So how this whole shit started was that Martha from my office decided I needed to go out for the Fourth of July, that my drinking alcohol all alone had become a problem and that the solution to this problem was drinking alcohol around other people.
This seemed counter-intuitive to me as, in my experience, drinking alcohol all alone was the solution to my problems and not a problem in and of itself. But Martha from my office was very insistent so right away, I suspected she had ulterior motives.
The bar on the northwest side of town was built to look like some kind of a big boat and the band played Jimmy Buffett cover songs.
I suppose there may be no other way of playing them.
The ulterior motive of Martha from my office turned out to be a blue-eyed cowgirl named Ellen. Because they are always named Ellen.
Like everyone else in this big boat bar – except for me, I mean – Ellen wore a shirt with faux-pearl buttons on it and for some reason, some maniac had ironed stiff creases into her Wranglers. Of course, I knew she was gay immediately, but then I saw the belt buckle and the cowboy boots and I thought, well, hey, maybe she wasn’t out yet. Hell, maybe she didn’t even know she was gay.
Ellen the Blue-Eyed Cowgirl knew she was gay.
I drank many brightly-colored liquids – purple, green, gold – out of many shot glasses and then somehow ended up sitting on the tailgate of a pickup truck on an abandoned road somewhere while four slurring, yeehawing yokels set off disappointing fireworks before me and Ellen and Martha from my office.
Then the truck radio blared “Friends in Low Places” out into the night and everyone sang along while pretending to shoot Roman candles at each other.
I am not making this up.
As tends to happen on this sort of evening, things got a little hazy after that. I am sorry for using such a cliché, but it is the truth. I remember standing in just my underwear in a strange house. I mean, the house was not strange per se, so much as it was a house with which I was not previously familiar. That kind of strange.
And my underwear was wet and so was my hair, and Ellen the Blue-Eyed Cowgirl stood in a one-piece purple swimsuit in front of me.
She was saying something about the Rube Goldberg contraption she was holding. It looked like a large, extremely complicated slingshot that had been armed with a plastic blue projectile. A long… plastic… veined… blue projectile… almost vegetable-like, to be honest-
I remember saying, “No!”
I said, “I don’t use those!”
I said, “Seriously, don’t point it anywhere near me.”
That thing was a fucking abomination.
But Ellen the Blue-Eyed Cowgirl, she just stood there smiling and said, “Actually, I was ho-o-o-oping… that yo-o-ou… could use it… o-o-on… me-e-ee.”
Now I have a thing about strap-ons.
First, this one looked far too complicated – like some sort of weapon or torture device out of Mad Max: Fury Road – and at that moment I was only about half a beer away from needing to get my stomach pumped.
Second, the very existence of strap-ons rests on the tacit assumption that the female body is lacking some critical body part needed for giving sexual pleasure. The concept is both insulting and a lie. It demonstrates either a lack of dexterity or a latent heterosexual tendency in the user.
I could not say this to Ellen the Blue-Eyed Cowgirl, of course, because I was veering wildly in and out of consciousness.
She said, “We’ll talk about this in a minute. Everybody else is gone except Hiltskin and I’ve got to go walk him out.”
I remember thinking, “Hiltskin?” A person existed out there with the name Hiltskin? What sort of twisted world was it I had entered?
She thrust the offending device onto the bed and she left the room.
I GPS’d my location and then I texted Adri: “Can you come extract me? Say you’re my aunt or a cop or something?”
And Adri texted back: “Again?”
“10 minutes away. Keep your pants on.”
I moved into a corner as far away as I could get from the bed and the strap-on, and I waited. I leaned my head against the wall, I wrapped my arms around my knees, and I prayed.
“Dear God, if you just get me out of here in one piece, I promise never to drink around other people ever again.”
So much better than my 4th of July story.ReplyDelete
Hi, MSgt B! What's you 4th of July story?Delete
Am I the only one around here who is going to share their 4th of July story?
See, that's why you should only drink with me.ReplyDelete
... wait. I don't drink.
Oh yeah, that'swhy you should only drink with me.
Are you sure you're actually a writer? Or a dentist, for that matter?Delete
Aren't those two of the heaviest drinking demographics around?
They're also among the most suicide prone parts of the population, and I've got the suicide thing down pat. At least the suicide attempt thing.Delete
I believe that there's a reasonable chance that I probably will do it eventually. Not tomorrow, not next year, but eventually. At a certain point, enough is going to be enough, you know?Delete
Unless accidents or terrorists get there first I'd say the chances are 100% where I'm concerned. Not to be morbid but I do know exactly what you're talking about.Delete
This got me thinking.Delete
I might have to fold this into my next post.
Glad all is ok, as long as the next post isn't...ReplyDelete
Somebody's knockin', should I let her in
Lord it's the devil would you look at her
I've heard about her but I never dreamed
She'd have blue eyes and blue jeans,,,
Exactly. That's one of the many, many reasons that I don't date. The idea that I might not end up the crazy one in a relationship is too frightening to consider...Delete
I know a LOT of people who have ended up with rocks thrown through their front window in the middle of the night...
Another roadside attraction... While Katy was performing the dance of the seven veils, exposing her Tibetan peach pie, she was extracted from Villa Incognito.ReplyDelete
Later Ellen, from Fierce Invalids Home of Hot Climates, remarked "Even cowgirls get the blues because she was half asleep in frog pajamas, skinny legs and all, and smelled of Jitterbug Perfume"
BTW - Once Jimmy Hoffa is found, we can move on to finding Jimmy Buffett's lost shaker of salt.
Another still life with Woodpecker, while wild ducks are flying backwards...
Your youtube clip reminded me of Skinny Legs and All. There was a dance of the seven veils thing in there, wasn't there? And a can of beans was a major character.Delete
I once wrote an entire novel in the style of Tom Robbins. The metaphors and similes were exhausting.
Can of beans, dirty sock and Jezebel. Don't forget Jezebel.Delete
Or Isaac and Ishmael and Ellen Cherry Charles.
What do you call a collective gathering of people familiar with the novels of Tom Robbins?Delete
I do believe we have a winner.Delete
What do you call a collective gathering of people familiar with the novels of Tom Robbins?Delete
Flock of Feather Friends
I like the idea of calling it something that doesn't sound like a group.Delete
Like a murder of crows.
I was thinking a Vivid of Tom Robbins fans. "Vivid" being used prominently in Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates.
One of my exes, Big Bad Butch, loved cowboy boots and wore them almost exclusively. Along with a black leather motorcycle jacket. It was a nice combo. And she didn't need no goddamn strap-on either. Girls, just use what the good Goddess gave ya, fer chrissakes.ReplyDelete
The only thing I can figure is lesbian porn aimed at straight guys has been so pervasive and influential that even lesbians can't get out from under it.Delete
You may be the only person I've ever encountered who understands that drinking alone is less problematic for some than drinking in public. I'm home, I'm safe, I'm in familiar surroundings...the shenanigans factor is nearly mitigated. Except for Internet access, of course, but the only other option is not drinking at all. *falls down laughing*ReplyDelete
Seems like common sense to me. I don't drink socially very often at all. As in almost never. I see people drinking at get-togethers and I think, "These people have drinking problems."Delete
Of course, they probably don't drink alone in front of the television and/or computer at night.
What in the world is that middle picture?!ReplyDelete
I am just saying, that you shouldn't leave something hanging!
It's just impolite, either as a writer, or a first date.
Is the middle picture confusing?Delete
I am the master of not finishing stories. You're supposed to fill in the details yourself. It's avant garde or something - the reader does 50% of the work.
No, seriously, what is that in the picture??Delete
I have a guess, but it's inappropriate to type it out here. So we are all dying to know.
It's a picture of me leaning over the camera with my hair hanging down.Delete
Either that, or it's a picture of Manhattan on a Sunday night in February. It depends on which way you turn your head, I suppose. If you stare at it for long enough, it becomes 3-dimensional and spells out the word "Necronomicon."
You should know that when I, as any other reader would also experience, was following your storyline and wondering who was seducing whom in it, the placement of this picture would lead the mind to interpret it along the lines of the subject at hand.Delete
Only after I posted my second comment above I started to recognize the profile of your shoulders and your heavily shadowed nose.
Life is full of unintended consequences, isn't it.
I get paid per ambiguity.Delete
Wohh, did you just swap your page left-and-right?Delete
United got grounded, NYSE was shut down for 3.5 hours, WSJ lost its webpage, and now your page here flipping out like this with no notice at all??? Is Jesus coming back today?!
Great, now I can give him a piece of my mind and then commit him to an asylum where he always belonged.
Years from now, people will ask each other, "Do you remember where you were when you heard that Katy had flipped her page around?"Delete
I was surprised when the NYSE shut down over my page flip, but I suppose those guys knew what they were doing. I hope your 401K doesn't suffer.
Inebriation aside, I probably would have said yes to the contraption just for the story, but, being that you were drunk and probably only remembered the experience in fits and starts, you probably made the right decision. Besides, creased jeans? What kind of monster is this lady? Also, what does "pretending to shoot Roman candles at each other" mean? How do you pretend to do that? Oh, and how does a band play a Jimmy Buffet song worse than Jimmy Buffet? I guess it's like taking a bad meatloaf recipe and having an infant make it. "Jimmy Buffet: He's like a bad meatloaf recipe." I hope he puts that on his next album cover.ReplyDelete
Webster's Dictionary defines "pretending to shoot Roman candles at each other" as "the act of aiming Roman candles in each other's general direction."Delete
This is apparently great fun for drunk rednecks. However, I had a childhood friend who ended up taking one to the stomach and it's makes me a little nervous about it.
Did you know there are more than two Jimmy Buffett songs?
"Second, the very existence of strap-ons rests on the tacit assumption that the female body is lacking some critical body part needed for giving sexual pleasure. The concept is both insulting and a lie. It demonstrates either a lack of dexterity or a latent heterosexual tendency in the user." Yes! Katy, you're so great at telling a personal story with a social message. It's so seamless and engaging.ReplyDelete
Thanks, Ashley. The people who read my blog are mostly heterosexual and male, so I figured this would blow theiri minds as much as quantum theory or psychedelic fish would. Gay marriage is legal now, so it's time to put this urban legend to rest.Delete
Now I have a thing about strap-ons.ReplyDelete
I feel like you could have just started the post with that. Or you could start your next date with that. Just sit down and open with, "So I have a thing about strap-ons."
Also, can I just say, I'm no expert on the subject, but I do find it funny when a woman who is a lesbian (isn't attracted to men, isn't attracted to the penis) dates a woman with short hair, no boobs, masculine tendencies, dresses like a trucker (looks like a man) and enjoys a strap-on (quite literally shaped like a penis). That doesn't seem very lesbian-like.
Oh, and I'm with you on the whole drinking thing. As George Thorogood said: "When I drink alone, I prefer to be by myself."
I am not going to pretend to be smart enough to understand genetics and the part they might play in this sort of thing. But I've been to a few lesbian bars where it looks like the people could all have been twins.Delete
Twins who all happen to work as prison guards.
I'm not at all certain why or how I got the impression you had settled down. I guess we should be thankful you didn't refer to yourself as Sparky. It's the small things you know. The ones that are actually important.ReplyDelete
I'm pretty domesticated. Of course, so long as I have responsible, mature adults like Adri to pull my nuts out of the fire, I don't need to be.Delete
I can see that. No wait, I don't want to see that .... the nuts on fire thing:-)Delete
This all begs the question "why did the person with nuts on fire cross the road?"
I don't know, Lloyd. Why DID the person with nuts on fire cross the road?Delete
They saw a chicken do it.Delete
See, Lloyd, this is why I always come to you to explain life's biggest conundrums.Delete
You get much more interesting comments than me. Much more. Life is pretty dull by comparison at PIH. Take care of yourself.ReplyDelete
Hey! I comment on your site! Are you saying my comments aren't interesting?Delete
Far from it. A comment from FDM always brightens my day.Delete
You post a lot more than I do. I don't always get over there in a timely manner, but I always get over.Delete
Katy. Blue-eyed cowgirls are ruinous creatures. I had a similar experience back to the 1970's with one at Gilly's over to Smogville. She rode the bull, then wanted to ride me.ReplyDelete
"They can't brew enough Carta Blanca beer to get me to let you do that to my ass," I tried to tell her.
"You're a pussy boy," her mocking response.
Which reminds me. What's up with your hairy-legged creatures? I found a Black Widow eating a small grasshopper in my garden over the weekend. I got the magna glass to watch up close. That was a scary scene when seen the size of a saucer.
How is that possible? I watch a lot of movies and humans are never suppsoed to turn down an opportunity for sex.Delete
Sure, it's more trouble than it's worth most of the time but... it's the rule!
Still just down to the one spider, who seems just fine. Incidentally, the story behind the picture of my old spider that I use online most often has a "Full Mooner Rising" tie-in.You were the cause of the best picture of a taratula ever taken.
Leonard Cohen once wrote a really funny srory about a strap-on that became sentient.ReplyDelete
I did not know that. Someday, I'll know more about Leonard Cohen.Delete
I have two of his CD's ("I'm Your Man" and "The Future."). Both have fantastic lyrics but mind-numbingly cheesy music. It really undermines the overall effect. If I were listening to one of those albums and someone walked into the room, i would fake a medical emergency so they couldn't hear what I was playing.
Understandable. Those albums marked his return to recording after a long absence. Apparently his accountant or financial advisor absconded with all his money, which prompted his return to recording. I think he made those two albums with very little funds. He has more accompaniment now. Unbelievable that he's still going, actually, and his recent performances are extraordinarily good. I was given the DVD of this album, and it's very moving. http://www.amazon.com/Live-In-London-Leonard-Cohen/dp/B001RTP3YQDelete
Nick Cave did a cover of a Cohen song called "Avalanche - and the lyrics are pretty stunning on it.Delete
And of course, "Everybody Knows" has one of the best first verses anywhere:
"Everybody knows that the dice are loaded
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows that the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
That's how it goes
Gotta say that I love the post.ReplyDelete
But, the comments? The comments are like icing on the cake. Usually your comment section presents a whole new perspective on the post that I hadn't even contemplated. I always read the post, read the comments, reread the post!
I don't know how people find me, but my commenters are a strange and wonderful bunch. A couple of them have been around since I used to blog on Yahoo 360 and a social media site called Multiply back in 2006.Delete
And they always make it clear when I've written a dud.
I told my Fourth of July story on my own blobber... not nearly as racy as yours, except that someone almost died.ReplyDelete
Hi, Squat! You had a great 4th of July story. plus you always have the photos to go along with it, as opposed to my ongoing copyright infringement project.Delete
When I get rich, I'm going to hire you to follow me around and photograph my life.
Hurry up with that "rich" thing, Katy. I'm doing it for free, currently...Delete
Your google ads check is going to arrive one day soon and all your money problems will be over.Delete
hey katy,you crazy kid,you're a pretty funny writer.and that's one of the nicest things I ever say about someone.ReplyDelete
Thank you, Bill! I have a lot of fun writing these things and it is great to know a few people got a laugh out of what I wrote.Delete
Great 4th tale, Katy! I was once in my underwear, sitting in a State Police vehicle, tripping MAJORLY on acid, after a car wreck in which I was the only one uninjured. Had to take my clothes off because we ended up in a creek, and I was soaking wet, covered in mud and blood. Head-on collision with a truck-load of drunk rednecks. Everybody in my car was drunk as well ... except me. I was tripping. Anyway, after all the ambulances had left with my friends and the rednecks, the cop asked me if he could drive me to the hospital to check on my pals. One of 'em had part of an ear cut off. One of 'em had glass in his eyes. Stuff like that. On the way to town he got a "burglary in progress" call and said we'd have to make a detour. False alarm. Then another one. Then another. I ended up riding around with the cop all night, tripping, peaking, tripping, coming down. As the sun came up he dropped me off at the hospital, after kindly going in and getting me a gown to wear. Before he got in the car he patted me on the back and said, "Hell, you hippies ain't so bad!" True story. Wasn't the 4th though. But I WAS in my underwear.ReplyDelete
Everybody make it ok, except for the ear and glass?Delete
I can't even imagine tripping while sitting in the back seat of a police car for an extended period of time...
I mean, I get quiet when I'm on acid, but the paranoia would be terrible.
Yes, everyone survived intact ... minus part of an ear. And I was in the FRONT seat the entire time. Sitting next to the cop. Talking about ... FISHING! Something I never did. But I just made shit up since my Dad and brother both fished all the time and we lived on a lake. I think dude was just lonely.Delete
That's actually kind of awsome. When I was young, the only humane thing cops around here ever did was to steal my weed instead of arresting me for it.Delete
By the way, Sterno, I ended up writing that "How to Build a Horse" blog post I'd mentioned to you a few weeks back. It's the first WTF post I've done in a while. It doesn't involve a mutating American Gothic painting or Grover Cleveland, but by my standards, it's different.
Will check it out, certainly. Don't know why I haven't up to now. Must've been distracted.Delete
Your priorities are all messed up. Your priorities should be 1) Breathing, 2) Reading Katy's blog, 3) Eating.Delete
Katy, I am a little jealous because no one has asked me to do anything remotely like this, on the 4th of July or any other holiday. But...not that jealous.ReplyDelete