Badassery

1ae95f0f-5624-4fe8-a38f-e702d369d344

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of reading “bad ass” posts from three female bloggers. Those of you who have read my Devil Girl Diaries already know I have a weakness for bad girls.

These ladies (and I won’t say their names to be sure I don’t offend) have inspired me to write a bad boy piece.  This is out of my usual writing comfort zone, but here it goes.  A taste of bad boy Chimp.

 

Badassery

This New Yorker is not like other dudes
definitely, not like this latest generation
young punks who can’t pay a restaurant check
cowards looking for courage behind a cell text
I am good and bad and everything in between
I drink my Johnnie Walker straight with no ice
don’t want anything watered down
not my drinks, my words, definitely not my sex

I won’t ask you for a kiss, I will take it
don’t misinterpret me, there will be tenderness
this gentleman will hold the door open for you
and slap your ass as you walk by
don’t like making love, but I love making out
forget beds, don’t need cushion when I’m pushing
I’d introduce you to the floor, shower, and every wall
as we make perspiring memories with a sigh

I love the ladies, have enjoyed quite a few
Superman had kryptonite, I have my weakness too
love legs, feet, lingerie, breasts, and bad ass girls
yeah, I adore the ladies full of badassery
no I won’t flinch like other cowards
love creative women who challenge my brain
if a confident bad ass woman can blow my mind
well then, she may be able to handle the rest of me

 

Photo of my wife Allie taken Halloween 2014

A Better Life

84321df0-ea90-4f53-ad32-685a0a8b0815

A Better Life

A flash of light introduced a thunder clap.

Rising to his feet, he found himself in the janitor’s supply room; two floors above his intended location.

Every second counted. Jack burst out of the closet, dashing into the nearest stairwell. He only had one chance to prevent this horror. If he didn’t stop it now, the moment could never be undone.

Tripping over his feet, he tumbled down the stairs, smacking into the hard concrete wall. Head spinning like a carousel, he wobbled to his feet. Bolts of pain streaked down his leg.

His desperate eyes glanced at the time.

Stumbling away, he ignored the burning currents that tormented him.

Was he too late?

He limped onto the second floor. Seventy feet separated him from his destination.

He didn’t want her to be scarred forever.

Ignoring an out of service sign, Jack hurled himself at the bathroom door.

Clutching a torn white dress in his hand, the janitor stood over nine year old Josephine. Huddled in the corner, she wept.

Before anyone could react, Jack crushed Janitor against the wall and slammed his head against the sink.

Hobbling past the unconscious predator, Jack handed Josephine her clothes. “Did he hurt you?”

She pressed the ripped dress against her quivering body. “No.”

Jack turned away.

“Who are you?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“I remember your face. You caught me last month before I fell down the stairs.”

Jack sighed. Preventing that fall spared Josephine from a wheelchair, leading her down a new life path.

“Are you my guardian angel?”

Guardian angel sounded better than time traveling soul mate. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Depends.”

“After I leave, count to ten before screaming. Tell everyone he slipped and banged his head. Tell them what he wanted to do to you. Can you do that?”

She nodded. “Will I see you again?”

He knew the heartless rules of time travel. Amend the past, you change the future. Rescue the girl, you alter the woman.

“I hope so.” He staggered away. Seconds later, he leaned against the stairwell wall.

How many times will he transform her life? Will each new path lead her back to him? He peeked at a photograph of Josephine on his cell phone. He admired his future bride standing in a white wedding dress. She sat in a wheelchair in the original photo.

Jack knew the dangers of playing with her past. Saving Josephine from tears may destroy their destiny together.

Will she still love him in her reconstructed future?

Only if they were meant to be. If not, he had to be content knowing he gave her a better life.

 

Photo taken from Google Images.

My Name Is Stone

Angel-Statue-Wallpaper

My Name Is Stone

My name is Stone

It is sad being a cemetery statue

I watch unappreciative people

They come here regretting, weeping, mourning

They come here to say goodbye

They come here to be educated

Death teaches them so much about life

It is once

It is short

It is beautiful

I am not a teacher but

Humans leave here with knowledge

My name is Stone

It is sad being a cemetery statue

Things could be worse

I could have been a gargoyle

 

Image taken from Google Images.

I Love You

6fa1f6695a73f0b6ff7a50487234ad5b

A little poem inspired by Frank Sinatra’s “Somethin’ Stupid.”

 

I Love You

Long nights always linger
I can never place a finger
on why I’m feeling so blue
my mornings devoid of grin
because they can never begin
until I hear from a certain you
my life’s a terrible blunder
and I can’t help but wonder
if you share my passions too
would I lose your attention
if I whisper words of affection
as silly as I love you
I love you

♥♥♥♥♥

My minutes need reversing
every time I’m conversing
with a dream come true
without you my life’s tragic
cause you provide the magic
that makes me feel so new
my happiness I measure
by your every word I treasure
you have me stuck like glue
would I spoil this feeling
if I whisper words revealing
as stupid as I love you
I love you

 

Photo taken from Google Images.

Lonely Author: My First Pedicure

9bc635ca986778a7a86943005df78497

“You never had a pedicure?” Stunned, my wife and daughter stared at me.

Maybe the Chimp needed to get in touch with his feminine side.

Coming home from my doctor’s appointment, I journeyed into a beauty salon.

To ignore the strange looks from the women I picked up a magazine.  Apparently, Caitlyn Jenner doesn’t feel like a woman anymore.

A tiny Asian woman led me to chair that stood above a tub. Removing my sneakers, socks, and rolling up my jeans, I sank my feet into the warm water.

I could get used to this.

I started clever salon conversation. “Are you excited about the new season of ‘The Voice?’”

The thin woman next to me made awful sounds with her gum as if she learned to chew by watching cattle grazing.

Forget the conversation.

This Chimp knows there’s no greater turn off than a man with crusty nails. So, there wasn’t much for the old lady to do there.

The old lady started rubbing some grating apparatus against my heel. When she moved to the bridge of my foot….

Quickly withdrawing, I yelled, and leapt out of my seat.

The entire salon turned to look at me.

“I’m ticklish.”

Returning my hoof to the old lady, I ignored a room full of shaking heads and rolling eyes.

Biting my lip, she continued on that sweet spot.

At this moment I knew men are the weaker sex; child birth, monthly cramps, pedicures, raising immature husbands.

Women are built to stand excruciating torture.

No wonder why I couldn’t keep a woman. I submitted them to this cruel torture.

Minutes later she massaged my foot with a fragrant cream.  It actually made me a little drowsy.

Two quick taps on my foot.

Some relaxing Oriental massage trick.

Two more taps.

A salon full of women yelled in unison, “She wants the other foot.”

How humiliating.

She painted my toe nails with a clear enamel although a cream colored French manicure may have gone well with my Earth tone eyes.

An hour later, I entered my apartment.

Leaving my shoes and socks on the welcome mat, I stood before my wife and daughter. Then, I truly got in touch with my feminine side.

No one noticed my lovely pedals.

I truly knew how it felt to be a woman; an unappreciated flower.

Alas, getting in touch with my feminine side wasn’t what I thought it would be.

Perhaps, next time I want to get in touch with my feminine side I could get a Brazilian Wax.

I THINK NOT.

 

 

Describe Yourself In One Sentence

funny-chimp-on-a-beach

To start her Junior year, my daughter had to submit a five page introductory paper describing herself and her life. This past weekend I had a chance to read it.

On page two she had three thick paragraphs, nearly the entire page describing her combative relationship with her mother.

I anxiously rushed to page three imagining I would warrant an entire page. This is what she wrote.

“My father is a strong passionate man with nine herniated disks, but he doesn’t care, he laughs his pains away – actually he laughs all his troubles away.”

That was it. One measly freaking line.

The contrasting descriptions made me think of how descriptions have changed in literature.

Miguel de Cervantes, Victor Hugo, and Jane Austen wrote pages of description. In one of my favorite novels, The Godfather, Mario Puzo used quite bit of description.

In today’s novels, description is kept to a minimum. In screen writing it is almost bare bones.

You read my daughter’s description.

Feel free to take a turn. Describe yourself in one sentence.  Or if you prefer, describe me in one sentence.

 

Thanks for reading.

 

Fragments Of Me

840578ea-e82b-4a9c-acea-05b865509920

When we were young our lives consisted of questions.

The questions we needed answered. The hundreds of questions our parents and teachers asked.

But a ten year old was never meant to have all the answers.

My classmates attended the big party. Stupid me promised to dance with every girl. Boys stood on one side, girls on the other.

My friends taunted me. “Go dance.”

With wobbly knees and sweaty forehead, I tried to look cool.

Then I spotted Lisa Big Boobies Barelli. Oh my, she could fill up a B-cup like no other girl in school.

Ever since kindergarten when she first smiled at me, I knew the other girls didn’t compare. Lisa had all her teeth.

From across the room I admired her.

Who cares if she had rounder cheeks than the other girls?

Lisa had something the skinny girls didn’t have.

She had curves.

Deep breath…..I broke the ice approaching the circle of “cool girls” as they giggled like hyenas.

Unable to speak, I did something that became my signature move. Never inviting her to dance, I took Lisa’s hand and led her to the dance floor.

Everyone watched us dance as I impressed her with witty banter.

She said, “Nice party.”

I replied, “Uh-huh.”

“Are you wearing perfume?”

“Yeah.”

Even at that early age I knew women preferred a good smelling man. So, I wore my mother’s Chanel #5.

My friends mocked me for dancing with Lisa. I maneuvered us around so she wouldn’t see their hurtful antics.

The boys never understood. Why dance with other girls if I was already dancing with the prettiest one?

“Andrew, there’s so many beautiful girls here with lovely dresses and their hair in pretty curls. You could’ve danced with any of them.”

Then, Lisa asked the terrifying question.  “Why me?”

I felt the universe collapsing on me. Boys laughed. Girls gave me dirty looks. Now, I had to answer this….

How much pressure could one ten year old take?

Searching for infinite wisdom, I gazed into her big blue eyes and whispered. “Why not?”

The lights dimmed.

A love song came on.

Lisa gave me a bear hug and kissed my cheek.

Thankfully, the darkness cloaked my confusion.

That ten year old boy learned so much that night.

He learned about having the courage to be the first.

He learned to go after the girl he wanted, no matter what anyone else thought.

And dancing cheek to cheek…

He learned some questions are meant to be answered by asking another question.

 

Photo of myself taken by friend of the family.