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Baltimore Absurd |
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Baltimore absurdity by Richard Hoffman Contact: rhoffman@suckme.com |
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December 2004 August 2005 February 2006 |
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Monday, February 13, 2006 |
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Let's fuck each other, baby. | |
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Let's eat each other baby. | |
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Tuesday, August 23, 2005 |
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Strippers This is a post I've been mulling around in my head for a while, but I think I had a sign last night. A young blonde entered the store, and she was shall we say...gifted with a chest that would make Jesus stop what he was doing and say "Sweet ME! Will you look at those sweater monkeys?". Anyway. I enjoyed the scenery but didn't think anything of it until Matt rang her out, and walked over to me. Matt: She was a stripper. Me: Maybe. I guess. Matt: She was young, had huge implants, was showing them off, and she had a scary boyfriend. Me: And? So what? Matt: And she paid for her entire purchase with a one dollar bills. pause Me: Oh. Hmm. Well...she could have been a bartender. Matt: 'You're a moron' look I've had my fair share of experiences around strippers. Back when I lived in Seattle, I briefly dated a cocktail waitress at strip club. It's amazing how quickly a bunch of naked women can become mundane. I saw them a couple times a week for a few months, got to know them...and strip clubs were ruined for me for years. I suppose I could still go into one for the fun of it, but I always crack up at the guys who go in, drop a hundred bucks, and go home alone. What's the point of having a (usually) attractive woman crawl all over you if nothing is ever going to come of it? More to the point, is this something you want to experience while surrounded by a bunch of your (male) friends. That in and of itself seems a bit creepy to me. Funny story about a stripper, though. Back when I worked for Micros, I was sent down to Atlanta to do a job. I was teamed with a guy who I had just met, Mario Acosta (couldn't remember his name for the life of me until I found it in my rolodex recently). Anyway. Mario was the nicest guy you're ever going to meet. Total holy roller, but of the breed that Jesus had in mind when he got the ball rolling. Non judgmental, totally friendly, didn't impose his beliefs on others (in fact, rarely mentioned it, and never out of context). I loved the guy. Mario knew a guy, Greg, who he had worked with before, and was planning on meeting up with one Saturday afternoon. Knowing that I didn't have any friends in Atlanta, he invited me along. So, Greg, Mario, and I went bowling, grabbed some great Cuban food, and an after dinner cocktail. Greg mentioned that he was meeting his friend Gretchen for drinks, and invited us along. Gretchen was an awesome chick, the picture of southern hospitality (and southern belle good looks). With a few doses of liquid courage, I pull out my "A" game, and start working on her, making (I believe) great progress. Around 9:00 or so, she said that she had to go to work, and asked if we wanted to come hang out. With a wink at me, Greg said sure, and we followed her in. To Atlanta's (in)famous Gold Club. Greg begins laughing his ass off, as do I (after the initial surprise wore off. I hadn't thought too much about who goes to work at 9:30. I assumed she was a bar tender. Seems to be a common theme). Mario...well...Mario was completely and totally nonplussed. But he was a trooper. We offered to take him back to the hotel, but he insisted he was game. Patting him on the back (and paying his cover charge), we led him in. I thought the mans eyes were going to bug out of his head. I'm not sure he had ever imagined so many naked women in one place, much less seen them. "The road to hell, eh, Mario?" I asked. "Si. But look at the SCENERY!" he replied. I gave up on Gretchen after she got drunk. She was a complete and total tosser when she was loaded. Pity. Every girl in the place descended on Mario like sharks after a dying whale. I'll always have the image of him holding his left hand in front of his face, pointing at his wedding ring, and crying "I'm married! I'm MARRIED!" every time a girl asked if he wanted to buy a dance. Great times. I did see the the most erotic dance ever that night. And she chose the most unusual song. I'll never listen to Train's "Drops of Jupiter" the same way ever again. Final thought: When I'm Dictator For Life, there will be a law banning all use of cliched names for strippers. Or anyone else, for that matter. # posted by B-More Absurd @ 5/4/2005 06:04:00 PM |
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Wednesday, December 01, 2004 |
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The semester is almost over. I relish in the fact that I may have passed one, if not both of my classes. At the very least, school has kept me busy enough to not blog.
Alright. It isn't schoolwork keeping me from pouring my feelings out into cyberspace. Howevermanydaysago, my "ex-friend" (term used recently by my boss) Justin seemed to waft back into my life. Not much unlike the smell that a septic tank gives off in the middle of summer. Its midnight. I'm watching a fascinating docudrama on British royalty when the phone rings. Being the pessimist I am, I figured someone I knew was in a car accident or similar catastrophe. Running into the living room, I pick up the reciever. "He-hello? Who is this?", an unfortunately familar voice is on the other end. "Oh. Hi. Uh. Kathy? I just thought, uh, I should call and tell you that it wasn't right we weren't friends anymore..." Not exactly a car accident, but I had the feeling that this conversation would probably end up somewhat similar to one. Taking a deep breath and crawling back into the wool-womb of my bed, I pretend to be quasi-cheerful. Forgive me for paraphrasing: "Oh Justin. Works great. My friends are great. School is great. That gaping hole you left in my heart has just began to scab over." I talked entirely too optimistically, and glossed over the heartbreaking conversation I had prepared for in my mind. When I was finished, he remained quiet. "So, whats the real reason for you calling? You don't just decide to phone up someone at midnight when you haven't spoken to them in 5 months." His head was boiling now. I could hear it. "I really want to tell you, but I can't." Alright, "fine", I said, I wasn't going to push him. His studdering reassured me that he was going to spill it out relatively soon anyway. I decide to joke around a bit. "What. Its not like you've got any kids or anything. Right?" Quiet. Damn. "Well, I might." He was near tears at this point. "Oh. Do you want to tell me whats going on?" He launches into a hysterical monologue about how he had just had sex for the first time, and now he was worried that he had gotten the girl pregnant. "Calm down. I know you're not stupid enough not to use a condom, and I assume that you decided to sleep with a girl smart enough to be on birth-control." Thinking about it, he assures me that the both were true. My heart, at this point, had just begun to sink alittle. "Look. If you're worried about this, you've got to talk it over with the girl. I'm not the person you want to talk about this with. You didn't want to sleep with me, remember?" I've prepared for this moment all my life. I would like to pre-thank the Academy for my nomination. "How the mighty have fallen. You, the self-righteous, you the "pure", you got drunk and slept with the first slut that fell into your bed. I wouldn't touch you to save your life." This was his time of need, and I was being as cold and heartless as the Killers, one and hopefully only, album. "But he needs you", one of my friends said. He needs nothing of the sort. He "needs" the wake the fuck up. I've put up with abuse: verbal, mental, from him. He broke my heart. He walked all over me on the way to the door. I was angry. "I don't like where my life is headed. I need to get out of here. I just don't know how." Hushed, he held up his white flag. A wave of pity/love washed over me. "Look. Justin. Tell me what you need. Money? I have it. A place to stay? Come on over. You are living in madness. If you are truly want to get out of this, you need to tell me what to do for you." I couldn't stay angry now. "I will do anything for you. Just tell me what it is you need. I've known you long enough now. We're beyond embarassment. Don't succumb to failure like so many of our friends have." I go into a diatribe about motivation, or more specifically, his lack of it. I don't question his actions, I can't, they aren't my actions to judge. I touch on his drinking and drug use. I'm not fighting for the war on drugs, but when it keeps you from getting up in the morning, theres a problem. We speak softly. We're walking on the top of snow thats been frozen over during the night. We promise that we'll do something about this. I tell him that he needs to go to sleep. He'll feel better in the morning. What I really want to do, is to crawl beside him and hold him, we would both feel better in the morning. I'm not thinking about my crushes, I'm not thinking about work, I'm not thinking about me; I think about him, I think about what I can do, I think about us. I don't sleep well that night. I'm a zombie the next day. We've talked a few more times since that evening. He isn't as gentle, nor is he as kind and needy. We go back to abuse. He ignores me, I take it. He argues with me, its like old times. I'm kind, he isn't. "Here I go again, on my own, goin' down the only road I've ever known." My life is a power-ballad. I think about him all day. But, my thoughts fall somewhere short of reality. Maybe I should have just hung up the phone that night. I know that would have been wrong, and I've been raised better than that. I don't feel the urge to go to the record store. I don't want to subject myself to people. Going out with some friends today, I only wanted to go home. Put a thousand sweaters on me and I'm still cold. I listen to "Hallelujah" on repeat all day. Thats our song. He isn't as dramatic as Jeff Buckley but his life may end up the same way. I pray. I go out of my mind. |
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