to all the leftover goodies from the Borders book release party). The event was a basic success (even though my butterbeer wasn't), and a special tribute goes out to a certain witch, in a short skirt and a tall hat, who paid for dinner ...

NOVEMBER

Massive changes at work with the exit of our dear old manager, Jerry L., and the resignation of Margaret, the office supervisor. Meanwhile, Jordan and (briefly) Amanda came to work at Borders. This made me very happy.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire hit movie theaters.

DECEMBER

The yearly Christmas get-together at Aunt Sally's house produced the grand entrance of the world's first disembodied pixie christmas tree ornament, and saw the birth of a marvelous new tradition; the annual eggnog challenge. Future eggnogs will have a hard act to follow.

Well that's, basically, it. I suppose I could say more. Perhaps I could pontificate on the greater meaning of it all. Or try to sum things up with a pithy statement of some kind. Or worry about how many times Harry Potter was mentioned in the above article. But I don't feel obliged to do any of those things right now. So I'll just say this:

HAPPY HOGMANAY!

CHRISTMAS BARF

Well, it's over!
Yesterday I got sick and threw up; a fitting end to the holiday madness at work. This meant I could not go out with my co-workers and celebrate afterwards. Instead, I came home and laid in bed reading the massive new 800-plus page biography of The Beatles I borrowed from work, threw up some more, and finally went to sleep.
Got up today feeling much better. Wrapped a few presents and went over to Aunt Sally's house. This was fun. We ate Sweedish meatballs, steamed Brussel sprouts, burned biscuits, canned cranberry sauce, squash casserole, potatoes au gratin (sp?), green beans, and various brownies, pies, and cookies.

I called my folks from Sally's house and wished them a merry Christmas. Dad was taking his new dvd-player on its maiden voyage with The Polar Express.

Sally's incredibly straight friends came over, for a time, with their extremely well-behaved children. The kids opened presents (from Sally), and we all noticed that Julie (the mom/wife) really wears the pants in the family while her husband (Greg?) smiles and nods.

After the straights left, we all got drunk, worshipped Satan, had an orgy, and talked leftist politics. Woo-hoo! It was fun.

Then Charlie showed up.

We all settled down to watch a made-for-British-TV Christmas movie. It featured Robson Green who (along with Trevor Eve) is everybody's favorite BBC TV detective (now that Morse and Holmes have gone). He's so tough and crazy and cool and funny, all at once. In this show, he had to lay off the bad-boy cop act and play an English everyman living in what amounts to an English suburb. The gist of the plot was that he becomes very competitive with his next-door neighbor as to who can put up the most spectacular Christmas lights each year. This gets ever more ridiculous, as years go by, until it escalates into something akin to the Cold War and its deadly arms race. It was a most unusual Christmas program; painful and funny, and ultimately sweet.

Then we exchanged gifts (except for Charlie, Chris, and I, who will celebrate among friends at a later time, and trade presents then). I gave Joel an eastern themed calendar with pockets for keeping stuff in, and Sally a hardback leather datebook for remembering important events (with no years or days of the week in it, so it can be used forever) and a lil' teddy bear. Joel gave me a Lord of the Rings Monopoly game, and Sally gave me a t-shirt boasting the words, "If you don't talk to your cat about catnip, who will?" And a note that states that I will be receiving the first season of Black Books (on dvd) in mid-January (when it is finally released). This is a great British comedy we recently discovered ("we" meaning the Thursday night gang, not the royal "we") about a bookstore and its crabby owner who says all the things to customers that people like Joel and I (who sell books) would love to say. There's a cute new-age shop owner (whose botique is next door to the bookstore) and she flirts with Black who is too curmudgeonly and laconic to notice (or care). He also has an antagonistic Victor-Frankenstein-and-Igor relationship with his lone, terminally stressed-out employee who, until recently, was a street person. They get into much trouble together. Lots of larfs!

Anyway. It was another lovely day at Sally's house.

Came home and ran 4 miles on the Chisolm Trail. Want to lose 10 pounds. Then I came home and read Maraverse. Commented. Wrote this blog. Now I'm going to sleep with the Beatles.

The book, not the band.

Besides, two of them are dead.

That would be gross.

DISEMBODIED PIXIES AND THE EGGNOG CHALLENGE

So ... Thursday night. You know what that means! Dinner at Aunt Sally's place with Chris (the old folkie), Joel (the groovy old hippy), Charlie (the old math phd, who is visiting from Purdue), and of course, Sally herself. Tonight was a particularly special pre-Christmas event. Joel brought eggnog. But Sally already had some. More on this later. Charlie buttered the bread (as is his custom) with safflower oil galore; which he managed to spill all over the place. But he sopped it up like a pro, and with almost mathematical precision, onto each of the bread slices. Bravo! Well done! Then Sally brought out some new ornaments she had bought for each one of us. An elf for me. A little red pixie for Chris. A Santa Claus for Charlie. I forgot what she gave Joel. Sorry. And a mini-replica of London's Big Ben for herself. I resisted making any self-aggrandizing jokes (for once) about what Big Ben might really mean. Actually - that's a lie! - I couldn't resist! And then Chris exclaimed that his little red pixie looked awfully Will and Grace (if you know what I mean). "This thing screams 'Elton John'!" he exclaimed with a dramatic hand gesture, which caused the poor little fella (the pixie, not Chris) to slip from his hand, soar through the air, and tumble to the floor where it shattered into a million little pieces. There were pixie parts all over the place and neither the kings horses, his men, nor any amount of patience and super-glue could put them back together again. Among the wreckage, however, we were able to salvage its head. We posed for a photo with its sad remains, then Chris hung its head on the tree; the world's very first disembodied pixie Christmas tree ornament!

Next came the mystery program, and a right good one it was; Trevor Eve in Waking the Dead. I only slept through a bit of the middle part. Then came dessert. Brownies and ice cream. And Joel decided to give our duo of eggnogs the Pepsi challenge. So it was Schepps versus Albertson's Gourmet. The Schepps had a thicker and more pleasing texture, but I thought it tasted too tangy. The Gourmet was thinner, but had a more buttery, nutmeggy flavor. It was texture vs. flavor. A toss-up, in my mind, but both Joel and Sally insisted that their eggnog was the better of the two. And Joel reminded us that his was 5 cents cheaper. We decided, there and then, to make it a yearly tradition - the battle of the eggnogs!

Charlie (quite the virtuoso) played Christmas music for us on Sally's piano, while Joel and I chanted "Play 'Freebird'! 'Stairway to Heaven'!"

And he did.

All in all, it was a very fun night at Sally's house. What else can I say?

Caught in the act: Sally steals food from

Joel's plate! Or is she shoveling food onto

his plate?

Charlie and I contemplate Sally's lack

of table manners.

THE WAY THINGS ARE GOING, THEY'RE GONNA CRUCIFY ME

A little Texas woman came up to me at work, today, with a big complaint. She was furious because her 10 year old son had come into our store, with his babysitter, and purchased a book called When Cats Assassinate. It's a farcical picture book about cats avenging themselves against their historical rivals - dogs. I was familiar with this book, because I had leafed through it before for chuckles. Kinda sick. Kinda funny. The cat on the cover looks just like Rerun.

"Is this the kind of book a 10 year old boy should be reading?!" she asked. Apparently, he had taken it with him to school and it was confiscated by a teacher who freaked out: sent him to the school counsellor! Oh what kind of sick world do we live in where people can imagine cats firing dogapults (get it?) or rigging doggie doors with guillotines? She threatened to get a coalition of Baptists, Methodists, Lutherans, and Presbyterians to come down to our store and picket against Borders! (Well, it's a free country, go ahead!) Do we normally sell these kinds of things to children?. "Well, we normally rely on the children's guardians to make the judgement on these matters," said I. "Someone probably thought the babysitter was a family member or trusted friend." She assured me that this particular babysitter would no longer be watching over her child. I offered to return the book, but she didn't have a receipt, so all I could do was give her store credit. She had concealed the scandalous tome in a big manilla envelope, and when she removed it from its anonymous wrappings, it was like it was something dangerous - a time bomb or something. She asked my name and then, after I told her, wrote it down on the big envelope.

Okay.

She then asked me to look through the book and tell her if I, personally, thought this was the kind of thing little children should be reading. There were lots of pictures of dogs in the cross-hairs while cats draw a bead on them, cats leaping up out of a plate of dog food - armed to the hilt. Things like that. I tried not to laugh. Then I apologized (from the bottom of my heart) for all the trouble the book had caused her and her kid at school, and promised her I would let my so-called superiors know all about it.

I gave her the store credit and she asked me, "Where do you keep The Chronicles of Narnia?"

Narnia.

In which animals die all over the place. Santa Claus gifts the kids with various and sundry weapons of mass destruction. And, in the big battle at the end, bloody death is inflicted upon one and all by Aslan --- a --- great --- big --- CAT!

But it's a Christian book, so it's okay.

Upon browsing through the thick C.S. Lewis opus, the woman changed her mind about using her store credit on something so daunting, saying (and I quote), "My son is a few years behind on his reading lessons".

I swear it's true.

To be fair to Texans and Baptisits (and all those wonderful people) I should write this epilogue:

Two little old ladies in polyster pants with beehive hair-dos (one of them bearing a tacky Texas-sized cross on a big chain around her neck) approached me and asked, "Does Borders carry that book about the 5oth Anniversary of Playboy magazine?"

Here we go again, I thought.

"You mean the one in the bland wrapper?" I asked (biting my lip).

"No, honey," they said. "The one with the naked people. We want naked people."

"Look no further," I said. "I'm your man."

I loved these women. They kept talking about sex. And Hugh Hefner. And how they wished they could've worked for him. "You shoulda seen me in my day," said one of them.

And they looked like my grandmothers.

Kind of a weird association ... but they were so funny!

But when they checked out, they did not get the Playboy book.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Not enough naked people in it," they said.

Ah ... life.

TODAY'S QUOTE:
"To serve is beautiful, but only if it is done with joy and a whole heart and a free mind."
- Pearl S. Buck

Global Warming

A friend sent me this ... and since, unlike some people, I haven't yet figured out how to add movies to my blog; here's the link.

So funny ...

http://www.devilducky.com/media/38792/

WHY I DON'T LIKE C.S. LEWIS AND HIS SILLY CHRONICLES

1) C.S. Lewis was a fundamentalist Christian, opposed to scientific theory of any kind (to an almost ridiculous degree - witness his argumentative epistles to {and in to response to} Arthur C. Clarke).

I am spiritual. But I am not a fundamentalist of any kind.

2) C.S. Lewis stole his idea for an alternate reality (with maps, etc.) directly from his pal (and mine) J.R.R. Tolkien. This is a fact. They knew each other at Oxford. Professor Tolkien was most displeased. As am I.

(Note: Though I love Tolkien, his nature-boy dismissal of almost all technology is as naive and annoying to me as Lewis' blind dismissal of science. However, Tolkien gave us the Ents. I love Ents! Technology is not necassarily evil, but we are killing nature, people, and it would be cool if the trees could speak and, if needed, fight back.)

3) C.S. Lewis used his literature to preach his Christian beliefs. Tolkien (no less a Christian) separated his religion from his fiction. (Thank you. Professor.) I might almost go see the damn flick, if it weren't such an obvious allegory for the allegory that is Christianity. The Lion being crucified and coming back to life to save Narnia, is an impossible image to brush off. It's not as gruesome, I suppose, as Mel Gibson's torturous (and literal) retelling of the Jesus death-myth, but no less obvious to anyone with a modicum of insight. I might actually prefer Gibson's straight- forward Christian movie to Lewis' sneaking around if it weren't so all-fired anti-Semitic.

4) The underlying (Freudian?) message in Narnia is, as far as I can tell, sexist. Women are bad. Men are good. Don't get me wrong, villains are juicy roles and I think there should be more wicked women in the cinema (and I usually hate it when someone says a movie is racist or sexist because the villains are not white and male), but in a story as archetypal as this (clearly allegorical to a divorce) does the woman/wife/mother have to be shown as Satan and dear old dad as -what? - God? And isn't the portrayl of the Christian devil as a woman, and its savior as a very male lion, also allegorical (once again) to the so-called wrongness of the feminine-based religions which preceeded the dominance of the macho male Judeo-Christian god in old Albion?

(Another note: Once again, though I love Tolkien, his archetypal angel-women characters are almost as naive and annoying to me as Lewis' satanic bitch imagery. However, Tolkien gave us Eowyn; a major step forward and a role model for feminist fantasy heroines for all time.)

5) I've read the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe and I thought it was trite. Even for a children's book. J.K. Rowling, for one, is a far superior writer (in my opinion). And wicked, too.

6) The movie was largely funded by Philip Anshutz, a huge supporter of George W. Bush and public proponent of socially conservative entertainment. He's the owner of the L.A. Kings. He is also aspiring to become a movie theater mogul/monopolist; already owns United Artists Theaters and is gunning for more.

I'm not proposing censorship of this movie or any other with a Christian message, funded by conservatives, or starring conservative actors (Bruce Willis is one my favorite movie stars, as was Mel Gibson before he went psycho). Nor do I completely disagree with all things conservative (just most of them).

It's just that I find too much abhorent about C.S. Lewis and his work. The obvious bibical browbeating, the sexism, and the anti-pagan symbolism are just too much for me. Especially when the major financial proponent of this material (Anshutz) is trying to corner the market. After Peter Jackson's Ring trilogy (and it's fun-loving {peace loving} but courageous hobbits) and the Harry Potter films (with their self-reliant, rule bending threesome {and their adult confidantes}) this movie about plucky, wide-eyed little sheep, who don't dare test the patience of Aslan the godlike Lion (or think for themselves, lest they be purged like Judas Iscariot), seems like a huge step backwards for kids.

And when St. Nick (?) shows up at the end and arms the quizless squirts for war ... well, merry Christmas!

It's possible that I've misread Lewis' intentions. And I don't really dismiss all things Christian. A great gospel singer singing a great gospel song makes me feel what Christians must feel. But we don't think the same.

Censorship, no.

Just a personal boycott. It won't make a lick of difference, but one must act upon one's conscience. There are plenty of people who would find some of my favortie movies and books (and music) offensive. I would urge them, by all means, to stay away. And so, I'm urging my self (and anyone who thinks what I just put forth makes any sense) to stay away, too. It's your call, obviously, but I, for one, am a no-show.

Thank you.

Gets off soap box.

P.S. Viva Tolkien!!!

TODAY'S QUOTE:
I'll take a wizard over a lion any day.
- Me

A WINTER'S DAY, IN A DEEP AND DARK DECEMBER ...

I'm warm and at home. But it's frightfully cold outside which, as everyone and anyone who hasn't lived their whole life in Texas will tell you, is not cold at all compared to whatever great and superior iceberg they grew up on. Or so I've been told by various, apparently, well-traveled folks.

Actually, I have lived a while in New Mexico, up in the mountains; where it gets colder than a purple popsickle in a cherry lover's freezer, blizzards howl like some vast and lost spirit out on the prairie, snowdrifts turn eskimos into shut-ins, and the roads are like slenderized hockey rinks poised, tremulously, on a dead man's mountain curve.

So all you colder-than-thou types (many of whom shop or work at Borders) can blow it out your frosty, frozen nether-cheeks, thank you very much! That's right, my winter kicks your winter's ass. So shut the hell up!

However ...

... there aren't really any eskimos in New Mexico.

Anyway, work shut down early tonight, because we just weren't getting any business. I actually had fun (because I'm weird) de-icing my car, scraping the windows, etc. Then I drove home safely and with nary a slip nor slide. Of course, if I had to do this all the time, it would probably get really old. Today, at least, it was fun. I'm expected to go back in tomorrow at 8 a.m., but luckily, I have a garage, which means my car won't get covered with ice tonight.

Things are going well at work. I've learned that I was specifically mentioned by the big bosses when they came to visit us last week. This is mainly because I put on such a big, phony act of being a perfect employee; doing all the right things and making sure they saw me do them. And they bought it. This bodes well. It doesn't really matter how good a job I do, as long as they think I'm doing it, believe I'm doing it, and see me doing it ... and like me. I could bust my ass for the rest of my life, but without a little self-generated PR, I'd be pushing v-carts until the day I die. But if I advertise my value to them (i.e. make them think I'm the shit), I can spare myself all that drudgery, and still be riding the gravy train. I mean, why work so hard for nothing (like I've done all my foolish life)? It doesn't make me a better person, and it certainly doesn't make me any richer. So, who cares what the common booksellers think of me? It's what my so-called superiors think that's important.

Go team!

Today's Quote:
John Wayne isn't dead. He's frozen! And when they thaw out The Duke, he's gonna be pissed off!
--- Denis Leary

MAGGIE MAE

This weekend was weird, weird, weird. I hiked the Jordan trail into the Witchy Woods, which was fun. Then I got a haircut. My man, Rodney, always does a great job. If I go in and he isn't working, my hair stays long until the day he comes back.

I was going to go to the IMAX and watch Harry Potter, but it was sold out by the time I got there. I was supposed to meet up with some friends, but somehow, we missed each other. Apparently I sat on the opposite side of the big, divided lobby from them, and we never hooked up. I really must consider a cell phone! So they called me at home and left a message saying to meet them at the Chili's in Plano @ Park & Preston. But when I hear "Chili's in Plano" I, automatically, think of the one at Park & Central. That's the one where we always meet. Particularly this group. So I went there, instead of Park & Preston (perhaps, subliminally, trying to avoid the crossroads where I work) and waited for a long time. But nobody showed up.

A woman, sitting with her friends at a near-by table, kept looking at me. ("Must be the haircut," I thought. "Thanks, Rodney. You da man!") Every time I glanced at her, she would gaze at me, most curiously, as if she were perplexed and intrigued all at once.
She was in her forties, I'd say, with a a slightly hooked nose (sort of exotic, in a sense) where it looked as if it might have been broken.. But she was very attractive, I thought, in a French sort of way, with full, pouty lips. Sexy. Something about her seemed kind of witchy like a fortune teller or gypsy woman in an old time circus.

There was something about that beak of hers, though, that struck a deep chord in my sub-concscious.

What was it?

My table-server was named Heather, and she was very friendly -- and cute, too; tall with a most notable posterior. She brought me a drink and told me all about her two kids (and ex-husband, and no boyfriend) and how she was working at Chili's while finishing her masters degree. And she told me what nights she worked, etc., etc., with little provocation from me.
But that woman with the exotic nose kept glancing and oggling and peeking and peeping at me.
"She wants me!" I thought.
I considered striking up a conversation, seeing as how she was, apparently, digging my scene so much. Or my haircut.

I thought of what to say:
"So ... how did you come by that olfactory malfunction?"
OR
"Hey, what the hell happened to your nose?"

Maybe not.

I was about ready to leave when Heather said there was a call for me on the Chili's phone: it was my friends and they were at the other Chili's on Preston saying, "Get your butt over here!" I left Heather a more-than-fair tip and thanked her for being so nice. I should have got her phone number, but something about that other woman's nose (and her French mouth & her calculatedly tousled hair) had me flummoxed -- I even walked out with the wrong part of my debit card slip; the part I signed. Heather chased me down in the parking lot and I gave her the proper portion of the check. I apologized and said, "I'm really out of it, tonight." And that was true. I couldn't seem to do anything right. Missed them at the theater. Went to the wrong restaurant. I felt like a putz.

Finally, I got together with my friends at the proper Chili's. We drank coffee and talked about Harry Potter, Barnes & Noble, Borders, people we all know, Tolkien, fate vs. free-will, etc. And, apparently, I'm going to have to see the T.V. show "Lost", because from how they all described it, it sounds like something I would really enjoy. Lisa has the show (so far) on dvd and said she would lend it to me.

Afterwards, I paid a visit to Brian and, while I sat there with him, his brother, and his brother's girlfriend watching "War of the Worlds", my thoughts returned to that woman with the interesting nose.

Then it hit me!

I clapped my hand over my opened mouth. My eyes bugged out from their sockets! It couldn't be!

But it WAS!

Renee!!!!!!

My first!

She was the older woman who made a man of me in an upstairs bedroom of her family home, on a big brass bed, way back in 1985. I'll never forget following her up the stairs. She was wearing a pair of Daisy Dukes and I was loving the view.

What turbulent times those were for me. So much was changing. I was completely lost.

I haven't seen her in twenty years ... but it was her, alright. I'd know that proboscis anywhere. She was in an abusive relationship, before we met, in which her seedy ex-husband broke her nose ... and knocked out her teeth to boot!. These had been surgically replaced, as I recall, with prosthetic plastic teeth of some kind - and they had always looked perfectly natural.
It was definitely her. A little older, obviously. But it was her. No question.
The lips. The hair. The size and shape of her body (though mildly heavier). And, of course, the schnozzle.
Everything.
I just wish I had realized it at the time, but I was so caught up with my friends and their whereabouts that I just missed it. If I had known who she was, I would certainly have said something to her.
No wonder she kept looking at me!
Maybe the gods were trying to tell me something. I go to the wrong Chili's. Make an ass of myself. An old ghost (though, in retrospect, a dear one) reappears, unexpectedly. And, meanwhile, someone new tries to get my attention.

So - hey!

Bring on Heather!
Let's see, what did she say? She works Sundays, Saturdays, and Wednesdays. Always at night.
Maybe I'll have to pay Chili's a visit.


TODAY'S QUOTE:
You made a first class fool out of me
But I'm as blind as a fool can be
You stole my soul
But I love you anyway
--- Rod Stewart
"Maggie Mae"

LAZY...

I really should go to bed now. I ate a large portion of ice cream. And fried chicken. Now I am fat. Last night I drank many beers while watching "Menace 2 Society" with Brian. My dreams were very strange. Today I was lazy. Happily useless. I am weighed down by lassitude and cannot write more. I love Rerun. Good-night.