Hot Kabobs

The food is delicious, inexpensive, and did I mention delicious?

But here’s the thing I don’t understand, Nashville.  Why isn’t that place packed with straight men and gay women?

Are there three hotter waitresses in Nashville?  In Tennessee?  In the whole world?

And women-attracted folks, I would expect you to be making any excuse to be there staring at them.

I’m disappointed.

One Long and Lonely Bridge

I explained it to Imfunnytoo like this the other night and I found it to actually be a metaphor that stuck with me, just because it makes sense of my predicament for me in a way that makes it seem possibly manageable.

This is what it’s like. I used to be on firm ground. I will end up on firm ground. But to get from firm ground to firm ground, I’m faced with the scariest bridge I can imagine.

Sure, it’s not going to drop me. Sure people use it every day and live. And I’ve got no choice anyway.

But I’m terrified, still.

Tuesday, 9:30, I meed the surgeon.

It’s the Butcher’s birthday. He gets to come with me because I want him to understand what’s going to happen so that he can make wise decisions when I have to give him power of attorney over me.

He’s already threatening to sell my car and empty my bank account.

Joke’s on him. My bank account’s already empty!

When Was the Last Time We Closed Our Doors and Danced Around Our Offices Together?

It’s been too long, my friends. Far too long. As far as I’m concerned, this song is the perfect song for dancing around your office to, because, if you’re alone, you can just sit in your chair and spin back and forth to the rhythm while you’re busy typing away at whatever still lingers from a long week.

But if you’re lucky enough to have someone in your office with you, woo, are you in for a treat! Here’s what I recommend. Drop your arms to your side, let them just hang there loosely. Now, you put your left foot on the outside of your partner’s right foot and your right foot on the other side, everyone with their feet a comfortable shoulder-width apart. You both should adopt an air of slouchy indifference to the presence of the other. Perhaps look away from each other with pretend disdain.

Now, start to wiggle just a little bit to the song, swaying to Julie Driscoll’s voice, coming ever closer to brushing your hip against your partner’s. Oh, did you slow down just as Driscoll hit the chorus, letting your hip rest just for a second against the hip of the person so… close… right… next… to you?

No worries. Go back to behaving yourself. Wiggling in time to the music, pretending not to give a shit about the person so close to you you can smell the lingering scent of the soap they used in the shower this morning right… there… on the small of their neck… where your nose has nestled itself as you find your body leaning against theirs since it’s so much easier to enjoy the music if you just shut your eyes and sway together…

First they lean into you so that you both move in one direction and then you press against them so that you can move in the other direction and then, you get to the funky organ solo (tee hee!) and both take a step back to smile at each other in acknowledgment that you’ve completely overstepped some bound.

Smiling and swaying and staring into each other’s eyes. Staring, staring, moving closer.

It’s strange. It’s very, very strange.

Bodies pressed back together, music louder and louder, your eyes are shut.

Mistakes about to be made.

Whew, thank god it’s over.

Want to hear it again?

Pitbulls in My Neighborhood and How I Predict They’ll Go Wrong

1.  Mrs. Wigglebottom.  After we find her and the car missing, we discover this list–

Peepl I Lik

Rowp-steeln man

Cudle on the cowch grl

Womn wth treets in panc

–shortly before the police arrive to ask us about the disappearance of Mack, the Professor, and the old woman down the street.

2.  The beautiful blue and white unfixed male whose owner, when he gets mad at the dog, slaps it with the end of his leash, while the dog just stands there now cowering or submitting in the least.  Well, come on.  That’s a disaster waiting to happen and we all know it.

3.  The staffie next door.  He already catches and fetches!  If that’s not a pit bull gone wrong, I don’t know what is.

4.  The white puppy next door.  After 180 consecutive days of listening to it whine, a concerned neighbor breaks in the house, frees the puppy from wherever it is, and locks the owners in.  I’m all for crating your dogs.  But if it’s continually whining, it needs something–the crate covered in such a way as to make it feel more secure, a ticking clock, something that smells like you.  I don’t know what, but something.  Poor guy.