PeterDeWolf.com

A capite ad calcem

2008-07-04T20:37:00.002-03:00

Familiar ache.
It's that cold slap of platonic,
you say to yourself.
Not allowed to admit it
to her.
You suppose.
Rules. And all.
Clothes you are not permitted to notice
making love to curves that lead
where gaze can't follow.
How can you not have thoughts?
You ask yourself.
Yourself is already convinced.
Of course.
It's easy.
You compliment.
As little as possible.
As much as is permitted.
You smile.
You change the subject.
The weather...
That reminds me of...
It has to be.
You know.
You wouldn't want to change it.
But, so often.
But, EVERY so often...
You know?
Yeah.

Errands and I was a pervy kid

2008-07-03T10:27:00.003-03:00

Climbing Everest sounds like it could be a little tough. Running marathons would take a bit of effort. Being a POW would also be something of a of a pain in the ass, I assume.

But, none of that would compare with...

Running errands for my mother.

I should clarify that not all of these errands are actually for my mother.

My mother will demand that errands be run on behalf of family, friends or people she just met on the street.

And it doesn't matter what the errand/favour is.

"You want a program written to handle missle command for a small European nation? Peter has a computer. He'll do it!"

It doesn't even matter if she likes the person or not. It could be Hitler or that prick who created Family Guy. They'll have told her some sob story, that she'll in turn use on us.

"Sure, he's history's worst villain. But, he has a splinter in his toe and has a hard time climbing ladders."

I've learned to just give in. I'll grumble and swear a little, but eventually do it.

And that would be the end of it, I suppose, IF the errands/favours actually worked out as they had been described.

In the history of ever, nothing has been where my mother has claimed it would be.

She'll ask you to go pick up a file folder.

"It's not on my desk? Check the basement? Or six miles down the road. On the international space station? Perhaps it never existed."

She's a character.

The other day my mother emailed me from work. She wanted me to go through her collection of LPs in her basement to find two or three albums by a local musician dude.

And so I did.

And they weren't there. Of course.

However, I did find one of the more questionable collections of music that any family has ever assembled.

My sister's Mini-Pops.

My Bay City Rollers. (Laugh it up, jerkfaces.)

I e-mailed her to tell her that I couldn't find the albums in question. And to let her know that she had a larger collection of albums by 70s Canadian duo "Gary & Dave" than anyone not in the immediate family of Gary and/or Dave.

She ~~didn't~~ doesn't find me amusing. And she told me I was a dope for not finding the right albums.

[I am going to gloss over the part of the story where she later finds said albums in the next room, in a location that I walked by three times and searched "thoroughly."]

In my exhaustive search, I found two albums that made me laugh. Hard.

I had an immediate flashback to my misspent youth.

I was probably 8 or 9. I'd spend a lot of time stretched out on the floor next to my parents record player (google it, kids) listening to the original "Smoking in the Boys Room" and Steppenwolf and Abba and all sorts of other stuff.

Then one day, I found this:

Thank you, Herb Alpert.

It was like my entire life had been a prelude to that moment.

I thought I had found porn. Also, I was sure that she was the prettiest woman in the world.

By the way, chick is 71 now. I'm going to try not to think about that. Moving on...

When I wasn't ogling whip cream lady, I was staring at this:

Tanya Tucker.

Even better than that cover photo -- if that is possible -- was the picture on the inside fold-out dealie. She was wearing a red leather one piece get-up, her butt facing the camera, and holding some TNT. Mrrrrowwwrrrrrr. I can't find it online. And I looked. Trust me.

Ever the ass man, I'd stare at that for hours.

If my parents came into the room...

"I'm not doing anything!"

Confused look on their faces.

"What?"

They looked at me holding a Tanya Tucker album cover while that Snoopy and the Red Baron song played on my Charlie Brown something or other album. They likely ignored it, as I assume I was a pretty wacky kid in general.

Still, it would have been much easier to maintain my cover, had Lucy from Peanuts wore a little blush and some hot pants.

Prude.

I wonder...

2008-07-01T11:09:00.005-03:00

Does it mean that you've been too long without a girlfriend, if you contemplate inviting two door-to-door religious types into your house because the female is kinda hot?

In my defense, she looked like her.

Yesterday afternoon, just after The ACN left, I was going through withdrawal and having a good sit on my couch.

Suddenly, I heard a knock on my door. (Can there be a gradual knock on a door?)

Because I love people ever so much, and always feel like it could be possibility knocking, I cheerfully skipped towards the door thinking...

"Who in the fuck is this yutz?"

I opened the door -- maybe a foot -- and saw a tall clean-cut dude in a suit. From the size and intensity of his smile, I knew that he could only be selling one thing... Jesus.

Or crack, I suppose.

Regardless, he started, "We are here to talk to you about --"

"I'm Catholic. I'm good, thanks. I'm set." I am a master at keeping conversations short.

I saw that he was carrying both a copy of the Bible and a copy of something that I can only assume was essentially Bibles for Dummies. I resisted the urge to comment that I'd need a For Dummies book to even understand that For Dummies book.

It was at this point that I noticed his lovely partner. I swear that my first thought was, "My, you are wearing a lot of clothes, eh?"

As I smiled at her, and she gave me a look that said, "I'd like to cozy up next to your sexy soul for all of eternity," dude kept talking.

Something about traveling around, meeting people, spreading the word of something or other. He tried to lean into the slightly open door, and while he was a big guy, I am a bigger guy, so it wasn't happening.

And then he got even smilier than before and said...

"We're from Pennsylvania!"

It was if he had just told me that he was from a land as mythical and wonderful as New York or Paris or Dollywood.

This, of course, caught my attention. I titled my head, furrowed my brow, and said, "Really...?" I was about to unleash the snark when I noticed the lass smiling.

In my head I was doing the 'lick two fingers, groom your eye brows' thing and thinking, "Well, any proselytizing friend of Punxsutawney Phil here is a proselytizing friend of mine."

But, I just smiled back. "Well, that's great."

He talked about enjoying the scenery in my town. I wished them luck and told them I hoped the weather held.

And that was that.

A moment in time shared.

Still, the mind wanders. What types of lines WOULD work on a door to door bible chica?

"I learn by doing. Wanna act out some of the commandments with me?"

"I can't create wine, but I can make you whimper" (Caitlyn called this one "gross.")

"Let me tell YOU a story about rising again."

"Letter from Paul to the Corinthians: Nice bum!"

I have more, but I am already fearing going to hell.

5 Days with The ACN

2008-06-30T14:05:00.004-03:00

Me and the twerp had a fun long weekend.

Lots of cuddles. Lots of silliness. Some looking for bunnies in the park.

The weather didn't co-operate, so we couldn't do much outside. We had to be creative coming up with fun things to do.

One afternoon she spent an hour with my Dad, learning about his new drill set. He'd explain what one set of bits were used for. She'd watch him closely. He'd ask, "Are you getting all of this?" She'd say, "Yeah."

Very cute.

They also spent three hours in my Dad's shed one afternoon -- oh, she has now claimed it as her own -- checking out all of his tools. She made him lock the door from the inside, and it was their clubhouse. Anyone who went to visit had to knock on the door and state their name. They called me three times from grandpa's cell to go knock on the door.

We played some Webkinz online. She now has 43 of the furry little buggers. We checked to make sure all of them were well-fed. "Doodle the Poodle" was hungry, so we went through the food we had, and decided to give her something called "McBone Burger and fries." Sounds perfect for a dog, right? Not so. Doodle ate it and said, "Um, have you actually tried this? ICK."

I was mad. I referred to Doodle as an "ungrateful ingrate!" while The ACN giggled.

Doodle doesn't know how good she has it. It could be worse, she could be Zoe the unicorn. We have her sleeping in something called "a banana hammock."

This morning she told me she was excited that her mommy was coming today. I asked if she was excited for Mommy hugs. She said. "Yeah." I said, "But, Uncle Pete hugs are pretty good, right" She shook her head "No." Vigorously. I said, "You are going to make Unc cry. Is that what you want?" She got all excited, "Yeah!!"

I get no credit for inventing the "The Webkinz French Toast Breakfast Party" apparently.

Both yesterday and the day before, we took a break in the afternoon and she stretched out on the couch with a pillow and blanket and I gave her footrubs. Because, as you well know, it is super tiring being a professional cutie pie.

And now the munchkin is on her way home. For the next couple days I'll be missing the cuddles and all :( faced.

Here is a pic of The ACN and The Monkey and their two new Webkinz Samoyeds:

I guest posted...

2008-06-29T15:16:00.001-03:00

on Caitlyn's blog.

It's true!

More about me and bossy little chicks...

2008-06-27T07:00:00.000-03:00

Taking a 30 second break from feeding The ACN some yogurt, I tried to reply to an e-mail. She did not like this idea.

"UNC! UNC! UNC!"

So, I resumed my duties. But, I was curious.

"Munchkinpants, when the ladies at school make you wait for a minute, do you yell at them?"

She shook her head "No."

"But, it's OK to yell at Unc?"

In the sweetest little voice she said, "Yeeeeah" and smiled the cutest little smile.

Besides, how could you ever get mad at someone who wears these?!?!

My camera on my phone sucks, but these are tiny little black and pink suede Pumas! I could probably fit 6 of these in one of mine!

just a girl on a couch

2008-06-26T07:00:00.000-03:00

behind the curtain
of a ballsy fragility
there lives an ease
that was not easy
there exists a grace
that is not always graceful
beauty can mask
cheekbones that sometimes look sad
when they are smiling
even grin determination
needs downtime
the prize is still there
even if the eyes close
briefly
but
there is no more time for that
the curtain goes back up
it is show time
again

bossy little chicks and me

2008-06-25T11:17:00.002-03:00

I was told that I wasn't allowed to erase "Camp Rock." But, The Monkey eventually eased up on her stance and said that I could delete it "when it comes out on DVD."

"Is it coming out anytime soon?"

"Uh, no!"

In the first 48 hours after I recorded it, she watched it three times. The third time she arrived with the lyrics for all the songs, that she had printed off the internet.

We got into an argument about just how loud my TV had to be while she watched it. I gave her the evil eye and she smiled and said, "You love me."

Then she turned the volume up a little bit more.

604 x 453

2008-06-23T10:40:00.002-03:00

I don't know her.

Yet I can't help but wonder --
not that I've tried very hard to resist --
if she knows.

Her power.

She has to know.

More than tanned skin
and distractingly dangerous curves.
It is
Golden promise frozen in time.

An image and an unheard soundtrack
conspiring to shine.
aspiring to...

Perfection
of the unknown.
Affection
for the unknowing.

An ideal fit for unnoticed holes.
Now glaring.

She doesn't know me.
Yet these words belong to her.
As did the hundreds that came before,
summarily dismissed.
To land on someone else,
somewhere else,
in the finite sea of inspiration.

I don't know her.
But, at this moment in time,
that moment in time,
could not be having more of an impact.

nature or nurture

2008-06-22T10:46:00.006-03:00

Friday evening
Casa de Pete

The Monkey (my 11 year old cousin, for you newcomers) is watching TV. She sees an ad for something and completely loses her mind.

"Oh my God... OH MY GOD! Camp Rock!!!!!"

I stare at her blankly.

"It's on tomorrow night, Peter! Oh no... I am going away for the weekend. I will miss it."

"I can record it for you."

Her mouth dropped open. "You are AWESOME."

"It's not a big deal."

"It's the Jonas brothers. Nick is sooooo awesome... and cute!"

[A couple of things... Firstly, I am not really prepared for her thinking boys are cute. Wasn't it just last week that she was 3 years old and making me carry her everywhere? Secondly, I was telling my folks this story and couldn't remember which of the brothers she finds cute. My dad answered way too quickly, "It must be Nick." I don't know what to do with that at all. And, frankly, I don't want to think about it anymore.]

Sunday morning
Casa de Pete (Casa del Pete? Whatever.)

The phone rings. It is The Monkey, rambling on in French to whoever is in the room with her. She is still out of town.

"Did you record my movie?"

And because I am not above taking money from children. "Yes. And how are you going to pay for it?"

"With my presence."

If there had been any doubt about whether or not we are related...

The things I do for you people...

2008-06-20T11:56:00.013-03:00

I stuck a post-it on my bedside lamp recently. It was another of my middle of the night thoughts. You know, besides the usuals. "I'm thirsty." "It's 4 am, why am I awake?" And "Neat. An erection."

This morning I decided to take a look at it. (The post-it, not the erection.)

It says, "You know that you are getting older when even your fantasies are making concessions."

I have no idea what lead to me jotting this down.

Maybe I had a dream that involved only four, instead of the regular six ~~stewardesses~~ ~~plane monkeys~~ flight attendants.

Now that I've read it again, it almost sounds wise, right? Right??

I never liked you.

So, I stuck that same post-it on my PC monitor and expected it to magically open my mindhole and pull out a fantastic blog post that would blow you away and cause you to write my name with hearts around it in your notebooks.

That goes for you ladies too.

I opened blogger. I looked at the post-it. I scratched my elbow. I wondered what Shakira has been up to lately. I remembered the night when I wrote on another post-it, "I wanna know what love is and I want you to shooooow me... with crude hand-drawn birds, bees and Eva Mendes."

Still, inspiration remained as elusive as a notch on a Jonas Brothers' head board. As rare as a Dinah Lohan grounding. As vexing as a -- Shit. Forgot where I was going with that one.

Point is, I still had no good ideas for a blog post.

And if you are anything like me -- Yooou WISH! -- you sometimes struggle to come up with a blog post idea.

So, since I am delightful and helpful, I decided to give you some ideas to get you started. This could be a meme, just much, much less gay. You take one of these ideas and write a post with it. Then you can link back to this post. Or not. I really don't give much of a shit either way.

And here are the ideas...

*****
#1

She fought against waking up for as long as she could.

The morning light causing an explosion of pain in her head, reminded her about what she did last night.

Roughly.

Even if there wasn't screeching head pain, the dry mouth and overwhelming urge to vomit may have been a bit of a clue.

As she tried to piece together the previous nights activities, she became aware that the breathing she was hearing wasn't her own.

She hesitantly looked to her left. After a moment of panic at seeing a male form there, she recognized a tattoo on the right shoulder.

"Not too bad then," she thought.

She then noticed an empty tequila bottle in the bed between them. She thought that fully explained why she ended up in bed with tattoo boy.

What it did not explain, however, was the bedraggled rodeo clown sprawled over the foot of their bed

"HooooowDEE!"

*****

#2

He had seen just about everything, he supposed, in his career as a doctor.

And anything he hadn't seen, he was fairly certain that his father had told him about from his own days in the white coat.

That was until today.

He walked into the examination room and saw Earl.

"Good morning, Earl. How is -- Wow. Is that what I think it is?"

"Yep."

"Really?"

"It's a jar of peanut butter, doc."

"Indeed."

"And my penis is stuck right in there."

"That is what I thought was going on here, Earl. Oh god... You don't have a dog, do you?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

"What do you think, doc?"

"Well, there's good news and bad news. The good news is that it isn't 'Crunchy'..."

I endorse this message.

2008-06-18T10:33:00.016-03:00

I think that everyone who reads me knows that I have done as much as anyone to raise the level of discourse on blogs.

I am a tireless advocate for people doing their best to write well.

I often urge bloggers to tackle the tough issues.

And, with that in mind, I'd like to write a post about...

"The Five Most Bangable First Ladies EVER."

(It seemed like a natural progression from "Which of the Golden Girls would I sleep with...")

Before I start, I have a complaint. How friggin' unfair is it that I can't include Laura Bush? She could be an honest-to-goodness naughty librarian! But, I could never even imagine putting my hands on anything Dubya has touched. Women... bongs... foreign policy... NUFFIN'.

With that said, let's get to it...

5) Helen "Hot Legs" Taft

Seriously. Look at her trying to show off her stems.

Her nickname was "Nellie." Which reminds me of the movie NELL. Which reminds me of Jodie Foster. Who, let's face it, has the sex appeal of a wet wool sock.

And yet Helen showing her toe like that has drive me to distraction. One can only imagine what her ankles look like. Mrrrooowwrrr.

[It was at this point that your intrepid blogger felt the farthest away from his long dreamed about career as a serious writer...]

4) Louisa Adams

Any chick that will wear that hat has some confidence. She's very secure.

Also, I like that she looks a little bored. She's seen and done it all. No need to put on a show to impress her. She'd be OK with a quiet night at home listening to Olivia Newton John and spooning...

Uhm, I mean sex. Lots of naughty sex.

With me wearing her hat.

3) Hannah Hoes Van Buren

Her maiden name is Hoes.

HOES.

Come on.

2) Sarah Polk

I'd set the over/under on how many times a week I'd say, "Who wants a Polk? I wanna Polk!" at ten.

And look at that smirk. She knows a secret. A dirrrty little secret.

And it involves a riding crop.

1) Dolley Madison

First of all, check out the cleavage. "Hello, Dolley!" indeed.

At the time, or possibly some time after (what the fuck do I know?) someone said of Dolley, "With her charm and her laughing blue eyes, fair skin, and black curls..." I think that sounds like a little bit of OK.

Some other historical know-it-all said, "She looked a Queen...It would be absolutely impossible for any one to behave with more perfect propriety than she did." If that doesn't scream "Corrupt me!" then I don't know what does.

"Blessed with a desire to please and a willingness to be pleased..."

Dolley Madison for the win.

overheard on the soccer pitch

2008-06-17T12:26:00.000-03:00

Ball goes whizzing by The Monkey.

Peter: You could have gotten that one!

The Monkey: You could have a girlfriend. (Beat.) But, ya don't.

booth in the corner

2008-06-16T09:50:00.001-03:00

She had always been distrustful of her mirror
she told you.
After a few too many drinks.
Apple flavoured bullshit.
She was, like, sorta, distrustful of you now
she admitted.
After a few more drinks.
Something orange she ordered in a mumble.
Over tipping.
Your words came too easy
to her.
She said.
Her eyes now throwing false
at her earlier bravado.
leaninginpullingback
You were
Brought here by
coercion
boredom
a cab full of "friends"
smelling of cologne, beer,
aggression
Willingly against your will.
Cautiously pessimistic.
She spoke to you first.
Welcomed
but unwanted.
Gorgeous. Brunette.
You were not in the mood.
Funny. Sweet.
No patience for it tonight.
A little wounded. Sparkling eyes.
Fuck.
You moved to a seat closer
to her.
interestedbutdon'twanttobe
She's too young.
You're too smooth.
But.
She's too sweet.
You're too smart.
But.
Circles of friends
circling each other.
canibuyouadrink?
placing his hand on the small of
ilovethissong!'s
back.
And forth
you go.
with her
with yourself.
She's too inexperienced.
You're too ready for something more.
But.

futbol

2008-06-15T10:51:00.002-03:00

I posted last week about playing soccer with The Monkey. We've been playing a lot. Even when I don't really want to.

Especially, it seems, when I don't want to.

My phone rings.

Me: Hello.
Monkey: Hee hee hee
Me: Yes?
Monkey: ...
Me: Speak or I am going to hang up.
Monkey: It is your worst nightmare.
Me: Probably.
Monkey: Do you know what I want?
Me: Nope. (Lies.)
Monkey: Do you want to play soccer with meee?
Me: No. Not really.
Monkey: Oh pleeeeeease.
Me: I'm busy.
Monkey: When will you not be busy?
Me: Later.
[Ten minute philosophical debate about just how long an hour really is.]
Monkey: Pleeeease.
Me: Pain in the butt. *grumble grumble*
Monkey: But, Peeeeeeter. I am in my shorts and have my soccer ball... right... here...
[I can hear sadface over the phone.]
Me: Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.
Monkey: Yay!

We've been repeating this process every day for the past two weeks. Sometimes more than once a day.

Now, lest you all think, "Wow. Peter is soooo sweet for playing soccer with the urchin." That is not the full story.

I'm also tall and charming.

But, that's not what this post is about. (You can read more about that in my forthcoming autobiography, "I Am Also Tall And Charming.")

The point is, that sometimes I can be a bit of a poop when we are playing soccer. Take yesterday for instance...

We played THREE different times. She tried for four when she showed up at 8 pm in her pajamas to get me to play again. But, I was watching soccer on TV and threw her out.

Sometimes our soccer outings are fun and silly. Other times one or both of us are a bit cranky. (Mostly her. I am always delightful.) Sometimes they involve me telling her that a giant spider is crawling into her ear as she screams and runs around batting at her own head.

So, yes, yesterday during our third game of the day, she kept kicking the ball away from where I was and making me chase it. Since I am selective about my energy outputs, I was not in favour of this. And grrrrrrrr'ed frequently. She said, "But, Peter I can't really control where it goes." Which, frankly, would have been more believable if she hadn't giggled immediately after.

So, I replied, "Oh yeah?"

She said, "Yeah. WhatareYOUgonnado?" And then tossed her head, did a little hmmph, and strutted around.

"Reallllllllllly? I said.

And then I kicked the ball. Hard.

It is important to note that I always use my left foot when playing with her. Mostly because my right foot is like a rocket. A ROCKET, I tells ya. The downside of this is that I don't have nearly the accuracy with old lefty. So, a ball that was going to miss her by a good ten feet, and sail down the field, suddenly started doing the Beckham bend.

She froze. I was watching it in slow motion. The ball was heading right at her. I was thinking. "Move... put up your hands.. something."

Finally she lifted her hands and stopped it from hitting her squarely in the stomach. As soon as it hit, she grabbed her left hand with her right. "Owwwwww." She tried to tough it out. She took a couple of steps forward, but then the tears started. And then she fell down like she had been shot.

Oh, stop tsk tsking me.

I ran over to see how she was. I helped her up. I checked out her fingers.

I didn't even offer to hurt the other hand so that she'd have a matching set. I did that Thursday night when she dove for a ball and jammed her wrist a little. What? She was milking it.

I offered to get her ice for her fingers. But, she sniffled that she was OK. And she tried to solider on. But, she wasn't as into the game after that. A ball ended up in the bushes next to a neighbour's shed. She went halfway in to get it and came running back out. "You go get it! There's a grave in there!"

This, obviously, confused me. So, I ventured into the bushes. I found the ball sitting in the middle of a little patch of dirt where my neighbour will be planting his cucumbers.

I walked back out. "That is a cucumber patch. Grave... Who did you think we had buried there?"

She shrugged, "I dunno. Your great grandmother or somethin'."

I cracked up. I knew the game was over at that point.

So, we walked back together. I asked her if she needed ice for her fingers. I told her how if she made the basketball team next year, that could happen a lot. We walked. We talked. We laughed. I dare say we bonded.

And then she told everyone in the neighbourhood how I had just made her cry.

Chester French @ The Viper Room

2008-06-15T00:43:00.000-03:00

Pimpin' STILL ain't easy...

2008-06-13T10:22:00.003-03:00

Because I haven't been posting lately, I am going to dig into the archives. A year ago today, I posted this...

Many moons ago, I posted one of those "100 Things About Me" deals. (Part 1 and Part 2.)

I don't actually remember anything that I included on said list, but I am sure that it was just lousy with the awesome. And it probably contained some lies told for my own general amusement.

I'm like that.

But, if I was to re-do the list, I'd make it 101 things. And I would include a job that I recently realized that I would be so very ill-suited to have.

This will join a list of other jobs that I should probably never hold. A list that includes, but is not limited to, the following:

- plumber
- oil driller
- crazy cat lady (allergies AND an almost total lack of a vagina)
- land baron
- printing press operator
- escaped con that's been wrongly accused and is trying to clear his name
- blogger
- totem pole carver
- gun fighter
- porn industry fluffer
- honest lawyer
- Queen of the Netherlands
and many more!

The job that will be added to the list is...

Pimp.

I can tell by those gasps that you are very surprised. Or just caught your nipples in your sliding keyboard tray.

While my love of purple fedoras and bejeweled walking sticks is legendary, it has become clear to me that I was not meant for runnin' da bitches.

I have no actual experience in the area... that you know of. But, I just know, you know?

I think it will be easier for you to understand if I create a little scenario that could very well happen if I was, in fact, a full-time whore monger.

Setting: Peter's Pimp Pad
Time: 8:55 pm, any Friday

Peter sits in the living room with his three top earners, Roxy, Trixie and Blanche.

Roxy: I'm so tiiiiired tonight, big daddy.

Trixie: Me too. I don't think I'm up to it.

Pete the Pimp: Are you kidding me? It's Friday night. I need you out there.

Blanche: Come on.

Roxy: Pleeeeeease.

Trixie: We'll work twice as long tomorrow night.

Pete the Pimp: Oh, crap. OK. Fine. We'll ALL stay in and watch "NUMB3RS." Happy?

Roxy: You are the best!

Trixie: What a relief. I am soooo wore out down there and --

Pete the Pimp: Bup bup bup! None of that talk. I don't want to see behind the curtain.

Blanche: The meat curtain?

Pete the Pimp: Ewwwww. Come on. Show some class.

Blanche: We're WHORES.

Pete the Pimp: You don't have to act like one. Clearly someone didn't finish finishing school.

Blanche: Whatever.

Pete the Pimp: (Raising pimp hand) Don't make me go over there.

Blanche: You couldn't even spank me in bed the other night.

Roxy: Really? He spanked me last week like I stole something.

Trixie: You DID steal something.

Roxy: Oh yeah. *Tee hee*

Pete the Pimp: No talking. The show is starting.

Roxy: We'd rather watch "Close to Home."

Pete the Pimp: Yeah, no dice.

Roxy: Come on... We'll do crazy lesbian stuff during commercials.

Pete the Pimp: How crazy?

Trixie: Ca-Razy.

Pete the Pimp: Fiiiiiiiiiine.

Blanche: Can I hold the remote control?

Pete the Pimp: I'm going to pretend that you didn't just ask that.

To find out what happens when people stop being polite and... Screw it. You know the rest.

2008-06-09T10:00:00.002-03:00

... and then I said, "Listen just because you are paying for sex, it DOESN'T mean that you need to. Sometimes you just want to introduce a goat into the equation without all of the jibber jabber, you know?" So, she said --

Oh, hey. When did you guys get here?

This morning, as the sun snuck in on either side of my blind and flicked at the edges of my sleep, I immediately had the urge to write a blog post. Of course, I had no idea what I was going to write about.

Then I yawned, stretched, and opened gmail. After deleting the junk mail, there was still one sender that I didn't recognize. At first I blamed my blurry morning eyes, but even when I got them to focus I still didn't know the person.

So, I clicked on the mail and it was --

Hang on, let's go back in time for a second.

I wrote a meandering post in December. (Only one?) It was about football. It was about poetry. It was about the revelation that is Coral Vision on MTV.

It changed some lives, I'm sure.

Well, the e-mail that arrived in my inbox overnight was from Coral.

Yes, THAT Coral.

Seriously.

For some reason I wasn't completely shocked by this. (I once exchanged e-mails with Sir Ian McKellen.)

She had somehow become aware of the post and read it. And she liked it.

I won't share the details of the e-mail. That is personal. Suffice it to say there was plenty of sexual tension, militant right-wing rhetoric, her views on my chances to nab Lori from "The Real World: Back to New York", and her guess as to what the fuck the black smoke monster is on Lost.

She was very cool and funny and nice in it.

AND she just taped another Coral Vision dealie. It will air in July. You have to watch it. Brilliance. This time she is Coralizing "The Real World: Hollywood."

I've only seen five minutes of that season of The Real World. Some dude was catching hell from his roommates for allegedly stealing the underwear of a female cast mate. My only reaction was "Please tell me they were clean."

Then I flipped the channel to Deadliest Catch.

I'm a white dude in my thirties. I couldn't resist that show if I tried.

So, there you go. Coral is very cool. And we have another Coral Vision Marathon coming soon.

Good stuff.

Now if Lauren Graham would finally just find my blog and e-mail me...

And it is loooooove

2008-06-06T06:35:00.001-03:00

A little Classic Peter over at IndieBloggers today!

Relay

2008-06-05T14:26:00.003-03:00

Tomorrow night is the annual Cancer Society Relay For Life in my town.

I've mentioned it before.

Since my mother is one of the co-chairs (again), everyone in my family is "volunteering."

My mother's definition of "volunteering" is different than what most people use. Her version can best be described as "Hey you! Do this!"

Not that we'd complain. It's a great cause and the disease impacts every family.

And not that complaining would do us any good. It would be met with something like, "Just shut up and do it."

That reminds me of prom night.

Wait... That sounded like I went to the prom with my Mom. Wow. That joke kind of went of the rails, eh?

My mother doesn't just volunteer family members.

She'll volunteer friends, acquaintances, strangers on the street, you people for reading this post, Hitler...

My mother is nothing if not a pragmatist.

"Well, Hitler IS an absolute monster, but he did seem pretty organized..."

We are extra excited about the event this year because The ACN is on a team. And a big thanks goes out to all of you delightful people who sponsored her. I almost feel guilty for sending out pushy e-mails.

Almost.

Just be thankful that I didn't unleash the cuteness along with the e-mail.

She's very excited to be taking part this year.

So, yeah, my mother has volunteered us all again.

However, when the night is over and we see how much money has been raised, and we hear about how thankful the survivors are for the event, we will be super glad that she did.

Soccer with The Monkey

2008-06-03T08:03:00.002-03:00

Little twerp wants to try out for the school team next year, so she's been asking me to practice with her lately.

As we walked out to the side lawn, I commented on the mosquitoes. She replied, "Oh, there aren't that many. Don't get your panties in a knot."

At one point, she saved one of my shots into the bushes. She slowly crept in to get it, saying, "Araignée! Araignée! Uhm... Peter, how do you say snake in French?"

"Serpent?"

"Araignée! Araignée! Serpent! Serpent!"

There was a natural obstacle that we were playing around...

Nipper poop.

Because I was using my left foot, The Monkey decided to use hers too. So, the ball went out of control and, of course, right into the Nipper poop. So I, of course, kicked the ball up high so she'd catch it. Then I yelled "Nipper poop on your hands!" Which eventually led to her trying to wipe the ball on my shirt while she said, "Ewwww. And then if you bite on your shirt, it would be like eating Nipper poop."

"Why would I bite on my shirt?"

"Oh, everyone does it. It's the new thing."

She then said, "I want to show my goalie skillz. [I could tell from her tone that it was spelled with a Z.] But, don't kick it too far. I want to dive a little. And DON'T kick it too hard and make me run to go get it."

So, I kicked it off to the side a little and she blocked it. But, she didn't block it quietly. "Oh yeah!! Look at my goalie skillz. I am da master. [She then started bowing dramatically.] That is what you should be doing. Bow to me."

We kept playing and I kicked one and she missed the save. I asked, "Where are your goalie skillz now?" She quickly replied, "Oh, they are still here. I just don't want to make you feel bad when I stop all of your shots." Then she performed what I can only describe as a "Woot! Woot! Dance."

She told me that when we were done playing, she was going to meet her friend at the playground down the street. Then she mentioned calling a couple of other friends to meet them there too. However, twenty minutes later, her dad showed up and said, "You realize that you have tap dancing in ten minutes?" She replied, "Yeah, yeah." I asked, "Uhm, I thought you were going to the playground. Did you know you had to go to dancing?" She looked at me like I was nuts and said, "Sure." And then waved off the whole topic as if the passage of time only mattered to mere mortals.

And then she proceeded to stay and play soccer for another fifteen minutes.

Before we finished, an old truck drove down a nearby lane. If it had a muffler, it wasn't muffling all that well. I said, "Buddy, you might wanna get that looked at."

She said, "What did you say?"

"I said that dude should get his muffler checked."

She watched it drive down the road and then stop for a minute and sound like it was going to blow up. She looked at me and said, "Muffler? He should get his head checked. Driving that..."

It didn't taste quite right.

2008-06-02T14:42:00.006-03:00

My brother-in-law is a great guy. He makes sure that I get as much access to my pride and joy as humanly possible, and he would give you the shirt off of his back.

He's the kind of guy you would call if you woke up next to a dead hooker. Or even next to an unconscious legal assistant who was all full of big talk, but had bitten off a little more than she could chew and --

Well, nevermind that.

He's a quality dude.

However, quick-witted replies are not really his game. So, we were all quite impressed when he had a couple of good lines the other morning (including one at my expense,) especially considering that he was hungover at the time.

But, his moment of glory didn't last long. Five minutes later, he asked my sister if she had seen his baseball cap. It was sitting on his head at the time.

And then he buttered his toast with shortening.

Not their first performance...

2008-06-01T17:17:00.001-03:00

Peter's Father (singing):
I don't know, but I've been told
Uncle Pete is very old.
Do you know Uncle Pete?
He's got very stinky...

ACN:
FEET!!!!!

It's pink too?

2008-05-30T15:05:00.004-03:00

The ACN is coming to visit this weekend.

She is very excited. (Beyond the normal excitement that anyone feels when they get to hang out with me.)

She just got an electric wheelchair.

We have decided to call it "Super Chair-y." Something that cracks her up. A lot.

I've yet to see the chair, as she only got it recently, but we've talked about it a lot on the phone. She looooves it. However, some digging has lead to the real reason why she is so excited to show it to me...

She wants to try to run over my toes.

And it weighs 250 lbs.

Still, I am super excited to see her running it on her own. She is still learning how to use it, but seems so proud of herself, and to be very much enjoying some freedom.

She called me last night from Super Chair-y. She had the cordless phone, on speakerphone, sitting on her lap as she drove around the house -- while her Daddy was doing things like moving dishes of dog food out of her path. She squealed with delight.

I've been smiling like a goof ever since.

While watching her drive her chair this weekend, I am going to be one proud and toe-less uncle.

Edit to add:

I have a confession...

2008-05-28T09:40:00.003-03:00

I don't own any porn.

It's true.

Take a moment to wipe your Bloody Mary off of your monitor.

I don't make this confession to try to impress women and to have them reply with things like:

"My word, Peter is such a gentleman!"

"Yes, quite!"

Mostly because I rarely ever date snooty rich British ladies.

From cartoons.

It's just a fact. And one I touched on over at The 'Stache ages ago.

I have owned one Playboy magazine. It was the one with Drew Barrymore. I still remember buying it.

I slapped that magazine down on the counter and said, "Ring that up for me, shopkeep!"

Which, to the untrained ear, might have sounded remarkably like, "Can..uhm... I also have.. a, you know, pack... of Triiii*voice cracks*iiident gum?"

I've had friends say, "But porn... blah blah blah... fuels the imagination."

Clearly they've never met my imagination. It needs no help. It's the best porn ever.

Also, in my imagination there are no ginormous fake breasts, cheesy dialog, or vagina-adjacent tattoos of Screaming Eagles.

Maybe a black panther though.