This has nothing to do with anything in this blog. My tuxedo cat (he works the night shift) can spread his toes out to bite out any straw or dirt in them. It reminds me of the stupidest idea from my brain in a long time. I've got toe envy. I can't spread them out that far. So, because I'm my toughest critic, I thought (as a college student...that's where Uncle Sam's $$$ went); well I thought that only highly advanced people could spread their feet apart. So one day I met Mike. Don't know his last name. Don't care.
He was an only child from Fredericksburg, Maryland. My own family took the 3 hour, one way, ride so my mother could see her children slip and slide down a rock waterfall like lima beans.
He was confused. Mike was the man responsible for the quote, "You like to swim in the deep end. I love the baby pool." How poetic. Mike towered over me, and I'm not short. He drove a Lexus, which was his identity, or he seemed to feel that way in a good light. One day when we were having sex, I turned around to see him flexing his biceps in the closet mirror window. I dumped him like heavy chair being carried up a flight of stair with no thank you attacked. That's how I spent half of my yesterday anyway.
But his toes! It was not his car that got me. Or that he lived in a safe heaven that my family loved to visit. Those were the happiest times of our lives. But Mike had no place in that life other then be the guy who could....throw tennis balls with his toes! I kid you not. The man is a circus freak show.
So my one week fling with this Mike from Maryland character ended quickly, but he had one funny story that was worth writing down. He was the joke of a funny story that is also worth writing down.
Order of Operations:
The second story hurts me too, so I'll save it for now. The first story is of Mike's first acid trip. I may have peed myself when he told me this story because he never once told it with a laugh. See, I don't care. I'll run behind a tree and laugh until I can compose myself, which takes a while.
So Mike and two of his friends drop acid for the first time...in Mike's parents house. They ate a plate of spaghetti before the acid kicked in. Spaghetti with meatballs. They must have been famished or nervous because the meatballs went down too quickly.
Mike went to the bathroom to wash his hands, and as he was leaving, one of his two friends spewed meatballs everywhere. Mike yelled, "Help us. He's coughing up his stomach!" The three men ran in three different directions leaving Mike's parents at home to wonder about their cooking skills. And damn if Mike could do that story more justice.
Why does this 6 day affair get a blog? Well, Mike came over one day with a flower in a flower pot- a black plastic flower pot- that definitely was found doing a plastic tumble roll in Arcata. Its the thought that counted, so I was very happy (didn't we break up the following day though???) He had a somewhat scripted ramble that accompanied his makeshift flower pot. He said, "Since your name is Rose [the flower was a purple larkspur], I saw the most beautiful flower on the side of the road and said, "Gotta get my girl that." (Again, it did not last a week.)
So the story that makes us both look funny came from my vicious Boston transplant neighbors. I consider one (out of the three) still one solid dear friend, even though he is punching his was through Massachusetts as I write. The other two were knee deep in imaginary pussy. I hung out with them often (which makes me an authority fearing weed-loving Boston natives.....no it doesn't.) The day before Mike brought that long, purple, highway flower over, these Boston neighbors were watching him through their window. In Humboldt it gets boring because you literally watch plants grow. These boys hated my blonde Fresno, Californian roommate, and probably still hate me for picking her over the Japanese violinist.
Side Note: My favorite therapist told me that as long as I don't visit, nor settle in Fresno, I did well by her.
So my neighbors, The Massholes, were joking about Mike banging on the kitchen window, the front door, then coming down to honk his horn, then back up again. One of them even demonstrated his defeated posture when he realized he was not getting on the opposite side of that front door.
"You're roommate has a steady stream of men. And they all look them same; like a bunch of fuckin monkeys. This one came by in a Lexus yesterday with a dead plant.....He kept banging and waiting. I almost felt bad for him. What was he afraid of? She was back in her bedroom replacing him? Fucking monkeys."
I never spoke up because-wowch!- I did not know that he was that frantic to get me that flower. It did die a few days later. curses to those black plastic pots. This is the blog that does not fit. If I were to snap a photo of someone like this (Meatball Mike) in more blogs, no to even comprehend!!!No sir.
Climb those Appalachian mountains until you touch the sky. And of course, keep that Wade the Duck life persevere on at all times. I'm not alone in the world.
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