441: Want

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I WANT.

I want five days of peace and quiet, a good night’s restorative sleep, my significant other, a ceiling fan, Egyptian sateen cotton sheets and a good supply of dark, bitter-sweet chocolate.

Then, I want about six uninterrupted hours of mind-blowing games that have absolutely nothing to do with a computer. Give and receive. Rode hard and put up wet. I want to be so tired after, that it will be all I can do to sleep. So tired there are no dreams. And no snoring, either.

I want at least two hours in a 104 degree scented, jetted hot tub, with wine coolers, or hot brandy toddies – either way. Cuddle buddy and some more chocolate. And no swimsuits, either. Terry cotton robes and slippers, massage oil and warmed hands.

I want a sparkling blue day by the pool, with a thick, thirsty towel on the lounger, and deliciously silky water with that thick hot layer on top and the cooler layer underneath.  Strong arms towing me around and sleek limbs intertwining in that perfect, bathtub water. And sun tanning oil. Lots of coconut-scented tanning oil, even if we are not tanning.

I want fresh-cut and ground pesto with whole wheat crackers, jalapeno jack cheese cubes and sliced Granny Smith apples, honey for dipping and whipped cream in the can for fun. Maraschino cherries with the stems.  Jack Daniels whiskey and Amaretto, sangria with orange slices.  No ice.  Honey-baked Virginia ham, spiral-sliced.  Hot chocolate a la Simone Evans, with Benedictine and cinnamon. Fresh, unsalted almonds.

I want hot beach sand, cool ocean waves and a cooler full of iced beer with lime. An ocean-pearled sunset and a campfire, with marshmallow S’mores and both red and yellow-meat watermelon slices. Ten pounds of sweet black cherries, fresh and crisp, tart and juicy. The salt taste of man on my tongue, and the dark scent of musky, warm man all over me. Slow, nibbling kisses that taste of me. That mustache.

I want gentle fingers that tickle and tease, and have no concept of time passing, merely cognizant of pleasure given. I want to bury my nose in the scented places and breathe in that glorious, signature scent that no one else has, and that cannot be bought in a bottle. I want a shower of warm water and thick ropes of soap, slippery hands and steamy mirrors. The shock of ice and the gentle heat of second-hand hot sauce.

I WANT.

440: Put your neck right here….

…while I choke the ever-loving dog crap out of you.

I was working on my last surviving nerve, and you just stomped all over it.

BITE ME.

Take yourself back into your rotten office

and amuse yourself again today (during working hours) on Facebook

and save the rest of us the aggravation

of you actually attempting to accomplish anything of note or worth mention,

because all of us here would just as soon

that you entertain yourself mindlessly (again today) and

let the rest of us do our jobs unmolested,

you prime example of a POS.

There.

I feel better.

Back to work, after this much-needed, therapeutic catharsis.

439: It’s MY Opinion

I, too, have an opinion.

Sometimes there is research and experience that back up what I think about something

and sometimes it is what I think about something, period.

I don’t give a good rat’s ass what you think about what I think.

I think it, so there it is.

I have my reasons, and those reasons are sometimes nunyabizness.

You can think what you want to think (you do anyway)

and you can damn well leave me to think what I want to think, too.

If I am supposed to change my views (due to your reasons), then,

dammit,

you are supposed to change your views (according to my reasons).

If you don’t like that idea, then keep your mouth shut around me.

I will do my best to return the favor.

 

438: Female Costumes

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WHY are all the Halloween (and other event) female costumes for purchase always the harlot version of something? Harlot policewoman, harlot nurse, harlot soldier, harlot witch, harlot cheerleader (oops, I repeat myself), harlot nun (!), harlot teacher, harlot lawyer, harlot fill-in-the-blank. What is up with this nonsense? I can dress as a harlot any day of the week, without having to buy any stupid costume…..um……..never mind.

437: How Your Garden Grows

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A garden is a good place to meet both yourself and God.

You meet yourself as you pull weeds on your knees

and God as you discuss with Him what went right,

and what went wrong,

and how you might can do better next time.

Weeds start out small and insignificant

and are easily pulled out by the roots, but

give them a week, unchecked,

and they turn into monsters that uproot the good stuff, too.

Don’t wait to address a problem that is still small

because it won’t stay small long.

The garden, and God,

taught me that truth.

436: Put in My Place

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This past weekend, I went along for the ride, shopping with two lady friends. This is because one of them has a vehicle, and having a car in Panama means when I buy the giant, economy-sized, 25 pound bag of cat food, I don’t have to actually physically carry it home. Since I needed only the one thing, my sojourn through the MegaDepot (Sam’s Club-style store) was fairly short, and as I checked out and paid, I realized I might have quite a wait for my friends. There were no chairs or benches.  What there WAS available were three kiddie rides: a bird/airplane, a boat, and a horse.

Never one to pass up an opportunity to have people stare, I chose the boat because it had a longer bench seat, and I figured I could perch there semi-comfortably until my friends checked out.  About five minutes later, after a few speculative glances from departing shoppers, I saw a little girl who MIGHT have been all of two feet tall running madly, making a beeline for…..yep – the kiddie rides. And ME.

As she got close, her head snapped up and she spotted me sprawled in the boat bench. She skidded to a stop, with a WTF look of complete consternation on her face – YOU are not supposed to be there, lady! Then, as I watched, I clearly saw her expression change – the determination rolled over her like a wave, and I began schooching over on the bench, because it was immediately clear she was not letting my fat, old a** slow her down a single whit.

She clambered up next to me in the boat, parked her tiny bum, folded her hands in her lap, and looked up at me, like, “Whatcha gonna do about it?” I, of course, rooted around in my bag for a quarter to start the ride. When I found one, I handed it to her, and, obviously no stranger to the rides in this store, she inserted it into the proper slot…..nothing. I shrugged my shoulders, shook my head no, and said “No funciona.” (Not working).

She briefly paused, then she clambered out of the boat and over into the bird/airplane. When she was seated, she looked at me, and imperiously held out her hand for the quarter. I handed it over. She put it into the slot of ride number two….nothing. Undeterred, she climbed out of the bird/airplane, and ran around to try the horse. When she climbed up onto it, she again extended her hand for the quarter, and I forked it over. She put it into the slot on the last chance ride….nothing. No funciona.

By then, her mom? was done checking out, and was ready to leave, but no dice. It took dad? grandpa? hauling her bodily off the horse to be able to depart. I was still snickering. And she did not want the quarter – she wanted the RIDE!