These Truths I Hold Self Evident

I like my coffee the way I like women: blonde and creamy
I like my coffee the way I like women: hot and wet
I like my coffee the way I like women: steamy and in large cups
I like my coffee the way I like women: fullbodied
I like my coffee the way I like women: first thing in the morning
I like my coffee the way I like women: strong and keeping me up all night
I like my coffee the way I like women: dribbling down my chin
I like my coffee the way I like women: drunk, horny, writhing on my living room floor, and dressed up in a catholic schoolgirl’s uniform with her skirt hiked up around her waist exposing her one-size-too-small, slightly wet panties, and letting out barely audible, breathy little moans.

Sand Trap

I took Monday off early to go a golf tournament with a bunch of the guys. Now I’m no Chi Chi Rodriguez (I’d prefer his name to his golf game personally), but I did all right last year. This year was a different story.

I hadn’t yet golfed this year, I hadn’t even picked up my clubs and gone to the driving range this summer. I don’t know what I was thinking when I figured I would try and play a straight 18 holes right out of the gate, no warm up, and over a year cold. Oh, wait, yeah I do… I was thinking, “Fuck it!” Well my fuck it attitude cost me dearly. As it tends to do. Blisters, a sunburn, and last place makes for a rough round. I’ve got about five blisters on my had that began to develop at around hole 4, were burst by hole 6, and rubbed raw the reminder of the holes. My nose is once again a drunk shiny red. Winning the princess jacket has scarred both my pride and respect. Yes, those 18 holes cost me dearly. But you know what, I’d do it all again tomorrow for another sunny afternoon off of work, in the park, with a white ball, free beer, and battery operated transportation.

Embarrassed, Alternatively

I was somehow up and at the Cherry Creek Arts Festival before noon on Monday. It was pretty good. There were a bunch of the same artists that were there two years ago (I didn’t go last year) that I really enjoy (Jamie Perry, John Harris) and a handful of new ones that I really enjoyed (Kathleen Eaton). Gijyun might be interested to know I saw a “performance” by the two-fisted rock-me artist. He “did” Bono. Mostly it made me giggle, stare at my shoes and shake my head, and become embarrassed, alternatively. It was pretty hot there so I didn’t spend as much time looking around as I had previous times. It was a pleasant afternoon.

The Stench

It had been a long time since I had done my dishes. I tackled the project last night but it sucked because the smell was absolutely horrendous. I actually gagged a little at first. Then I lit some incense in the kitchen just to drown out whatever it was that smelt like dogshit in my sink. Well everything is all scrubbed and cleaned and sparkling now but it was awfully trying at first.

One time, when I was living with Oats, there was a stink that was coming from the kitchen. We couldn’t quite place where the smell was coming from. It seemed to be emanating from somewhere near the sink but it would waft and gasp throughout the kitchen making its source hard to place. So naturally we thought it must be from the wastebasket we kept under the sink. I immediately took the trash out to the dumpster, despite the fact that the basket was only half full. Sometimes it only takes one foul item to make a completely offensive statement. The next day the stench had returned. After a sniffing session that still resulted in no known source, Oats went about completely cleaning the kitchen. This kept the kitchen area smelling of sterile-sweet citrus 409 for a couple of days. But after that, the malodorous funk was back to haunt us with its rancid vapor. We decided that the smell must be emanating from the garbage disposal unit. A couple of days later, after running a swimming pool worth of water and soap down the drain, Oats went and bought a new disposal unit. After the unit was installed, we had suspected we were in the clear. Our suspicions were inaccurate and faulty. The odor did not want to leave. Just when Oats was starting to panic that her kitchen was going to be forever unusable, it was discovered that putrid fetor was issuing forth from an African Violet that I had place by the flour and sugar jars. I was humiliated and feeling guilty that I had let my plant cause all of this havoc. I’m not sure why this plant had stunk so violently. Possibly it had some sort of root rot or something. I’ll never be sure. But I do know, from then on I have kept all my African Violets healthy and happy. And when Oats demurely lets a little flatulence slip on by, I’ll thoughtfully let her place full blame on my leafy green friends.

Cause It’s Got No Pressure

It’s pretty much guaranteed I stink to high hell right now. I’ve been sick all weekend, not deathly ill, but enough to make me roll around in sweaty hot flashes while sleeping. And I didn’t shower yesterday. Why shower when you’re not feeling well? Why bathe when it’s known that you won’t be leaving the sofa, let alone the apartment, all day? It’s allowed. I allow myself to wallow in my own sick when I actually am sick. So when I woke up this morning and the water pressure in my apartment was shot, I mean it wasn’t even trickle pissing, I was a little disappointed. I waited for about fifteen minutes before I went down and bitched to the manager who had no real excuse and said she had already called the landlord but didn’t know when it would be fixed. So I grabbed a pitcher half full of water from watering plants the night before and dumped it over my head so as to semi-style my hair. Then I put deodorant on my unwashed pits, which is, let’s face it, really just putting perfume on the pig. I used the last of the water in my Brita filter to brush my teeth and swallow vitamins. I’ve still got four days worth of stubble on my chin and cheeks. So I avoided as much interaction with office-mates as I could today, feeling sorry for them cause I can smell my own ripeness sitting here at my computer. Good god I hope the water pressure is back when I get home.