West of Mayberry

I have always been suspicious of products that stray away from their original form.

Like those Hershey kisses that come swirled with caramel.  Or Windex with “the cleaning power of citrus.” ¹

I’m especially leery when manufacturers start adding features to products that might involve my cock.  Do rubbers really need ribs and nubs and all manner of stimulators?  Just give me a plain old rubber that doesn’t feel like I’m taking a blood pressure test and leave the stimulating to me.

I saw a commercial tonight for a new condom that Trojan has put out.  It’s called “Fire and Ice.”

I repeat.

Fire.

And Ice.

Two words that I don’t want associated in any way with my pecker.

FIRE AND ICE???

For real?

Why don’t you just tell me to lube my cock with Icy Hot sports cream?

How does this work?

Do you get both sensations at the same time?  Like fever and chills?  Like your dick has the flu?²

Or does one come first?

I guess if I had to pick, I would go for the ice second, to cool off the fire.³

Or is one side of the glove fire and the other side ice?  If so, how do you make sure you unroll it the correct way?

And say that you are a fire man?  What if it turns out your hook up is, too?

This is something folks are going to start working out ahead of time. I can see the online profiles:

attractive fire bottom seeks well hung ice top for NSA encounter

or

24 y/o grad student looking for gdlkg stable daddy. fire/ice versatile. uB2.

then folks will get creative:

Heat Miser searching for his Snow Miser.  Hot polar on equator action.

Will there be a stigmas?

Heat-acting bi male for discreet.  You host.  No fats, fems, or icys.

What about the old-school hanky crowd.  This could throw the whole code into a tailspin.

How about the etiquette of fire and ice?  Is a fire bottom expected to keep taking it until the ice man cometh?⁴

The whole idea is just fraught with potential trouble.

I realize that the whole point of the new rubber is to make your stuff feel good.  But we don’t need the extreme of ice.  And definitely not the extreme of fire.

I think it would be disconcerting to feel like you’re catching an STD while wearing a rubber.

So, no fire and ice.

Sex should feel like something in between.

Warm and nice.

Like Trojan Warm Apple Pie.  Or Trojan Warm Hunk of Butter.  Or more to the point: Trojan Warm Juicy Throat.

That’s a product I could get into.

Deep.

{ fin }

1. Really? You ever tried to clean orange juice from the nook of a glass? [↩]
2. and your load is like some sort of penile diarrhea? [↩]
3. Which in other cases would require antibiotics to cool off. [↩]
4. I could not resist. [↩]

Random stuff…

• A couple of weekends ago, The Attorney and I went to see Kathy Griffin in Knoxville.  He’s not a fan.  But, he got tickets because I am. I really don’t deserve that kind of selflessness, but I can’t say I wasn’t happy to hear we were going.  It was a  blast.  We were at the “late” show¹ I don’t know if the the first show crowd got it as good as we did, but she was warmed up and on fire for number two.  She started off by saying her knees were sore from performing and act on Peyton Manning backstage.  He’s pretty much a sacred cow around these parts, so she let us know right off the bat that nothing was off limits.  The crowd went nuts² and so did I…and The Attorney squirmed a little.  Even though he really doesn’t like what he calls “abusive humor” he was a good sport and even laughed³ a few times himself.
• I’m back to being employed.  At least for a while.  My old boss has asked me to come back because he is now shorthanded after some crew quit.  I said okay, conditionally: only if I was back to painting and not working in the office; and only through the summer.  In the meantime I am going to, as they say, “explore other opportunities,” and come September “evaluate my options.”  I started back this week, but only worked two days because of potential weather problems.  But let me tell you, it feels good to be working again.  Having repainted our own house a couple of few weeks ago was perfect for getting me back in the swing of slinging a brush.
• The Attorney is having a milestone birthday at the end of the month.  It’s going to be number 50 for him.  I’ve been obsessing the past few days about what to get him for such an important moment in his life.  Last night I got the idea to do something related either to his age or the year he was born.  I went online and looked up what big things happened in 1960.  I found various sites with historical and pop culture events, and although none of them made mention the birth of the handsome, smart, long-legged fella who would grow up to become my sweetheart, they all mentioned that it was the year that “To Kill A Mockingbird” was published.  It is one of my favorite books and ever since I have gotten to know The Attorney, his demeanor, fair-handedness, and resolve have made me think of him as a modern day Atticus Finch.  I imagine he has a copy of the book⁴ but what he doesn’t have is a 50th Anniversary edition.  But he will come May 29.  And for fun, I also got him a copy of “Green Eggs and Ham” which also came out the year he was born.  There’s also sort of an ironic bonus gift, too.  Back on Granny’s birthday in March, I bought a begonia and potted it up for her.  While I was at the nursery, I saw a little rose bush.  It was nothing more than some thorny stalks sticking out of a bag of mud and water.  But, it said on the tag that it would bloom around the end of May.  The Attorney had been talking about roses, so I bought one and planted in his yard hoping it would bloom for his birthday.  It actually bloomed a little early⁵.  I guess because we have had unseasonably warm weather.  But the ironic part?  It’s a John F. Kennedy rose.  Kennedy was elected when?  1960.

{ fin }

1. Nine P.M. [↩]
2. probably because most of the audience could picture themselves blowing Peyton…even the straight men [↩]
3. while shaking his head [↩]
4. what southern lawyer wouldn’t? [↩]
5. last week [↩]

As of May 1st, my momma has been dead for twenty years.

But she is still with me.

I know because for twenty years she has made her presence known from time to time.

Since I have been out of work, I have been doing a lot around the house.  I repainted the exterior a couple of weeks ago, and have been doing deep Spring cleaning inside.

I was digging through stuff on Saturday morning and Momma popped up when I found a box of old records that I believe had been hers. There was a lot of Motown, which I know she loved.  And her name was on the box.

But it could have just been an old box.

One of the more interesting things I found among the records was a Broadway musical album called “Mame.”  I had never heard of it, but from reading the jacket I realized it was a musical version of the movie “Auntie Mame,” one of my favorites.

I’m not really much for musicals, but I was pretty floored when I saw that Angela Lansbury was in it.

“Murder She Wrote” sings??

I had to hear this.

I put it on while I kept cleaning house.

Yep.  Sounded like a Broadway musical.

I half paid attention to it until a particular song played.  It seemed vaguely familiar.

I stopped what I was doing and took in the lyrics to the sweetest little melody.

It was called “My Best Girl.”   Auntie Mame and the little boy she adopts sing it to each other. It’s all about how they will forever be there for each other.  It’s as much of a love song a grown woman could have with a kid. ¹

If you’re with me, whatever comes
We’ll see that trouble never comes
And if someday, another girl comes along ²
Determined to take your place
I hope she’s resigned to fall in behind
My best girl

I guess it’s because I’m always a little sad this time of year, what with the May hat trick of Momma’s death, birthday, and Mother’s Day, but the song sort of tore me up.  It was sending me into a deep funk about my momma.

Then Granny started humming along.  Maybe the old record is hers.

And then it dawned on me:

That song isn’t me and Momma.  It’s me and Granny.

In a lot of ways, she’s my Auntie Mame.

Finding the box my mother’s name was Momma’s sign that I remember she is still with me, but I think the record was her sign to remember what Granny has meant to my life.

I know it sounds sappy, and maybe a little bit of psycho-spiritual mumbo-jumbo, but I have always been 0f the feeling that when Momma got sick, she didn’t maybe fight as hard as she could have because she thought things would get better for me if I ended up with my grandparents.

My father was an alcoholic who would be dead within three years, and my brother was on a criminal path of no return.  My future wasn’t looking bright. My Momma had already sacrificed a lot by working two jobs while trying her damnedest to keep a stable home, but I think ultimately she sacrificed her life to save mine.

I only wish maybe she could have played the song before she went.

And if someday, when everything turns out wrong
You’re through with the human race
Come running to me, for I’ll always be
Your best beau.

{ fin }

1. Without jail time. [↩]
2. Or a long-legged attorney? [↩]