Bonus! Today's a twofer. I wrote the other post last night before bed, filled with another ramen meal and a head full of whiskey. Those two never made me feel provincial. Not the ramen and whiskey, the other two, the New Yorkers. They are both rubes coming from other redneck parts of my own hometown. And C.C. has achieved more than any of us. Gypsies in the palace, as they say. We've all lived better lives than we had any right to expect. But I was listening to late 50's Miles Davis and music and pictures muddled up my brain.
God bless us all, Tiny Tim.
I woke up today to a chilly house. I slept under my burgundy fall comforter that was put on fresh yesterday to mark the season. I left it to the cleaning crew. The house is spotless. And now, on cue, the weather. It is fall this morning and it feels as if the holidays begin. See the Christmas lights? In the photo, silly. A slightly blurry photo in a holiday Irish pub. This is the very moment when I learned of the Hipster Holidays station on Pandora. It was playing in the bar. Those were fine times.
Ironically, I think, I have been invited out tonight to drink with the gym boys. I'm being encouraged to "go out and break your funk!" Thanks, friend. I'm not sure yet. It seems an inauspicious start to another holiday season. I'd rather be drinking, of course, with my own true love, but times being what they are. . . I may have to settle for a beautiful Russian hooker. They are plentiful where I live. I could probably run into one tonight.
But that is not what I want. I want some girl to knock on my door and feel the earth fall away from under her feet. What else is there?
"What's your type of girl, C.S.?"
"Oh, you know. . . the one who loves me."
It's the weather, I know, and the season. Let me feed you. We'll eat outside. I'll make a fire in the fire pit and we can sit out in the early autumn sunsets and have our after dinner drinks. And when the fire's gone and the chill drives us in, we'll sink into the big leather couch and listen to some sleepy jazz and talk in low, slow tones. And as we drift into some sensual nirvana. . .
Or maybe not. Probably not. Just looking for a miracle here.
Both cats have come to the door today. Both have gotten food. They were not, however, together. They will be my holiday companions. I hope they make up. This place needs a little romance.
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