April 4, 2014
I’ve skipped two days out of life this year recently. First I skipped St. Patrick’s Day, which happened to fall on Blues Monday. I went with Howard to Blues Monday though, but then once I got home I stayed home and had no contact with anyone. I guess I kind of celebrated it because a couple of the wives made traditional stuff like boiled dinner, some without meat for me, and Irish soda bread. They also made shamrock cupcakes.
Next I skipped April Fool’s Day, which is isn’t really a holiday I don’t think. I just didn’t feel like being involved in any Shenanigans. Yes, I used the word Shenanigans. Wait, that sounds Irish. I think Leprechauns invented Shenanigans. I don’t know why I’m capitalizing it either. I didn’t mean to. I guess that means that subconsciously for me it’s an important word. Yeah so, no Shenanigans by me or any of my rabble rouser friends.
No Shenanigans by Rabble Rousers.
However, I did see Hasty for her birthday. We played hooky that day. She skipped work, I skipped school, and I took her out to breakfast. Hooky. Words seem funny to me today.
The rabble rousers played hooky and caused shenanigans.
A couple crazy things did happen this week though. First, on April Fool’s Day, since I was hermitizing myself after breakfast, I did some school work, worked out, and watched TV. And even though I was avoiding high jinks –I just got that from the thesaurus for shenanigans, and monkeyshines, roguery, and chicanery. I don’t like monkeys, so that word troubles me. And instead of rabble rouser I found “agent provocateur”. Now there’s a good one. And instead of hooky, I found French leave.
The agents provocateur took French leave and generated monkeyshines.
The agents provocateur took French leave and generated roguery. Perfect.
Anyway, I watched TV and found myself watching an hour and thirteen minutes of a Rotisserie chicken on Netflix. Those buffoons at Netflix. I gave it a five star rating.
The next thing that happened was the result of a bet I had with John and Jeff. They started it. I told them I wanted no part of chicanery but they bet me that I would be the victim of a prank. I think they had something planned. But since I was staying home, watching TV, and having no contact with anyone apart from Hasty in the morning and they didn’t know about those plans, I thought I’d win the bet. Turns out I was fooled by Netflix. That was a prank. When I saw the description: “In the tradition of ‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’ witness a searing, [searing is the operative word] chronology defying return to one’s origin that stokes [another pun] the imagination. Category: dramas/epics” I thought it was something real and got curious. So essentially I lost the bet.
If I won the bet, I told them they had to rent a limo for a day, take me to Boston, and convince people that I was famous. One of them would be the limo driver, the other would be my assistant or something. I said we could get some of our other friends to meet us there and pretend to be the paparazzi and fans. I think that would have been pretty cool. But I lost. And they’re juvenile hellions, not quite the status of agents of provocation, so they bet me that if I lost, I had to shave my balls.
I’ve never done that before. I didn’t want to do it, but I’m good on my word even though now I don’t feel very macho. I could have lied, but they made me show them. Fucking freaks just wanted a peek of my private estate. If I lied and tried to avoid showing them, they’d probably have torn down my pants and made me do it right then and there. I figure that about them. But now…
My name is Wall Grimm and I’m suffering from a lack of machismo as a result of anti-pubism. I was rigamortified. That’s my new word. It means I died in a metaphorical way. I fell over stiff as a board like they do in the cartoons. But I shouldn’t use the word stiff when I’m talking about my genitals unless I plan to use it. Kind of like pulling out a gun.
So yeah, I shaved my balls on Wednesday. Now they’re itchy and it fucking sucks. And when I look down, all I see is a deformed elephant. But that’s not the worst part. And the worst part also kind of happens to be the best part.
The other day, Howard was showing me some of his father’s old clothes from when his dad was my age, don’t know why Howard still had them, which included a fedora, high waisted trousers, an Eisenhower jacket, and black and white wingtip shoes. I fucking love those clothes. They suit me. Literally, since I wore them. He gave them to me because I thought they were cool. So yesterday, I wore them to school and work. Turns out, the ladies like that style. I got a lot of attention at school, which was unintentional. And Sharly told me I looked dapper. I like to be dapper. I want to always be dapper.
Anyway, it was about 4:30 and the store was slow, this was before the coffee house that evening, and I was going through a shipment of inventory, singing and dancing to Perry Como feeling all Forties-ish and shit, really getting into “Catch a Falling Star” when I turned and saw that I was being observed by a beautiful, very classy and sophisticated looking woman. I stopped and asked if I could help her.
I directed her to the section where’d she’d find the subject matter she was interested in, which was postmodern photography. While I was cashing her out, I asked her, like I always do, if she found what she was looking for. She winked at me and said, “I certainly did, even though I hadn’t known it was what I wanted until I found it.” I said, “and what was that.” She said, “you.”
Then she asked me how old I was and when I’d get off work. I told her 24 and after the coffee house. She refused to tell me her age but I knew she was older, and she was the most forward woman I’ve ever met. Her name was Olivia and she told me that she’d come back for me later and would like to take me home with her, and do I want to pose for photographs.
I said, ok, why not, but no nude pics, and no alcohol/drugs.
So she came back, I left with her and went to her place, which was a very expensive apartment in Boston. I’m no model and I don’t like to pose, so she just took impromptu pics as we talked and when I was looking around at her stuff. Then she fucked me. I say she fucked me because she just kind of started it all of a sudden and was dominant insomuch as she was the aggressor and initiator, not that I was submissive, which I never am. However, she was surprised if not turned on by my hairless balls. I was embarrassed and had forgotten about them, since I got caught up in all of this, I was distracted from the itchiness. I told her about the bet and she said, “boys will be boys.” Yeah we tend to be true to our gender, I always hated that expression. You never hear, “girls will be girls.”
Anyway, she asked me if I was going to keep them smooth and I said no, she said “what a shame.” I think she’s kind of a pervert. But I’m ok with that.
It’s Friday morning, I’m waking up at her place and I have to leave soon in order to go to school. Yet I think she’s abducted me because last night when I told her I had to go to school today she said, “no you can never leave.” Then she laughed. No, it wasn’t an evil laugh, so there’s a diversity of interpretations there.
And my theme song is of course “Catch a Falling Star” by Perry Como, especially since Olivia at one point expressed that she seems to have caught herself a falling star. So I guess she just wants to put me in her pocket and save me for a rainy day.
previous Grimm 174: Thoughts of Kathy http://wp.me/p41c99-JV
next Grimm 176: Postmodern Abduction http://wp.me/p41c99-Lg
Hasty is based on herself from http://hastywords.wordpress.com/
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