random thoughts

i have a list.  you could say that it is an ever growing list.  it is a list that, unfortunately…or fortunately, depending on your perspective, will never come to fruition, because this list is bound by circumstances.

i have a list of people, that i would most certainly kill…if there were no consequences.  and it is broken into two categories:

1) people i would kill                                                                                                              2) so fast

i was telling my sister about this because in conversation, i added one of her friends to my list.  ’they’ ended up on the ’so fast’ side of the list.  for the record, i don’t think i could kill anyone.  but it’s fun to have a list…just in case.

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this is for the ladies.

i can make you rich.  or at least have a bunch of cash on hand at all times.  this will work very quickly if you are in school.  and especially well if you are attractive.  and it’s easy, as in, all you have to do is look cute and be able to ask a question.  here’s how it works:

attractive girl:  go up to ANY guy. and say, ‘hi.’  and then  ‘can i borrow a dollar?’

guy: (thinking to self: holy smokes (we all say this to our self, trust me) this very attractive girl is talking to me!) ‘hey’ we will say [trying to sound as cool as possible] ‘uh, sure.’ [quickly searching for said dollar] ‘here.’

repeat this process in your classes or in the hall, between classes, etc.  you could get $10 so quick.  and this will work for a couple of reasons. 

1)  first of all, no one ever expects you to pay back a dollar.   if you lend a dollar and expect it back in any given time period, you suck.

2) OF COURSE, any guy will give a dollar to a girl.  especially a really attractive girl. here’s why:  a) we want to talk to you.  b) we have probably tried to find a reason to talk to you, but can’t think of a good one.  c)  it might increase our chances of talking again.

i mean, i carry cash like i carry tampons (for those of you wondering…that’s never) but [when i was single, brittany] i would totally make sure i had a least one dollar if i knew there was a chance a girl in one of my classes that i kept an eye one would ask me for it. 

if you think about it, this makes everyone happy.  you, the attractive girl, get one of your many dollars and us, the guys, we can to think there is a chance of talking to you.  because, all we need is to think there is a chance to keep us happy.

i would like someone to do this for a month and let me know how well this works. 

i want 5%.

naughty in november

One night in Atlanta it was chilly.  I couldn’t decide if I should bring my coat as I closed the passenger door of my Jeep.  I mean, better to ‘have it and not need, than need it and not have it’, right?  I wrestled with this decision far longer than I needed to.  Brittany was already walking toward the exit of the parking garage with an anxious bounce in her step.  A steady drone of excited murmurs filled the atmosphere as I struggled to predict my potential need for warmth in the next few hours. 

I caught up to her…sans the coat.  This decision later proved to be vastly unimportant.    Anyway, as we made our way down the crowded streets of the dirty-dirty, we joined the minions as we filed our way into the arena to see Coldplay.

I didn’t mention that I’m not a fan of Atlanta.  This is irrelavant.

Once in our seats, I took the opportunity to People Watch.  I will be the best old guy, by the way.  More than likely, the creepy guy in the mall, drinking my Coke and just watching folks.  As in, ‘I would probably go say something to that guy, but he’s old’ kind of looking at people.  This excites me. 

ANYWAY, I was very amazed/amused at people’s complete inability to read and decipher seat numbers.  Seriously, 8 or 9 peopel in our general area had to move once the real seat owners came to claim their place.  And it’s always the same…

FAKE SEAT OWNERS:  talking.  see real seat owners.  keep talking.          

REAL SEAT OWNERS: looking at ticket.  looking at people in their seats. looking at ticket.  getting the nerve to say something.  they say something…but not convincingly.      

FAKE SEAT OWNERS:   more than likely say, ‘no. these are our seats’ (lies!)

REAL SEAT OWNERS:  walk away to the other side of the aisle.  come back.  with vengence.

FAKE SEAT OWNERS:  ‘oh, my bad.  sorry.’  they get up, but never sit anywhere close-by. 

More surprising than the mass seat confusion, was the amount of 15 year old kids at this concert…on a THURSDAY NIGHT. really?!!??!  maybe in Atlanta, it’s cool for thousands of 15 year old kids to be out until 1am at concerts?  well.  the cutest little couple was in front of us.  in fact, they were victims of seat stealers.  and yes, the seat stealers were also 15.  but unexpectedly, they were 15 year old black kids.  i mean, that’s cool but really?  I was unaware that Coldplay reached that demographic…especially in the ATL. 

So Brittany and I cast our lots on who lucked out with whom. (explanation:  in [almost] every  relationship, someone lucked out by being with the other, in terms of looks.  Because I am shallow, I made this game up…with myself.  Brittany graciously plays along.)  Unfortunately, she was waaaaay too cute for him.   Fortunately, for him, she didn’t know this.

Well, the concert is great. (Admittedly, I’m not a huge fan of Coldplay.  They probably make my Top 20.  This is the zenith for Britt.  They probably jumped into my Top 10 after the concert…if i kept such lists.)  So we’re singing the songs, takings pictures with our phones, having fun…

And then I feel pressure on my knees.  And then I see the back of the girl’s head nestled on the back of my knees.  I elbow Britt and we watch as they are making out like banshees in my lap.  I ask, ‘Can I tape this on my phone?’  (I felt permission was necessary…)  Her attention goes back to the concert.  I want to high five this boy.  Did I mention she’s not in his league?  And this is happening ON ME! 

Alright, so that was my Coldplay experience.  A few observations:

1) If you’re 15 and take a girl to see Coldplay, you should expect to make out all night and it is acceptable, apparently, to do this, physically, on strangers.

2)  Coldplay apparently attracts large numbers of bull-dykes as fans.  In droves.  For every 15 year old kid we saw, there was at least a bull-dyke couple.  Odd.

3)  This was undoubtedly the largest gethering of white people in the Philips Arena.

4)  I wish I had the coat on the way back to the car.  I didn’t want to hold it/keep up with it at the concert.  Brittany wouldn’t let me tie it around my waist .  She obviously didn’t want to hold it in the concert.  But, you know, sometimes I want things both ways.

-athankya

the dangers of friendly banter

 

My fingers were clean, until

she swanked into the room. Smiling

and batting her eyes, emitting

ambience and undertones too inviting

for her own good. She cocked

her head and cut her glance,

I took over from there.

Her wrists were cuffed tight

in my left hand, behind her back.

“AaarIHATEargh!” [head comes out of cushion] “You!”

the last audible sound she made before her face

became muffled in the crease

of the couch. She squirmed

and tried to fight the

penetration

she knew was coming.  I had her

pinned like a champ and I positioned myself

behind her like a quarterback…only not so much. I slid

my right hand down her stomach and down into her

navel. I prodded, I tickled, I made somekindof love

with her belly button; quick and precise – and then it ended.

I stood over her triumphant, pointing my dastardly finger skyward.

Her hair matted in a way that gave her

an abused-slash-taken-advantage-of look. Before she could speak

my nose itched. I scratched and inhaled

the abhorrent odor from the depths

of her oval innie. My nose scrunched upward

which brought the inner parts of my eyebrows

and the outer parts of my smirk

downward.  When my senses reclaimed their hold on

my body she was laughing at

the natural defenses of her

umbilical residue. 

The Deep

His third visit to the ER broke me

down.  My little boy lay

amid a mass of hospital blankets.

They were white with turquoise stripes.

They were twisted and rolled around him.

They were folded and layered to warm him.

They were swallowing him whole.

 

From the corner of the cold room, I could

hear him crying a very different cry

from being soiled.  Like a hunger cry – but more

urgent.  [I slid my hand into my wife’s.]

It was turning, almost, sub-human.  I watched

him through the gaps between nurses, arching his back as

he bellowed, as if something dreadful was trying to escape

from inside him…or take him over. [My grip tightened.]

 

This was the second time he turned pale.  Awful

pale.  The kind of pale that made him glow

in contrast to all the white surrounding him.  [The kind of pale

that made me let go of my wife’s hand.] Pitifully,

he whimpered. Rapidly, they reacted.  In a fury

 

of precise motion,  the 50 inch flat screen (showing his vitals) alarmed; blinking like an ominous scoreboard.  His blankets were removed, orders given, packages torn open, [Breath held.] medicine measured, alarms beeping, beeping, beeping! Heart failing, medicine given. [Room spinning.]  Child cries.  All chaos mounting into one terrible crescendo and then…

 

silence. [Exhale.]

 

My little boy lay nearly naked

atop a full sized bed in the middle of the ER, alert.  Needles

were in his veins, tubes wrapped around his arms like ivy that finally rested

in his nose to help him breathe.  Below

him, empty packages scattered the bed and trailed into a mountain of plastic.  His three week

old blood stained the sheets he lay on.  [Hard to swallow.]  Meekly,

my sweaty hand palmed his head and stroked his thin but matted hair and

instantly I was locked onto his big, brilliant blue eyes.  The suckling

of his pacifier was on the only sound competing for my attention. 

 

This was the first time I understood.