I have no sixth sense. At least not one that serves any purpose. Not like Spidey Sense. Damn, that would be a helpful addition to sight, sound, touch, taste and love... no, love isn't the fifth sense... what is it? Okay, okay... smell.
In the middle of the day when so many people are rocketing out of church and piling into the nearest buffet, she climbed to the top ropes with no crowd to excite, only a mission. Arms spread like a great condor, Amidala lept through the chilled air in my living room and plummeted several feet down onto the couch where I was asleep.
Awake for just the moment of impact and unconscious for a while later, I was shocked but not appauled and actually rather excited to find myself on the threshold of a deep, passionate kiss with the object of my fiery desire. What could have provoked this, I wondered briefly before preparing to reciprocate.
Wrapping my arms tightly around her motionless body -- I figured she was just nervous or needs a little more experience -- I parted my lips and opened my eyes.
It was the dog, Sammy. And my life entered the annuls of schlock comedy bits written for the likes of Clint Eastwood and Burt Reynolds.
To dream purchance to... Ooo, she's asleep so she won't notice if I... no, no... don't do that... it wouldn't be wise, it wouldn't be right... remember what she said about punching you in the balls? Yeah, so go back to sleep, dude.... wait, is that her hand? What's it doing there? WHOA!
What a night, what a day! Two ends of the spectrum divided by temptation and fantasy.
My hosting duties Saturday were interrupted by severe pains in my ass. The place was crowded, the organizers weren't organized enough to actually expect me or know what to do with me, none of my friends were going to be there because no one wants to pay $20 to watch me introduce a band and I had no dough so it wasn't a drink friendly night.
Midway through, I felt exhausted. I've been having this happen on a near daily basis -- everything goes and I'm left barely standing. Feeling hollow. So, I used it as my excuse to end my obligations at the Rookery. Sorry, gang.
I eventually found a booth at Liz Reeds where I could rest relatively undisturbed. Even as I laid prone, Mr. Chris had irons in the fire. That's how badass I am. Always thinking, always planning, scheming and dreamin' boyz!
Amidala was in town so I used my mojo to get her down to the bar, Clint Bob was in town so I used my mojo to keep him away from the bar just long enough, Tangle My Nangle was mysteriously hiding or something, and I had a vision.
In the end -- and of course, according to my plans -- we were back at Tangle's watching the Adventures of Pete and Pete. It was a formal introduction to the word "Pipe" for our host. She returned the favor by taking us on a midnight stroll around the world's most unexpected urban oasis. When she paused like a wise and experienced trail guide, I thought either a snake or some other form of deadly foe awaited us up the path. It was even worse... there before us was spread the biggest, most invisible spider web ever known to man on which several hundred flesh-eating arachnids were eagerly awaiting the opportunity to well... eat our flesh.
God Bless that Tangle... she is, indeed, my Nangle.
The net affect of our adventures with Pete & Pete was one episode but the joy that is Artie, the strongest man in the world, had been planted firmly. The rest of the evening there, we sat passively aggressively watching TV -- giving C-Span what for.
Every so often, my Nangle can be really damn funny. Like that thing she said at Liz Reed's when we were standing out on the fire escape... what was that? Hey, Tacayla, what'd you say out there? It made me laugh my ass off.
And let me say a little something about my girl, Amidala.
On the way to Tangle's, we encountered a dispute that was turning violent. The participants were boyfriend and girlfriend. Apparently, she'd punched him in the face and he'd shoved her. Amidala started walking faster until she was in a sort of trot -- a terrible, intimidating trot. By the time I caught up with her, the boy and girl were struggling as hapless passersby struggled not to look or give a damn. But not Princess A. She jumped in between them and started counciling the guy while I offered the girl a cigarette. It was an amazing display of courage and compassion. She's a Courageous Compassionate Conservative, and because of this, some domestic violence was avoided. She even sat -- walking a tight rope off of which should she fall, she'd fall squarely in the hands of immense danger -- with the guy when we gave them rides to separate places. I was so damned impressed that I didn't even ask the girl -- who was riding shotgun as I drove -- for her number.
Then there's Clint Bob. Well. I've just known him for a long time and that's about all there is to that guy. What a wanker!
Morning called us all eventually and poor Tangle had work to think about so she warily meandered to her bed and I opted for another half hour of driving so I could get food at home. Clint and AA Goulet went along.
As if we hadn't been up long enough, we three positioned ourselves in front of this very machine and watched videos on ebaumsworld.com until the sun was hanging out in the sky. I faked being tired so I could get Amidala Amelie Goulet alone.
I read her a sexy bedtime story called "Chemicals and Your Job" -- a ServiceMaster pamphlet -- and engaged her in soul-probing conversation. We laughed, we cried, we dozed off and I snored. She kicked me out and I stayed up for another couple hours, finally letting the couch have me. And there I laid until Amidala got Jimmy "the Super Fly" Snuka on my ass.
I suppose she had had enough of me. Pretending to need to be somewhere else -- like with her boyfriend or parents or something -- she stepped on my crotch and politely informed me it was time to go.
Her beau's car was still downtown so that's where we went. Cruising along Cherry Street, we saw Roger Riddle seemingly passed out on the sidewalk two doors down from Liz Reed's in the shade of the beauty supply shop. After successfully leaving Amidala to return to her life more ordinary and jostling my car in such a way that my cell phone fell into my open container of coffee, I pulled back on Cherry and found Riddle still making the ground his home.
Concerned and curious, I parked and thusly kick-started a three and a half hour conversation with Macon's premier DJ.
We rode that bus all over town. Music, love lost, politics, spiritual growth, race relations, people at the club, getting Newt Collier his due, reparations and we inadvertently gave a dream of mine wings: the Sunday Hangover Service. More on it later.
To me, it seems like every time he and I get talking we have a great conversation and I learn how much more alike we are than I could have imagined. Eerie parallels and such seemingly different gains. What a guy.
Without repeating the dialogue, I'd like to say -- whoa, I'd like to say deja vu... shit, this moment feels familiar... dammit, I've dreamt this! yay... something's going to happen today -- I'd like to say that I couldn't have imagined a better way to get from the afternoon to evening than talking with him. You know exactly what I mean, I hope. I could only hope you all have had several dozen of these chit-chats. If you haven't, go out and get some. They're great.
And on that note, I'm off to get ready for Atlanta, becoming a correctional officer and Heavy Metal Karaoke.
Peace, love and respect,
Chris "with the greatest of cheese" Horne
No comments:
Post a Comment