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Cavalry to the rescue

There is a certain crazed energy in a 5 year old that is terrifying and awesome to behold.

There is also a certain vibe you get from a mom that is just burnt out and done with it all.

Its in her stare, her lack of reaction, no matter what that evil little beast does to her that tells the world on a very primal level – “I DON’T GIVE A FUCK!”

The 5 year old, let’s call him Damian. (If you get that, kudos. If you don’t, you are too young and I didn’t write that for you.

Damian has so far run face first into two tables, 1 door, the counter and 3 people.

He is definitely the type of kid who wears a helmet but isn’t on a team. (Are you following this?)

Let’s hope mom left his helmet at home because this kid is not going to have a brain left by noon.

Mom is sitting at a table, cell phone in hand, not texting, just holding it.

There is a glassy eyed stare that they would have called “Shell-shocked” in WWII.

5 year olds can do that to you.

Once again, I am unbelievably grateful that my children are grown.

I don’t have that kind of energy anymore.

Much less the kind of energy that could handle the kind of sugar-fueled, hillybilly inbreeding responsible for Damian’s little one man show.

Mom is still in her chair, as out of it as if she was Michael Jackson an hour after taking his bedtime “Jesus Juice”. (For the record, Propofol is not available as an added shot in your latte at Starbucks…. Nothing? Jeez, Google it, you people are pathetic.)

If I were Damian, at this point, the police would be feeding my mother into the back of a squad car for my murder and taking statements from witnesses. (Odds are, no one would remember seeing anything. Mom puts that kind of fear into people when she gets rolling.)

In lieu of my mother, the cavalry has arrived in the form of a middle aged woman shaped roughly like a bowling ball.

Damian ran head on into her and kind of bounced off.

Before he could get up, she grabbed him by the hood part of his little hoodie and lifted him off the ground.

It was like the human version of a momma cat picking up a kitten by the scruff of the neck.

She carried him across the room and plopped him down in a seat next to his mom, who until this moment, I had not realized how ridiculously you she was. (See also – Children raising children)

Mom looked a little more alert, but was still silent.

Before she went back to the line to get her coffee, she pointed an angry chubby finger at Damian.

“You get out of that chair, I will spank your bottom.”

It was an awesome moment.

It was also one that I hope she didn’t go to jail for.

Sadly we live in this hyper sensitive society that is a pale comparison of what it used to be.

Take a good look at any protest going on and you get a good look at the fascism of the politically correct freedom. (Inverted McCarthy-ism is never pretty to look at. There is a primal schadenfreude that lingers in the back of your head if you think too long about it. Even if you dig it in a sick way for the short term, it wears on you. Like an existential migraine that you just can’t shake.)

But enough of that.

The awkward feeling that was permeating the room has begun to fade, and the world has returned to homeostasis.

Plus, my coffee just arrived, so all is well.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on March 3, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Katy, take a bow.

It turns out I am 13 years old.

I must be, that is the only thing that explains it.

I bowed to peer pressure.

I wrote a one-off blog last week.

One and done, my favorite kind.

A single turd, cast into the river of the internet and pulled away by the current, never to be seen again.

I got two complaints almost immediately.

One from someone I consider to a moron.

He could have been blowing bubbles and shitting himself and I would have taken him more serious.

But the second one was from someone that gets me, understands the humor.

Plus they texted me, that means they are trusted, I restrict who can text, most I just ignore, if I respond, that is a level above the rest. (I am like an onion, many layers and peeling them will make you cry.)

And they said one simple thing.

“That can’t be it, the story isn’t over.”

So I looked at it.

And dammit if they were not right.

So here we are, like retarded migratory birds, flying by instinct back to this literary Capistrano.

Why? Good question.

Because the story isn’t over.

I thought it was, but I am half a tard MOST of the time, so what do I know.

So, without further adieu, here it is.

The Saga of Katy – part 2

Places everyone!

Action!

And……

I got nothing.

I really should take better notes.

But the overwhelming majority of these are put stream of consciousness.

Like a fart in a high wind, makes an ugly statement, but just as fast, its gone.

So, when in doubt, start at the beginning.

And where is the beginning.

Simple.

Coffee.

A free cup of coffee, given to me by the manager, along with a cookie for being out on the patio when the Sheriffs and Children’s Services arrived to deal with the most out of control baby factory I have ever seen. (The manager must be new. Most managers will apologize profusely for bad happenings, but as a general rule, they will NEVER give you free product.)

Half naked, filthy, ill-mannered brood, the lot of them.

Everyone likes to say, babies and children are all beautiful.

To this, I ask:

Why is your head up your ass? Is it for the warmth? Then put on a coat, AND PULL YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS.”

Katy is a shitty mother with ugly kids.

You’re goddam right I said it.

Some kids are fugly and Katy’s kids have a dose of fugly that matches their mother’s attitude.

Speaking of attitude, thru the glass, I see that Katy has given up berating the Children’s Services agent, and gone after the larger of the two sheriffs. (The Children’s Services is like an emotional duck, letting all that shit slide off of her back.)

She is up in his face, in a manner of speaking. (She would have to be a foot and a half taller to actually be in his face, they are both terrifying specimens of Homo-Sapian. The smaller one is 6’4 or so.)

Sheriffs are an amazing bunch.

They are quite often the most gentle of the law enforcement officers you will run into.

Right up until you touch them.

Which Katy just decided was appropriate.

Balling up her long nails into a fist, she pulled back her hand and swung it at the upper chest of a man wearing a bullet proof vest that is rated for heavy caliber.

What she hit, was the top of his palm as his fingers closed around her wrist.

It was so smoothly done that it was like they had practiced it.

Whatever Katy officially did to get them here is now a secondary charge.

Attempted assault of a sheriff is dumb in and of itself.

But then it hit me.

Katy was dealing with possibly the only authority figure she has ever dealt with.

Because you can tell from her demeanor and bearing that she definitely had no respect for the shitbag that raised this little honey.

I was just finishing my cookie when they were feeding Katy into the back of the Sheriff’s cruiser.

Another sheriff and a nondescript woman in a cheap suit that screamed “CHILDREN’S SERVICES M-FER” pulled up in a large SUV.

In short order, they fed Katy-brood into the back of the SUV.

The kids did not even appear to be upset, like they were used to it.

And thus ends the Saga of Katy, or maybe its just the beginning.

So thats the end of my viewing of the Saga of Katy.

The cookie is gone, Katy and the kids are gone, and the coffee is cold.

And coffee, unlike vengeance, is never enjoyable when its cold.

 
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Posted by on September 2, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Weeping for the future.

I realize that my attitude and general intellectual elitist attitude can put some people off and throw their panties in a twist.

Which is kind of why the email war happened this week.

First of all, I was an alter boy.

If that doesn’t tell you what kind of moral high ground I am coming at you from, I can’t help you.

So trust me when I tell you, I know me some morals.

So you can’t send me a hate email proclaiming my general evilness while doing so in much the same way I crossed the evil finish line.

Because I will be the first to call bullshit.

Thats like trying to end gun violence by shooting every gun owner.

Stabbing would most likely be allowed, but I am not on the rules committee.

Please understand that I am not here to engage in a debate on the subject of your choice.

And if you email me with complaints, my whole goal becomes this twisted revenge filled plot that even Machiavelli would have had trouble sorting out.

My email responses take on the equivalence of a literary sucker nut punch.

I am not necessarily proud of that, nor am I ashamed.

And my victory comes when you are to angered to continue and I get your final response of an obscene phrase, all in caps, with some sort of claim that this argument that you started is somehow beneath you now.

Pussy.

Don’t step up if you can’t throw down.

And then I can get on with my day.

Because I have shit to do.

But Katy, however, does not.

Katy? Who the hell is Katy. you may be asking?
Katy is just the girl who can’t can’t say no, to steal a line from Oklahoma.

She has six kids, she has 2 inch long nails, a pair of what should be illegal daisy dukes and the total inability to keep her legs together.

And she is parked on the stone patio sipping a latte with her evil brood.

And evil they are.

First of all, there is a BO stench coming off of them that is criminal in nature.

That alone puts her on my shit list.

It takes time to bath young ones, I raised two of my own, I know the drill.

But Katy is not putting in the time.

She is too busy being popular to mess with that shit.

And the Lord of the Flies re-enactment going on in front of me is tearworthy at the least.

The Saga of Katy’s kids:

Two of them are involved in digging the flowers out of the planter.

One of them has had his right finger up his nostril for so long, I think it may be attached.

What appears to be the oldest will not stop pushing one of the little ones down onto the ground.

One baby girl child has taken off her fouled diaper and is walking around with a naked bottom.

And what is Katy doing?

Texting and Snap-Chatting, because she does not have anything else to do.

Aside from raising a generation of serial killers or at least minor league felons, she may be the poster child for the fall of Western civilization.

I usually listen in, but rarely get involved with the animals in the zoo.

Today, I may make the exception.

Raise your kids any way you want as long as you are actually raising the kids and not just sitting on your ass making more kids and collecting more checks.

Is there any fucking morals left in the world or is it not PC to call this little honey a ho?

Its like an episode of Jerry Springer going on right in front of me.

You know who would get a kick out of Katy and her unique method of child rearing?

Children’s Services.

But I get the feeling that they already know Katy pretty well.

However, there are times that Karma gets off its lazy ass and does its damn job.

I began to see more than a few faces at the windows inside the Starbucks.

And then I saw them, murky thru the glass.

The Sheriff’s are here.

Along with a mystery guest.

She is a very tired looking woman in a plain semi-business suit.

She has children’s services written all over her like a tattoo on her forehead.

As the sheriff’s enter the patio, I recognize one of them as an acquaintance who I have done obstacle course races.

He gives his head a quick jerk to the inside and I recognize my que.

I move my little party to the inside.

My sheriff friend knows I blog, and doesn’t mind it, so if he thinks my being in here is better, I will roll with that.

As the door closes, I know why.

Katy erupts with language she should in all rights, never allow around her kids.

It is muted, but I can hear her call the Children’s Services woman by her name.

It appears that they are old friends.

“Sorry about that. Hopefully, this helps make up for the unpleasantness.”

The voice pulls me out of my musings.

The manager is holding a plate with a cookie and a steaming cup of coffee.

I smile and nod and take the plate.

I am amused that the manager thought this bother me.

I bite into the cookie and chase it with a sip of coffee.

Thru the window, I see Katy yelling in the children’s services lady’s face.

Dinner and a show.

And the coffee is hot.

PART 1 of 2

 
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Posted by on August 26, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The old woman in the shoe needs to stop fucking.

I have no idea if this is even medically possible, but, does there come a point where a woman’s lady parts just fall out and scurry out the door like a deranged rat from ill use?

This may be dirty, but not how you think.

I am talking about childbirth.

And I am not even targeting the easy one. The tv show, 19 And Counting.

I am talking about a true reality show going on at El Pollo Loco right now.

You could hear this family before they hit the front door.

Some people teach their kids to be polite in public and not scream an some don’t.

I would like you to meet Ms. Some Don’t.

You might think 13 children might be too many for one person to handle.

And you would be right.

Mrs. Some Don’t does not appear to have a lot of personal skills, like child rearing or discipline, herself or the kids.

However, she can lay prone and kiick out children like a motherfucker.

Watching the woman try to order and keep her kids from killing each other or burning the El Pollo Loco to the ground is like watching a blind man with down syndrome trying to herd kittens.

It stopped being amusing 5 seconds after the first one came thru the door.

I don’t see a wedding ring, so I can only assume that this is a solo adventure.

Feminists will tell you that a woman does not need a partner to have a child.

Can it be done by one person?

Sure.

But, to quote Chris Rock, you can drive your car with your feet if you want to, but that doesn’t make it a good fucking idea.

And then, the part that really pissed me off happened.

She is paying for lunch for her pack of rudeness with WIC.

Welfare, for those who don’t know.

Great, I am paying for this little production of Our Town. Awesome. (It may take a village, but get off your ass.)

I realize this will piss some of you off, that I am not celebrating the joy of life and the new American Dream.

Where everything is free, except for those of us who pay taxes, we’re the suckers that get to pay for room, board, medical, and college for anyone and everyone.

Fine, call me a rotten bastard, I stopped caring 2 weeks after I started this blog. If video games desensitize you to violence then this blog has desensitized me to holding my tongue and not screaming BULLSHIT when I see it.

I am a firm believer in carrying your own weight, and if you can’t afford something, don’t put yourself in that situation. Wipe your own ass.

I can only imagine the shit storm of hate mail I will get from this.

(And if you think I am kidding, consider the fact that I got 14 emails over my use of the phrase “Unholy bitch” a few weeks ago. Whining fucking maggots…)

As I write this, a total of 4 kids have been kicked out of the kitchen and two were involved in a salsa fight over at the condiments bar.

Mom has yet to open her mouth or chastise anyone.

My mother would have beat my ass for the antics I am witnessing.

I wonder if I could talk my mom into heading over here and beating the ass off of Ms. Some Don’t.

Based on my observations of Ms. here, Mom would make short work of this lazy carcass.

But, and I am going by personal memory here, the ass-whipping would pale in comparison to the verbal ripping she will be getting at the same time. (And don’t try telling her you won’t do it again, it just prolongs the ass-whipping.)

 
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Posted by on September 12, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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I just met a girl named Maria…..

I am sitting in the Starbucks at the mall, doing what I do.

Which is listen in. Rude as it gets.

You have to bear with me on this one, my Spanish is rusty as hell.

Luckily, the young couple next to me at the Galleria Starbucks is switching back and forth between English and Spanish.

I love West Side Story, so here is the story of Tony and Maria.

Tony is Latino and looks to be about 12. He has all the characteristics of a guy in his mid to late teens. Maria is a Latina who is carrying a few pounds and appears to be about 13 years old.

They have 2 kids together.

I wondered at first if I miss-heard that, but it was repeated, so it must be true.

Children having children. (From the look and mannerisms of Tony, dumb kids having kids

Also, it appears that Tony is several months behind on what sounds a lot like child support.

Maria has made several comments about her abwella, or something like that. (After checking with my chola barber, it was abuela, grandmother in spanish.)

She is mellowing, but started out really pissed at him. Tony, however, understands how to shut her down.

Not 5 minutes into the conversation, she is laughing and slapping playfully at his hand.

Shit.

Not that I am against young love as a general thing, but this whole little scenario puts the vice on my butt something fierce.

What percentage of this generation is sitting in front of me?

How many more kids will Maria have with Tony before they get their lives together?

Or at least graduate high school.

Just kidding, I realize that they probably won’t graduate high school.

That is not necessarily a racial thing. I think everyone in their mid to late teens are complete morons, with few exceptions.

People in that age range should not be allowed to make any serious decisions for themselves.

But thats just me.

Although, maybe some of the tougher decisions in life should be made before you can acquire enough experience to chicken out.

The scary stuff.

Marriage, the military, Amway.

Of the three, I am in favor of marriage and the military.

But Amway is a fucking cult.

Lets get back to Tony and Maria before I get all the way up on my soap box.

The sad fact is, they are a small percentage of the other Tony and Maria’s out there, cranking out children like an assembly line.

I saw an article that stated that a lot of kids have kids because it allows them to do something important in their life.
As an esteem builder.

Kind of a self improvement thru reproduction.

I will laugh at that line for a few minutes and then I realize that there is a pretty good shot that I will be paying taxes to keep Maria and the kids in food and huggies for a good long time.

And I won’t even be invited to the family BBQs.

 

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Posted by on September 23, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Open Seseme…

Oscar the grouch.

Represent, bitches.

Oscar was a grumpy shit way back when. Back when you were young enough to get in trouble for being in a bad mood.

I think it had to do with living in a trash can and being the unspoken homeless guy on the show.

Bert and Ernie had a house and they didn’t seem to have jobs at all. They were either mediocre kids, living without parents or retarded adults who might be gay.

Take your pick.

Back to Oscar.

I seem to end up dealing with the homeless a lot on this blog and I can’t figure out if it is an obsession or just good choices on writing content.

I saw a new Muppet Movie is coming out and it got me thinking about Oscar.

Oscar came at us during a time in our life when we were being bombarded with vanilla, black and white views of life. The cartoons reflected either a good guy or a bad guy. The good guys were always good and the bad guys were always bad.

And then there was Oscar.

Oscar was a good guy that bitched about everything. but everyone seemed to like, and he was just kind of made fun of, but he spoke his mind and was more or less accepted by the majority.

All without getting a time out.

I am seeing scary similarities between myself and Oscar.

And, in a way, I kind of like that.

Oscar pretty much demanded that you accept him and his shitty attitude at face value. He taught us to be pushy and outspoken way before that was allowed by school or our parents.

And never once did he get the recognition.

Hell, some of us have personalities based on it.

Willy the grouch.

Has a nice little ring to it, ay?

When my kids were growing up, I started watching Sesame Street again. I was a little twisted up by it at first.

The Muppets were puppets and never aged, so all my old friends were still vibrant and funny.

But the people changed.

They were older and what was once friendly and helpful was now kind of creepy and moist? and made me afraid to leave my kids alone in the same room with them.

But I got over it and sat with my daughter and clapped and sang. Daddy stuff.

And then your kids grow up and, at least mentally, you put the Muppets on the shelf again.

Until the grand kids show up. Then you can watch again.

And I will still be creeped out by the overly sugary-sweet delivery of the cast of humans then, too.

But the Muppets will still be there.

And, fuzzy pound for fuzzy pound, Kermit the Frog is the elder statesman of childrens television. He kicks the shit out of Spongebob with one thin furry arm held behind his back with a little black stick.

And he will bitch slap Hello Kitty without working up a sweat.

Although, Hello Kitty has a Japanese following that is fanatical and well monied, so maybe that’s a bad comparison.

Getting back to Oscar the Grouch, I like to think he was a roll model for some, if not all of us.

He catered to the inner asshole.

Thank you Oscar.

I would follow you into Muppet hell, you magnificent fuzzy bastard.

 
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Posted by on September 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Sorry to bother you…

Every now and then, I meet a total stranger that just pisses me off without warning.

And I think that the parents out there will be joining me in the pissed off realm.

By the way, I am a father of two.

I ride my bicycle to work some days, mainly because its southern California and you kind of feel like you have to.

Manhattan Beach is a beautiful place. There are times that it catches you off guard and throws you for a loop. It mostly has to do with money and the people who have too damn much of it.

There is a little side street off of the main drag in downtown Manhattan. It is a one way and has a parking garage on one side and restaurants on the other.

I come rolling around the corner and see something a little odd.

There is a baby in the middle of the street.

Take a second and let that one sink in.

There is a baby in the middle of the street.

This is not the set of boys in the hood, with a crack baby in the middle of the street.

This is Manhattan beach. It would take about five minutes to ride far enough to find a house worth less than a million dollars.

A car is stopped a half block away, rolling an inch at a time, the driver reluctant to come further.

I start flying towards the kid.

I all but screech to a stop, putting my bike between the kid and the car, who has come to a complete stop.

There is a woman walking slowly up the walk pushing a stroller.

She is on her cell phone. I have a cell phone too, but at that age, my daughter was either at home, in her stroller, or had her hand in mine, without exception.

“HEY MOM!”

In retrospect, I think I yelled a little too loud, or maybe not, after all….

THERE WAS A FUCKING BABY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET!

The woman turned around startled. She keeps talking on the phone and begins to saunter back towards me.

As she gets close, I give her a WTF? look.

She blows it off, glaring at me and picks up the baby.

As she walks off, a snatch of her cell phone conversation drifts back.

“-some guy being an asshole.”

Right.

I am pissed and confused and angry and hurt and about five other things, and for the first time in a god damned looooooong time, I am speechless.

I want to rip her a new one, but I really am pretty stunned by what just happened.

I roll out of the way and let the car roll by.

The passenger side window rolls down as the car goes by.

“YOU STUPID BITCH!”

And he drives off.

Here, here.

I cannot agree with you more.

Perhaps not with profanity, but with a stern voice, I could have talked to her and …..no. That would not have worked.

I should have called her a stupid bitch. That is what is really bugging me. For those that hang up on that word, sorry, but it really does fit.

Because then, god forbid something happen due to her lack of common sense, maybe she would get it. She would agree in the back of her head.

She is a stupid bitch.

 
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Posted by on September 13, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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10 years of remembrance

And a lot of whining and bitching.

Its 9/11 and I am thinking about water boarding.

On the day we watched people die, there was a rolling wave of outrage that rippled through out the land.

Think what you want about President Bush now, but he was awesome during that time.

We chased that rotten shit head Ben Ladin all thru the mountains and couldn’t catch him.

And then the whining began.

Waterboarding was screamed at in the news as being torture.

Except that it wasn’t.

The reporter from CNN had it done to him on camera by an ex CIA agent. Within 30 seconds of being waterboarded, he was back on camera, microphone in hand.

WTF?

How is something so terrible that the media screams that we are hideously torturing people if it leaves no damage and is being done by reporters to make a good story.

John McCain can tell you about some torture.

Broken knee, broken shoulder. Stabbed in the ankle and the groin. Cracked ribs, broken teeth.

That is torture.

Waterboarding is tough, to be sure, not something you want to do, unless you can benefit from it. But it is not torture.

Put an Ohio state shirt on the waterboardee, pour beer on them and have them sing the Ohio State fight song?

Its a hazing prank.

The big argument is that torture doesn’t work.

Then explain why every society since the dawn of time has used it. Because it doesn’t work?

Morally, they don’t want it to work. They hate that there was actually terror plots blocked because of info gained by waterboarding.

The argument should be, should we use torture.

The answer is no.

But waterboarding is not torture.

Let me say that one again. Waterboarding is not torture.

There is no permanent damage. It scares people. Scaring people is not torture.

If so, zombie films are torture. They scare the shit out of me.

How dare you violate my civil rights like that.

I think that one of the saddest things about the anniversary of 9/11 is that it has been a decade of whining and accusations. Should we have done this? Should we have invaded there? With a war on, we have had people who disagree with the president calling childish names and definitely giving the impression that they can change our minds with violence and threats.

These are the same people that piss and moan when you question Obama.

Usually, they call you a racist for disagreeing with him.

Here are the basic facts. Due to what they claim are valid reasons, terrorists hijacked a total of 3 planes. They ran 2 of them into the Twin Towers. The towers fell.

2996 dead.

Another plane crashed, after the passengers tried to overpower the hijackers.

127 dead.

Al Qaeda hailed it as a victory. And, I guess if you think you were in a war at the time, it was.

So how can they bitch when we begin scouring the planet to ferret them out like vermin.

Fuck em. I am tired of caring what anyone outside of this country thinks.

The one thing I would like more than anything is to get the opinions of people I have never met.

The ones that died on 9/11.

However, they aren’t talking.

And I hope that silence is never forgotten like it has been for the last 10 years.

God Bless.

 
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Posted by on September 12, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Old School Evil Couple.

This is an early argument that a friend reminder me of, that I had all but forgot.

And it involves my favorite couple.

The Evil Couple.

For those new to the blog, the Evil Couple are simply a couple that comes into Starbucks near my office andhas the most uncomfortable arguments where Mrs, Evil treats Mr. Evil (And everyone else around) like shit she found on her shoe. My favorite description is that she treats you like a moron and she is sick of your shit. That little statement is as accurate now as when I first wrote it.

As a visual, Mr. Evil is a doctor (Always wearing scrubs), he has a local practice in Manhattan Beach. He is mid 40’s to 50’s, good looking, and you would trust your health to him.

Mrs. Evil is a conundrum that confuses and delights me, excites and shames me.

She is mid to late 30’s. She wears thick gray sweats, the kind that muscle guys in the 70’s wore, an over sized t-shirt without a bra. Watching her for a few seconds tells you this. When she turns to the side and her breasts (Impressive DD’s) take a second to catch up, you know something is up. Her hair would be long and blond, however, it is never styled and is worn in kind of a low rise blond afro.

This was the only way I have ever seen her dress.

Until recently. Apparently, she is in real estate, and when she is dressed up for work, I have not seen a woman this stunning for a long time.

When she rips into her husband or anyone around her, the entire encounter is made that much more evil by the fact that she has a Russian accent. It shouldn’t, but it does make a difference.

Enough background, on with the shit.

They were waiting for me when I got to Starbucks. The gods smiled and the table next to them was open.

Good. I hate trying to listen in from a few tables away.

Rude? Yes. Fascinating? Absolutely.

Anyway, the argument was just warming up when I got there.

The twins, it seems, were just starting a new school and the question was, “Should they be in the same class?”

“They will be picked on if they are apart, you know this.” Mrs. Evil has a way of ending her sentance that seems to imply that you are simply confused.

“They need to learn to rely on themselves, not on each other.” He is the calm cool voice of reason.

And she could care less.

“Why is it so important to you that they be unhappy?” He voice can drip sarcasm like no other.

“I don’t want them to be unhappy. Miss Cormack said-”

“She was a whore of a teacher, she spent so much time trying to show you her tits. She was a pig.” She finished with a definitive sip of her latte.

Mr. Evil says nothing. What do you say, really? The argument has shifted from arguing about the classroom assignments of the kids, to whether or not their old teacher (?) was a whore. I am a little shocked she hasn’t accused him of sleeping with her.

“I never noticed that sort of behavior.” Mr. Evil’s voice takes on the tone of someone that knows he is fucked, no matter where it goes from here.

“You loved it, go lie to someone else.”

I spoke too soon. I need to be more patient.

His phone chirps like a boon from the gods. The tension seems to breaks a bit.

They begin texting for a few minutes as if they are not in the middle of an argument.

And maybe they aren’t.

Maybe this is the way they interact on the day to day. A friend of mine once gave the opinion that she does this to drive their sex life, and that she must go with him to work and have make up sex either in the elevator or in his office.

At first, I dismissed such a twisted scenario. Maybe there is more to it than I saw then. Maybe twisted is how you have to view it. You have to twist yourself up or it makes no sense.

To quote Mr. Spock, “In an insane society, a sane man must be viewed as insane.”

God, I miss Star Trek.

 
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Posted by on September 2, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Of all the Gin joints in all the world…

There is a Starbucks in Hawthorne that always has their AC running when I go there.

I call it the Freezer.

Thank god they serve hot coffee there, because at 59 degrees, hypothermia can set in with iced coffee before you can finish your blueberry scone.

I got in line behind two people and when I finally stood in front of the cashier, my nipples were like little rocks, no lie.

I got my cup of addiction and had a seat.

Its not a Starbucks I go to that often, mainly because I gave my parka to Goodwill when I moved back to LA from Portland Oregon.

Just as I was setting up my laptop, I saw her come in.

Wow.

Every now and then you see someone with the beautiful gene and the intelligence to present it.

Stunning woman. Average height, maybe mid-thirties. Business suit cut well enough to accentuate an incredible build without being slutty. (Harder than you think.) Just beyond shoulder-length blond hair styled very feathery without going near “Jersey Hair.” Mirrored sun glasses hid what had to be blue eyes, and a flawless, perfect mouth.

I had this feeling that I knew her, My mind kept telling me that was impossible, she had the type of looks you remember seeing.

With her was a younger man in a business suit. He had that look of being just a step above car salesman.

Real estate agent.

I usually do my best not to stare, but I step over into rude often enough that I may just retire there and get it over with.

They got their coffee and sat down at a table just behind me.

Miss Gorgeous sat less than a foot behind me.

“A few good prospects today, the Asian lady kept telling her husband they would love living there. This should sell quickly.” The young guy had a salesman’s voice, suave and assured.

“She smelled like dead fish, I hated them.” The woman’s voice drifted back, cultured and European.

Oh shit…..I felt a chill make its way up my spine and raise every hair on the back of my neck.

I know that voice. I have written several thousand words about this woman.

My ass went into full clinch with recognition.

Mrs. Evil. Couple.

It was one of those moments where, to quote one of my favorite comics, “The left half and the right half of the brain come to a screeching halt. The left says to the right, Its dark in here, and we may die.”

This evil, rotten…..the only word that comes to mind is bitch, but it doesn’t carry enough venom. I would use the C word, but it isn’t broad enough in scope.

To suddenly have the image of an incredibly beautiful woman mixed in with memories of personally witnessing her absolute disdain for everyone and everything around her was almost too much to take.

Her voice pulled my tortured mind back to the present.

“Why did you keep talking about your sister? You kept going on and on, it was very uncomfortable. I doubt we will get any offers because of it.”

“What?” The young guy seemed confused, suddenly slammed. “We were talking about family and siblings. I didn’t think it seemed out of place.” There was doubt in his voice.

She pounced on it. “It was creepy, I thought she was an ex lover until you said she was your sister.”

That got him. “I really think that’s uncalled for.” He was indignant and rightfully so.

Not that it would help. He went for an end to the subject. “We’ll just agree to disagree.”

Take that disagree and cram it, buddy. You have no clue who you are messing with.

“You remind me of my cousin.” She changed the subject without warning.

“Huh, what cousin?” The young guy was off balance.

“He is young, a drug addict, he sucks old men for money. He would agree with you, you seem very similar.“

It was a football punt to the nut sack that the kid never saw coming. It was insulting on several levels at once.

He sputtered for a few moments, then just got up and left without saying a word.

I looked at the front counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her watching him go.

She made a noise that sounded like she was chuckling.

I wanted to turn around so badly, but I reminded myself that Mr. and Mrs. Evil Couple had no idea that they occupied such a prominent place in my life. Mainly as entertainment, but still.

When she spoke, I thought at first she was talking either out loud or to me. Then I realized she was on her phone.

“I don’t want to work with Henry again, he ruined the open house.” Sounded like the boss on the phone.

“I think he was high today, he hit on the wives, and a few of the husbands, I think.”

The buzz on the phone was someone outraged.

“Don’t worry, I have an offer to submit, one of my clients texted me on the way to Starbucks.”

The conversation must have changed, I couldn’t hear anything else on the phone, but I knew real estate people.

The broker she worked for may or may not believe her, but in real estate, or just sales in general, you go with the hot hand. If she was selling big, the young guy would be thrown under the bus without hesitation.

I love this woman.

There is something just old school menacing about her. Like the evil queen in the Disney version of Snow White, but with a better ass. The fact that she cleaned up into a stunner only served to make it all hotter and more shameful at the same time. It was one of those situations that was exhilarating, and at the same time, you just felt dirty.

She might be the antichrist.

Before anyone goes off on that comment, I didn’t say she was, I said she might be. All I know is that she is married to a doctor, lives in the tree section of Manhattan Beach, and gave birth to twins about ten years ago.

Absolutely nothing to connect her to most of Revelations.

Unless of course the twins are named Famine and Pestilence.

 
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Posted by on August 23, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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