Happy Mother's Day?

I am back. I do want to wish a belated happy Mother's Day to all those mothers out there actually reading this thing (I figure the number to be less than one, but what do I know). It was a beautiful weekend here, weather wise. I was out on Saturday driving around, windows open and Curis Mayfield blaring. I actually started to play my Curtis Mayfield CD (Move on Up) after I heard some early 70s Stevie Wonder (Superstition) and recalled how I tend to pair early 70s funk and soul with warm, sunny days. It works for me anyway.

I was tooling around doing errands, I could give you details but I did not really care about my interactions buying bagels so why should anybody else? Anyway, I was driving down Marlee Avenue when a couple of things struck. The first is that Marlee is one butt ugly stretch of road. The small strip plazas with apartments above the retail store fronts have never been associated with nice architecture, but I really took a good look. My mistake, it is no wonder that I spent most of my adolescence avoiding that street. I used to think that it was because my father would always take it, with me in the back seat, to get us from his store, on Eglinton, to Lawrence so we could pick up the Allen to get home. I never understood why he did that, then. I did not particularly like that street then, but at least time was on its side as it was the late 60s. There I was in the store delivery vehicle, a beautiful Dodge Dart. My father just loved those Darts back in the day. For a man who had a great sense of the aesthetic in terms of surrounding himself and his home with fine art, no furniture mind you, he really could not give a shit about the "car" that would represent his business. Then again, he was not out in it delivering medication and ice cream so why should he car if the driver liked the car. It had to go and that was it.

The Dodge Dart was the most utilitarian of cars. It was Chrysler "K" car of its day. The slant 6 engine would run forever. In fact, I am sure that the engines in those cars will out last us all. The body, of course, would just start to fall apart. So there he, or the driver, was driving a tank without doors or fenders. My father was not one to keep things together with duct tape. By the 70s he was no longer into sharing the delivery car between business and pleasure, so he got into GM cars. These were nicer looking but he would end his days with a Jaguar, so he did progress.

Anyway, it took me too long to figure out why he went home via Marlee and that it was because the Eglinton-Lawrence stretch of the Allen had not opened at that time. Of course, Marlee has aged since then and it shows and I think that was my point before going off on a tangent or trip down my personal memory lane, later I may take you all on a trip down mammary lane, but only if you kids stop acting up. If I have to yell one more time, I am turning this car around and we are all going home! Wow! That was a flashback. I may explore that one later this week.

In my travels down Marlee on Saturday, I saw a sign outside a hair salon offering Brazilian Wax for $45. It got me to thinking, given the eunuch story from last week, about waxing my ball sack. I am not sure why I was thinking about it but I was. I should be embarrassed by that, but if I was would I be sharing it here? I was thinking that the pain would be exquisite. I mean it is not enough to have warm to hot wax dripped or spread on the sack but then to have the wax RIPPED off taking the hair with it. Wow!!! I feel the pain now. It reminded me of an interview with an actor. When asked how he cried on cue, he said he would pull out a nose hair. I must be a moron because for some strange reason, I tried it. The bastard was right, this moron cried.

I figure that the pain from having the hair from nutsack yanked out, would cause me to cry a river. I have to say that I was lying about crying. I was raised a stoic. I do not cry from physical pain. I swear a lot but I do not cry. Then again, a smooth ball sack may feel nice. I could then get some frilly silk underwear. Then again, if I did that I may never leave the house. Should I show my pearls?

As I got closer to home, a more wonderous thing occurred. I have been driving for twenty five years and I saw something that I had NEVER seen before. I have seen people accidentally or drunkenly drive on the sidewalk for a bit, but never this move. I am heading south looking to make a left turn, while at the intersection ahead of me a northbound car is getting set to turn left (Marlee is a two lane street, though wide). The car behind the northbound car passes on his right. The cunt driving, that is the only way to describe her after her disregard for anybody or anything, passes on the right by driving along the sidewalk for a good three car lengths. She had all four wheels on that sidewalk. I have never seen anything like it.

I have driven with some aggressive drivers and never been involved anything like that. What kind of world are we living in? I really have to keep stuff handy that I can hurl at these people or their vehicles as they pass by me. Oh well, that could be a story for another day.

I am glad you stuck around to see me write about my balls again, though. Ciao!