The Three Queens of Christmas

Once upon a time there were three sad queens. Queen Daffney, Queen Mexican Monkey and Queen Hulk.  They were sad because it was fucking cold outside and not much to do with the bad weather. So the three sad queens got together and decided to decorate the house.

"Girlfriends, it will be so much fun," Queen Hulk said in her princess phone.

"Will there be booze?" Queen Mexican Monkey asked.

"Will I have to shell out any money?" Queen Daffney asked.

"Fuck no and yes there will be booze, just like there is a Santa Claus, there will always be booze." Queen Hulk told them and so they got together after Thanksgiving to plan a splendid time.

"What should we call it?" asked one queen.

"Let's call it, 'Make it Pretty Day," said one.

"Lame as shit. How about, 'Burn the House Down', said the other.

"No you fucking dumb-ass bitches," said the third, "We'll call it Christmas."

"Why the fuck Christmas?" asked the other two.

"It's for, 'Christ, how much did that cost you?' Christmas for short, " said the third queen.

So they got out some sparkle and spangle, They brought in lights and show tunes and by the time dark fell, the joint looked like a Hansel and Gretel cottage.

"What fun," said the Three Queens.

"Pass the joint, and where did you put the wine bottle?" said the other.

"I just love Christmas, " said the third as she dialed for pizza.

The Gathering Of The Clan

Daffny picked us up, the only sober one among us but you really can't tell because he drives in the classic passive-aggressive style.  You can tell a passive-aggressive driver by the key marks left on the side of their cars. Take Daffny's car for instance, it's keyed on both sides. He wonders how they got their. So I told him.

"Daffny, let's say a car is in front of you and it is going slower than the speed of traffic but you can't get around because all the other cars in back of you see what's happening and they take the next lane to pass. Up ahead is a green light but the slow car in front of you has suddenly slowed down even more and just when you get to the light it turns yellow and instead of the slow car speeding up to get through, they stopped to wait for it to turn green. Now, not only are you still stuck behind the slow car but everyone behind you is with only one thing on their mind, to get around the both of you as soon as the light turns green."

You wait, hoping that the slow driver moves just enough so that you can whip around quickly at the first chance but wait...The light turns green and the slow car in front isn't moving. The other lane is though and cars that have now come up fresh on you are quickly pulling around before the slow car begins to advance. That's why you have people following you so that when you park they can key your car."

Doesn't faze Daffny one bit. In fact he is proud of the long key strips on his Cherokee. "I don't care, let them waste gas, I'm not going above thirty miles an hour." It takes him time to get up to thirty too and then of course to slow down.

Once we were at Frodo's (our friend refers to his residence as a hobbit house. It is not exactly hobbit, more California bungalow updated with a bit of Northern California for landscaping. It is a nice place.
Now Frodo and the Irishman have lived together for a very long time. A very long time, in fact, no one really knows how long but certainly longer than the Orc that lives under the goat shed in the back of their property. We had brought two bottles of champagne.

The Irish was fighting mad already and ready to get liquored up. We were to be there at one in the afternoon. Just because it was one when we showed up didn't matter, The Irish was on his time and that's the only time that counts and according to his time, we were early.  Once he took a cold shower and had a taste of the grape he settled down long enough to eat fish eggs on toast. And once we all were toasted, off we went to the French Market but not before Frodo investigated a trash bag across the street and someone parked at another neighbor's house.  This took another half hour to satisfy Frodo and Irish that it was okay to leave Hobbitland to eat.

Eat we did, with a cute Russian to serve us, named Serge. His English, not so good and of course we had him tell us all the nasty words you can say in Russian. Not that we were going to remember them, but it was nice to hear such a cutie talk dirty to us in Ruskie, which is kind of a rough sounding language to begin with and that made it even better.  After more champagne and more food we were just about ready to leave when Frodo's heart throb walked in.

This caused a major concern for Frodo who was still wounded from rejection. Frodo wanted to leave,
ASAP and we did too so that we could pry out all the details of love lost.  Once back to Hobbitland we settled around the fire for the story Frodo and the Train Boy.

Frodo worked for Travel Town and met Train Boy at a party. It was love at first sight when Train Boy found out where Frodo worked. At least love at first sight on Frodo's part. Train Boy worked on a passenger train and was hoping to advance in the train world but Frodo could only offer love.  It didn't take long for the romance to come to a screeching halt. Well actually, it never started except in Frodo's world. However, with the Irish liquored up and fighting mad, he attacked Frodo verbally.

"If there ever were a worse case of Flanagan folly, I'll eat an English trifle."

"Shut up! I'm telling the story, you Irish pig," Frodo yelled.

"Pig am I? You called me a pig, you shriveled up goat dick."

Oh, the two of them went on and on until we thought to excuse ourselves while they battled it out  and what a joy it was to bring in the holidays with a good bitch fight.

The World Of Mac

I admit, Mexican Monkey is a generous man. And if I needed his help and he actually picked up the phone when I dial, he would come to my aid. His business is such that they need a full time computer fixer-upper and because they are a business, they need to update the computers every few years. That happened and I ended up with a very high end Mac.

I like it, I think. At least it is a lot faster than my old computer but I haven't been able to attend to my writing. The Word program is a 2008 and there was no problem bringing my PC Word documents over and opening them with the new computer and program. But all the bells and whistles now are in a different place and to tell the truth, I'm really tired of the re-learning curve adjustment. My brain, what's left of it, hurts.

Why can't they make the Mother of All Computers? They made the mother of all wars, the mother-fucker and the mother of all bombs but they can't make a computer that will still be viable after a few years. They are almost obsolete by the time you get them home from the store.

And my head hurts with all the input of well intentioned friends. Do you use Cloud? Never heard of it. Oh, well, everyone is using it. What, to sleep on?

I can't get the printer to print, that's the sticking point at the moment. I'll have to wait until someone can come here and figure that out. Boy what headache and I'll need some more aspirin too.

What Have I Done Now

Facebook. It is this strange land that everybody tells me I need to join, so I did. Gad, what a terrible thing, People are posting baby pictures on it, googly eyed fucking baby pictures of tiny shit factories. People that I normally e-mail suddenly are friends and still I haven't figure out how to write to them or how to do much of anything except look at the drool left by Amy's sticky people on my 'wall'.

I feel I fell into the Temple of Doom. I can't navigate the waters, the place is way to hetro for me, and way to cute. And why did my friends think I needed this? Do I need cancer? Do I need my teeth pulled? What is it that I need Facebook for? Will someone please tell me.

Another Friday, Another Fight--Mexican Monkey Spends the Night in Jail

"I'll come over at nine." Mexican Monkey tells me Friday afternoon. The cleaning crew was coming early and he wanted to avoid the noise of vacuum cleaners and the cleaning lady's duster.

"I'll have breakfast," I said and hung up.

It didn't occur to me that he may not be over, the weather people predicted and we got rain starting that day and scheduled for the entire weekend. I somehow didn't connect that it was Friday and he was inquiring about Saturday morning.

Now, what monkey can stay out of the bars in West Hollywood, or anywhere, on a Friday night?

Duh? So when it was close to nine-thirty and no Mexican Monkey, I called.

He answered, gravel in his voice as usual after a night of debauchery and I was ready to hear his, 'I got so drunk last night' speech.

"I just got out of jail."

"You were arrested for drunk driving?"

"How come everybody says that to me? Huh? How come, Gil said the same thing."

"Well, I don't know, maybe because we all expect to get a call to bail your ass out of jail one day."

"No, I broke up a fight."

This was going to be good. Mexican Monkey, of course can't stay out of a ruckus, like any monkey, if he didn't start the fight, he sure as hell wasn't going to stay out of one going on either.

"You broke it up and were arrested?"

"Yes, they took us all in."

"Let the judge sort it out. Sounds about right. So are you coming over? I'm hungry and would like to have breakfast."

"I'll be over soon."

Mexican Monkey hung up and I thought, well, I guess he will and waited, besides the story sounds to good to miss and I don't exactly look like I missed too many meals.

He looked like someone that just got out of jail. Disheveled, hair unkempt and that certain unsavory odor of urine, sweat and other odd odors that jails have. I offered a shower.

"No, I need to eat."

Eat we did, and then he slept in between telling me what happened.

"Trunks?" Never heard of it."

"It's a neighborhood bar, off Santa Monica."

"Oh, a hustler bar."

"I think so," Mexican Monkey said in a very sheepish tone. "But the guys that were fighting were straight."

"Well, what was the fight about?"

"I don't know? One had a bottle and other a bar stool and they were trying to kill each other."

"And so you and someone else tried to break it up?

"The cops came in just when we got them separated and arrested all of us."

"What are straights doing in a gay bar?" I asked.

"Oh, Mikie, all the bars are mixed now."

"You're kidding."

"The Abbey? Mostly straight now."

"Gad. When I heard the Friendship opened with a new owner announcing it would now be a Metro bar I became concerned."

"Yeah, and they arrested a bunch of us, even some women were arrested and the guy in our cell said the worse was yet to come when his wife finds out in the morning."

Mexican Monkey went home in the afternoon and came back dressed with his 'I just got off the bus--ranchero pinstriped pants and some god-awful ranchero shirt. The cologne was worse than the Jail-Jungle he wore earlier.

"So, you going out tonight."

"Maybe, but I'm not drinking."

He didn't either, at least here, we had a pork roast rubbed with whole cloves and curry, acorn squash with butter, brown sugar and cinnamon and sauteed brussel sprouts with fresh nutmeg.

Not the usual fair but I think Mexican Monkey should eat well between prison visits.

Drag Queen's Lazy Eunuch

While I was attending the chickens this morning, Drag Queen came out to inspect her trash cans. She was wearing an orange halter top to keep her tits in. But because she does not have much tit to speak of, the halter sort of squished them on her chest like two soft ice cream scoops. Her ass was sticking out in lime green capri pants and her make-up was a bit better, seeing how it was morning and she probably didn't have time to slather on the pancake yet.

"I do admire how you stack your trash." I said standing next to the hen house.

She pulled the cigarette out of her mouth and blew a smoke ring. "Yeah, I can look down the alley and size up the neighborhood trash in two seconds."

"I've always said, you know your trash."

"Yeah, well I've been around trash all my fuckin' life." She spat in the middle of the alley and let out a fart. Her green capris hardly moved being stretched so tight across her ass. "I told Henye, just the other day, that no one in this alley keeps trash like I do."

She scratched her left armpit where a rash was healing from abuse from a worn out razor. "And do you know what he said?"

"No, what?"

"He said no one knows trash like I do."

"Damn if that ain't the truth." I said and walked over to the end of our property line. "Say, all that sunlight that comes in from where Hag cut her bushes and trees back. Does that bother you?"

She had opened a blue barrel and was slamming the  plastic sides to jiggle the contents. "Are you kidding me? We love the sunlight. Can't get enough of it. It's like the old country once again."

"I'm amazed Hag cut all the vegetation down."

Drag Queen opened the next barrel and looked inside. Then she slammed it shut and turned to me. "That bitch needs to see the light of day, we came to a kind of an agreement," She said slamming a fist into her palm.

"Oh, I see," I said and looked up at where the great elm was partially shading her east wall. "I guess you don't mind that elm tree of Lady of the Forest though shading you a bit.

"Huh?" she said and looked at the elm and where the very top had shaded the lower half of her east wall. "That fuckin' bitch. She's gotta a lot of nerve."

"I think she needs the great elm's power."

Drag Queen scratched again at the rash in her arm pit. I could see what looked like boar bristles sprouting among red-crimson dots of rash between her scratching fingers while she contemplated how much shade was against the eastern wall of her house. "She does huh, well I'll have to talk to her about that."

"You know, I'm sure she would love to visit with you and your eunuch. How is the eunuch?"

"That fat slug? I don't know why I bought it. Does play the flute well don't it?"

"That it does and I bet Lady of the Forest would think the eunuch was the cutest thing she ever saw. Especially if you dressed it up like a big fat baby and fed it sticky things. It could lean against the great elm while you chatted up Lady of the Forest.

"It whines so when I dress it up. But you know, with some fatty sticky sticks, I could lure it into dressing like a big-ass dumb baby."

I think Drag Queen was getting the idea of how to use the eunuch. It was always stressing something where ever it sat or laid. I could see the lights go on and Drag Queen giving Lady of the Forest a going over because she was careless how she placed her barrels in the alley.

"I bet some hours of that fat eunuch eating while it leaned on the great elm would stress it enough to give up its leaves."

"Hell, if that damn dough baby doesn't just topple it over right then. What if that fuckin' tree hit Village Idiot? Wouldn't that be something to see." Her eyes brightened up even with the creases of runny black mascara, I could she was enjoying this idea.

I knew there was some reason why I liked Drag Queen other than all the trash she knows.

The Shadow

The Lady of the Forest has a very large elm tree. It is, I think, the source of her power. The branches span a vast area of two lots and it would cover the alley as well if it weren't for the power lines. The electric company keeps the tree from covering the lines, but that has done nothing for the shade the tree casts on the vegetable garden. Until the leaves fall, the garden is in shadow until after twelve.

Something must be done, but would it effect the Lady of the Forest's power? Would she become weak and unable to defend her kingdom if the tree was trimmed? It is quite large and has spread so that it must catch the wrath of winter storms. Could it topple? If it did it has only one way to fall that would not destroy some structure. And that would be on the smaller elms in the forest.

The great tree stands tall and must see into every neighboring yard including ours. That's what worries me, trees know things. They can feel all the vibrations caused by anyone on the earth for miles around. To even wish the tree harm could be disastrous so it must be carefully planned in doing anything about them.

The Lady of the Forest looks like she going to do nothing about the sunlight being kept from the lettuces and potatoes. She needs the power from her elms, especially this time of year when the forest sheds its leaves to wait the storms out. But if a storm comes early, before the tree sheds, the wind could topple it especially after heavy rains.

Perhaps the tree knows that we will not have heavy storms, perhaps it plans to grow until it shades everything and takes their power for the Lady of the Forest.

What is it she wants with the power from forest trees? She seems content but yet she wants more it seems. It would require careful guidance to navigate this dilemma. If it should look like the trees come under threat, she could turn and become vicious, and vindictive. Yet the vegetable garden is in need of more sunlight for the few things I can grow this time of year.

Hag would be no help, perhaps Mama possum would help. Perhaps the Jihad Party Boys or Drag Queen but not the eunuch, lazy and fat, they are practically worthless with trees unless it could be shown how delightful it is to set up camp under one. How would the great elm feel with a eunuch napping at its trunk?

If the eunuch was great enough, fed fat sticky things, and allowed to rest only on one side of the great elm, perhaps that could cause concern. If Drag Queen friended the Lady of the Forest and while they chatted and the eunuch ate and slept, it could, just ever so, cause the great tree stress.

It's certainly something to think about.

A Day Of Rest

I was so fagged out the other day. Sixty hard miles on the bike Saturday followed by a two mile walk to dinner and back. With, of course martinis, not on the ride however. Sunday turned to a day of rest, I was so rested I can hardly remember the day. But today, we're back in the saddle.

I really enjoy my e-book reader, the Nook. I find that I use it more often and my favorite magazines and newspapers can be sent to it. So far, they're pretty easy to navigate and read once you get use to the format. It takes care of my habit of reading three books at the same time along with the newspapers and magazines. I can read-surf without having to find where I put whatever I was last reading down.

Mom has one. A Kindle but since she stopped taking classes on, 'How to find dead bodies and what to do with them,' and now the boyfriend, which is hitting off real well, she doesn't use it that much. Course, love does that to people. They fall in love and wham, everything is put on hold. Time is in suspension until they can sort life out with the new dimensions.

I smoked a corn beef brisket the other day. It comes out like bacon, it is so good. I don't think I will ever boil another one. And I had caviar for the first time. I've had caviar but not the expensive sturgeon caviar. There is a big difference, I was amazed, not quite as salty as I thought it would be and surprisingly smooth, if I was a wealthy author, I would have it more often, that's for sure, it is that good. I had it on top of new potatoes with creme'fraiche'. Pissy ain't it.

Mom's Gotta Boyfriend

It was sad to see Mom so fretful. She fussed and huffed. She stewed and brewed. It was all because she felt the need to pick one of two boyfriends. Mom is monogamous. In a big way and I can see the advantage to this. If you like to fuck and you trust your partner, you can fuck all day without anything but friction to get in the way. Mom, being a very good mom, likes keeping bugs off her. She hates the bastards. And who doesn't? "What do you mean you have clap?" Words Mom does not want to hear. Especially nowadays with things a hell of a lot worse than a sick dick.

Mom liked the other one, John, younger, a neat freak but sex was never tried and difficult to get to try because the jerk never stopped talking about how his ex fucked him over. Boring.

The other one has Basque blood, older, and very nice. Now, most people think, 'Gee, the guy is a hot blooded Spaniard type with a big fucking dick that wants to play all the time and is nice on top of it.' But not Mom. No, she's not use to being treated nice. Doesn't feel comfortable for her and yet, I really do think, that having a big dick to suck on will eventually get her over the idea that someone would like to treat her well and what kind of guy would want to do that with her? Imagine, having someone in your corner who thinks you're great too. Hard for Mom and yet she seems to be accepting the fact the guy is a nice guy too.

I told her, "Look, a big dick on a guy that knows how to use it can take care a lot of bad habits. So the guy is nice, so he's use to busing his own table. Let him. He's has a big fuckin' dick. And he pays for dinner and the movie? Get use to it, instead of wondering what kind of straight dude would be nice to you and why doesn't he treat you like shit. Think of how good that dick is gonna feel once you get home. Just put up with being treated nice, we all have our cross to bear."

Mom, you gotta love her and we all do.

Cops in the Hood

On the way to the store on my bicycle, I looked down the alley. A very necessary thing to do even when walking because of all the stupid drivers in L.A. In fact, I'm not the only one that has a low opinion of L.A. residents. It turns out that tourists rank us as one of the most stupid and ill mannered of all cities in the United States. Not a very nice title, but I've had drivers honk at me because I wanted to cross the street on a green light when they felt they had the right, being bigger, to make a right turn while I wait on the curb for them to finish it. The drivers think nothing of blocking the whole crosswalk and ignore you while they watch for a break in the traffic. And if you don't step out, the next one will be there to block you again. That's really rude.

Our alley gets a lot of traffic. If the main drag backs up. They flow down the alley like a river filled to its banks. They speed because of being pissed off for having to wait. They honk their fucking horns the whole way, never mind it's a neighborhood, it's not their hood so what the fuck do they care.

The cops were near the house, it could have been the east bunker of the Jihad Party Boys. The cops might be looking for W.M.D's or some shit like that. There were two cops and both out of the car. I did see Drag Queen earlier when I was tending to the chickens. Drag Queen looked a bit hung over. Her fat ass sure hung over and her makeup looked put on with a paint roller. Poor bitch was a mess.

I blame her damn eunuch. Lazy thing probably doesn't get up until the afternoon and no one wants to bother a sleeping eunuch. Hell, you have to push your hand into the soft folds of eunuch flesh just to wake them. And then they make the damnest noises when you do. I don't blame Drag Queen for waking the eunuch by throwing a stone at one of its ass checks. But then you have a pissed off eunuch to put on your makeup and that is always a mistake.

Drag Queen needs to get some new tights. Her ass has stretched the pair she was wearing to the brink of tearing right down the seam. And if that happened, the ass wouldn't stop folding out until it hit pavement. Which would make it asshault instead of asphalt.

What could it be that the cops were in the alley by the eastern Bunker? The Jihad Party Boys have been quiet of late. Must be weapons of mass destruction. I'll call Cheney and see what's up.

Hag Hideaway

Hag's spider dutifully turned the vellum in the ancient book. A formula Hag uses to feed her spiders to make exceptional silk. Now that cold weather came, each little crevice, nook and cranny had to be filled with spider silk. The attic needed some work and perhaps even the space between the walls might need attention.

Possum Bright, of course, was an absolute staple for good spider silk and Hag had a good supply from the family in our garage. The possum family has lived there for years and years, probably before the house was built in forty-nine.

I run into them now and then. A big slow mother possum who carries her children until old enough to walk on their own. She waddles about caring for all her joeys. I've pulled them out myself from buckets or baskets they fell into. They do like to eat bugs. Tasty fat bugs that help the possum to make Possum Bright.

And Mama has plenty. If a joey becomes ill, Momma lets them suckle a special teat full of Possum Bright. But she does nothing but dote on her children so they are rarely sick.

One of Hags many lizards comes for the Possum Bright. He carefully suckles the teat, after inquiring about Mama's health and that of her children. A treat brought by the lizard's entourage of younger lizards. Tasty potato bugs and fat caterpillars in a tidy basket they carried on their backs was set before Mama. And as the old lizard suckled for Possum Bright, Mama laid on her side and slipped a grasshopper in, with its legs sticking out the side of her mouth. Once the grasshopper was ate, she took a rather large potato bug, sampling the fat body before eating it.

"How is Hag?" Mama asked.

The old lizard raised his head from the teat he suckled to answer, "She's a bit down nowadays. Too much sun is coming in I suppose. It makes her cranky."

Mama grunted, she didn't care much for the sun herself and could understand why it would make anyone cranky and out of sorts. She took a caterpillar next as she eyed a gray moth that looked very good to eat.

"Tell her I hope the Possum Bright helps."

The old lizard didn't bother to answer, and kept at his task. Once he was filled with the the special milk he thanked Mama again and left the basket of bugs for Mama to munch. With care and timing the old lizard deftly scurried back to Hag Hideaway with his crew of younger lizards.

Once inside Hag House, the old lizard went to where Hag stood at the stove. He climbed up Hag's dress and down her sleeve where her hand stirred the spoon and threw up gobs of Possum Bright into the pot.

Hag tickled his chin before he scampered back down to the floor jumping under the stove for a nice warm bake from the oven's bottom. She went back to stirring the brew as spiders began to come out from everywhere.

They jumped and jiggled and did spider dances while the pot stewed until it was ready and Hag took ladles of the ancient concoction and poured them into saucers. The spiders gathered around each saucer and dipped their forelegs into the thick soup and then they cleaned their legs with their mouths before dipping again.

When they had their fill and bellies full for making spider silk they went each to their task to block the cold drafts in Hag Hideaway and make it sound for the winter storms ahead.

Hag laid back down to sleep. She dreamed of heavy rain for the bushes and brambles to once again grow and cover Hag Hideaway. Now that daylight saving time was over, Hag gave a contented sigh and drifted off to sleep listening to thousands of spiders spinning webs of fine spider silk.

Cha-Cha Mexican Monkey

One-two-three-four. Step. Step. One-two-three-four. Step. Step.

Oh how Mexican Monkey loves the cha-cha. Adonis was stood up one night when Mexican Monkey laid drunk somewhere and didn't make it to their date. Now he does the cha-cha.

He wants to swing in the trees and pull someone's leg. He wants to screech and holler but he has to stay sober until Adonis gets off his studio shoot. Until Adonis' adoring fans, ever present, leave to gaze at him another day.

"Por favor, Adonis, please give me another chance."

"Well, I get off at nine, If you're home, I'll swing by."

"Gracias, gracias, Adonis. Mi amigo." Oh, Mexican Monkey was so happy, all he had to do was to stay sober until nine that night and then he could drink with Adonis.

"What time is it?"

"Same time only ten minutes more and why the fuck won't you have a drink and stop asking me."

"I'll cut some bamboo."

"No, you won't. You'll leave it for me to pick up."

"I want to play cards."

David fortunately put his cigarette down and said he would play before putting it back in his mouth.

Mexican Monkey was losing. He couldn't count the cards. He couldn't concentrate. He didn't want to do the cha-cha but now it seemed inevitable. I fixed myself a nice cold martini and filled the beer orders for Mom and one of her new boyfriends. Mexican Monkey wasn't happy, while the rest of us drank and laughed. Mexican Monkey did the cha-cha.

"What time is it?"

"I don't know, why don't you take a look on your way to get a beer."

"I don't want to drink."

We all knew this was a bold face lie. He wanted to alright and did the cha-cha.

"Just have one fuckin' drink dude. Then leave it."

"No, Adonis and I are going out when he gets off work. What time is it?"

"Well I'll clue you in, you have about three fucking more hours to sweat it out."

And that's what he did. One-two-three-four. Step. Step. One-two-three-four. Step. Step.

The time neared, he knew if he left now he wouldn't be alone too long with Jose Cuervo and might pour himself a tad. He did the cha-cha out the door, with a smile on his face and the thought that he would be soon united with Adonis and a bar.

Stormy Weather

What can I say, I'm a cool weather loving guy. When there is a tempest, I'm happiest. And that's the problem. We had a nice little rain storm here a week ago and then--wham, it got hot again. It depresses me for some reason. Just like the girls lay better in cool weather, I write better.

Here's my dream for a better day. A trailer in Northern California in the redwoods. Oh, would I love that, course there would be a small garden and hen house. Some place I could ride my bike to for shopping and visits. Somewhere near the Russian River would be ideal.

When I go to the Russian River Valley, I feel like I'm at home. That restless feeling inside me is soothed. I can write with ease there, even when the temperatures get high in that area, I can still find myself at ease writing.

If I just had the guts to find a place, sell everything and move there, but I can't seem to find it in me. I'm living in the same house I was when ten. Not that I didn't move outta here, I just moved back in later. And that was something I thought would never happened. I thought I would never see this place again, yet here I am waking to it each morning.

That took some doing at first. Waking up here in this house after living in Topanga. It was a very happy time then in Topanga. My lover John at the time was a great guy and our home there was perched on a cliff, three stories tall. Well, perched would be considered more of a teeter, the house was from 1929. Built as a summer home for some family, it was made of cedar with the cedar planks being the same plank on the outside as inside. In the morning you could see your breath while in bed. It had a wood stove to keep warm and a fire place.

We were young then, Johnny and me. Young and lucky in many ways, in that we stayed together for over twenty years until we were forced to move by fate. In the same year that my mother died, so did the landlord for our place in Topanga. It forced us to move, but the move took me back to my parent's house to care for my father who was handicap. Johnny hated it here. He missed the canyon and so did I. There were terrifying days when I would wake up scared shitless because I was in a strange room. I had been dreaming of daily life in Topanga and when I woke it was in this strange room in a strange place. Johnny and I lost our privacy too, my dad slept in the room next to ours and made John very uncomfortable about having sex. Our relationship began to tear until one day, he said he was leaving.

It wasn't hard to say goodbye, The signs were there that he was unhappy and me denying that we were unhappy, just not use to the new place and I don't think we would have ever gotten use to it here after having our own life together in Topanga. We sort of grew up in the canyon, both of us moving there in our twenties. We stayed close until John's death from cirrhosis of the liver. He drank pretty hard and after we broke up, even harder than before. I miss him terribly to this day. You would think after all these years(he died in 95) that I would be over it but I'm not. The pain is still fresh, I still cry when thinking of him.

I'm hoping though that my spirits will pick up. It's tough right now, Wally has dementia, even when he tries to carry a conversation it is very difficult for him. Our joy is laying next to each other in silence, holding on. I think we hold each other while in bed because if we didn't, one of us would slip away.

That's how warm weather makes me feel, as if I'm slipping into a void where I become nothing. As if the molecules that make up my body are spinning so fast that I will fragment into billions of pieces.

Here's to cooler weather and the slowing of atoms that cold causes. Here's to tall redwoods, deep forests, and trailers.

Mom's New Boyfriends

There is a whole lot of non-Asian men attracted to Asian women. I know because I've seen it for myself. Mom said it's like gaydar, she can spot one right off. And so far she has been spot on every time. Once she announces, "Asiaphile," we begin the questions, like, "Was your last girlfriend or ex-wife Asian?" or "When you're at home alone, do you eat with chop sticks?" or "Does your favorite restaurants have a 'Happy Buddha,' near the cash register?"

It's amazing because usually the answer is yes to all three. And she can't get rid of them. They keep coming back begging for at least a small China doll that she might have once owned. Course, so far, none of them have turned out to be anything to write home about. A rather dull lot. Once they have their Asian woman, they want to stay home and cook rice. Mom wants to travel, and go out for a steak dinner, and see a movie, and ride her bike--and fuck.

One of the two new ones is an Asiaphile. He bitches about his ex-Chinese wife in their last two dates. I said, "Cut the line now, because pulling in this sucker is a waste of time." She's bored with him, he talks only about himself but he does ride a bike. The last Asiaphile she dated looked like an Aztec dwarf. As if he came to life from one of those stone Aztec figures, with the huge nose and slanted forehead. He rode a bike too but Mom's basic criteria is that they aren't shorter than she is and this dude, even in platforms, still came up way short.

I told Mom that she should try a dwarf now and then, you'd be surprise. First, they're so happy you're interested in them, they go out of their way to satisfy you sexually. Not like the tall ones that think you should be climbing all over them. But she likes them big. Big dicks, big arms, big legs. Big. That's my Mom.

The other boyfriend is older, way older but nice and how can you not be nice when gravity is your enemy. The dude is very nice and takes her to dinner, he rides a bike too and is a bit taller than her but I can see what she's thinking. As he ages, he'll shrink and then one day she'll wake up to a dwarf attached to her in bed and then she'll have to chew her arm off to escape. I think the dude is hung but then it could be that everything is just sagging a great deal and looks like he's hung. Especially the balls. Balls can hang down to your fucking knees when your seventy.

I'm not sure if Mom is into big balls. I think it's mostly big dicks. And that's okay, it certainly doesn't make her a bad person does it?

Tomorrow Is Another Day

My biggest fear is to wake up in the morning and hear a political ad. Especially if it's a Meg ad. And I wouldn't put it past the bitch to have them. Just to flaunt that she has plenty of money to burn through yet.

I really hope the whore of Ebay goes down. I lost eighteen bucks on an Ebay deal. A pen that was crap and the seller wanting me to pay for the postage both ways to get another one. Another defected pen? I don't think so, what I wanted was my money back and to do that I would have had to go through several Ebay hurtles. No thanks, after the first two or three, I gave up and never went back. I'm not the only one to get burned on Ebay either, it seems I've ran into others with a similar story. Some did get their money but it wasn't until they fought for it but then they stood to loose more than eighteen bucks.

That's capitalism for you and Meg is one fat capitalist. Slap employees around, ship their jobs overseas, fuck the little guy as long as the capitalist can make money they would sell their mother's blood to do it.

The Invasion

We left before dark to the Flying Leap. Had to, because they descend when the sky darkens, when the light fades. Hordes of them, they come in vans, buses, trucks to knock on doors and demand candy. Not just a piece of candy, but hand fulls of it.

It takes bags and bags of candy to go through a Halloween here in the hood. All the houses lined up neat in rows, street lights, few gates and they come from miles away to beat on the doors long into the night.

We use to stay and give out candy, but it ran into thirty bucks plus one year and after we were emptied, they took coins until we locked the door and turned off the light. And they're not kids either, I mean, the ones that have sprouted pubes. Many of them looked old enough to drive themselves around. It's a rip off.

We had a few drinks and passed the time with other guys in the bar before having dinner downstairs. When we got home it was ten and still the vans were pulling up and letting kids out. Dafney pullled up to the house and let us out quick. we ran into the house locking the door behind us and kept the lights down low.

It truly is a horror.