ONE YEAR AGO, CABBAGE NIGHT

BOO! I can't believe that is has been one year since I have put myself through the pleasure of grousing about something in public. It isn't that I haven't thought of anything, it is that I have been working at some pretty intensive jobs over this time. Some of you may be reacting with smirks and fire-spitting eyes with the jealousy born of hearing me complain about about working when many of you wish that you were working instead of reading me. I guess you will just have to get over it. I am not going to quit because you are out of work. I can't quit. Who can quit and try to maintain a life style on Social Security? You know, that socialist benefit that old people are entitled to have because they and their employers have paid into the program forever...or so it seems. So, OK, I'll change the subject.

How about the dear friend who disappeared into thin air about six months ago? Now, that's a bummer. I don't know what got into her. One day we're "texting" away (not "sexting", smarty pants) and suddenly she fell off the end of the earth. Not a word in six months. No, it's not the economy, stupid. It can't be my B.O. at a distance of 100 miles! Imagine, the wonders of the twenty-first century ganging up on you and making your life miserable. If we didn't have cell phones, we would never imagine that friends could be right next to us while being physically so far away. Then, poof!, no more contact. This, by the way, was not one of those Facebook "friends". This was a real, live, honest to goodness breathing person, full of life, love and the pursuit of happiness. She is too young to die, but not too young to disappear. Boo Hoo!

Ah, yes! Facebook. How many times over the last year have I pushed the "delete" button on e-mail that said, "Francie Chrystafragellistic wants to be your friend." Huh? Friend? Who? Why? Cold Cock a poor guy with a proposal to be friends without ever having met face to face? Not even in "Pete's Hole Inn the Wall" bar on South Canal Street? Friend? Are you kidding me. Get "delete" lost!

THE PRETTY LADY AT ARCO

When's the last time you were the object of a random act of kindness? 

Did you get a chance to thank the person? 

If you did, you're lucky. There's nothing worse than getting petted by the wings of an angel and not being able to express your gratitude for the great feeling that it gives.Last night, 2/2/2007 at about 9:05 PM I stopped at the ARCO station on Day Street before jumping on to the 60 WEST heading for LAX. I have a debit card with +$600 and a credit card with Fort Knox on it.

Wife goes to the snack shop for a couple of hot dogs and drinks and she's carrying my only cash, one well used, totally wrinkled picture of Andrew Jackson. On the island outside I swipe one, "Denied". Swipe two, "Denied". 

I run into the store and luckily I'm the only one in line. I figure something's wrong on the island. I give card #1 to the cashier, "swipe, swipe, denied". There's a line forming, but I'm really getting curly hair on the back of my neck now. I reach for card #2, slide it into the cashier's hand and watch while he "swipes, swipes, DENIED!" Now the line is four deep and wife is at my left elbow with the eats and the Jackson. I'm sweating, and I'm growling inside, not knowing what kind of astrologically, star-crossed conspiracy has descended upon me. Is ARCO ganging up on me? At my right elbow, I feel a warmth. A gentle, swishing kind of presence. As the dogs and the drinks and the $20 all land on the counter at the same time, a very firm, commanding but extremely smooth voice says, "cover it with this." 

I turn to see golden hair, well brushed and aromatic. Sweet smooth cheeks with a slight flush, bright blue eyes with a deep gentleness and a smile that could light the Taj Mahal. In her hand, a simple Master Card, outstretched to the cashier. I settle my eyes into hers, give her a wan smile and gently but firmly say, "you are so kind, but we will be fine with the Jackson. Please, Ma'am, it's OK. " The warm presence hesitates, doesn't retract the card right away, insisting that she meant what she said. I smile lightly, wink at her and say softly, "we're OK, Ma'am." She retracts her arm, and returns to her place at the end of the line.
I tell the cashier that the cash is for the eats and gas on number 7. He says OK, and punches it into the computer. My only money disappears. I turn to leave and I slide my gaze over to the Golden Haired Angel. I have a golf ball in my throat and a fog in my eyes, so with a weak smile and a lip-sync "thank you" accompanied by a wink, I leave and go to the pump to get what gas I got for my change from the 20. 

I quickly squirt the gas into the tank and leave for LAX. I thank God for my 50 MPG Hybrid. Wife and I are silent from emotion for the first forty-five minutes of the trip. We then pray the rosary, making the Golden Haired Angel the object of our offerings. I don't know who you are, Lady, but God knows. I don't know if you even believe in God. What I do know is that two old people with credit cards that were the victims of an equipment malfunction told God to hold you close to Him, forever.
By the way, we didn't have enough money for parking, and the plane was late, so I drove around in circles for one hour before picking up our passenger and leaving LAX. We returned home on the strength of hybrid engineering, 62 Mile Per Hour cruise controlled speed, gas tank fumes and on the spirit of your spontaneous, generous act. If the world had more people like you, there would be a lot less crying at funerals because we would all be sure that another angel had taken God's hand and walked home with Him.

To the Lady with the Tattoo

Ah, what a sight! There I was standing in the doorway, holding the heavy door open for your convenience as you helped your beautiful daughter cross the sidewalk and gain entry to the vestibule. She is so tall and so classic in her presentation of herself. She was clad in white satin, a perfect sculpture, an enrapturing goddess framed in the gothic church door with a 1,000 watt smile, appropriate for her day.

Ah, what a sight!2 You too were quite a sight. Ebony hair waving around about your shoulders as if it had been conditioned for a television commercial. Your shiny, deep brown eyes, high cheek bones and luscious sensually puffed out lips all highlighting a stunning light chestnut complexion. The proximity of your extraordinarily attractive skin moving lithely around the off-setting pure white of your daughter's pre-teen presence was stunningly artistic.

Ah, what a sight!3 Saving the best for last, I have to say that I was really swayed by the top half of your left breast which was decorated with a rather brazen tattoo. It is a mgnificent breast, a fitting companion for the one on the right. Glowing, gently bobbing, animating the tattoo so that it danced on the edge of the cloth that was either trying to hide it or succeeding very well in enhancing the presentation. It was all the more enjoyable because you were not paying the slightest bit of attention to me, only to your daughter trying to get through the door without snagging her magnificent gown. It was one of the more enjoyable 45 or 50 seconds of my life, and right in church too! This whole thing was climaxed by your eyes meeting mine and our lips communicating happiness and satisfaction by mutually complementing smiles. You then completed your entry, and I, my exit. But I'll never forget it.

I guess I'll never know whether to be disappointed or not that this all happened in church. I still haven't decided whether or not I should feel guilty for the prurient pleasure that I experienced for about one minute or whether I should cast the pall of guilt over to you for daring to appear in church on the day of your daughter's first communion with your sexual assets so audaciously exposed. I suppose I should thank God for allowing me the concupiscent pleasure at the sight of one of His more magnificent successes. I often wonder if you set out on a mission to broadcast God's gifts of glorious beauty in two rather complementary examples, one pre-pubescent and the other, ripe and succulent, sweet to the bone.
Conclusion: I've decided to enjoy the glory of God's creation as He exposed it to me that day in His church. I've decided that He sent you to me and to the others who derived similar pleasure from your well shaped and tastefully decorated anatomy. My experience tells me that after first communion the next time you will be at the door of the church, your feet will precede your breasts. By then, I will have been told by the guardian at the pearly gates whether I have sinned or not in the enjoyment of your body. Therefore, I wish you well, and I beg of you, when you go to church the next time, please cover your assets.