9.4.07 | Conversations With Mai Pumpkin (How To Find THE INTERESTING PEEPS. Again)
...And when she discovered she was a raging lezzer he realized he was a raging pufftah, too!
Oh rilly?
Yah! And so after the SEX-CHANGES... they got married. Again! Talk about hawt hermaphrodite love! Umm... if you abbreviate Hemrmaphrodite, do you get raging Heemies, perhaps?
I don't know. I do hope you're talking bollocks again, because such a scenario sounds a little too against-the-laws-of-reality to have happened- even to the people you know.
Well yeah, but imagine the scary lezzer-homo sex scenarios you could invent for sitcoms!
Will you stop cackling so loudly, please. Pleeease?
And if you throw in a couple of vicars, tea, plus assorted sex-aids and buckets of stored jizz to step into...
And then it happened- that split-second of knowing you have made a contact, but are unsure of how to proceed...
Why in God's name would anyone have buckets - buckets! - of stored jizz in their home??!?
The woman had been walking towards us throughout this conversation, minding her business and no doubt on her way home from a pleasant afternoon of slumming the shop-windows of our "fair" *snickers loudly* town. Quite attractive, with long hair, slimness, big intelligent eyes, unusual skin tones. Something familiar about her. I couldn't quite put my finger on it...
She was just passing us, and maybe it was something about the way i was loudly extolling the untested use of jizz and lezzer-homo-heemies in sitcoms that made her do a double-take, or maybe it was something flickering in her memory, too... but for the briefest moment, we had a connection.
And will you stop leching at every single woman or assumed woman that walks past!
...And neither of us did anything about it. Um, well, apart from me flashing one of my more insanity causing grins that H.P. Lovecraft himself woulda bin proud of. Later, the name of an old once-upon-a-time friend came to my mind.
Kate. Kate Green.
I Don't think i have seen her for over 15 years, but i am sure it was her. She was once one of my best friends, and i had rather a nice crush on her. She inspired me to love poetry, not just appreciate it. She gave me the most vivid low-down on just how vile much of women's contraception was at the time, and how the onus always seemed to be upon the woman to provide it rather than the "poor, sensitive man and his poor little penis that doesn't like to wear a little jacket". She was also one of the sharpest and clever people i have ever met.
We fell out midway through the 3rd act of Edward Scissorhands. Never really spoke again after that. A painful drive home in silence. Always one of those things on the back of my mind. Totally ruined the film for all time for me. Bit of a pisser, as i'm sure you would agree.
Life is full of people we see, but no longer "see". Past loves. Past friends. They are often pushed to the periphery of our vision and attempts are made to forget them. Sometimes, we actually succeed.
Many times in the last year, i have seen people i have known and forgotten from the past.
Every single time, nothing was said.
Every single time, i wished i had.
Maybe next time, i will actually dare myself to speak, and re-capture some of those friends...
Maybe one of them will come across this website and discover me. I'd like to think that would be possible. I miss them all.
Will you shut up wittering and enjoy your coffee and oatcakes, now that you've finally decided to blog about it? Honestly- i've had about half an hours whining and moaning "What if it WAS her? Blah blah blaah." Stop living in the past, you nobhead.
I shut up about it, enjoy my coffee and oatcakes (Mmyum! Cheese and mushroom!) and read the papers full of current events in The Red Triangle (in Burnley, all you Marxist-stroke-socialist-loving beverage drinkers!) And grin my best insanity-warping grin yet.
Pumpy frowns menacingly over the top of her magazine. But i can tell she's amused at my mercurial change of mood as always. It's in her eyes.
S.x
5 comments :.
Dare to do it. Even if its just to ask for an email address.
Because you're worth it.
(Sorry, I've got the Hollyoaks ad break on in the background. Btw I hate Hollyoaks.)
I too struggle with Hollyoaks. However, I recently had a lecture from a former scriptwriter. She was paid £5,500 per episode she wrote. She could write one in two days....
She's just had two years off having her own theatre built. Hollyoaks Pays!
Old friends ... too many old boyfriends in this city for me.
Hmmm, Hollyoaks ... ?
Big smooches,
Your Tart
; *
Heh!
Hollyoaks is an awful sitcom-sorry, i mean soap-opera with sleazy teens in it and the girls are often... ehm... under-dressed. It casts a execrable light into all that's wrong with UK society, so it's probably hyper-realistic... Which does ofc mean that the UK is vile OR that i'm getting old.
Or both. Arghhh!
S.x
you know, you really inspire me. I'm inspired enough to actually write a short story or even a book about you. your life and how you live it is the stuff of movies. sad movies, but the sort you come out of feeling a sad sort of happiness, because it ends with a moral and a happy note.
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