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Inspired by Steph, I've decided to drop a few of my aborted nuggets of noodling around here. The may be pointless, but at least they won't be pointless and lost.
Untitled
“Please don’t.”
A curtain of annoyance threatened to shroud his face, but he restrained himself. “What?”
“I don’t want you to touch me. Please stop.”
His hand continued to hover just above the surface of her skin, unwilling to be diverted from its purpose. “Did I say something?” he asked, cradling the air around her.
“No, and neither did I. For example, I didn’t invite you to invade my space.”
“I wasn’t aware a touch on the shoulder was still an invasion after five years.”
“It’s been an invasion for a long, long time. You know that. I’m not sure there was a time when it wasn’t.” She stepped away, and his defeated arms dropped to his sides. “Just don’t start.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“Jesus, Karen. Your best friend just died.”
Karen glared at him. “Right. So your first move is to try and get some. My life in a nutshell, really.”
“That’s bullshit. From start to finish.” He snatched his drink from the end-table and dropped his body carelessly on to the couch. Amber liquid sloshed over the rim of his glass, lightly splattering the upholstery. He looked up at her defiantly and fought the urge to fetch a towel, refusing to give her the satisfaction of his distraction.
“Lovely. Marking your territory?”
“Do we have to talk about that shit now? You just got the call five minutes ago, for chissake.” Some vindictive part of him brought his free hand to the back of the couch, where his fingers began to fondle the fabric. He watched her eyes follow the motion, and then narrow in quiet anger as the message was received.
“Terri knew you even before I did. ‘Larry’s a selfish fuck.’” Karen turned to the pictures on the wall, focusing on one in particular. Terri smiled at her through dusty glass and a haze of memories. When she spoke, her voice was lower, softer. “You told me that, at least a half-dozen times before I agreed to marry him. But you never said another word once the deal was done. You kept it to yourself and let me make my mistakes. Bitch.”
“It’s a stupid piece of furniture.” Larry protested. As she turned away, he swiped with a fingertip at the whiskey beaded on the cushion. Old habits. “And it was my Mom’s.”
She didn’t look back. “You’ve always hated it. I’ve always loved it. So of course, you insist on taking it.”
“You’re not the one looking for an apartment, sweetheart. You’re not the one losing a job, either. You’ll live just fine without my mother’s fucking sofa.”
“I suppose I will at that.”
10-24-2005 05:24:01PM - Permalink - Comment [3] - Trackback
This is a later version of the tiny little house I lived in from '89-'93. Technically, what you see here is twice the size of "my" house... Dad added a back room on to it after I moved out.
It started life as a storage buidling and a place to put the washer/dryer. Then my brother got married, meaning that he and my (now ex-) sister-in-law needed somewhere to crash. They took my room in the house, so some carpet was put down, sheetrock was put up, and I was put in.
Basically, it had one main room and the World's Smallest Bathroom. I could literally stand in my shower, piss in my toilet, and wash my hands in the sink without taking a step. And it had no door, which obviously made me very popular with the ladies.
For a long time, it housed little in the way of furnishings. Just a couple file cabinets, my desk/computers/television, a bed, and the washer/dryer. Eventually, the washer was removed, and I had an old refrigerator and a microwave stand... I was famous at work for existing on a diet made up almost exclusively of microwaved soup and turkey sandwiches.
From there, I got a bit weird. I was working at K-Mart during that period, and I took home a display rack that they were throwing out. I set it up and put all my magazines and books on it... essentially making my room look like a low-rent Barnes & Noble. I spent a lot of time cataloging and fussing over books, magazines, and comics in those days... making sure everything was organized and tidy.
After a girl or two took pity on me and agreed to visit the place, I tossed the display rack and brought in an ancient fold-out-couch that my Mom picked up at a garage sale for $10. It was miserable to sit on, but I had no other chairs, and plunking every visitor down on the bed was beginning to seem inappropriate.
Eventually, the woman who is today my wife came to live with me. We managed to survive in there for a few months before it started getting to both of us. The building was never meant for human habitation, so my dad hadn't put any effort into sealing it up... it leaked everywhere, and during that last week, a mouse found its way inside. That was pretty much it for my then-girlfriend, and we were gone.
People at work always made fun on me for where I lived... it became known as "Roger's Shed". I didn't mind though, 'cause I was well-aware that it was a microscopic dump. But I have some fairly decent memories of it all the same.
10-06-2005 04:47:29AM - Permalink - Comment [4] - Trackback
My wife went back and forth about buying this Dooney & Bourke cellphone case. I was willing to get her whatever she wanted, because she very seldom buys accessories, and never buys anything expensive. (She's a cheap little bugger.) But paying $50 for a cellphone case was absolutely killing her... took about three trips to the Sprint store before she finally caved.
Then she got home, and found out that her new case was from D&B's Lindsay Lohan collection:
I swear, the scream echoed for miles.
10-05-2005 05:21:35PM - Permalink - Comment [0] - Trackback
Hah! Here's a post from 2003, where I'm complaining about gas being $1.59/gallon!
10-01-2005 05:20:37AM - Permalink - Comment [0] - Trackback
This was... well, to be honest, I don't know.
I was sitting in a booth at a local Tex-Mex restaurant, contentedly munching on chips-n-salsa while awaiting the delivery of my meal, when I felt something unusual in my mouth. Turned out it was something vaguely stone-like. My eyes being what they are, detailed analysis was not in the offing, so I snapped a blurry picture and called for the waiter. The dude swept it away, mumbled a vague apology, and disappeared.
Now, I'm not one to jockey for comp'd meals... I figure everyone makes mistakes, and generally try not to make a big deal out of the occasional "oops". But in this case, I was actually a bit annoyed that the manager didn't even come to the table. If nothing else, you've gotta figure that feeding me a rock is at least worth a "so sorry" and a free Dr. Pepper.
09-30-2005 09:43:23PM - Permalink - Comment [0] - Trackback
