The Dancer and the Writer

It’s six o’clock in the morning. Fuh uh uh uh uck me.
Maybe if she would let somebody fuck her, she would be up at six o’clock in the morning. I know it’s not right to hate her but just look at her over there, not even leaning on a chair for balance. She’s got her right leg straight up in the air with her knee next to her ear. Thank god she’s got tights on this morning; neither of us has gotten over the awkwardness of the pink panties lip slip morning.

Quit smiling at me you freaking sadist and just give your half of the rent.

OH there she goes, a little lady like sip of your freshly juiced whatever the fuck. You know if you juiced that shit at night, I would not have to get up at six o’clock in the god forsaken morning to the sound of vegetables, fruit and tofu being put to a slow death.

That’s it; there you go; now the left leg, all the way up to the left ear. Do you think if she got both legs around her ears at once she couldn’t hear me tell her to seriously fuck off?

Oh OK, she finished. What the hell is she looking at me for; I am supposed to perform some sort of ritualistic warm up for my day. If she can even spell ballerina she’s probably too weak from hunger to do it in one sitting. That’s alright, I’ll give her a show; my morning stretches.

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK!

Ten knuckles one right after the other; timed like the radio city rocketts doing a chorus line kick one raised leg then the next, preformed by my agile fingers. Now a quick pirouette and plie’ into my ergonomically correct chair, perfectly positioned in front of my monitor. Look at the smirk; I think she might even be a little jealous of me.

“I’m gonna to shower if you don’t need it, k?
“K, sure go ahead.”

I don’t need it right now; I’m on a deadline, I’m stuck and, she knows it. The shower can wait! I’d be lucky to finish to this thing by the deadline if I start now and don’t move from my seat for the remaining three days. Fuh uh uh uh uck me.

I wonder if I’m getting a little funky. Let me get my arm straight up in the air by my ear so I can get a little whiff. Not bad, I’ll last a little longer, especially if I have lunch delivered. And the other arm; still OK. Oh my gawd, I wonder if that what’s she doing every morning with leg business. She’s checking to see if she can skip the shower.

It's Drunky Cookie Baking Time

We made cookies this weekend using cutters I bought in Amish country last year. We found a shop that had every cookie cutter you could think of, except of course of the ones you thought of first, it was Amish country not fetish country.

So I bought Ohio and Florida shaped cutters along with stockings, santas, and trees. The ornament shapes were an after thought, so we used a wine glass to cut those after we drank all the wine and moved on to bourbon. Wayne waved a carton of egg nog over the bourgon on the rocks just to make it a little more Christmasy.

I thought they looked pretty good, but our ole pal from San Fran said they look like vibrators and piles of shit.

God only knows what is coming out of, or going up that guys ass, but it ain't gonna be my cookies either way.

Sixty-six years and counting

It goes without saying that Wendy and I are film buffs. Yet strangely enough, we had been a couple for nearly three years before we watched Casablanca together. There is more to the story, but we'll get to that in a moment.

The day before Thanksgiving; November 26th, was the 66th anniversary of the premiere of Casablanca at the Hollywood Theater in New York City. The opening is rumored to have been timed to coincide with the Allied invasion of North Africa and the capture of Casablanca. General release didn't happen until January 23rd of 1943.

The November release was important because it kept Casablanca out of the Oscar voting for 1942. This was probably wise timing, because in 1942 Mrs. Minivar took; Best Actress - Greer Garson, Best Supporting Actress - Teresa Wright, Cinematography - Joseph Ruttenberg, Directing - William Wyler, Screenplay - Arthur Wimperis, George Froeschel, James Hilton and Claudine West, along with the Best Picture Oscar. Tough competition.

Casablanca was well received and had substantial box office success, but critics were less impressed. Variety considered it "anti-Axis propaganda", while the New Yorker called it "tolerable". It was the seventh best selling film of 1943 and has grown in popularity over the years, mainly due to continued theater screenings and fairly consistent rebroadcast on television. Although the WGA West in 2006 voted Casablanca as the best all time screenplay in it's list of the 101 Greatest Screenplays, in recent history, writer Chuck Ross claims to have submitted the screenplay with an altered title to 217 agencies with only three rating it as commercially viable. As the saying goes, no one knows anything!

Wendy and I started dating back in 2002 and we often spent the evenings with a DVD and my cooking. We had discussed film quite a bit and Quentin Tarantino came up in conversation on multiple occasions. I suggested Reservoir Dogs and Wendy pretended she wanted to see it. As I remember, we killed two bottles of wine, fell asleep on my room-mates sofa and never saw the end of the film. I like to think that Wendy just wanted to sleep with me.

Anyway, when our discussions turned to our all-time favorites list, I came up with Casablanca. However, I had seen bits and pieces of the film over the years, but had never sat through a complete screening. When I implied that I would get that one for us as our next date movie, Wendy emphatically stopped me, "No! I've never seen Casablanca, but I'm saving that one for the man I marry"! So, knowing that I was never going to get married again, that one was off the table for us.

Flash forward to December 24, 2005: My brother's house in Florida for Christmas Eve. My parents are there, my sister and her husband, their three daughters, my brother and his wife along with her parents, who were up from Puerto Rico. Assorted sisters, brother's in-law...you get the idea, a houseful.

When it came time for Wendy to open a gift from me, I handed her a small wrapped box, DVD size. As she began to strip the paper off the disc, she welled up and then began really crying. I gave her the collectors boxed edition of Casablanca, dropped to my knees and brought out the ring. By this time I think all of the women and most of the men were either confused, trying to figure out why a DVD would cause such a reaction or they were crying too. My sister and mother were in on the surprise, so they had a tearful head start.

She said yes, we married November 4, the following year and Casablanca now and forever has a special place in our memories and our hearts. I don't know if we'll get 66 years; but as Christmas draws near, I just want Wendy to know that she'll always be Ingrid Bergman to me and I hope to be her forever Bogey.

Here's looking at you kid!

Even In Death They Torture Me.

The Frogs! Again! This time he was dead, but grosser than he had ever been alive. My lemon tree needed a drink badly. I hooked the sprinkler to the hose, aimed it at the tree and turned the water on full blast.

Nothing.
Uhm.

I inspected the end of the sprinkler where the water is supposed to come out. No water just some gelatinous veiny goo and trickles of blood. I am going to barf thinking about it.

Wayne had to dissemble the sprinkler and pull bits of frog out with a needle nose pliers. I guess the frog had crawled in the end of the hose as some point looking for water. It has been very dry lately hence the watering of the lemon tree.This happened over a week ago, and I am not over it yet.

I wonder what was the last thing to go through that frogs mind?

Jonesing For A D.Q.

The Rouge Wave is hosting a contest. Entries should be a Chritmas themed one page scene using the words, Egg Nog, Maui and Blizzard. He is my entry. (It looks like 2 pages here but in a PDF it is one.)

It's Begining To Look Alot Like Christmas

Ok. This inside is mostly done. Now for the outside.



And no looking up Santa's robe while you're in there.