Did dinner with my sweet Pisces and she looked through the Pisces stuff. Funniest comment can’t be repeated, but it amounted to adding STFU, based on her experience with one sign. Don’t think that’ll make the cut. Unrelated, I did get on nice piece of mail, too.
It cycled through Monday afternoon, a comment about how my material is a little different from others.
> Takes a little getting used to after reading the “regular” stuff
> and very refreshing.
Still, there’s one that’s been bothering me for a few days now. I had to dig through the deleted mail to find it, and I did reply, haven’t ever heard back. I wanted to know what sucked about the site now.
> so its been a while since I read your scopes…….I used to love the site but
> lost my computer for a while……..what the heck did you do??? It sucks
I’ll bet it has something to do with having to pay for the current scopes. Or the new style sheet I was working on for the journal/web log.
Did I mention that Mars is retrograde in Pisces? Folks are howling a lot about that one.
Late Monday afternoon, I’d taken a detour over to the East Side (east side of I-35, where the food is generally better), to hit a particular store for a discounted item. Wandering back along the section of Riverside that is also Hike and Bike Trail, I remembered why I needed to stay off that section of roadway at rush hour. On a summer’s day, the sun in the upper-lower western quadrant, nothing but concrete for over a mile, it’s miserable. I can deal with the heat, but heat, exhaust fumes, the sun burning my face? I picked up a bottle of water and soothed my way into the shade, along the river’s edge, after cruising along side the busy street. Whew.
Feast Day of St. James and sex.
Rather appropriate, patron saint of fishermen. “Man, does that mean I’m going to have to wear the tiara again? Just like our weekend in prison?”
(Source for that quote should be obvious.)
Then, lessons learned from the other afternoon? Folks who read this and have problems with the display of data on this a-here “down home” page should let me know.
“Yeah, Mozilla hammers it.” So does early versions of Net Scrape, but if you’re using that, then it’s your own damn problem.
Another item that popped up was the request for a “sex entry” for the web writers weekend.
I’ve done this one before, and my preferences in local eateries has changed some, but I suppose I should write the Virgo – Three Margarita – Three Strike Out story. With an addendum.
Searched the archives, couldn’t find it, thought I’d written it down before, but here goes…
Keywords: Virgo. Margaritas. Sex. Tequila. Some chips and hot sauce, too.
These females, other than all being Virgo Sun Signs bare little, if any, resemblance to each other. Female, lovely, but that’s where it ends. Or begins.
I met each one at Guero’s for an afternoon libation. I have it, on good authority that the tequila drinks there are strong, potent, and plentiful. Not being a drinking man these days, I wouldn’t know.
So we met at the appointed hour, in the bar, on the patio, and proceed to entertain ourselves with food and stories. In all three situation, right after that third drink arrives, the girl is grabbing my ass, assuring me that, “I’m going to ride you cowboy like you’ve never been ridden before.”
What was so funny was that all three girls (the term “girl” refers to all members of the female gender as in this situation there was a wide array of ages) used the same term. “Cowboy.” “Ride you.”
Me? I’m thinking, “Yee-haw, bring it on!”
The stories get a little taller, the target female gets a little more intoxicated, and in each situation, there’s usually a fourth and fifth cocktail, but since I’m swigging on ice tea, stuffing chips in mouth, “Just bring a big bowl of the green salsa,” plus, there’s the afternoon shift change, it’s okay to let the target female get as tipsy as she desires. Virgo, you know, have to numb the analytical ability, break down those inhibitions.
Alcohol is supposed to get rid of that painful, Virgo-like knee jerk reaction.
Something that begins so well, so full of promise? Usually ends badly.
The first time, the girl just shoved me out the door of her truck as she passed Shady Acres, “Tuck and roll!”
The second time, I was smarter, I had her inside on the couch, laying on the charm and starting to get comfortable when, all of a sudden, she bolted. “I have to change into a something more comfortable; I’ll be right back.”
Never saw her again, either.
Third time, third Virgo, I’m getting a little smarter. We get comfortable. Things are going rather smoothly, and I’m sure the first two were anomalies, right? I go to the bathroom, unbutton my shirt the rest of the way and come back out. She’s on the couch, quietly snoring.
Throw the blanket over her, and go to bed. Alone. Again.
As I related that story, one of my buddies, whose name is not Bubba, asked why I didn’t just “do her right there?”
With apologies to the late, great Sam Kinison, “I’ve been married before.”
Now, the story does have an extra punch line. First off, remember the old rule of thumb, “Never, ever date someone who lives in the same trailer park as you.”
I was having libation with a Virgo neighbor and friends, and she’s from LA, as in Lower Arkansas. I regaled the group with the Virgo story, she looks over with those big, brown eyes of hers, and reminds me that she’s from Louisiana, “And this is my fifth one Kramer, who’s your mama?”
I’m told I had a look of abject fear in my eyes, which were as big as a plate with the Mauro special on it.