dragons, roosters, and rams, oh my!

“There’s nothing to writing, all you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein”
Walter W. Smith

Give it to me hard, long and with emotion... and don’t forget the question mark at the end. Mz. Conduct will answer all at: guttergrl69.hotmail.com

*This column, number sixty-nine, is dedicated to the king of my dreams and thief of my heart, the Yum Yum boy.

A car wreck started off my day, no, I should say that a whack on the head, a spider bite and a step into fresh dog poop actually started off the day. The car wreck was a little later, once I had gotten my jinxed ass out into the world. A guy in a big, black SUV backed down a steep hill right into my little, apparently invisible truck. He bent my hood and the bumper, and thank the Goddess of Great Workouts, if I hadn’t just come from the gym and a long soak in the hot tub, I’d have been bent out of shape too -- in more ways than one. I just thought about good karma so, after asking him to smash down the hood and pull out the bumper, I let it go at that. Taking advantage of my good nature, the guy then tries to ask me out. Yeesh! I told him that’ll happen when Bush says something intelligent and off I went.

Greedgirl and I went to the Labia Lounge and swilled one too many cocktails. She was parading around in a skimpy skirt and a good tan and when we smooched good-bye on the street, it turned into a bit more. We suddenly heard hoots and hollers from men with boners, sitting at the cafe across the street. Laughing, we decided to play it up on this balmy night of boob-on-boob bliss, and gave the boys a good show. Wet and wild, we drove our separate ways. We joke at how it’s just a shame -- sometimes -- that we like our boys so much.

I was still missing the Yum Yum Boy so, his buddy -- and mine now too -- Fret Boy, pried me out to the Tasseled Titty to cheer me up with some flesh for fantasy. It worked to some degree. Only a downpour of pathetic tears every now and again, but it was still too much for a night on the town. After ten thousand gin and tonics, I agreed to accompany him to meet a dancer he had been enamored with at another topless club. I switched to drinking water for the rest of the evening. A good thing. The chickadee he was swept away with was indeed a slice of innocent seduction and new to the dancing thang. Another good thing. She was sweet as candy and she and I established a good rapport right off the bat. I talked him up to her and she listened. For hours, she and Fret Boy yakked about guitars and such and when we finally left, at closing, he had her phone number. In the meantime, I was having a blast with some of the other dancers, sharing Butterfingers and talking trash. I felt like some old Madame, but Mz. Conduct hooks it up, baby!

I went out with my ex, Homer Simpson Junior, and his fab new girlfriend to the Tunnel O’ Love Lounge where we ran into some old friends and did a bit of people watching. The room was dark and smoky and eye candy all around. Our waitress was a dish herself, but I felt like behaving, as I had just met the ex’s new girlfriend twenty minutes ago and didn’t want her running for the streets in screaming mode. Three guys with plaid shirts, tucked into their Dockers, were standing near us trying their hardest to look cool. Not happening. As I walked to the restroom, one of them asked if I needed assistance. I turned and sarcastically told him that if he was any slicker he’d be oil down a drain, then added “Oh, you already are!” Still, I gave him my card on my trip back, as Lord love a labia lock, he needs it.

From there, we headed to the Sin Club where a punk band called The Hunches was belting out deviant desires. I left my comrades and sauntered upfront to the stage for awhile. I felt an urge to absorb the tense and troubled boy at the microphone. In his Converse tennis shoes, straight black jeans and tee shirt, through his mop of black, shaggy hair and stop-start crazy crooning, we made big-time eye contact. Damn this celibacy I’ve chosen. However, it’s my choice and parts of me have changed since meeting the Yum Yum Boy. In my exploration of monogamy, I find parts of myself I never knew existed... and it feels good. But he’s three thousand miles away now and it’s the celibacy thang that has me in a twist and, well, working out at the gym four times a week. It’s like this: If you know you’re waiting to have a big ol’ slab of hot, homemade blueberry pie, you don’t want to grab a Quickie-Mart ‘blueberry flavored’ fruit pie. It may sate you for the moment, but you’ll feel like crap-on-a-stick later on. It’ll leave a bad taste in your mouth and it just isn’t worth it.

Mr. Bo Dangles has finally decided that true love can happen. He just needed to make a real effort and believe. He’s happy now with his woman, and a rapturous redhead she is, with a voice like a naughty angel. They’re playing music together and working on the love thang. Since I’m the one he whines to when they’re not together, I appreciate this union of bliss more than anyone!

I’m off on a date now to the Tipsy Gypsy. He’s a fan that “just wants to meet me,” and of course buy me dinner and drinks. Most times these fans turn out to be guys that “just want to slide their meat whistle in me,” but there are exceptions, and I never know until I know. Besides, I’m hungry and he can gaze all starry-eyed at me as I cram lobster and Cabernet down my throat.

Dear Mz. Conduct,

I have a great boyfriend and we’ve been going out a few months now. The only problem is that he never tells me how he feels... about anything. He’s the quiet type, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking about and it’s driving me crazy. When I ask him, he just shrugs or never answers. It makes me wonder if he’s being faithful, if he loves me, if he hates me or what! How do I get my boyfriend to open up to me?

Girl with Gag Boy

Dear GwGB,

There’s something to be said for ‘the quiet type’ and that’s this: Sucks donkey dicks! But it’s who he is and you can’t change that. He’s whom you fell for in the first place and you must have liked that shyness in him from the start. Your boyfriend will speak when he’s good and ready and if you pester him, it’ll make it worse on you both. He’s still with you so quit your bitchin’ and just leave him be. His behavior will tell you more than his words ever will. Remember that love is a verb, not just a noun.

Dear Mz. Conduct,

Do you think you can have too much sex?

Petered Out

Dear PO,

Sure, ask me that question now, you mindless twit! ARGH! My first response would be HELL NO, but then I guess it all depends. I suppose you can have too much sex if you’re never being satisfied and you neglect the real reason for your unsated state. And you could have too much sex if you’re an unsafe, filthy pig, spreading diseases. You could have too much sex if you’re not discriminate in any way, shape or form and/or if you hurt people in the process for your own needs to be fulfilled.

If your monkey meat is in high demand and can’t keep up the tree swingin’ with someone, why don’t you just come out and say it? Meanwhile, eat well, take vitamins and quit asking stupid questions. Go wash your hands, you mental giant and make me a martini.

© All rights reserved Kim Alvarez