Dr T: “Our girl is getting interviewed by the boss today.”
Me: “No fuckin way. Updates PLEASE?”
Dr T: “You’ll be first to know.”
Me: “Picture happy dance! Can I train her? PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE?”
ME: “PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE?”
ME: “With sugar, whipped cream and a big fat cherry on top, PLEASE?”
Dr T: “No.”
Shit. Oh well.
A little while later I got a call at work from Master P. “I’m sending the new employee over to watch the videos. Will you let Uncle Cliffy know, and make sure she fills out her liquor test properly? Her name is Angel.”
“Yes sir!” I have never been happier to comply with boss’s orders. Because if you haven’t figured it out, I’ve got a thing for Angel…
Jeez. Go away for a week and you’d think the world had stopped.
I’ve been bouncing around the three stores, part of Master P’s pot-stirring. He’ll rotate everyone a half-turn, see what happens and adjust accordingly. I’ve been spending a lot of time at the Waterfront Store. This week marked my return to the Nightclub Store.
To borrow a line from Sally Field: “They like me. They really like me.”
“Those are some powerful words.”
Mizelle said that to me once, after reading a long, soul-baring letter I’d spent days writing her. I get occasional accolades, but that is one I’ve always remembered. I’ve always enjoyed spinning a yarn, and have missed my time here. I’ve been revisiting this site the past few days, dusting off the cobwebs. Read the rest of this entry »
Up and down. Up and down.
Soaring highs and crashing lows.
My love life is definitely bipolar right now. Read the rest of this entry »
If it looks too good to be true, it probably is.
What were you thinking?
At my age you’d think the schoolboy stuff would be over and done with. Guess I’m a poster child for arrested development.
Welcome back to the bipolar rollercoaster ride of love. I probably shouldn’t call it love yet, considering we’ve only had one date. Date number two didn’t go well. In fact, it didn’t go at all. Read the rest of this entry »
Yes, it’s girl bait. I’m chasing after a young girl. Shameless, aren’t I?
Okay, before you start dialing Dateline NBC and John Walsh, let me explain. She’s only two years younger than my stepdaughter, and yes, she knows how old I am. (I’ll work the step-daughter into the conversation, I promise.) On our first date we met at a bar, and one of the old guys from the avenue was chatting her up. “Thank god you got here when you did. The chickenhawks were circling!”
I looked at the “duffer” and grinned inward. I’ve probably got five years on him. But I took the opening. “Speaking of chickenhawks, how old do you think I am?”
Angel smiled, “Dunno, hadn’t thought much about it.”
“How old is your dad? “I asked.
“Dunno that either. Never met him.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I braced myself and asked, “How old do you think I am?”
“Thirty-eight?” She was sipping ice water through the straw in my glass.
“Add ten to that.”
Her eyes bugged, and she set my glass down. “Get the fuck outta here.”
It was a statement of surprise, not an order to depart.
“But I feel fifteen here,” I said, pointing to my head and heart. “Well, maybe twenty. I’ve matured a little, but I’ve got a long way to go.” Read the rest of this entry »