-- On Saturday we looked at a model home, in a new subdivision near us. The houses will be in the half-million dollar range so, obviously, we were just snooping around for sport.
And I wasn't really blown away. The thing felt kinda cramped; I think our current house has more square footage. Sure, the kitchen was pretty kick-ass, with all the stainless steel and granite, and the master bedroom was so large you could play a game of Wiffle Ball in there. But the living areas were surprisingly
pinched, especially at the price they were asking.
Plus, it was way out some country road, a couple of miles off another country road, which would be a bunker-buster of a bitch on snowy days. And out the back window was what looked like a strip mine, just raw earth for acres. I asked one of the "representatives" about it, a man with eyes on the sides of his head like a fish, and he said it MIGHT someday be a lake.
That answer sounded kinda Clintonesque to me, but what do I care? I was just screwing around, being nosey. I didn't really approve of much that
we saw, though. In my fantasy world, I think I'm going to continue looking...
-- As we were driving back to civilization, we passed a street called Cypress Hill, and another that might've been Daddy Kane.
I could be mistaken about the second one… But as soon as I get a chance, I'm going to see if there are any subdivisions near us called Rappers' Creek, or Gangsta Ridge, or something like that.
What other rap-themed subdivision names should I search for? I need to get to the bottom of this.
-- Following the $500,000 Disappointment, we took the Secrets to see Get
Smart. I had a bad feeling about it; I just knew it would be two hours of yelling and people falling off ladders. But I was pleasantly surprised.
I don't pretend to be a critic (at least not on this site). All I can tell you is I had fun watching the flick. Some scenes
were almost hilarious, and the rest were at least enjoyable. Which makes it better than most movies in its genre…
Afterwards we went to a so-called Irish pub, across the street, called
Kildare's. Toney and I each had two pints of
Boddington's, the boys had Cokes, and we shared an appetizer consisting of a bread bowl filled with some sort of melted-down cheese, and various
dipables.
Thirty-eight dollars!
Am I out of touch, or does that seem outrageously high to you? Shit. I almost dropped a rectal plate when I saw that bill.
But on a more positive note… everything was really good. The Boddington's took me back to our hotel in London, because that's what I had in their bar most nights, while watching cricket and thinking WTF?! Good, good stuff.
And the appetizer was excellent, at least until it got cold. We stripped it down until it was just half an
emaciated bowl, lying on its side, and saturated in liquefied cheddar. We'd left if for dead, but I decided to take one more
bite for the road. And it tasted like an ass-fondue...
-- While we were driving home one of us brought up an early Nancy story, that I've probably told here before. But we were laughing so hard, I'm going to tell it again.
In olden times, before Nostrils (b.n.), Nancy got a job with a university in South Carolina. This was when Toney and I lived in Atlanta, and Nancy came to visit most weekends. She was (this is going to be a shocker) having trouble adjusting to life on the east coast. There's always some emotional struggle going on…
During this period she received a letter from a kid who was in one of the classes she'd taught in California, or Oregon, or wherever. He was going to be in Atlanta for a few days, and said he'd like to see her, if possible.
We're pretty sure he just wanted to have a drink with her, catch-up on
things, etc. But she offered to pick him up at the Atlanta airport, and take him back to her house for a few
days. And he agreed, the poor misguided bastard…
Nancy asked Toney if we'd like to meet for dinner the day he arrived in town, and we decided on a place called
Vickery's.
Somehow, and I can't remember how this came about, there was also a
flamboyant, roaring homosexual with us that night. He knew Nancy somehow, from somewhere, and turned out to be the life of the party.
He told a story about taking his niece, and her friend, to Myrtle Beach a few months earlier. They were young teenagers, but very boring, he said. They only wanted to hang around the pool, and nothing else.
Finally, after a couple of days of this, he'd had enough. He told the girls he was going to an amusement park, and they could come if they'd like. They declined, so he went alone.
And while he was there, all by himself, he got on a ride where he had to climb inside a car of some sort, and straddle a board which served as the seat. He was the only person in the car, and the attendant shut the lid on the thing.
But seconds before it started the lid opened again, and the attendant was standing there with a teenage girl. He told her to get in, but the girl seemed frightened. Our dinner companion said he was urging her to join him, saying, "C'mon, it'll be fun! I don't bite," and things like that.
The girl looked like she was about to start crying, and finally ran away in fear.
Huh, he thought, she must be scared of thrill rides… But then he looked down and saw that one of his "testiculars" had popped through a hole in his underwear, and was now hanging out
the bottom of his shorts. He was straddling a wooden board, with a ball out, and had been trying to convince a fifteen
year old girl to join him.
He just knew she'd run to the authorities, and they'd eventually track him back to his hotel,
where he was staying with two teenage girls.
Oh man, it was a great story that must've taken a full thirty minutes to tell; my version is greatly abbreviated. And I was laughing so hard I had tears streaming down my face. That's the word he used: testiculars.
It was a fun evening, and the guy who was visiting Nancy seemed OK. He laughed and talked and drank, and joined right in. At one point he was reading the menu and mispronounced "sauté,"
as sah-oot. When he realized it, he laughed harder than anyone.
He was probably twenty years old, still in college, likeable, and seemingly normal. None of it added up; what in the hell was he doing??
And then they returned to Atlanta, after spending a few days at Nancy's place in South Carolina…
Once again we met at Vickery's, this time without the sashaying storyteller. And I've never seen such a drastic change in a person, over such a short period of
time. Nancy's guest was now ashen, nervous, withdrawn, and his cheeks were sunken-in like Lyle Lovett's.
Holy crap! What had she done to him?? We made it through a very tense dinner, where the guy didn't say more than five words and acted like a shattered man. His eyes kept darting nervously from side to side, and he seemed to be trembling.
The next day Toney called Nancy to see what had happened. And she
reportedly tried to have her way with the guy (a former student),
which freaked him out to the point where he wasn't able to perform.
So what did she do? That's correct, she tied him to a bed and
attempted to "stimulate him with scarves." I'm not even sure
I know what that means, but it did the trick a little too well and
they never actually made it to the main event. Ever since then, she
said, he's been different.
Heh. I wonder how much he's spent on therapy through the years? I
can just see him tied to that bed, with a giant monster of coarse
blackness approaching at eye level... It was probably like something
off Lost In Space.
-- And after returning home from the movies we took Andy for a walk,
had a few more beers, and watched two episodes of LOST, from
the second season.
And that is what we did on Saturday, in 1500 words or less.
