Wednesday, January 28, 2004

the time that I fucked my friend's semi-conscious girlfriend after he fled the country to escape incarceration for child pornography A few year's back when I was working for the Vitale Brothers (the muralists), there was this one artist that used to come and hang out from time to time by the name of Jose. (Imagine the accent mark on the "e" there).  Jose was this artist who was originally from Venezuela, but I guess he had been living in St. Petersburg for quite some time.  He was a big black dude, with dread locks and he talked in  kind of a dreamy, stoner voice.  He painted these very colorful paintings with lots of shades of purple in them and lots of primitive looking icons and figures, sort of like Basquiat. Maybe, a lot like Basquiat.  Jose was always very nice to me and very enthusiastic about my art and told me I should promote my work on the internet.  You see, Jose was  pretty computer savy too, and he always seemed to have a lap top computer nearby and he would show you projects he was doing on the web inbetween tokes of a joint. Anyway, the other thing about Jose was his girlfriend.  Jose's girlfriend was HOT!  She was this gorgeous little twenty year old blonde girl.  She had this cute pixie face with beautiful, blue eyes, and she had big perfect looking tits on her dainty, little frame.  I remember me and Paul Vitale would just stare at her in envy when she came over to the warehouse with Jose.  I don't think I had any girlfriend at the time, and I was desperately horney and I wondered what Jose had that I didn't have to get this perfect looking little blonde girl.  I'll call her Vicky. Anyway, when Vicky left with Jose one time I suddenly had that old Rick Springfield song pop into my head: "Jesse's girl."  It's the one that goes: I wish that I had Jesse's girl (da-nah-nah-nuh-nah-nuh) I wish that I had Jesse's girl (da-nah-nah-nuh-nah-nuh) Where can I find a woman like that! So I changed Jesse, to Jose, and sang the new version to Paul Vitale and he thought it was pretty funny.  It was a running joke between us for a while, and it was especially funny whenever Jose came over with Vicky. Well, anyway a few weeks after meeting Vicky for the first time, there was kind of strange turn of events concerning Jose.  First it just started as whispers and rumors around the warehouse.  But finally it came out that the whispers and rumors were true.  Jose was in trouble with the law.  Deep trouble.  It seems he had used to his digital camera to shoot some sort of erotic photos for a friend of his.  It may have been for some web site, I forget.  But it turned out that one of his porn models was a fourteen year old girl.  Jose's name had gotten back to the police somehow and now they wanted him for questioning.  If the police found Jose they were sure to put him in jail. I remember Jose made one last visit by the warehouse before getting on a flight back to Venezuela.  He asked John Vitale if he wouldn't mind storing some paintings and a drum set and some other things in the warehouse until he could get this all cleared up and come back to Florida.  I think we were trying to give Jose the benefit of the doubt, and we wished him well said we hoped we would see him soon. But a few weeks after Jose left it was pretty apparent that things were not going to clear up for him and that he wasn't going to come back anytime soon.  I think John ended up selling his drum set and his paintings for a hundred bucks or so.  They were talking up a lot of space afterall. Then one night I was out at a beach bar.  I was still lonely and horney and wishing I could find some girl to go to bed with me.  Then all of a sudden I saw a pretty and familiar face.  It was Vicky, Jose's girl.  I immediately pulled up a chair at her table. "Can I buy you a drink?" I asked. "Sure," she said. "So how's Jose doing?  You had any word from him?" "Yeah.  I just talked to him," she said. "He...he's still trying to get things straightened out." "I see," I said.  The drinks came and then after a couple of sips I felt the courage to broach a difficult subject. "So, are you guys still....an item?" "Well," she said, pausing to think for a moment, "I'm not so sure about that." Suddenly, the Rick Springfield song kicked on inside of my head. I wish that I had Jose's girl (dah-nah-nah-nuh-nah-nuh!) I wish that I had Jose's girl (dah-nah-nah-nuh-nah-nah!) With this musical inspiration inside of me, I turned on my romance and charm full force.  This basically meant I kept buying Vicky drink after drink after drink after drink.  When she asked me if I wanted to come with her and her friend to this other bar I said: sure. At the other bar I kept buying more drinks for me and Vicky.  And it seemed to be working.  She kept grabbing my arm and laughing and I think we got up and did a drunken dance for a while.  But then it was obvious that Vicky had gone past her limit.  She was starting to stumble and bump into chairs.  She nearly fell on her ass but I caught her by the arm. "I think we'd better get you out of here," I said. "Okay," she said. Being the perfect gentleman that I was, I invited Vicky to stay at my place.  But she said she really ought to go home.  So I started driving up the beach, following her directions to the house where she lived with her parents. The problem was that Vicky was so drunk that she didn't know where she was and her directions were all wrong.  She kept telling me to turn down this street and that street and then she would say that we had to go back to the main road.  It was kind of cute at first, but after a while I realized that we were never going to find her place.  In the meantime, I was drunk too and would probably get pulled over if I kept driving up and down the beach. "Why don't we stay at my place?" I said. "Okay," Vicky said and then she passed out in my truck. It was a long drive back to my little apartment in Gulfport.  But I figured once we got there I could revive Vicky and we could make out properly and then have sex.  When we got to my place Vicky was out cold.  I think I had to carry her in. I got her onto my bed inside and took off her shoes and Jeans.  Vicky came to life somewhat and we made out for a while.  Then I took her panties off and started to have sex with her.  But I looked down at her and she was shaking her head, or maybe she passed out again, I forget.  Anyway, I got off of her and went to sleep too. In the morning Vicky looked like she had no idea where she was or how she got there.  She was very embarassed and confused.  She started looking around for her panties, and I got them for her off the floor. "Did we....?" she asked. "Well, we started to, but then you seemed like you didn't want to, so we stopped," I said.  But this didn't seem to comfort Vicky very much.  As a mask for some great awkwardness that she was feeling, Vicky kept saying, "so, how bout them Bucs?" which is a Tampa Bay way of making stupid small talk.  As I drove Vicky up the beach I kept trying to talk to her and make her feel better about the situation, but all she kept saying was, "how bout them Bucs?" Finally, we were at her place and Vicky got out of the truck. "Well, can I call you sometime?" I said.  Vicky gave me her number, but she didn't seem that thrilled about going out with me again. Before long I was back at the Vitale Brothers warehouse again.  I was boasting to the Vitale Brothers about how I had slept with Vicky.  They were pretty impressed. Then the phone rang in the office.  This girl Courtney took the call.  After answering she put her hand over the phone. "Its Jose," she said. John Vitale and I looked at each other. "Is he back in town?" John asked. "No, he's still in Venezuela," she said. "Tell him we're out. Nobody's here." "Nobody's here right now," Courtney said and then she hung up the phone. Right then the Rick Springfield song struck up again. Jessie's Girl                                     Jessie is a friend,                                   Yeah I know he's been a good friend of mine                                   But lately something's changed                                   It ain't hard to define                                   Jessie's got himself a girl                                   And I want to make her mine                                   And she's watching him with those eyes                                   And she's lovin' him with that body, I just know it!                                   And he's holding her in his arms late, late at night                                   You know I wish that I had Jessie's girl                                   I wish that I had Jessie's girl                                   Why can't I find a woman like that?                                   I'll play along with this charade                                   That doesn't seem to be a reason to change                                   You know I feel so dirty when they start talking cute                                   I wanna tell her that I love but the point is probably moot                                   'Cause she's watching him with those eyes                                   And she's lovin' him with that body, I just know it!                                   And he's holding her in his arms late, late at night                                   You know I wish that I had Jessie's girl                                   I wish that I had Jessie's girl                                   Why can't I find a woman like that?                                   Like Jessie's girl                                   I wish that I had Jessie's girl                                   Why can't I find a woman...                                   Why can't I find a woman like that?                                   And I'm lookin' in the mirror all the time                                   Wonderin' what she don't see in me                                   I've been funny; I've been cool with the lines                                   Ain't that the way love's supposed to be?                                   Tell me why can't I find a woman like that?                                   You know I wish that I had Jessie's girl                                   I wish that I had Jessie's girl                                   Why can't I find a woman like that?                                   Like Jessie's girl                                   I wish that I had Jessie's girl                                   I want, I want Jessie's girl 11:45:50 PM    comment []

(By the way, that's supposed to be a flushing handle on the right, before you get any ideas). 5:32:59 PM    comment []

yet another personal quirk Sometimes my job is pretty cool.  With all of our sales done yesterday, there wasn't a whole lot for me to do today.  So after I got the fellas to work on another big yard clean-up, I went to the mall to look around and waste some time. My first order of business was to find a bathroom at the mall, since I had to go (no. 1) pretty bad.  I walked a quarter mile past all sorts of stores until I finally found a restroom by the food court. I never relish the thought of using a public restroom since I have chronic pee-shyness, and I could see lots of dudes coming and going from the place.  But when you got to go, you got to go. The urinals were all being used, so I had to got to the handicapped stall in the back.  When I got inside I discovered the toilet was filled with a horrible, unflushed disgustingness.  This forced me to deal with yet another personal quirk that I have.  I can't stand relieving myself in other people's waste.  I know it seems kind of silly, but it just grosses me out.  Even though its only my pee, I can't help but think that it is a part of me, right up to the instant that it leaves my body.  And then to just whiz it into this brown abortion from sphincters unkown just doesn't feel right. But there was no avoiding it.  I gritted my teeth and let my used-to-be-part-of-me urine tinkle into the wretchedness.  When I was done, I kicked the flush handle, but the mess wouldn't go down.  I shuddered once more and left the stall. There were two other dudes in the bathroom when I emerged.  The younger dude just left without washing his hands.  But the old man who was wearing a blue baseball cap washed his hands with the values and dignity of a bygone era. So I washed my hands next to him, wanting him to know in some strange way that there was still some decency in America.  5:21:02 PM    comment []

8:29:58 AM    comment []

mark's better living Since Martha Stewart could be going away for a while, I am going to start an irregular segment that offers tips and advice on how to improve your quality of life at home. mr clean jeans:  Nothing is more of a hassle than washing your clothes all the time, especially if you have to trudge to a laundr-o-mat late at night and listen to the drunken tirades of bums or smell the aroma of a toddler's dirty diaper as he clings to the terry cloth sweat pants  of his chainsmoking, unwed single mother.  So to cut down on your weekly laundry load I offer the followng tip:  when you're done wearing a pair of blue jeans for the day, don't throw it into the hamper with all of the other dirty clothes.  Instead, hang it over your closet door.  After it hangs there a couple of days, it will seem like you haven't worn it in a while, and its ripe to wear again.  This trick may be repeated up to four times in a row for maximum convenience. towel mop boogie:  Every few months you will find that your feet will start sticking to the floor in your kitchen, or perhaps you will see sand dunes forming on the hard wood floors of your living room.  This may be an indication that it is time to engage in a strange domestic ritual called mopping. If you're like me, you may have bought a very cheap mop a couple of years ago with some vague, well meaning intentions to use it.  But more than likely the mop you bought was one of those cheap and worthless spongemops, and by now the sponge has half disintegrated and its chintnzy wringing (ringing?) mechanism has long since broken.  Well, don't worry.  There is a mopping alternative you can employ before your sneakers become permanently glued to your kitchen's faux, stick- down tile floor. Go to your closet and get one of your non-having-company-over bath towels.  (If you're still following this, this would probably be any of your towels. ) Then take this oversized rag to the kitchen sink, soak it with hot water and wring (ring?) it out. Now, go to your CD collection and dig out  the Macarena, or Ricky Martin's La Vida Loca and press play.  Now quickly, throw the hot, wet towel on the floor in the sticky areas and dance around in a lively, shuffling way.  Continue until little cartoon-like sparkle things appear on the floor with accompanying "ding" sound effect. 8:17:05 AM    comment []

© Copyright 2004 Mark Michaels. Last update: 2/1/2004; 6:29:29 PM.