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Ride of Your Life

March 31st, 2009 § 19 comments § permalink

March 31st is just about the most important date in my life.

Without March 31st, I would not be the main who I am today.  Because without March 31st I would never have come to live with my Granny as a teenager.  Because without March 31st, my Granny would never have been born.

So, thank God for March 31st.  March 31st, 1917 to be specific.

Because Granny turned 92 today.

Four score and a dozen.

It was going to be a quiet birthday. The traditional pound cake and not a lot of fuss.1

A few of the younger2 women from the church sent over a casserole dinner and a handful of cards and Granny says she received a couple of very nice phone calls.

She seem shocked that people remembered her.  Or in herwords, “remembered that she was alive.”

Over the last several months, Granny has become quite taken with the Attorney.  So it was icing on the birthday cake when he came around this evening.

He brought her a pot of impatiens that he promised he would come back to plant them as soon as she picked a spot and some party hats for while we were having pound cake.

As much as he tried, The Attorney could not convince me to wear the paper hat.  It’s just not me.  I would feel silly.

“You don’t have to on your birthday,” he said. “But you can for your grandmother.”

Attorneys always have an argument.

“Don’t mind Tony,” Granny told him. “He has been like that since he was a little thing.  Always so serious.”

“No fun,” the Attorney teased.

I put on the damned hat, we had pound cake and afterwards the Attorney offered to take Granny for a drive.

At first she declined, but I threw her own words back at her.

“Now, who’s no fun?”

He had brought his convertible, but it never warmed up quite enough to put the top down.  Even so, we got her into the car and off they went.3

They came back about a half hour later. Granny seemed flushed with excitement.  I asked her how it was.

“It is such a luxurious car,” she said. “And so fast.  Seems like everything goes so fast nowadays.”

It does seem like everything speeds up as I get older.  I can’t imagine how fast it must feel at 92.

I just hope it’s not so fast that Granny can’t enjoy the rest of her ride.

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  1. Granny has outlived most of her friends.  And the rest are mostly in homes now. []
  2. meaning 50′s and 60′s []
  3. There is virtually no back seat in the vehicle. Especially when you are 6’3″. []

Salty Popcorn

March 25th, 2009 § 11 comments § permalink

There will be no more Popcorn here, west of Mayberry.

Unfortunately it’s not the kind of popcorn you cook and eat.

‘Popcorn’ is the name by which folks around here know one of the South’s most infamous moonshiners.

Popcorn took his own life last week, and now the hills of East Tennessee and western North Carolina cry out, mourning the loss of a colorful son.

His gentle nature and high-pitched voice belied the fact that he could be the very devil depending which side of the law you were on.

I had a connection to Popcorn.  Probably anybody within a hundred miles of the state borders did.  My connection was not a strong one, but given my Grandaddy dealt a little in the same business,1 the connection may be a bit stronger than some others.

It’s been years since I have seen him, but Popcorn was at the house on more than one occasion during my teens and some of my twenties.  He and Grandaddy would spend time down in the basement.  To share recipes, I imagine.

Granny was saddened to hear the news.  Immediately she went into her bedroom and returned with a little Ball jar.  She passed the jar on to me with the announcement that we were to have a toast in honor of the man.

I knocked back a small sip2 and made a mental note to take time one day to find out what all she has stashed away in her room.3

She remembered Popcorn as a “good boy.”  I guess when you are in your nineties, someone in their sixties is still a boy.  But she went on to add that “he flaunted his business too much” and that she figured the Law would catch up to him one day.

“I just never thought they’d drive him to kill himself,” she sighed.

You see, he had recently been sentenced to 18 months in prison for making white lightning and other related charges.   Due to his age and health he had requested that the courts allow him to stay at home on house arrest. But two Fridays ago he received an order to report to jail.  The following Monday he was found dead in his truck by his fourth wife.

There seems to be a lot of debate among folks as to who is really responsible for the death of Popcorn.  Was he driven to suicide by an unsympathetic money hungry federal government, or was he an arrogant coward who taunted the authorities one time too many?

According to his wife, “That man went out in a blaze of glory, and flipping his finger as we went.”

Salty Popcorn.

RIP.

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  1. Grandaddy had been a runner back before Popcorn was even born []
  2. I’m a pussy when it comes to ‘shine. []
  3. I knew of jars in the basement, but I thought she couldn’t manage the stairs anymore. []

Man Period

March 22nd, 2009 § 20 comments § permalink

I was a moody bitch this week.  Which is unusual for me.  I’m pretty much a ‘”go with the flow” kind of guy.  But all week long I have been irritable and impatient.

There was the day I saw a guy park at  gas pump while he ran into a convenience store.  He didn’t buy gas. He just used the pump as a parking space.  When he drove away I was ready to follow him and snatch him out of his car for holding up the line.

Another day I was ready to punch one of the Phyllises in the mouth for just walking away from the copier when she couldn’t find the jam, leaving ot for the next person to deal with.

And then Tennessee blew it in the  first round of the NCCA Tournaments.

With all due respect to my female readers, I felt like I was having a period.

A man period.

Instead of a visit from Aunt Flo, it was a visit from Uncle Fester.  Because my bad mood was festering.

I even had pain below my belt.

My nuts ached.

Now, not being a woman, I have never had cramps.  But, I can’t imagine it’s much worse than blue balls.  If it is, then I have to give it to the ladies.  Because a bad case of blue balls can be crippling.  Well, maybe not crippling, but trying to not upset the tenderness can make you walk funny.

So, the reality was that I was just horny.  Irritably horny.  The condition should really be called “black and blue balls” because there is nothing melancholy about the twins being angry.

Unresloved horniness sets a man on edge and can make him mean.  Your nuts are screaming at you.  Screaming in pain.

“Fuck something or kill something, the choice is yours!”

Being a responsible member of society I tend to lean toward the former.

It’s just that time and distance sometimes get in the way.

Sure, I wrestle with the devil on a very regular basis between visits to The Attorney.  But sometimes the devil just keep winning.

Luckily, Friday finally came and I was at The Attorney’s with a readiness that surprised even him.

It’s become sort of a ritual that as soon as I’m in the house he grabs my package as we kiss.  He doesn’t do it some much to work me up. He does it because kissing makes me hard and he likes to feel it grow in his hand.

But I was boned before I even got out of my truck.  He could see it coming.1

He threw the bolt on his front door.  I threw the bolt on him, and a few2 hours later, I was back to my old self.

The man is like Midol for me.

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  1. I was so ready to go Helen Keller would have seen it coming. []
  2. far too few []

Confession of a Thief and an Addict

March 8th, 2009 § 22 comments § permalink

I’m a thief.

Like the crackhead who steals to support his habit, I have stolen for my addiction, as well.

I stole from The Attorney.

A few weeks back, I left his house with something hidden in my coat.

I couldn’t help it. I needed a fix.

They say that no one ever does crack just once. It’s too powerful. One time and you are hooked.

That’s how it was for me the first time I smelled The Attorney.

Or rather, the first time I smelled The Attorney on me.

It wasn’t on my clothes like cigarettes from a smoker.  It was on my hands.  I remember driving home and when I went to scratch my itchy nose, I got a whiff of The Attorney.

Not an odor.  A scent.  His scent.  A musk that’s fresh and powdery without being sweet.

Even several hand washings later, he was still there.  Not so much on the tips of the fingers anymore.  Deep under the nails.

Like a good high, it doesn’t last forever. And before I can see him again, I’m chasing  just the smallest hit of his scent.

I need it. It gives me comfort.  It makes me smile.  It makes me hard.

I’m addicted.

So, I stole.

His shirt.

Just a T-shirt.

The one that he often sleeps in.  With his law school emblem on it.  The one that smells more like him than him.

It holds me over until next time, because now I sleep in it.1

He thinks the cleaning lady took it to use for a rag.

But, I’m not going to tell.

I may be a thief and an addict.  But, I’m not a narc.

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  1. I’ve slept bare-assed since high school.  But not anymore. []

GramWow

March 2nd, 2009 § 16 comments § permalink

The problem with secrets is that while you’re hiding the bad stuff, you often also have to hid something good.

I promised Granny I wouldn’t tell anyone about this.  But it’s not likely any of you are going to run into her at church.  Besides, I think mostly she doesn’t want the Attorney to know.

Back around Christmas time I had told him about how Granny was starting to fall asleep in her chair more.  For long periods of time.  Like sometimes overnight.

The chair was old and probably not the most comfortable place to sleep, but I always felt bad about waking her up.

Well, being the brown nose1 that he is, the Attorney bought Granny a great new reclining chair a few days after New Years.  Even though I had already told him that when I tried to get Granny to give up her old chair, she was not having any of it.

But when the new chair was delivered2 and Granny found out it was from the Attorney, she was so thrilled that I thought she’d piss herself.

It was the greatest gift she never wanted.  Until the day she had an accident.

I came home  to find the house not smelling quite right.  It wasn’t “old lady shut up in the house all day” not quite right, it was something different.  It was pee.

Embarressed, she had worked herself up over it.  I tried to calm her down.  After all, accidents are to be expected when you’re almost 92 years old.

That sent her over the edge.

“I am not incontinent!” she snapped at me. “It was that goddamn chair.”

Granny said GD. 3

You see, the perfect gift had one flaw.  The lever that changes the position of the chair takes more of a tug than her wrinkly old arms can sometimes handle.

The way she tells it, once she got the urge go, she couldn’t budge the lever, the evil chair trapped her in the recline position and before she knew it the floodgates opened.

Considering there have not been other accidents, before or since, I’m inclined to believe her story.

I assured her I could clean it all up so that the Attorney would never know about her “messing up his nice chair.”

He’ll also never know about my first opportunity to use the greatest gift I had never wanted: the ShamWow he had recently given me. 4

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  1. when it comes to Granny []
  2. a surprise to both of us []
  3. I wouldn’t have been surprised to turn on The Weather Channel at that point and found reports of ice storms in hell. []
  4. I had refused to believe they work.  But, I have to say, they really do. []

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