My sister the nurse: You guys would not believe some of the things I've pulled out of old people's belly buttons.

Disgusted silence all around.

Random friend: Like what?

Me: A badger?

This is 2 minutes after The ACN asked me to have a nap with her this morning in her new bed.

This is 30 seconds before she kicked me out for being a bed hog. (I am really not.)

This is 1 minute before she giggled and made it clear that she had no intention of napping at all.



This one answers a few age old questions:

1) Does "The Monkey" really exist?
2) Do you ALWAYS wear a baseball cap?
3) You don't actually look tall in pictures. (Hey! That isn't a question at all.)




Yes, those ARE Dora The Explorer slippers. Admit it. You're jeeeealous.

Labels: ACN

Hiyas.

I am sitting here patiently(ish) waiting for the arrival of The ACN.

She should be here soon, but her Mommy & Daddy are only able to come late tomorrow night. My sister has been working every night since the 24th.

So, we pushed the gift exchange portion of our holiday back until the evening of the 29th.

That's right... there are presents for me sitting under a tree unopened.

I am handling it well.

So far.

Every other year, my sister has to work during Xmas, so we have Xmas whenever she is is off. We need The ACN for it to really be Xmas! (And to a lesser extent we need her parents as well.)

On Xmas morning, I got to watch The Monkey open her gifts. That is always an experience. Nothing but a tornado of wrapping paper, Hilary Duff brand clothing, and books about nomadic slacks.

I haven't been completely shut out on the present front.

I did get to open the first two seasons of "The Wire" on dvd. A move that was probably engineered to keep me busy and prevent me from snooping under the tree every five minutes.

That was good thinking.

I also got a copy of The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. It is apparently "A spiritual path to higher creativity." I also got a little notebook to be used with the exercises in the book. The gifter was thinking ahead.

The gifter is "HRC." (aka Her Royal Cuteness.) She is an ex-girlfriend/one of my bestest friends in the world. (She okayed the HRC name, but would have preferred more superlatives being added on.)

Apparently there is a part in the book where I am going to have to have an "artist child play day" or some such. HRC is amused by that.

Though we've both agreed that pretty much every day with me is artist child play day.

Hope you are all having happy holidays!

Labels: HRC

Happy Birthday to the Ink Monkey himself.

A Festivus for the rest of us!

Yesterday, I sent the following out to almost everybody on my gmail contact list. But, this morning I realized that I haven't exchanged mails with all of you yet. And I don't like to leave anyone out. Especially if they might be a very good person... with a spectacular bum.

So here is my Christmas story...

"Hi to everyone on my gmail contact list!

I'm not sending you cards or presents this holiday season.

What? Did you send ME something?

Mmhmm.

Instead I am going to tell you a story.

It is a story about love... life... and six other things.

Don't be alarmed if this story changes you on a very fundamental level. That's just how I do things.

(I'm way too lazy to un-include the people I barely know that, for whatever reason, ended up on my contact. Happy holidays to you strangers too!)

And here it is...

*****

Kyle had been sitting in the bar for a half hour before he noticed the Xmas decorations.

It was early November!

Did her story just finish? They are all laughing. Crap.

Kyle laughed. Or tried.

Kyle was a fifth wheel on this particular evening. And the other two sets of wheels were smack dab in the middle of their honeymoon periods.

He was still trying to figure out the exact number of beers he could drink to numb the pain without loosening his tongue too much.

He liked all these people.

Individually.

"I'm going to get another beer. Everyone good?" He asked no one in particular.

They ignored him and loudly planned some future trip to Greece.

Kyle walked to the bar. As he arrived, a stool opened up. He sat on it as quickly as humanly possible.

The bartender glanced at him from where he stood chatting up a hot blonde, who was working hard to seem five years younger than she actually was. Kyle held up his empty bottle. The bartender grudgingly grabbed a refill and brought it over to Kyle. Kyle passed him some cash and the bartender returned to his cougar-wrangling.

Kyle looked back at his table.

Just at that point, they all began squealing about something that apparently tickled their collective fancies.

Kyle visibly shuddered.

He turned to find the TV behind the bar. A college basketball game was on. Kyle exhaled and took a sip of his beer.

Maybe this wouldn't be too painful.

His moment of zen was interrupted by hooting and hollering from a table near the entrance.

Curiosity overcame his desire not to move and he swiveled around on his stool. It was a group of five people who seemed to be celebrating something or other. He was going to swing back around to his game when he noticed her.

She was very pretty.

Okay... she was hot.

But, he had just come out of a relationship, and wasn't looking for someone new.

He looked at her a bit closer.

She was extremely hot.

She had brownish hair, with some of those highlight dealies. He thought. Maybe.

As he debated the finer points of her coif with himself, some dude approached her.

He looked like a lawyer. Or a Wall Street guy. Kyle could see the waves of smarm emanating from him.

"Ugh," Kyle said into his bottle.

But, as quickly as Smarm Boy had arrived, he had been dispatched.

Kyle was intrigued by the look of disdain on her face.

Kyle found "bitchy" to be very sexy.

Smarm Boy was followed up by a string of wannabe suitors over the next hour.

There was Muscle Shirt Guy. Bad Comb-Over Dude. Mullet Guy. Slightly Less Bad Comb-Over Dude. The Blonde Cougar That Had Been Talking to the Bartender. We Could See That He Was a Player From Outer Space Fella. And Joe Piscopo.

Not one of them even got the chance to sit down next to her.

Then two barely out of college guys strolled up beside her. They weren't taking "no" for an answer. One guy even kept putting his hand on her shoulder, despite her attempts to brush it off. Her table mates seemed oblivious. The situation appeared to be escalating as the two guys were trying to drag her out of her chair, and presumably towards the dance floor.

Kyle put down his beer, got off his stool and started over. He straightened his shirt. He fixed his hair a little.

When he got there, he stepped directly in between the two guys and the girl. He stared each of the guys in the eyes. He didn't flinch. He even scowled a little. They were slightly bigger than he was. He turned to look at the confused, but a little relieved, woman.

"You gave me herpes, you traaaaaamp!!"

Loudly.

Her mouth fell open.

The two guys began blathering. "We were just--" "Sorry for the inconvenience--" "I think I forgot my iron plugged in--"

And they bolted.

The woman slumped back into her chair. She was still a little in shock.

Kyle took a seat in an empty chair next to her. He motioned for the waitress to get the woman a refill and another beer for him.

"You are welcome," Kyle offered.

"Herpes?" She finally managed to say.

"It's the first thing that came to mind. I'm Kyle."

"I'm Sabrina. Could you have said it any louder?"

"Oh yeah, probably."

And they started chatting.

They found that they had nothing in common. At all.

He was a laid-back fratboy type. She was a definite Type-A.

They disagreed on everything they discussed. They had different dreams, goals, ambitions, backgrounds, lifestyles, etc.

They really had absolutely nothing in common.

As the bar was closing, and they were still chatting, he excitedly asked for her number. And she gave it without hesitation.

And they dated for more than a month. They spent every available moment together.

She took him to fancy restaurants. He showed her that the earth wouldn't stop spinning if she ate a slice of pizza off a plate fashioned from a ripped-off pizza box cover.

And with the exception of a half hour break-up when he asked if he should wear his "formal baseball cap" to the opening of a new Broadway musical, it had been the best relationship of both of their lives.

As Christmas approached, it was decided that they would go spend it back home with his family, as Sabrina's family was "a complete train wreck of biblical proportions."

Bible trains aside, Kyle was very excited that Sabrina would be spending the holidays with him and his family. As was his family. His mother had already started buying things for her visit. Tree ornaments with her name on it. Her own special personalized hot chocolate mug for Christmas Eve.

Kyle and Sabrina, however, were both very stressed about what to get each other for Christmas. Though neither of them would mention it.

Complicating issues was that both of them were flat-ass broke. What money he made, he spent on friends and family. And what money she made she spent on... well, shoes. And on things that would look pretty with her shoes. Like... more shoes.

Shopping days were zipping by, with neither of them making any progress.

Every conversation that they had consisted of them both listening so hard for gift ideas or hints in everything that was said.

Finally, one evening Kyle heard what he was waiting for. Sabrina had seen a purse in a store window. It was a perfect match for her most recent shoe purchase.

The very next day, Kyle rushed down to the store to check it out. His excitement turned to... no excitement very quickly. The price tag read $350.

Kyle was a bit bummed. But, she wanted it. And he wanted her to be happy. He'd find some way to get it for her.

That night, while Kyle watched Sportscenter in bed, Sabrina had an epiphany.

Kyle always rambled about wanting the hockey card of some old guy for his collection.

She couldn't think of his name.

Some Canadian dude.

Gret--

Gretzky. Wayne Gretzky!

She was excited. She grabbed her laptop from the table near the bed and went out to the couch.

Kyle barely noticed.

She did a bit of googling and found a card at a store only a few blocks away.

It was over $300.

But, he wanted it. And she wanted him to be happy.

She glanced down at her new shoes sitting by the couch. He friend had offered her $300 for them. She loved those shoes. She hated to even think about selling them. But, he REALLY wanted the card.

The trip back to his family home was pretty smooth on Christmas Eve. The weather co-operated. Traffic wasn't bad.

The reception Sabrina received at the house, however, was a bit overwhelming. People were hugging her from all sides.

Much to her surprise, she loved it.

She loved them. All of them. Even Uncle Doug, with the hugs that lingered just a big too long.

They sang carols that evening. They watched A Charlie Brown Christmas. Or whatever it's called. She giggled watching Snoopy dance.

She thought holidays like this only happened on TV and in movies.

Her face hurt from smiling.

She even got her own matching wool sweater like everyone else in the family. It was all itchy-like, but she powered through. She had never experienced such a sense of true belonging. She loved it.

Towards the end of the evening, as the rest of the family wandered off to bed, Kyle and Sabrina decided that they didn't want to wait until the next morning to exchange presents.

Kyle was so excited that he grabbed Sabrina's present and almost threw it at her.

"You go first!" He blurted out.

Sabrina got caught up in the excitement. She was like a little kid. Wrapping paper flew everywhere. She opened the box inside and stopped immediately when she saw what it was.

"It's beautiful!"

She slowly pulled the purse out of the box.

"Kyle, I love it!!!"

She jumped on him and hugged him repeatedly.

"You really like it?" He asked, equally as excited.

"I do!" She said as she rubbed it against her cheek. "Hey-- how did you afford this?"

"Well, sweetie, I had to sell my hockey card collection," he said sheepishly.

She was completely floored.

"I-I can't believe you did that for me."

"Anything for you," he said with a huge smile. "Can I have my present now?"

She was still in shock as she passed him a small wrapped box.

He excitedly tore into the wrapping.

"Cool!" He said. "A $25 gift card from the NBA store. There is a Raptors t-shirt I've been eyeing. Thanks, sweetie!"

"It was nothing," she said, as she held the purse down against the matching shoes that she was currently wearing.

And then they went to bed - where she changed into a french maid uniform and invited him to do unspeakable things to her.

It was the best Christmas either of them ever had.

- fin -

*****

I hope that you and yours have a safe and happy holiday season!

Take care,
Peter"

So, I have ten minutes before I should be doing something useful(ish.)

And I HATE not blogging on a week day. I know that you people don't plan your day around it or anything, but... Speaking of, why DON'T you plan your days around it.

*eyes you all suspiciously*

With the 10 minutes, I am going to write a story. All I have is a very basic concept - "two dudes in a building with guns."

Okay. 10 minutes... well, like 9 now. Crap!

8 and a half!

Okay...


They dove for cover as bullets whizzed over their heads.

T.J. reached up for the warehouse door and quickly closed it.

"So, that didn't go so well," Chris mumbled as he checked himself for holes.

"No, not especially," T.J. agreed as her surveyed their surroundings.

They were in a rundown warehouse on the docks.

Survey finished.

"I wasn't expecting that many people around at midnight," Chris offered.

"Nope."

"I didn't see 'fourteen goons with shotguns' anywhere in your powerpoint presentation for this plan," Chris continued.

"Nope again. That wasn't ideal," T.J. agreed.

"Wasn't ideal? I don't even think they saw you! I was the one they were shooting at," Chris yelled.

"All isn't lost. Let's check the windows for an escape route."

Chris crawled over to a window on the side of the building. He slowly inched his head up for a peek and --

POW!

A bullet shattered the glass and sent Chris sprawling to the floor.

"Are you okay?" T.J. asked.

"We're good and screwed," Chris replied.

"Oh yeah, definitely."

They both looked around at their surroundings.

"Well, I have something I want to get off of my chest," T.J. mumbled.

"Me too," Chris said.

"Go ahead. You can go first," T.J. offered.

"Okay... This isn't easy for me to say, but... I slept with your ex-girlfriend, but before she was your ex."

T.J. was in shock.

"Wait... Nicole or Shelley?" T.J. asked.

"Yes," Chris replied.

"You bastard!" T.J. blurted out.

"I'm sorry, man."

"I can't believe this."

"Well, we are career criminals. Unsavoury sorts. It can't come as too much of a surprise--" Chris rambled.

"Shut up." T.J. snapped.

"Shutting. But, what were you going to confess?"

"I - I was going to tell you that it WAS me that ate your last piece of pizza last night." T.J. said quietly.

"Oh... I forgive you." Chris smiled.

"Prick."

"Tell you what, you can kill me once we get out of here. I say let's dash out the front door, guns blasting, head for the water and swim for it," Chris said excitedly.

"I don't know..." T.J. wavered.

"Come on!" Chris urged.

"Okay..."

"Yeah?" Chris asked.

"Screw it. They are going to come in and get us soon anyway. Maybe we can catch them off guard," T.J. tried to convince himself.

"That's the spirit!"

"Do you really believe it'll work?" T.J. asked.

"Not even a little. Let's do it!" Chris replied.

They made their way over to the door. They stared at each other for a moment. Then they embraced.

"Let's do it?" Chris asked.

"Let's do it." T.J. smiled.

T.J. pulled open the door and Chris ran out first.

Immediately the night silence was broken with the sounds of much gunfire.

T.J. quickly shut the door... staying inside.

"Sleep with my girlfriends, will ya?"

*****

Okay, that took a bit longer than 10 minutes. In my defense, I answered e-mails, talked on the phone, and badly sang Aerosmith's "Dream On."

Or a Pete-pourri, if you will.

Though you probably shouldn't.

I had a few different things on my mind this morning, though none of which warranted a blog post of their own.

Here the are...

*****

You may not know this about me, but I gave kickass advice. For reals. So, because I love you all... Except you. You are just creepy. But, especially YOU! Your hair looks awesome.

So, I am going to share my sage wisdom with all of you. If you have a question that needs answering, e-mail it in. I'll answer them in a future post(s) called "Ask Pete" or something equally as lame. It'll be glorious.

I'll change the names, etc. to protect all your freaky, freaky secrets.

I'm good like that.

It can be about relationships, sex, me, you, sports, interior decorating, midget hookers, or whatever else scratches you where you itch.

*****

I learned a valuable lesson a while back, fellow bloggers. Never use the first AND last name of an actual person in a piece of short fiction. Especially if it was someone you barely knew in college. Even if they started your love of women wearing cute girl glasses.

People google themselves these days, children.

I'm only mentioning it because I'm sure she stopped visiting by now.

But, it was all kinds of embarassing.

Eeep.

*****

I am not one to brag. I don't like tooting my own horn. (Totally NOT a euphemism.)

I actually thought that maybe one of you would bring it up... But, whatever.

It seems as if I've been named Time Magazine's Person of the Year.

I'd be lying if I told you that this surprised me.

Specifically they cited my role in "the explosive growth and influence of user-generated Internet content such as blogs, video-file sharing site YouTube and social network MySpace."

Fair enough.

A few world leaders were also in the running, but come on. Do you think that Kim Jong-il has (probably) the most read blog... in his hometown?

And they were considering Jim Baker? Iraq Study Group? I'm from a country that refused to go there in the first place! You can't cry over that spilled... kettle of fish. (Or unmix that metaphor.)

I deserve this title.

I wonder if it will impress the ladies.

Oh and feel free to tell people that you know me.

*****

Last night I was thinking of a t-shirt idea...

"I visited PeterDeWolf.com and all I got was this lousy t-shirt... and herpes."

*****

Remember a couple of weeks back when Britney Spears was running around with no underpants on? Well, I sat down and wrote a comic strip. But, I couldn't find a cartoonist with the time to draw it.

Here it is:

Title panel: "The Wacky Misadventures of Britney Spears' Vagina" And it has a pic of her vagina wearing sunglasses and riding a roller coaster - or something
equally as fun, but easier to draw.

Panel #1 - Vagina is wearing sunglasses and a trench coat and is
sitting in an office. Somewhere in the office is a sign that says,
"Witness Relocation Program" and there is a dude sitting across from
her at the desk looking at a folder. (Essentially every panel is
going to have the same pic.)

Man: "She married THAT guy?"
Vagina: "Don't remind me.

Panel #2:

Man: "Wow. She let you get your picture taken a lot."
Vagina: "I got a sunburn from the camera flashes."

Panel #3:

Man: "Paris Hilton tried to get her to close her legs?"
Vagina: "Can you even imagine?"

Panel #4:

Man: "We have to get you into the program quickly."
Vagina: "Oh, bless you."

Panel #5:

Vagina: "Can the c-section scar come too?"
Man: "I don't see why not."

Panel #6

Man: "How about a condo right next door to Lindsay Lohan's e-mail writing ability."
Vagina: "That sounds nice.

Panel #7

Man just stares at the vagina.

Panel #8

Man: Are you covered in a thin-coating of Cheetoh dust?
Vagina: "Don't ask."

*****

This morning when I woke up, I turned on my TV. Instead of watching the news, or something sensible, I watched sports highlights - that I had already seen last night - and spent fifteen minutes trying to develop the perfect secret handshake.

Not that I am involved in anything in the moment that would necessitate such a thing. And not that I foresee any series of events leading to me ever requiring one.

Though I did come up with one that is all kinds of awesome.

*****

Can you tell that I am blog blocked?

The ACN was here making her pre-Christmas visit. We decorated the tree. She loved that and she was very helpful. She carried all the presents to the tree for me too.

She did not, however, like it when I wasn't moving fast enough for her.

Uncle Pete: Are you a patient little girl?

ACN shakes her head "no."

Uncle Pete: Are you going to be more patient when you get older?

ACN: Yeeeah.

If I took a break from any of our activites, she'd yell, "Unc!"





And Nipper was here too.

This was just before Nipper wrapped her front paws around ACN's shoulders and started giving her kisses.

It's hard to tell in this pic from her Christmas concert las tweek, but the ACN is holding the jingle bells, which she played during the songs that her class performed.

Labels: ACN

I mentioned a while back in here that I don't really get art.

Yeah, that's still the case.

Earlier today I was looking at a post on LAist about the top ten artists in LA. I decided to check them out. Surely if they are the best ones, I'll find something that speaks to me, right?

Nopers.

I totally get that these people are talented. I couldn't draw/paint things that look like... well, things. So, I can appreciate that part of it.

And I understand that a lot of art has a message of some sorts. Like one of those dudes has a painting called "4-headed hydra of Madison Ave." or some such. I get it. He thinks advertising is evil. Yeah, well, water is wet.

I want to see art that makes me stop and say, "Wow."

I did see some photos from the Banksy show in L.A. that showed pieces that impressed me. Some of it was very clever. But, I don't think that it moved me.

I also get that art would have to be seen in person to be fully appreciated. But, shouldn't I feel a little something even from photos online?

Am I a robot inside, people??

So, my mission for you good folks is to find art online someplace that will move me. Even if it is just a little bit. What are your favourites?

You can link it in the comments or e-mail me directly.

I also don't "get" poetry, but one step at a time.

Thanks.

I'm sitting here listening to "Pictures of You."

But, I'm not looking at any.

Honestly.

"I'm starting to date other people," you said.

For about four seconds, my stomach did something strange. Flipped? Flopped, maybe.

But, then I was fine.

Really.

We've been broken up for months.

I could never tell you about the four second flop though. You would read too much into it.

Again.

You said that I sent "mixed messages."

You felt that my actions didn't always match my words.

I told you to go by my words.

You didn't believe.

Wouldn't believe.

Couldn't believe?

You saw any act of kindness as some kind of declaration of love.

I said, "I'm just kind of nice sometimes."

You didn't want to believe.

I tried to explain that I would act that way towards anyone who was once an important part of my life.

You wanted to re-write history and be the only person that has ever been important.

But, you knew better.

I think.

I wanted to be friends.

You said that you didn't believe in that.

I wanted to make a joke about unicorns and gay Republicans.

But, I didn't.

You'd call and ask if I missed you.

If I didn't answer quickly enough - or didn't say what you wanted to hear - you'd accuse me of breaking your heart.

If I said "yes," you'd accuse me of stubbornly ignoring my own feelings.

I began to cringe whenever the phone rang.

I was hoping we could, at the very least, take the high road with all of this.

Maybe end with some kind parting words.

You couldn't do that.

I'll respect your needs.

I want the best for you.

But, telling you that will only confuse you more.

I'm glad that you are dating other people.

Typing that didn't make my stomach flip or flop.

Take care of yourself.

Labels: short... fiction?

Dear glass of water that I drank this morning,

Wow. Where do I even start?

You know me, water. I've never met a hyperbole - or half-Asian woman - that I didn't like, but I feel that I can safely say that you were the most satisfying glass of water in the history of hydrogen and oxygen getting together.

I don't know if it was the early morning lighting... Or perhaps it was Stevie Nicks & Don Henley's 1981 classic "Leather & Lace" playing softly off in the distance...

I just don't know.

I've drank a lot of water in my time. But, it's never felt... like this.

Never.

Sure, I was thirsty. That goes without saying. But, I've been thirsty before.

A big part of it was that I just didn't see it coming, you know? It felt like any other day. It felt like any other glass of water.

I was so naive.

Your temperature was just perfect. Cold. You were causing just the tiniest trace of condensation on the outside of the glass. Not so much as so that it would leave a ring on the countertop. Just enough to tease.

You little minx.

And the flavour... my word. Clearly the Brita filter is like a push-up bra for water's taste.

Mick Jagger complained that he couldn't get no satisfaction. (But, he tried, and he tried, apparently.) He was just looking in the wrong place.

Henry David Thoreau once said about water that it "is the only drink for a wise man." He was also opposed to paying taxes. I like the cut of this cat's jib.

The only downside of our time together this morning, dear water, is that it had to end. And not only because there was a finite amount of water in that huge glass, but because I haven't been able to properly breathe through my nose in over a decade and nearly choked trying to drink you all in.

It was worth it.

I-I... love you.

Yours,
Peter

First there was Chapter 1.

Then we experienced Chapter 2. (aka "Snack Attack of the Clone.")

And now it is time for Chapter 3!

Bonus: A teaser trailer for Chapter 4.

Labels: annspade, projectblogsphere, spricket24, YouTube

1) "The Best Day of the Year."

2) "Some People Are Just Touchy"

3) "George"

4) "Touch"

5) "Friday Flip-off #3"

"It's just... not easy," she said into her LG VX8500 "Chocolate" cell phone.

"I know. And I understand," a male voice replied.

"I like to research, you know. I don't rush into things," she explained.

"I remember my first time," he assured. "There is no rush."

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

"It's about patience and respect," he offered.

"Thank you for not making me feel pressured. It's a big decision."

"I know," he said. "No going back once it's done."

"Exactly!"

"Take all the time you need."

"I'm glad I'm having this discussion with you," she said. "Not some other guy."

"If we aren't both happy with the outcome, then I don't want to do it."

"Awwwww. You're sweet," she gushed.

"I can wait as long as you need."

"Thank you," she said. "It's just that Eddie Curry is on such a roll. But, Chris Kaman is steady and improving with each game. Fantasy basketball trades are hard!"

"I know. Hey, you want to have sex tomorrow night?" He asked.

"But, 'The O.C.' is on."

"After that," he countered.

"Sure, what the hell?"

Labels: short fiction

It feels like forever since I posted anything. You know, I may be a tad addicted to this damn site. Oh well.

Instead of my recent fictitious (and fiction with elements of truth) writings, today I'm going to tell you a true story.

And a personal story.

I just heard you gasp.

I've long been a fan of Arcade Fire's tune "Neighborhood 3 (Power Out)", but to say that I hate it when the power is actually out is a huge understatement.

It's like saying that Popeye kinda liked spinach. Or that Mark Foley was moderately interested in what his male interns were wearing. Or that I sort of don't care if my references are topical or timely.

(Be thankful, I almost started this post with "Joanie may love Chachi, but I friggin' hate power outages!")

(Not really.)

Since Arcade Fire are from Montreal, shouldn't it be "NeighboUrhood 3?"

I'm rambling.

Okay, most of you that have been reading here for a while know the calm, cool and collected Peter. The one who thinks himself funny and charming. But, that Peter goes away when the power goes out.

I become Surly Peter.

And that dude is no fun at all. He is quiet, cranky and kinda stabby.

The North American Peter needs stimuli bombarding him at all times. The sounds of the TV, music playing and the warming glow of his gmail inbox on a computer screen. Otherwise the North American Peter is left alone with nothing but his own thoughts.

And you people have read those.

Monday evening, around 6:30, I was cleaning up my supper dishes. I had just finished talking to the ACN and was getting ready to watch Giada on the cooking channel. A blizzard was swirling outside. Suddenly the power went out.

My immediate hope was that it would come back on.

Being no stranger to power outages, I knew that if it didn't bounce right back on, it could be a bit of a wait.

It didn't come right back on.

"Crap! Eeeep. No Giada?!?!"

The being no stranger thing also meant that I knew exactly where the nearest flashlight was. So, I fumbled along in the dark to my bedroom - tripping over the edge of the bed - and found one. A quick peek out the window told me that the whole town was in darkness.

And that I was already sick of snow.

A call to the power company's recorded message line told me that they didn't expect the power to come back on until 11:30 pm.

I put the back of my hand to my forehead and wilted and fell onto my bed like a southern woman in an old movie.

Not really.

What I actually did was say, "Crapfuckshitdamnboogerbastardhellpoooooooooooooooooooooooooop." Or something.

Five hours.

Yuckies.

So, I grabbed my flashlight and a hand-held electronic Yahtzee game (which I keep around for power outages) and plopped down on my bed. I taco'd up in my duvet and started trying to break the game's high score.

4 minutes later I was bored out of my mind and feeling a bit...

"No tv and no computer make Peter..."
"Go crazy?"
"Don't mind if I do. Bloop blap nidsa kndelwkfm ew fcnedwkfle wfew"

I'm rambling again.

Six minutes into the siege of darkness and something had to be done...

So, I called an ex-girlfriend.

She knows about my issues with power outages. She is usually entertaining and energetic. Surely she could help me pass the time.

But, she made fun of me.

She even went so far as to tell me that there was a Lauren Graham special on tv that I was missing.

Grrrr.

I am totally replacing her.

We got off the phone and I was once again left with the voices in my head.

For a while I thought about getting some new ex-girlfriends. Not girlfriends. Exes.

I figured why not skip all the relationship drama. The odds are that it wasn't going to work anyway. So, why not jump ahead to the point where you have a friend and someone who'll get your back (and not make Lauren Graham jokes while you sit alone in the dark!) And if you happen to have slide-back sex, then so much the better.

This idea made a lot of sense to me at that point.

An hour into the outage, I had a nap. Which was very rare for me. It probably lasted fifteen minutes. Two hours into the outage, I had another nap. It lasted a half hour or so.

So, it's nine o'clock. I got a drink of water. I realized that I am going to miss "Heroes." I swore a bit more. And then I just crawled under the covers and went to sleep.

A strange noise pierced the darkness and I was out of bed like a shot.

The power was back on!

I checked the time and saw that it was 12:45 am.

I realized that "Heroes" would be starting at 1 am on one of the western Canadian channels on my satellite dish. Yes, this was the first thought that I had.

I ran to the living room to set my pvr to record it. I grabbed the laptop and headed back to bed.

So, I was in my bed, my light was on, I was checking my e-mail and watching the end of a college basketball game. I couldn't hear my own thoughts. It was glorious.

I read your blogs and chatted with friends on msn until... 3ish. Finally, I decided to go back to sleep.

Hours later my eyes opened...

Judging by the light coming in one either side of my blind, I could tell that it was 7 am. Or 8. Or 4 in the afternoon. I looked at my digital clock and it was blank.

Wuh oh.

The power was out again.

I screamed "Kaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahn!" skywards.

Not really.

But, I was super pissed.

And hungry.

I climbed out of bed, cursed the snow, and grabbed some leftover chicken parm from the fridge. I tossed the cold chicken and a mittful of potato chips on a plate and had at it.

It wasn't bad.

Another call to the power company revealed that the power wouldn't be on until 11:30 am.

Eeeeeeeeeep.

So, I brushed my teeth and then went back to the duvet taco and Yahtzee.

It was a long morning, my friends.

I remembered a time when snow days were fun.

At one point the sky cleared, and I stretched out on my bed and stared up at the clouds through my window. I tried to imagine things in the shape of the clouds. But, all my thoughts were angry. "Hey, that cloud looks like me kicking the ass of the person who makes the power company recording!"

By noon, the recording now said it could be 6 pm before the power would be back on.

I was almost numb when I heard that estimate.

I was eating a bowl of cereal and watching an episode of "Arrested Development" on the laptop, with the last of it's battery charge. Just waiting for the screen to go black.

The backdoor opened and my father came in. He must have noticed that I was starting to turn into Marlon Brando in APOCALYPSE NOW.

"You know, I could go get my little generator and hook it up to your satellite receiver and tv so that you could at least watch tv," he said.

"You're an errand boy, sent by grocery clerks to collect a bill," I replied.

"What?"

"Fuck yeah, let's make with the tv!" I was excited. And relieved.

I immediately thought about watching "Heroes." Then I realized that the Micah kid in the show could have totally fixed the power.

Two minutes later the power came back on.

It's like the very threat of the generator kicked it into gear.

So, I went around the house turning on TVs and computers... and a blender for some reason.

But, I wasn't completely at ease. I knew that at any point, the load could become too much for the system and the power could go out again.

As each hour passed, I became a little more relaxed. Still, even a slight dimming of the lights would nearly give me a stroke. I am doing better today. So far.

I wonder if I can sue the power company for giving me post traumatic stress disorder.

I also wonder if I would still hit "publish" if I re-read this.

Probably best not to find out.

Labels: ACN, ex-girlfriends, power outages, rambling

He hated to shave. In general. And today specifically. He had just that right amount of stubble.

But, the wedding was starting in two hours. If he showed up late and/or without shaving, she would kick his butt.

As he applied the shaving cream, he remembered the day they met. It was at the DMV two years earlier...


He had taken his number and was waiting in line. He hated waiting. He hated lines.

A female voice interrupted his hating.

"What are you in for?"

He was in his own world and ignored.

"Hey, you."

He turned and saw her smiling.

"Me?"

"Yeah, what are you here for?"

"Getting my driver's license renewed."

"Getting a new picture?" She asked.

"Yeah."

"In that shirt?"

He looked down at himself and back at her.

"But..."

She started giggling.

"I'm kidding," she said. "You look fine."

He turned back to see what number they were serving.

It was finally his turn.

As he filled out his forms, he had to take a quick peek at what she was doing. Which, oddly enough, was taking a peek at him.

She smiled again.

He found her smile annoyingly enjoyable.

"Hey..." he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"You want my spleen?" he asked.

"Your spleen?"

"Yeah, you know, should something happen to me. God forbid."

"Ohhhhh," she replied. "I dunno--"

"It's a perfectly good spleen. It works hard at... breaking down fats and..."

"You have absolutely no idea what a spleen does, do you?" she asked.

"Not as such, no."

"Listen, I'm all set on the spleen front, but let's talk bladder."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"I have a little girl bladder. You look like you'd be well-endowed bladder-wise--"

"I don't like to brag..." he half-whispered smugly.

"It would really help me on road trips and at beach parties."

"You know what? You got it." he said.

He finished handling his business. She handled hers. They met in the parking lot on the way out.

"That wasn't too painful," she offered.

"Didn't you have to go through the full cavity search?" he asked.

"Not here. But, I went to the post office to mail a package this morning..."

He smiled. She smiled. They connected.

"Well, I'm late for work," he said.

He couldn't believe that he had said it.

Neither could she.

"Oh, okay."

"Have a good day," he said - again shocking himself.

"Take care of my bladder!" she said as she started towards her car.

He got to his car and sat inside. He had been involved with more dropped balls than Dick Clark, but this may have been his worst.

He banged his head on his steering wheel.


He continued shaving. He grinned a little at the memory.

He considered leaving a goatee. Briefly.

She would HATE that. And he realllllly did not like to see her upset. It seemed like he had always been trying hard to keep her happy...


He was still thinking about "the girl from the DMV" when he arrived at the party that night. A party that he didn't want to attend. A party that was being thrown by his cousin's boss' brother-in-law.

He considered going home, ordering a pizza and watching college basketball.

He strongly considered it.

But, he had promised. So, he grudgingly entered the house.

And it was pretty much what he expected. Rich people discussing tax shelters, new cars and the apparent nationwide dearth of "good help."

He had already decided that if he heard anyone mention "the market" he was going to bail.

He wandered around aimlessly until he found a table full of food. Of course, he couldn't recognize and wouldn't voluntarily try most of the selection available.

He accidentally started eavesdropping on a group of women -- dripping with jewelry and rampant bitchitude -- cattily insulting another woman who stood no more than six feet away with her back turned to them. He was immediately annoyed.

He became completely enraged when the mocking of her clothes -- specifcally a gold dress -- was obviously being heard by the woman. She seemed to recoil at the mention of the phrase "prom dress."

He walked up next to the cackling harpies and loudly said, "Ladies, could one of you introduce me to the vision in the gold dress? She's gorgeous."

The harpies shut up immediately. Then gold dress turned around and it was...

DMV girl.

"Hi," she said, obviously surprised.

"Hey. You wanna get ou--"

"Yes!" she replied.

And he took her arm and they went out on the patio. And that's where they stayed. For hours.

About two hours into their chat -- which didn't have a single lull -- he asked her, "Have you always been funny?"

"Not really," she replied. "I think it kicked in when I was like fourteen."

"So, you had a 'Are you there, God? It's me Margaret Cho' moment?"

She giggled. Then she kissed him full on the mouth.

Labels: short fiction