I went off to Peet’s Cafe this afternoon for a cup o’ joe and some tasty bit and when I’d finished, I wandered off to the restroom to return the coffee, so to speak. Of course it was occupied, so I waited and waited. And WAITED. Usually that’s bad sign because Peet’s, although dear to my heart, is a regular on the homeless guy circuit and any occupancy this long almost always concludes with some bag lady, having finished god knows what, wandering out leaving a pungent aftermath.
Thankfully, though, this time it was a mousy and respectable looking asian man who handed me the key without making eye contact and then scurried off. I stepped in and was faced with a sort of still life: the wrapper from a moist toilette directly in front of the toilet and about halfway between it and the trash can, the corn husk from a tamale. I wondered briefly what story all this implied, but then immediately knew that I didn’t really want to know. I peed, washed my hands and kicked the detritus into more discreet positions so the guy in line behind me wouldn’t think they were mine. You need to think about things like that in a small town.
I have no idea what tamales and toilettes have to do with this post, I was actually going to write about how I hoped this would get up before midnight and thus bolster my anemic count of entries for December. I have three this year. In 2008, my most prolific year, I had 18. I keep saying I’m going to do better, afterall, I’m not doing anything else. But then the cat or porn or, most often, slacker sloth gets in the way and suddenly there are no posts magically appearing.
I’m sure it’s not apparent, but I put thought into these gems of deathless prose. Some anyway. Frequently, I’ll get stuck struggling with the exact word I want tantalizing out of reach. Maybe those this-is-your-brain-on-drugs ads were right; whatever. So I’ll wander off trying to come up with the word “judicial” or “soliloquy” and come back later only to realize the whole thing is hash, delete it and start all over. Or go watch porn. It happens.
Tonight though, I was determined to force something out, however hashish, since I’m located on the Pacific Coast and thus of all my little blog friends, I’m pretty much the last one left here in 2014. Unless there’s some lurker from Guam out there, and how likely is that? And you’ll be reading this in 2015. It’s like a really, really slow time machine! With crappy spell check.
So anyway here is my last muscle pussy of the year (and a particularly demure one at that) and possibly your first one of the new
Happy New Year.