Julie, my wife, is one kinky woman.
We're at the tail end of our first trip to Italy, and the last two weeks have been amazing. We started down in Rome, and spent a few days there doing the tourist thing. The Colosseum was unbelievable, to stand in the same spot Caesar stood two thousand years ago was awe-inspiring. I kept envisioning the fall of Rome, and what that must have been like for the people of the city. The raiders stole all of the valuable metal out of the city, including the rods in the Colosseum itself. If you look closely at photos taken of the Colossem's exterior, there are hundreds of large holes where metal rods were taken. I'm not exactly sure what type of metal, but I think I overheard someone say bronze or copper.
We hit Assisi, Ravenna, Florence, Milan, and now we are on our second of three days in Venice before we fly home to the States. Every big trip we take, Julie likes to play a little game. We make one day our "Game Day," and today is that day.
She wakes up early, while I am still in bed. She makes herself up, and leaves before I wake up. Then the hunt begins. We pretend not know each other the entire day, and I never know where she is until we run into each other. Invariably, we end up in bed together shortly after we meet, and sometimes we can't restrain ourselves in time to find a bed.
Some of our more memorable trips include a trip to Whistler, where we found each other in line for the gondola. We managed to get a gondola all to ourselves...
There was also the time I couldn't find her in New York until she sent my cell phone a picture of the Statue of Liberty. I grabbed the last ferry out to the island, and the custodian of the Statue found us on the torch stairs during his closing sweep. The fine was worth it.
I'm surprised how much I've enjoyed the game over the years. At first, I just did it for her, but as anniversaries passed, "Game Day" started becoming a good incentive to take trips. It also reminded me of the trips I took in high school with my parents. They would go see the sights, while I would try my best to get tail in a city or town completely foreign to me. I felt a bit like a panther, scoping out my prey, back in those days.
I wasn't the most successful hunter, but I wouldn't have starved in the wild. These days, when I'm playing the game, I get that old animal instinct back. I'm not specifically looking for my wife in the crowds, but she is usually the only one that catches my eye. She's got the eyes of a siren and a body to match. As soon as we lock eyes on "Game Day," my heart starts beating faster, and blood rushes South.
Five years ago, I was following her in London, when she led me to the Tate Museum. She disappeared into a crowd of people, and I wasn't quite ready. I wasn't a husband looking for his wife to museum-fuck, I was a casual observer of art.
I walked around the various rooms, taking my time while I studied each piece of art in the room. The creativity of those artists was out of this world, and eventually a photographer named Tom Wood caught my eye. His mission was to capture the life on Liverpool buses, and the night photos caught my eye.
I spent a good five minutes in front of a picture Wood took of a group of ladies putting on their make up in the bus, trying to look pretty for the guys. While contemplating all of the different thoughts going on in the photo, Julie, out of nowhere said, "Amazing." We talked about the photo for 30 minutes before I suggested we go get some coffee. She suggested beer, and after two pints at the bar, we paid the bartender and barely made it back to the hotel room. I still remember the trail of clothes leading from the door to the bed.
Venice has been a big dream of hers for a while now. Both to visit the city, and to play the game. The city is large enough that there are plenty of places to hide, yet small enough that there is an air of romance surrounding the island. Having no vehicles on an island can do that to a place. The gondolas (completely unlike their counterparts in Whistler) have made their way into my dreams since we initially started planning our trip here. There are plenty of narrow alleyways and red rooftops that could be end-of-the-night possibilities as well.
I'm getting restless, this is worse than staying up for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. She's been in the bathroom for an hour now, and I've been pretending to sleep for the last two. Wait, I think I just heard the bathroom door open...
...and the entry door open and close.
Let the hunt begin.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Money or Morals, Chapter 1
Public libraries are a fascinating place. They are incredibly diverse, with occupants ranging from school kids and their parents roaming the children's section, to middle-aged homeless men using the free internet to look up porn. Incredibly diverse. A lot of thought goes on in libraries, and on any given day (except Tuesdays, when the branch is closed) the Northeast Seattle Public Library is filled with a shmorgasboard of thought.
A young girl in the children's section envisions herself skipping along in a flowery meadow with ponies and make believe friends. An unbuildable Dr. Seuss contraption rolls alongside the dirt path, spitting out candy into the sky all around her. The ponies never pooh, and all her friends are nice to her.
The man behind the counter is brainlessly filing away books recently placed on hold, wondering why he became a librarian. Originally, it was to meet women, but if he had a quarter for every time a single woman came into the library and just assumed he was gay, he'd be retired and the bags of money would attract a woman he'd marry, but wouldn't love.
There is also the hefty guy sitting next to you at the row of computers. You're no computer idiot, but you've got a sinking suspicion that this guy could hack into the library system and see exactly what books you're looking at checking out, and reserve them all for the next two years. It'd be best to stay on his good side.
He must have heard you thinking (can computer nerds do that?), because he just moved away from his comfortable two-inches from the computer screen, pushed up his glasses and looked at you. You shoot him a pity-smile and think it is time to go get your books before he does.
You grab the books quickly from the shelves. You are the reference queen. If there was an annual reference race to find the most obscure books in the library, your only competition would be the librarians. The librarians wouldn't be allowed to compete, but after winning the title five years in a row, you'd get cocky and want better competition. They'd put you in your place though.
As you go to check out, you decide to move your ring from your middle finger to your ring finger on your left hand. The guy at the counter looks a bit desperate, and much like a reverse bank-robbery, you don't want him to try anything stupid. Like a hawk, he sees the "off limits" sign on your finger as soon as you deliberately place the books on the counter for check out.
He looks at all four books you've checked out, judging you based on what books you've brought to the counter. The first two books are newly released mysteries from two of your favorite authors. The third is a how-to book on kitchen remodel. The fourth book is a smutty romance novel with Fabio on the cover. A shirtless Fabio and his golden locks hold a woman with heaving bosoms close to his chest. You had no intention of reading the book, but it was a little game you liked to play to keep the librarians guessing on what category to pigeon-hole you into. You are also in no position to remodel your kitchen, but you love to look at different designs for when you finally do settle down and get to construct your dream home.
"Remodeling your kitchen?" the man behind the counter asks.
"Thinking about it."
"Good luck with that, and have a nice rest of your day." he said as he shot you a rehearsed smile.
"Thanks, you too."
At least he didn't ask you about the smutty romance novel.
The library was the first of many errands planned for your rainy Saturday in Seattle. You've just finished your first week of teaching high school biology at Nathan Hale High School. You're on your fourth year at Hale, and although you originally thought it might be your job for the next 20 years, if someone offered you a job in a respectable field, you might just take it. High school kids can be a drain. The first week, the kids are usually fine--it is the administration you have to watch out for. The new advisors don't know what the hell they are doing, and again this year you found a senior in your freshman-only class.
You pull your 2006 Hyundai Accent into the Starbucks parking lot. Your second, and most important errand (in your eyes) is your Carmel Macchiato. You've tried everything in the book to kick your habit, but nothing has worked. Your Mom has bought you a kitchen-full of espresso makers for home, but nothing satisfies you quite like a Carmel Macchiato in a Starbucks cup and sleeve. Much like your sudoku books, the espresso makers are gathering dust, and you are shelling out $4 twice a week on your favorite drink, while doing the newspaper's sudoku puzzle.
At Starbucks, you usually relax and spend an hour savoring your Macchiato while completing the six-star sudoku puzzle from Saturday morning's paper. You haven't spent much time thinking about Starbucks as a place to meet men. Usually, there aren't any eligible men sitting down when you are inside, but today a well-dressed man probably only a few years older than you grabbed a table in front of you after you were about halfway through your sudoku puzzle.
You take little glances his way every few minutes. Not bad eye-candy for a Saturday morning. You two catch eyes a few times, which elicited a quick glance back down to your paper. A bit childish, but you like the roll of playing hard to get. It hasn't worked out very well so far, but whenever you do meet your ideal man, he is going to fall for you from the moment you two catch eyes and then quickly look away--you're sure of it.
As you're getting to the end of your Carmel Macchiato and simultaneously filling in the last few numbers on the sudoku puzzle, the well dressed man leans over and asks, "Are you working on today's sudoku?"
A bit flustered, you reply, "I am, are you finished yet?"
He laughs, "Not even close, I can do the four-star ones, but I have trouble on the five and six-stars."
"You'll figure it out, it took me a while too," you lie. Sudoku's came to you as naturally as fresh-squeezed orange juice.
"You aren't a teacher, are you?" he asks.
"Lucky guess, how did you know?"
"You look like a teacher, but your Nathan Hale sweatshirt also helped a bit," he says with a smile.
Okay, maybe he's a little bit too cocky for you. You take a moment to fill out the rest of the numbers on the sudoku. As you stand to leave, you walk over to his table and say, "I don't usually condone cheating, but here is a cheat-sheet if you need a little help on today's puzzle."
He extends his arm for the newspaper and says, "Thanks, your husband is a very lucky man."
You stand there dumb-founded for ten seconds until you realize you forgot to switch the ring back to your middle finger. Once you realize your mistake, you can feel your face starting to turn its patented beet-red, so you smile at the man and quickly exit the premises.
Safely in your car, you sit with your hands on the wheel and bang your head on the steering wheel while calling yourself a bad name. You look down at your left hand and decide that you should probably move your ring back to its appropriate finger before you forget again.
The rest of the day is a blur, as you can't get your mind off the fact that through one of your tricky ways to get out of embarrassing situations, you end up falling into one anyways! Rainy Saturdays in Seattle for a single 28 year-old woman can be sadly lonely. But this isn't the first rainy day you've spent alone in Seattle, and you're prepared. Especially after a mishap like the one earlier this morning. All you could think about for the last hour was getting home, slipping into sweats, fixing yourself a bowl of ice cream and starting in on the new mystery from J.A. Joyce.
After setting your things down on the kitchen counter, you head into the bedroom to change into sweats. Through years of finding coins, keys, money and receipts in the laundry, you've finally conditioned yourself to check your pockets--ALL of your pockets--before taking off your pants. You don't remember putting anything in your pockets besides your keys, but the jingle in your right pocket says otherwise.
Duh, the change from your various errands. But, there are also a few receipts stuck in there. You separate the coins from the receipts and put the coins in your pink piggy bank you've had since you were nine years old. You toss the receipts into the trash, but the way the receipts land, you notice something written on the back of one. You grab the receipt from the top of the trash bin and uncrumple it.
Dan 206-555-9016
It is on the back of a Starbucks receipt. He slipped a receipt into your pants pocket? And he expects you to call him, really??? You don't think so.
A young girl in the children's section envisions herself skipping along in a flowery meadow with ponies and make believe friends. An unbuildable Dr. Seuss contraption rolls alongside the dirt path, spitting out candy into the sky all around her. The ponies never pooh, and all her friends are nice to her.
The man behind the counter is brainlessly filing away books recently placed on hold, wondering why he became a librarian. Originally, it was to meet women, but if he had a quarter for every time a single woman came into the library and just assumed he was gay, he'd be retired and the bags of money would attract a woman he'd marry, but wouldn't love.
There is also the hefty guy sitting next to you at the row of computers. You're no computer idiot, but you've got a sinking suspicion that this guy could hack into the library system and see exactly what books you're looking at checking out, and reserve them all for the next two years. It'd be best to stay on his good side.
He must have heard you thinking (can computer nerds do that?), because he just moved away from his comfortable two-inches from the computer screen, pushed up his glasses and looked at you. You shoot him a pity-smile and think it is time to go get your books before he does.
You grab the books quickly from the shelves. You are the reference queen. If there was an annual reference race to find the most obscure books in the library, your only competition would be the librarians. The librarians wouldn't be allowed to compete, but after winning the title five years in a row, you'd get cocky and want better competition. They'd put you in your place though.
As you go to check out, you decide to move your ring from your middle finger to your ring finger on your left hand. The guy at the counter looks a bit desperate, and much like a reverse bank-robbery, you don't want him to try anything stupid. Like a hawk, he sees the "off limits" sign on your finger as soon as you deliberately place the books on the counter for check out.
He looks at all four books you've checked out, judging you based on what books you've brought to the counter. The first two books are newly released mysteries from two of your favorite authors. The third is a how-to book on kitchen remodel. The fourth book is a smutty romance novel with Fabio on the cover. A shirtless Fabio and his golden locks hold a woman with heaving bosoms close to his chest. You had no intention of reading the book, but it was a little game you liked to play to keep the librarians guessing on what category to pigeon-hole you into. You are also in no position to remodel your kitchen, but you love to look at different designs for when you finally do settle down and get to construct your dream home.
"Remodeling your kitchen?" the man behind the counter asks.
"Thinking about it."
"Good luck with that, and have a nice rest of your day." he said as he shot you a rehearsed smile.
"Thanks, you too."
At least he didn't ask you about the smutty romance novel.
The library was the first of many errands planned for your rainy Saturday in Seattle. You've just finished your first week of teaching high school biology at Nathan Hale High School. You're on your fourth year at Hale, and although you originally thought it might be your job for the next 20 years, if someone offered you a job in a respectable field, you might just take it. High school kids can be a drain. The first week, the kids are usually fine--it is the administration you have to watch out for. The new advisors don't know what the hell they are doing, and again this year you found a senior in your freshman-only class.
You pull your 2006 Hyundai Accent into the Starbucks parking lot. Your second, and most important errand (in your eyes) is your Carmel Macchiato. You've tried everything in the book to kick your habit, but nothing has worked. Your Mom has bought you a kitchen-full of espresso makers for home, but nothing satisfies you quite like a Carmel Macchiato in a Starbucks cup and sleeve. Much like your sudoku books, the espresso makers are gathering dust, and you are shelling out $4 twice a week on your favorite drink, while doing the newspaper's sudoku puzzle.
At Starbucks, you usually relax and spend an hour savoring your Macchiato while completing the six-star sudoku puzzle from Saturday morning's paper. You haven't spent much time thinking about Starbucks as a place to meet men. Usually, there aren't any eligible men sitting down when you are inside, but today a well-dressed man probably only a few years older than you grabbed a table in front of you after you were about halfway through your sudoku puzzle.
You take little glances his way every few minutes. Not bad eye-candy for a Saturday morning. You two catch eyes a few times, which elicited a quick glance back down to your paper. A bit childish, but you like the roll of playing hard to get. It hasn't worked out very well so far, but whenever you do meet your ideal man, he is going to fall for you from the moment you two catch eyes and then quickly look away--you're sure of it.
As you're getting to the end of your Carmel Macchiato and simultaneously filling in the last few numbers on the sudoku puzzle, the well dressed man leans over and asks, "Are you working on today's sudoku?"
A bit flustered, you reply, "I am, are you finished yet?"
He laughs, "Not even close, I can do the four-star ones, but I have trouble on the five and six-stars."
"You'll figure it out, it took me a while too," you lie. Sudoku's came to you as naturally as fresh-squeezed orange juice.
"You aren't a teacher, are you?" he asks.
"Lucky guess, how did you know?"
"You look like a teacher, but your Nathan Hale sweatshirt also helped a bit," he says with a smile.
Okay, maybe he's a little bit too cocky for you. You take a moment to fill out the rest of the numbers on the sudoku. As you stand to leave, you walk over to his table and say, "I don't usually condone cheating, but here is a cheat-sheet if you need a little help on today's puzzle."
He extends his arm for the newspaper and says, "Thanks, your husband is a very lucky man."
You stand there dumb-founded for ten seconds until you realize you forgot to switch the ring back to your middle finger. Once you realize your mistake, you can feel your face starting to turn its patented beet-red, so you smile at the man and quickly exit the premises.
Safely in your car, you sit with your hands on the wheel and bang your head on the steering wheel while calling yourself a bad name. You look down at your left hand and decide that you should probably move your ring back to its appropriate finger before you forget again.
The rest of the day is a blur, as you can't get your mind off the fact that through one of your tricky ways to get out of embarrassing situations, you end up falling into one anyways! Rainy Saturdays in Seattle for a single 28 year-old woman can be sadly lonely. But this isn't the first rainy day you've spent alone in Seattle, and you're prepared. Especially after a mishap like the one earlier this morning. All you could think about for the last hour was getting home, slipping into sweats, fixing yourself a bowl of ice cream and starting in on the new mystery from J.A. Joyce.
After setting your things down on the kitchen counter, you head into the bedroom to change into sweats. Through years of finding coins, keys, money and receipts in the laundry, you've finally conditioned yourself to check your pockets--ALL of your pockets--before taking off your pants. You don't remember putting anything in your pockets besides your keys, but the jingle in your right pocket says otherwise.
Duh, the change from your various errands. But, there are also a few receipts stuck in there. You separate the coins from the receipts and put the coins in your pink piggy bank you've had since you were nine years old. You toss the receipts into the trash, but the way the receipts land, you notice something written on the back of one. You grab the receipt from the top of the trash bin and uncrumple it.
Dan 206-555-9016
It is on the back of a Starbucks receipt. He slipped a receipt into your pants pocket? And he expects you to call him, really??? You don't think so.
Writing Space
My original blog started out as a space for me to write. Over the last few years it has changed into pretty much a diary and place to chat with other bloggers. I'm having fun with it, but I also want a space to write more creatively. It makes sense to start another blog up, so the MHG blog doesn't get too cluttered.
I grabbed a few books from the library on Friday, and the more I read, the more I'm motivated to write. My writing is terrible, so hopefully by writing more (although terrible) stuff, I'll get better.
So yes, expect more of the creative stuff here, and back on MHG will be the daily updates and journal-style blog.
-Chris
I grabbed a few books from the library on Friday, and the more I read, the more I'm motivated to write. My writing is terrible, so hopefully by writing more (although terrible) stuff, I'll get better.
So yes, expect more of the creative stuff here, and back on MHG will be the daily updates and journal-style blog.
-Chris
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