Tap-Tap-Tappity-Tap…*ding*

We’ve all had that moment when we realize we’re getting older.  It usually stems from the “kids today aren’t like they use to be” conversation.

The other day I was talking to a friend about how kids won’t/don’t know anything about vinyl records, 8 tracks, the telegram, typewriters, etc.

Turns out, I might be wrong about their knowledge of typewriters:  http://www.magicmargin.net/p/student-typecasts.html

Kudos to this teacher in Phoenix for exposing his class to the joys of using a typewriter (as I type on a laptop).  Trouble is, I’m not sure if I’m charmed or concerned.

“Oui, oui, Senorita.”

I dined at a local sushi restaurant after work tonight.  The hostess cheerfully greeted me by saying, “How many in your party?”.  Umm.  It’s just me.  ”Take out?” she asked.  No, I’d like to stay for a bit.  Sake’ in a styrofoam cup is just as bad as beer in a styrofoam cup — a fact of which she was unaware.  My contribution to making the world a little better place.

Anyway, my adventures in dining alone is not the theme of tonight’s blog.  Rather, it’s sex with someone of Asian decent.  (No holding back, remember.)    I dated a guy that had an Asian fetish.  He could spot a hot Asian woman a mile away! Sometimes they were hot; sometimes… not so much.  So in listening to the waitress communicate with the sushi chefs, it got me to thinkin’:  What does it sound like when Asian people talk dirty?  Notice I said, ‘sound’.  I am not curious about what they say.  Rather, how does it sound?  Think about it… Now compare it to the love scene featuring a Frenchman, or a Spaniard.  

“Oui, oui, Senorita.”  

So why aren’t Asian men ever cast in the sweep-me-off-my-feet-and-rock-me-all-night-long roles?  Or even the make-sweet-sweet-love-t0-me-role?  And what about Indian men?  I’m not asking about Pacific Islanders or Scandinavians.  There are a lot of Asian and Indian men in this country!  Aren’t white (yes, I said white) women equal opportunity pleasers?  Aren’t we sleeping around with everyone?  Why haven’t I heard the juicy details?!

Just curious…thinking of Googling it.  If only I had an audience that could give me real feedback.  (Gonna work on that.)

A Soliloquy

I’m gonna give this whole blogging thing a whirl…again.  Only this time, I have a few disclaimers and confessions.  Back then, I only wrote on two different occasions:  When I felt like someone was looking over my shoulder (Who’s gonna read it?  What will they think?  Are they checking my grammar?) and when I was tipsey.  My favorite posts were those I wrote while intoxicated, I believe, because I was writing without reservations.   It’s easy to say how you feel when you have Tom Collins by your side.

I once had three followers.  If any of you are reading this, I’ve got a favor to ask:  please don’t post comments.  I know that you care, but this go ’round I’m going to make an effort to not hold anything back, and your comments won’t help.  It will remind me that someone that I will soon see again, in person, is paying attention and I am afraid I’ll start editing my thoughts.   The feeling of being on a stage, blinded by a spotlight so as not to be able to see into the crowd will help keep me honest.

So in keeping with the goal of layin’ it all out there, I’m fighting off a bout of depression.   In addition to feeling it in my gut, I just came dangerously close to paying a stranger halfway around the world almost $175 only to get the ‘permission’ to write how I feel, a password to enter some private chat room and the privilege to post pictures to a Flickr account.  What the fuck? you ask.  I know, I know.  So I gotta do something, other than drink, or spend $175 on ocean front property in Oklahoma, to self medicate.  I am thirsty for something to get excited about and I use to get excited about this little ‘ol blog called Monkey Hill.

So to the three original followers, please keep you seat, fight the urge to say something and enjoy the show.

The Holy Spirit of Mardi Gras

(This post brought to you by anw  overgenerous flight attendant.)

The holy spirit of Mardi Gras has descended upon me.  I wear it like the headress of a Zulu chieftain.  

I pity the poor souls in my new country that intend to celebrate Mardi Gras at TGI Fridays where they’ll pretend they’re having a good time, however, instinctively they’ll dknow there’s something missing.  

Such as…

Reunions with dear friends
Cocktails, just because
A chance of plastic showers (a’la GB)
Dance girls and bass lines
Sweet Feet and the Mohawk Drummer
Brisk air filled with the sounds and smells of…happy
Not-so-formalwear
The Gator, performed on the Civic Center floor
The Masked Observer
King Cake and extra cheesy broiled Doritos
Hangovers cured by the hangover inducer
The wherewithall to do it again the next day, with…
Swollen feet, that feel so good.

Damn, life is good.  I just hope The Boy can keep up.

Fantasy Flight with Formula One

Rarely has their been a flight where I didn’t fantasize about being seated next to Mr. Cool, Traveling, Drink of Water.  I’d tell him I’m a gynecologist and was part of the panel of researchers that found the G spot.  He’d buy me a gin and tonic and share that he’s a Formula One race car driver.  “Did you know your eyes match the color of your sweater?” He’d say.  “Really?”  I’d respond with a coy smile.

Our deep gaze would be interrupted by the pilot announcing that we were about to start making our decent.  He’d scramble to learn what connection I was making, and I’d offer a light touch of his arm and a heart felt ‘thanks for the cocktail’. 

Ahhh but this scene shall remain a fantasy, at least for now.  Formula One didn’t find his way to seat 6C. Instead he gave it up for Cathy the cartoon character. 

That’s okay.  There’s always the connecting flight.

The Headline Reads:

Horses Roam Free Downtown

Is it ‘Nay’ or ‘Neigh’?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Did Someone Say Tally-Ho?”

Like books, our lives, (or at least MY life) has chapters.  And here I am, closing one chapter of my life and starting a new one.

For those of you that have followed this blog, you know that my, what I deemed sabbatical, began 9 months ago almost to the day.  (Go ahead, click here and stroll down memory lane) I pulled my car to the side of the proverbial road of life and I took a break. As much as I would like to say I took the last 9 months doing something productive, like, learning a new language or, gestating a child, I did not.  I partied.  And I partied my ASS off!  And if I wasn’t partying, I was recovering from said party by staring blankly out the window.  What a waste!, one might think.  And admittedly I thought that from time to time myself.  If in January I knew I would have been going back to work in October, I may have traveled.  Or taken a class.  Or I would have done…something.  I should have, could have, would have.   Bleh! Hindsight and the whole 20/20 thing.  We all know it’ll make you crazy.

But you know what…my life in 2010 has been at the complete opposite end of the spectrum of what it was in 2009.   I decided a few months ago, as I was fending off the veil of depression that was looming, that I would hold my head high, and be proud of the fact that I worked hard to afford myself the luxury, productive or not, of a 9 month hiatus.  SO “F*ck responsibility”, is what I said and partied on.

(…)

OK, time to be honest.  I had visions of a dramatic “chapter closing” blog entry but now that I’m sitting here, it feels forced.  Me being physically where I am right now is a BIG deal for me.  HUGE.  I have shared this sentiment with a few already, but this is the perfect end to a, ummm, to a very…pivotal (?) no, that’s not it.  To a very…what’s the word?  *sigh*.   I would have been fine landing a decent job at home.  But don’t you see?  The fact that I threw a bunch of stuff in my car and headed North is just the the type of ‘Syonara’ I fantasized about offering to said chapter of my life.  The Finger if you will. Yet I remain humble.  It’s weird.  I am well aware that this opportunity presented itself to me because I was in the right place at the right time.  So now it’s in my hands to make this opportunity work for me.  It really is that simple.  (Duly noted because I am sure I’ll have to reference this post as a reminder of that fact.)

[I am not getting my point across...time to wrap it up.]

There’s a line in Shawshank Redemption that played itself over and over in my head during my drive here today.  “I find I’m so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head.” Nothing rings more true.  I am so, so, SO, excited about this next chapter I can barely contain myself.  I only hope I can open my eyes wide enough to take it all in.