i wish i could tell you everything.

sometimes i do have an interesting life. sometimes it’s downright fascinating.

unfortunately some of it is off limits for purposes of this blog.


mostly sucks because lots of it is right on the forefront of my mind and theres no better place to work out such issues than in a forum like this with wonderful people like you. and instead of saying things like two cheerleaders called me last night as i was making jiffy pop with a third… im forced to say things like, what the fuck are the red sox thinking trying to “improve” fenway by sticking rows of seats atop the green monster?

and here we are in america. home of the brave.

land of the free.


two cheerleaders called me last night as i was making jiffy pop with a third.

giggling. bar noise in the background.

i tried to talk softly cuz my date was flipping channels on the tivo.

what?! they yelled on their end of the line. huey lewis was playing on their jukebox.

huey lewis?

hip to be square i think. they wanted to know if they could come over because they locked their keys in their car as they were barhopping and i was two subway stops away.

cheerleader logic. instead of using the phone to call AAA or a tow truck they called me because when they thought of this particular seedy bar they thought of me. things could be worse.

what worried me was they had done about three cosmos too many and they shouldnta been about to go driving at all, so i told them to get a cab home and then call the tow truck in the morning. they said they wanted to come and sober up at my place.

i looked at my leather couch and my guest for the evening and i wondered what toby mcguire would do.

that didnt help so i thought about what jack nicholson would do. i put down the phone and asked my guest if she was interested in having two of her squadmates come over.

she hesitated and said, okay? and took a sip from her wine glass.

you know what ladies, lets do this another night, i told them, thinking id probably never have this opportunity ever again. three cheerleadres. two drunk, one getting there. clean apartment, stocked fridge, three full cans of ready whip.

they understood and hung up with a thank you, even though there was nothing to thank me for.

got back into the living room and my guest was putting on her little faux fur jacket.

she looked at me, applied her red lipstick and gave me the dirtiest stare. threw her tube of mac back into her coach and said that next time i would be better off not answering the phone.

sped off in her miata.

and i stood there with the front door still not closed because when she slammed it it hit the swinging chain lock and bounced back open with the sickest bang.


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