Cookies not Hand Jobs

Recently, I remarked to AB as he was driving, that homeless men must wish they had sex. This led to a discussion. Wow, big shocker, eh?

Being that I tend to be an immature twits, I added, "I always carry lube in my car."  AB won't admit it, but yep, he believed me.   He assured me that if I wanted to be very generous, he could hook me up with some of the locals. 
While I am a first rate priss, (notice the gloves) others are not. So, while I hand out baked goods, nicer women, well...just read this:

You're a homeless man in Nagoya camped out in the park adjacent to Nagoya Castle or one of the several public areas where dozens of vagrants have erected makeshift abodes made of blue plastic tarpaulins.

Having been down on your luck for so long, sex, if on your mind at all, is probably little more than a distant memory. And since it's been days, sometimes even months since your last bath, the prospect of finding female companionship is likely to be all the more remote.

Certainly the last thing you'd ever expect would be to be awakened from a sound sleep by an attractive young female who has slipped into your shelter, opened the fly of your pants, and begun to provide relief in the form of hand jobs, or oral sex.

Yet, increasing numbers of homeless men in Nagoya's parks swear this has happened to them. Did these pleasurable experiences actually occur? Or was it merely something emanating out of the fog of alcohol-induced stupor?

Underground magazine Uramono Japan (October) swears the story is true. Apparently some women are so turned on by male pheromones, they won't accept anything less than a full concentration, unadulterated by soap and water. Or perhaps they're fetishists for dirt, grime and ordure.

Be as it may, those on the receiving end of her ministrations aren't complaining.

"Her hand technique is fantastic, but her fellatio is exceptional," one of Nagoya's lumpenproletariat insists. "She sneaked in and did it to me one night, I swear!"

Intrigued by this somewhat incredible story, one day last summer Ikkyu Muromachi --- nom de plume of a Kyoto-based freelance writer --- hit the Meishin Expressway and drove from Kyoto to Nagoya. In order to pass for a real homeless man and not just some cheapskate looking for a free blow job, Muromachi had prepared for his investigative report by refraining from bathing for the previous seven days, working up a rank body odor hopefully convincing enough for him to pass for the real thing.

Making the rounds in the parks, Muromachi asked fellow bums about the woman.

"She doesn't seem to be from Nagoya," says one wizened older chap, between sips of sake. "She began slipping into the parks at night about a year ago. Supposed to be about 32 or 33. Not bad looking either..."

"Did she do it to you?" an incredulous Muromachi asks.

"Hell no! Those kind of promiscuous broads ain't my type," the old codger mutters.

After a full week of uneventful nights in various parks throughout the city, the "miracle" that Muromachi had waited for finally occurred.

"Turning over in my sleep, I thought I heard approaching footsteps," he writes. "Then I saw the human figure of indeterminate gender the faint light. The footsteps sounded like a woman's. I got the feeling she was coming for me."

Muromachi felt a brief panic, wondering if the person might be armed with a cutting instrument intending to do him harm. But then he felt a gentle hand on his inner thigh.

"At first I couldn't believe it," he writes. "Could this be real?" But he smelled her floral perfume, and immediately stiffened.

Slim fingers crept up to his waistband, groped over the button, released it and tugged down his trousers. Muromachi lifted his waist to help slip them off, at which time his own rank body odor wafted toward his nose. Ugh.

Kneeling over him, the woman proceeded to run her tongue along the underside of his phallus for its entire length, and then took his full erection into her mouth, head nodding while making slurping noises onomatopoeically described as "chiro-chiro jupu-jupu."

"I can't hold back and longer, I'm coming!" he groaned, and but she kept it in her mouth and, while he spurted in ecstasy, sucked him dry.

Then with no further ado, she vanished into the darkness. From what little he saw of the woman, Muromachi says the she had sloping eyes with long lashes, somewhat resembling actress Yoshiko Sakaguchi. She wore black jeans.

"There were so many things I wanted to ask her," writes Muromachi. "But she never spoke."

Back home in Kyoto, Muromachi tells Uramono Japan every time he reminisces over his experience he feels a stirring in his loins. Apparently sleeping under vinyl sheeting in a public park was worth it.
My next batch of cookies will have added chocolate chips. After reading how selfless some women can be, my meager attempts at kindness pale in comparison.


Back of Box

Rosa, who is so sweet, that just the thought of her touching herself, makes me want to flog myself or something, asked about the gum.  Here's the back of the box. It was purchased years ago at A Pleasant Present. Ask for Michael, the owner of the store, and tell him I sent you.



'Cause my friends are always losing the recipe:

Minted Couscous Salad

1 10 oz box couscous
2 Cups boiling water
1 cucumber, peeled, seeded and chopped
1 19 oz can chick peas
8 oz feta cheese, crumbled
2 tomatoes, diced
3 green onions, sliced
1/2 Cup parsley, chopped
1/2 Cup black olives
1/4 Cup chopped fresh mint (or dried equivalent)
1/3 Cup olive oil
3 Tablespoons lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Pour boiling water over couscous in a large bowl; cover and let stand 30 minutes until water is absorbed. Add remaining ingredients. In a small bowl mix ingredients for dressing. Pour over salad and refrigerate for a few hours. six servings

 Another example of why I don't post on tablescape blogs.


Strangers Bearing Gifts

How do you thank someone who offers three words, and unknowingly changes your life?

For the most part, when I ask for advice, it is a nicety. I want others to feel important. I am willing to consider what I am told, and then ignore the advice, because when I fail, I prefer blaming myself. So, yes, the question above is rhetorical. Still, feel free to give me ideas. My creativity has been waning.

I don't have a lot of faith in others. While I don't feel that the world is out to get me, I do feel that people are self-serving. Even if what they gain is a feeling of warm fuzzies from helping others, actions are almost always planned.

That is what made those words special. A virtual stranger helps me make sense of something rather troubling, without wanting anything in return.

A proper thank you is in the works. It might not be tomorrow, but you better believe that this act of great kindness will be returned. I am hoping I can do it without selfishness, if such an act exists.

“I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion”
Jack Kerouac



When conversations about imaginary scenarios leave you wanting to scream, you have to realize something else is bothering you. In my case, last night, a discussion about how to spend lottery winnings, left me a tad hot under the collar.

First, let it be noted, that I don't buy lottery tickets. I do, however, have plans for how I shall spend the millions when I win.

WPSD would get an indoor swimming pool. When my daughter was a student there, she dreamed of swimming more often than in the summer. The memory of trying to speed down the hall to biology class, wet hair dripping on my books, is so pleasurable, that the idea of kids missing out on the fun, is enough for me to become a swimming pool builder.

Swimming class is also character building. Where else can girls perfect the skill of convincing men that they have their period three times a month?  While I was a tampon using champ early on, I never let onto that fact. Nope, it was better to announce that unless the class wanted to witness a water into wine miracle, it was better to let me sit it out.

While I never became much of a swimmer,  the club where my family belonged should have been held responsible for some of my nasty habits, past and present.  Sometime during my fourteenth summer, my friends, and I decided that smoking was glamorous, even if the poster on the locker room wall at school, featuring a prematurely aged woman (probably younger than our current age), showed us otherwise.

Nine years after smoking that first machine bought Winston, I  never smoked another cigarette. I did hold onto the other swimming club habit.
Giggling at Boys

In fact, last summer, I was faced with an elderly neighbor who either fancied himself a stud, or deemed my thighs too bulky, and hoped to turn me into a bulimic. The latter would have happened, had I not turned my head whenever he exited the pool.

What you are about to read is gratuitous crap about underwear.  I have to get ready for the dentist, and I am using imagery to attempt to calm myself. It is either that, or Valium. I know, some people use images of nature. I don't.

If you knew me back when I was writing about men on a daily basis, you might remember that I despise boxers. They look stupid. What is the point of underwear that is all bunchy under pants?

I really don't care if you are baking your balls in tight undies. If that doesn't hold appeal, cut down on the laundry, and I won't complain.

BUT when it comes to swimming
                                                        SPEEDOS  hurt my eyes. 

If you appear before me wearing a slip of spandex, I will giggle, and blush, and bury my head in a book. Now, that isn't quite as bad as what my friends,  and I did back in 1977. We would hunt down boys, and giggle, and POINT. Then we would sneak away to choke on tobacco, and talk about our plans for life.
One more thing. I would like someone to make me a sign. While I am at the dentist receiving #53 Novocaine injection, please construct this sign:

If your boobs are larger than mine, and your lower genitalia doesn't match, a t-shirt will be provided.


Sunday Stealing!

Sunday Stealing: The Speed Dating Meme

1. What's your favorite Dr. Seuss book?
Hop on Pop

2. If you could live in any home on a television series, what would it be?
I can't picture any homes from TV. Did the Route 66 guys have a house? If so, I'd imagine I would like living with them.

3. What's the longest you've gone without sleep?
The last time that I missed a night of sleep, I failed a final. I was a freshman, and this RA finally asked me out on a date. Instead of telling him that I needed to study, I decided to go out with him. I studied after the date.

4. What's your favorite Barry Manilow song?

5. Who's your favorite Muppet?

6. What's the habit you're proudest of breaking?
Thumb sucking

7. What's your favorite website?
Public record sites are cool.

8. What's your favorite school supply?
I love paper.

9. Who's your favorite TV attorney?
I don't have a fave from TV.
James Spader in the movie Secretary was perfect.

10. What was your most recent trip of more than 50 miles?
Daytona last week.

11. What's the best bargain you've ever found at a garage sale or junk shop?
Lily Pulitzer capris for $4.

12. Where were you on September 11, 2001?
I was talking to my friend, Brian, while I got ready for work.

13. What's your favorite tree?
So far I have not found a favorite tree here.
In PA there was tree in the woods that I loved.

14. What's the most interesting biography you've read?
Anthony Kiedis' book Scar Tissue

15. What do you order when you eat Chinese food?
I try not to order Chinese food. If I must, I like lo mein.

16. What's the best costume you've ever worn?
I stood in front of a human sexuality class while dressed in black leather, pushed a button on a tape player, and let them listen to my speech. I still despise talking to groups.

17. What's your least favorite word?
How timely. This exact subject was discussed today at lunch. Unlike a lot of women, you can call me a cunt, and I can let that pass, but don't ever, ever tell me to calm down.

18. If you had to be named after one of the 50 states, which would it be?
Georgia could have been my name.
I am named for my grandfather George.

19. Who's your favorite bear?
I can't think of anything. The Grateful Dead bear, and hairy gay men, come to mind, but don't count.

20. Describe something that's happened to you for which you have no explanation.
There is always a reason.

21. If you could travel anywhere in Africa, where would it be?
Somewhere someone else suggested. I have no desire to go to Africa.

22. What did you have for lunch yesterday?

23. Where do you go for advice?
I get plenty of unsolicited advice from friends.
I am fond of inner dialogues.

24. Which do you use more often, the dictionary or the thesaurus?
Unless I am writing fiction, I rarely need a thesaurus.

25. Have you ever been snorkeling? Scuba diving?
If you knew me, you'd be laughing at the thought.


Pretty Place

The constant itch of yesterday's three mosquito bites, only serves to remind me of how pissed off I am that I didn't have my camera with me.   When I next return to what can only be described as a hidden fairy land in the middle of the city, my camera shall accompany me.

 Fruit from a Pretty Place


Food Play

Capturing the pop of a grape tomato as it exploded in my mouth, proved to be too messy. Instead, I caught the little bulgur speckled fella before the pop.

34 perfect desserts remain. Thanks to Publix for the BOGO on my absolute favorite not so bad for you treat. Dark chocolate that melts in your mouth, mingling with the creaminess of banana, is almost dream worthy.