The Official Hog Blog
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
"She's all fuzzy in the cuffs," says N__, with a tongue-tied freakish lisp that is all bent outta shape from too much whiskey.
"Give me some good Squirt, Johnson!" says R_____, who is being pushed by N__ in a shopping cart we found between Toons and The Music Box. Where in the hell is the Music Box anyways? It seems like we've been trudging through this blizzard for hours, and the bars have to be closing soon.
"JOHNSON!" R______ screams at me, "I needs me some good Squirt!"
I jump at the sound of her shouting, and pull out the bottle she refers to: a warm and flat bottle of Vernor's ginger ale.
"your gonna have to stand up to get a sip of this here. I'm not gonna bend down nor slouch. I just won't do it." I says to her."I'm gonna stand up straight and if you got the gravy to make me slouch, I'd say your a better man than me, girl. A better man.... girl, but do you have a gravy commitment?"
"Let's just lay around in a big heap and watch some Matlock," says N__, trying to calm us all down. But we aint going nowhere until in the middle of the night and in the middle of the shit-caked street we find some plastic lawn chairs that will, needless to say....
go down.
We will not turn the teevee on until the chairs go down.
The muffuggin chairs are going down tonight, man.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
A Worm Hole in the Kitchen at the Start of a Very Rough Month
After work, I sit at the couch, sift through bills, glance at the evening news then stumble into the kitchen for a heated up plate of chili rellenos. Cable bill: due by next thursday. Credit cards after the first of the month and the telephone company threatening to turn us off if I don't hurry up with two months of past due notices. Oh,and the taxes are due.
"d'you say 'rabbit, rabbit' this month?" W_____ looks at me with her stoned, blue-grey eyes.
It's a superstition of mines to not say a word, not even a sneeze or a god bless you, until I say the phrase 'rabbit, rabbit' each and every first morning of the month. So, September 1st, I say 'rabbit rabbit' as I pull myself outta bed and into my robe, March 1st I whisper 'rabbit, rabbit' as I'm sneakin' into the can to piss at 4 in the A.M. and every new years' day I try to get my hung over head to say it, too. It's harder to remember when I'm hungover, but more often than not, I say 'em. I forgot to say these words, tho. It's gonna be a rough month.
W_____ shakes her head, laughs and sips my beer. I look long at her and smile when she turns with my beverage and leaves for the living room with it. I reach into the fridge for another and get to cleaning these coffee cups and breakfast bowls I left in the sink. I do the dishes when I gotta think, and with all these bills and a week's worth of cash to live on, I can clean me some dirty dishes without a blink. I open a window and turn on the baseball game. Giants against the Dodgers and Schmidt's on the mound. Best way to do the dishes is with a beer, a smoke and the baseball game on the radio.
I pick up a glass as the game plays backdrop to the clinking of the dishes. "...now the one-one, a swung-on and a miss by ..." Rinse it and leave it to dry. "... breaking ball bounced foul..." Scrub through the bowls. "... fast ball on the inside, I think Schmitty got away with that one, it could 'a been ugly..." Spoons we used over cream of wheat this morning, "...down and away.." and almost all the way done with the dishes, I spot a big pitcher on the table that needs attention. "...comin' in hard and he's diving for the low liner, CATCHES IT AND He's gone...." Big and blue , this pitcher holds the iced tea all year long. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever cleaned it, even.
"Top of the order for the Giants..."
Grabbing the pitcher and soaping up the sponge good, I scrub it's exterior making sure to get every ice tea stain I see. If this hadn't been washed in as long as I remember owning it, I'm gonna make it shine. The lip is browned from years of ignoring it. Handle's got a chip. I've dropped it once or twice, maybe three. I say it gives it character. I work my suds into the chip getting all the grime until its white porcelain underneath is peeking through the blue. Reaching into it, I scrub the sides all the way to the bottom, sliding along the edge until my arm is reaching in beyond my elbow. I pull my arm out quick and examine the insides of the pitcher. There's no way I could have had my entire arm in that pitcher. Physically impossible. poking my head into the mouth I squint my eyes enough to get a good look at what the fuck is going on. It's mouth is small and the angle of the lip is such that when I peer into it, the shadows from my head darken the inside and I can't make out where the bottom is. I can't see the bottom, but can't find anything out of the ordinary, so I turn the pitcher over to check the bottom from the outside. It's there, no doubt about it. There is clearly a bottom to this pitcher but when I put my hand in..... what the fuck was that?
