HILARY MEETS GENN...PARTY AT MOBY DICKS...AND MORE ENTERTAINMENT THAN A THREE RING CIRCUS...

STEVE leads the Band, AND is a Harley Boy (Sin!)

GENN...hangs out with BIKERS! (OMG!)


Names have NOT been changed to protect the innocent since we find no one innocent among our Usual Suspects...





DYNA JOHN,

IS A BIKER...

just look at that shirt!

(*gasp)

LINDA...Ride's Bitch on Bikes...

and "likes it" (*drum roll)



HILARY - would rather be Ridden than Ride...

(giddy-up)



ALLEN - Can't find his Bike anymore...or even his tool for that matter (*shhhh... )

SO...LET'S KEEP DANCING....already...

For those that suffer Attention Deficit Disorder when reading my Blog...I'm developing a new format for this evening's adventure into the twilight zone....or more specifically, into Moby Dick's BAR and Grill.

So this is like a comedy hour..with Barnum and Bailey thrown in for good measure.... presented in smaller, more edible bites compliments of my sex starved and wanting to be bad to the bone most wayward quivering quill.

Please note, that there has been considerable poetic License taken at the expense of my friends and others here...so we shouldn't judge too harshly our fellow man...or woman.

...but hey, vanilla posts of joy and sunshine don't seem to be floating any boats lately, so let's see if sin, sex and insanity sell a little better today...

JOHN'S BIRTHDAY INVITE - Our Pal reached the downside toward 60, but instead of bringing out the black draped coffin, my pal Genn gives me a time and place where Steve and his band Cross Town Rockers are going to be playing this Saturday night...Moby Dick's on Highway 101...

...an establishment, by reputation, that truly invites Crackpots, Scallywags, Lady Godiva Wannabes, and Men who Behave more like Dogs than Doggies doo...but before the floor show begins...we must set the stage with our arrival to join our Group of the Usual Suspects.

THE DIVINE MISS GENN, QUEEN OF THE HOOCHY MAMAS....was already in full regale as live Rock & Roll brought the circus animals to the dance floor in droves. I was appalled to learn that my own little kitten Genn had been ordered to 'tone it down' before attending a recent 'Cop Shop' venue her hubby Steve's band had been contracted to serve...and wondered at this incredible warning aimed directly at the cross hairs of our not so innocent wild child?

Sure, Genn might be mistaken for a brazen huzzie by some stick in the muds, and is capable of drowning out a football stadium of screaming fans with one loud bellow at times; and after downing umteen shooters...Genn can show a proficiency for cussing that would make a pirate blush...and throwing ice and other objects of mass destruction on friends could become a little overboard...but the nerve of these folks to attempt to tame her behavior in anyway...revealed more about them...than it did about her.

Anyone who has ever attended a party filled with the 'boys in blue' knows this is the most raucous bunch of stud muffins on the planet...so the directive was probably originated through one of their 'wives' realizing they didn't need anyone around egging them on...which of course, Genn would gladly do...

...given the slightest hint of encouragement.

Last night, at the MOBY DICK'S venue, Genn was allowed the freedom of letting her ample cleavage show, her tattoos stand out proudly, her butt shake as inspired, her camera flash as frequently as a 60's strobe light show...and her mouth to run at will. Of course, she sometimes doesn't know when to 'quit' teasing, so occasionally someone will drop a hint that she might be annoying them...

That's what I love about this kid...and what is worthy to preserve.

Most people spend way too much of their life's trying to live up to some preconceived image of proper public behavior to win them special favor with the unkempt masses. Well, I have seen the masses over many years, and of lot of them at Moby Dicks and most of them are strange little creatures...and not worthy of trying to change a diaper over...much less a clearly developed personality.

GENNS southern belle New Orleans heritage, blended with the Street Smarts that developes from too many 'snorts or shooters', and scenes of debaunchery...(from back in the day) ...is uniquely delicious to behold, unequivocally entertaining...and anyone who says otherwise (minus her hubby Steve...) just needs to take a leaky boat, without a paddle, up an alligator and chigger infested

Louisiana Bayou swamp river, for all I care.

Sure, Genn could have been a famous Movie Star had she landed in Hollywood (as her personality was snapped up by Bette Midler for one of her BEST characters... millions went to Bette straight from Genn's natural personality) instead of Mayberry, but it is just as well she ended up here...as her warm heart has taken in 16 stray cats the good and proper people of Toledo have decided to 'drop off' (and run) near her home...in the middle of the night....who would otherwise perish without her

hugs and kisses and mews in their direction,

and she may be the best friend we could claim here as well.

Her heart is as big and warm as the Mojave Desert, and if a collection needs to be taken up to buy you a fridge someday...Genn would be the one seen arm twisting sworn misers out of their overly fondeled coin purses...to buy it for you! When people in hell want ice water...they will turn to Genn and she'll try to squeeze it

out of a volcanic rock if she has to.

Furs and feathers aside, when it comes to generosity of spirit and friendship...Genn would be your Huckleberry, as she is mine, no doubt about it.

HILARY WITH HER "BOY TOY" IN TOW...

NOW, HILARY is another of my most memorable and cherished friends... because she has a certain genius with the written word that has provided me endless hours of entertainment as I seek sinful thrills and chills through OPE and she provides it in abundance. What is OPE you ask?

Well, that is OTHER PEOPLE'S EXPERIENCES.

I've become way too much of a 'goody two shoes' in my old age, and I am married to Farmer John right now...instead of knuckle draggin Harley Bad Boy Allen...

so I have to live vicariously through others if I want to be exposed to wanton willys and shocking experiences ever again in my life.

Now as it turns out, her latest and greatest adventure for today ended up in Newport this weekend at the Beach House where she brought her new flame, and Boy Toy (about 15 years her Junior) Cameron, for a seaside romping adventure.

This fact of her present life can be blamed for the eventual squandering of my children's inheritence on gathering up a few Boy Toys of my own, in my old age, to tend to my entertainment needs as my boobs begin to droop to my waist like long flat cow ears, and I lose control of my bowels.

My daughter suggested that in Old Age I might be interested in living in a commune situation with a bunch of other old F'ers so we can watch each other's nose picking and staring into space episodes.

I say, "No way!"

I want to stay in my own home doddering around something a lot more 'tight' and hard if you get my drift..hanging below the knee boobs, butts and balls do nothing for me...but with enough fortune amassed through closing one more lousy loan a month...I think I can room and board a couple of Escorts...and even let em work on the side or on each other in their off time, should that float their booties as well.

My last days on earth should be filled with a that little spice of life, and you can keep your baby food and oatmeal...and the screaming in the night bed wetters too...thank you very much.

The minute I hear I am terminal,

I'm going to try all the designer drugs and candy wrapped booze I can find, and throw open my arms and legs to anything that looks like Brad Pitt or Marlon Brando even remotely through my nearly blind cateract eyes.

Allen has already promised he is going to check out before I do, and we have had to 'be good' for an awfully long time now, so I hope my inspirational pal Hilary will be around to further inspire me at every turn in the bumpy road ahead.

There's some old Waylon song about a good hearted woman in love with a two timing man...and that would be about Hilary. I have never met anyone who has met so many princes and shortly thereafter, found out they were 'toady froggies' for realzies...than Hilary.

Her wit and humor in the telling of these breath taking tales is all I need to get those fantasy 'weird dreams' going for a week.

Who could resist calling upon such a friend during the journey through a long marriage that becomes so 'ho hum' and 'predictable'...at times you want to scream, but not in reckless abandon and delight I can tell you that.

Someone who can help dredge up the hidden and secret life of every woman who still longs for a man that even remotely resembles a 'knight in shining armor' once in a damned while.

Some truths are self evident, and for those who would deny

such a secret life exists, I simply say..."Danielle Steel" and "Liar, Liar".

Except, Danielle Steel doesn't say things with quite the brute force honesty my Hilary does, and for that I will always be enternally grateful. Sure, Hilary has that innocent look of a school girl...like my sister Diane did, or my daughter Lindsay...

but you know those who look the most innocent and

up to NO GOOD most of the time, bless their hearts.

Now HILARY is not a careless crazy woman...no way, she's hooked on Mortgage Loans (and money) like me, works like a dog (as I once did) and is the best Mom to her articulate and completely normal son, Aram...and for the most part,

her secret hot tub escapades never come in the young man's view...but on those weekends when he is with 'Dad'...Oh My Glory Be to All!

The Devil is in the details baby, and hopefully..she'll be penning her own book before too long. Hell, I've lived with her friendship through at least fifteen chapters anyway.

...and in some things, HILARY IS A DOWN RIGHT WIMP!

She was giving me the 'power to the people sign' with Arm raised proudly, confidence spread all over her mug...and victory claimed, as she whizzed by on the Quad at a screaming 5 mph at least.

I almost broke down in tears for poor 30 year old Cameron as he patiently crawled around the main roads with her as she screamed in terror at a bump,

and sped up to 8 miles on the long and straights.

In fact, once Hilary breathlessly gave up the four wheeled beast she brought to it's knees with conquering glee...I told Junior to off road it up the West Trail before the twilight took over completely.

I think I saw a shred of gratitude in his eyes,

but they were a little glazed over as he's converting Hilary from the

clinking of ice in a glass to a more herbal recreational outlet...

so I can't be sure.

Anyway, HILARY and her Captain America Easy Rider doll...Cameron, joined us for the BIG SHOW UNDER THE BIG TOP OF MOBY DICK'S and just the thrill of having my two 'wild and crazy' gal pals in the same room at the same time,

almost sent me to the high wire.

THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH!

People, including us, spend hundreds if not thousands of Dollars to attend Big Ticket Concerts for Entertainment...

but I can assure you that nothing has ever made me laugh as hard and as long as I did that night without having a 'mood and mind altering' label on it.

THE DANCING HIPPOS

Folks, you all know I am no welterweight and on a song I can't resist, I gotta get out there and let people laugh at me as I boogey to the beat in my own world. Hilary, my pal is pretty tall and a big boned woman as you can see from the photo above...

but when this 300 pound each couple entered the dance floor, you could see the rest of the dancers take notice...then, they gave them a very wide berth.

Now, there once was an old cartoon of Dancing Hippos who were so light on their feet they were wearing tutu's...and this couple matched them perfectly.

He twirled her in circles, then went under her arm as she sort of twirled him, and it was classic swing dancing to a rock & roll beat with choreography challenging the National Champions from Dancing with The Stars, at least!

If one wasn't distracted by the fact that people weighing 300 pounds were as light as feathers on the dance floor,I would have given them first prize for their performance

even though the competition was great.

THE GET A ROOM COUPLE...

No kidding, even the most bleary eyed bloated drunk in the joint noticed the 'Get a Room' Couple...and they looked just as you would expect.

The Balding male with the Casper the Friendly Ghost look was the Man in Black that night, except for his brown Bruno Magli shoes of course.

the Black silk shirt and Freeman Hickey Linen Slacks didn't miss the calculating gaze of the so so blond with the best bod on the Bar Stool...scoping out who could most afford all the Black Russians her lushy little heart desired that evening.

No matter what the beat, these two clung together like two

pieces of bread with peanut butter in the middle, then sat on by yours truly...

except for the continual thrusts below the waist...

ever changing tempo with the music..fast or slow,

take your pick.

Now, Casper was obviously a tourist who had wandered in looking

for some action; he's adorned with just a hint of expensive

jewelry, and has his sleeve rolled up just enough to

make sure the Rolex logo is exposed...sort of an

"Yes, I'm rich...but not ostentacious" statement.

Being stone cold sober, as we habitually are, it is easy to take in the details and let the imagination wander recklessly. Lady Godiva was cute white trash of course, and she looked good melted into her Wal Mart jeans and see me, follow me, Fock me worn Slingbacks...and she had a headful of long,

thick blond hair to flouce around right at the moment of

feigned continal climax

at just the thought of digging through Casper's Wallet once he went to snoring.

"GET A ROOM" the Drunks sang out, and I suddenly noticed some sort of

sharp pain in both my cheek regions as I searched for napkins,

toliet paper, my sleeve or anything 'dry' to wipe the tears off

my face with every crazy thought I had about this couple.

I wondered how Casper would do if I ordered a dozen raw oysters for him?

Just a thought.

A MIDGET GIVES ALLEN A THRILL!

So Allen made it clear he didn't want to go in the first place, he was tired and sore,

but after a reminder that it was our friend John's Birthday, he relented, but wasn't going to enjoy himself any more than he HAD TO, that was certain.

...but good vibes, laughter, a floor show and good live bands tend to mess up those

boobing determinations somehow, so he was caught 'enjoying himself',

but he was not going to dance, 'damit'...and didn't!

Suddenly, Allen noticed a standing woman looking straight into his eyes, except that he was sitting down low in a folding chair.

She smiled cutely at him,

(well as cute as a fairly overweight midget can look) and

proceeded to hit on him with the veracity of Atila the Hun.

"Oh, nice to see you again," she sweetly said as if they shared some

secret passion of delightful reparte in another place, another time...recently.

"What?" He asked looking like she just handed him a turd and said it was candy!

She went on, now murmuring a little closer to his face, still frozen in shock...his mind racing...eyes darting...you could tell he was thinking,

"God Damn, I'm sure if I met a woman midget before, I would recall the incident!"

(By now I was worried that I was about to wear wet pants home as I was blowing veins in my neck from holding in huge guffaws of gut wrenching laughter...choking on cigarette smoke...and enjoying the spectical of watching Allen squirm under the implications of his adoringly attentive dalia recalling for him their apparently fond memories of a fleeting soul bonding in each others company...

...but I just couldn't break away yet, to run to the bathroom and unload two bottles of O'Douls Amber so I had to suck it up and be brave...hell no...I wasn't going to miss this... if I had pee my pants then dump a glass of ice water in my lap and pretend I dropped a drink right in the wrong place...accidentally...oops.

Now, Gaining his composure somewhat, Allen stammered, "Uh, I'm sorry, but WHERE did I meet you?" while leaning a little further back in his chair, as she moved in a little closer toward his broken nose, lucious thin lips, and

farmer John white beard...whoo hoo...

...all of which she was now eyeing with the intent interest of a hungry boa constrictor watching a baby mouse scurry into mouth's reach.

"Oh, you don't remember me?" she asked as her eyes grew rounder while she mustered up the little Shirley Temple look for him.

"Noooo...I'm sorry, I don't remember you..." he said in a way as to not offend, while still racking his brain at how in the hell he would not remember meeting anyone of her stature..even if it were 40 years ago..it should ring a bell in there somewhere???

Keep in mind that this 'little person was not little', her ass was about the size of mine, and so was her head...

but she had a waist, which is more than I can say for myself right now...(so if you have any vision of some petite little sweet thang...you can delete that from your memories hard drive right now...)

"Well," she replied in a thoughful way. "It might be nice that you don't remember me", as if she meant...I'm pretty hard for most people to forget because of my size...so you must have seen me for who I am and not my size...isn't that nice.

Trust me, I love my husband...but he is not that nice.

(Now my Kidney and Urinary Tract infection is giving me real pain...but do I leave the show just as the final climax is about to present itself...no freaking way!

I'll die right here on the floor I thought,

but I ain't missing this grand finale for nothing...)

Allen has now regained full confidence in himself and you could see the furrowed lines leave his forehead as if he was just injected with a big dose of botox.

He puts on his invisible Therapist cloak still leaning back in his chair, but with arms and shoulders thrust forward and in front of him (as if he was trying to disguise his Papa Belly when a pretty girl walked by) to prevent the still possible 'attack' of those protruding midget lips that make Angelina Jolies look paper thin... locking on his and devouring his entire head....at the slightest provacation...

so no sudden moves were going on by Allen either.

He had that deliberate slow motion movement one might have as they backed away from a coiled rattlesnake they stumbled on while hiking

...slowly, very slowly...no sudden moves...no reason to strike...

"Mmm," he begins, "WHERE did I meet you?" he queries in the same manner he would if asking someone "where are the car keys".

She answers beaming, "Right Here!"

You would have thought Allen was just informed he'd

won the lottery right then and there...now knowing he hadn't

lost his mind and memory, wasn't in the beginning stages of Alzie disease, wasn't a candidate for dementia quite yet...

"...but I'VE NEVER BEEN HERE BEFORE...so you must be mistaking me for someone else!" A Victory sweat broke out on his face at once.

Checkmate...

he thought, right up until she grabbed his hand lovingly...still letting the love shine from her eyes as if her knight in shining armor

had just returned from the Crusades...

"Oooohhhh, warm hands..." she cooed, "I LIKE warm hands..."

withdrawing his hand from hers ever so politely, he remained in Therapist mode as he scooted his chair backward and displayed the 'I'm getting up now.' body language every therapist and mortgage broker uses to indicate

"this session is over...next patient please".

Picking up on his unspoken "our relationship is over" indicator,

she gracefully questioned ,

"Maybe it's the Beard...?"

watching him closely seeing his reaction to his final last chance to

consider the tempting offer she had been proposing.

He stood firm in his resolve, and she moved on...

but that is not quite the end of Allen's popularity that evening.

Within minutes, a second candidate for his affection appeared

out of no where...at his side,

puckered up, and almost planted a big wet one on his cheek.

She appeared to have Downs Syndrome.

COUSIN... "IT"

Even though she was just a whisp of a creature, probably about 75 pounds of skin and bone stretched over a 4'10 inch height...she had a head of hair as thick as a Grizzly bear in the dead of winter, and it hung clear to her waist..

and just a little nose and buck teeth would

peek out now and again as she jerked around the dance floor just a few movements off beat no matter what song was being played.

"Tweaker" was my first...and eventually, my last thought of this entertainment venue...but something was just to 'familiar' about her to not keep attracting my attention and interest.

She wore a white, long sleeved loose fitting tunic that

hung almost to mid thigh over bell bottom jeans,

and finished with some berkenstock wannabe sandles and white socks.

She danced with a 40's something looking woman all night, who

did an interesting dance consisting of taking a side step with her right foot, moving her ample ass sideways as far as it would go, letting her ass sway back to neutral...and then take another step to repeat the ass swing over and over.

This unique style continued until she had side stepped around a full invisible circle, and the 'tweaker' sort of did the robot twitch and jerk within that invisible circle.

MUCH LATER, the Side step Ass swinger ended up on the stage, and had a surprisingly good voice considering she couldn't dance worth squat.

The Plot thickened as I asked the Divine Ms Genn..(now happily snockered and annoying our Birthday Boy to such a degree... he retired from his own party...) sitting next to me..."Who is the singer?" figuring she would know,

since her husband Steve is the Band Leader.

"Steve's Ex-wife" (and his son, Linn, the drummer's mom)

she replied as I interrupted her still tormenting John.

but I persisted, "...and who is the tweaker dancer with her...?"

"Oh, that is her sister...and who Steve fondly refers to as

*Cousin IT"*

BINGO! I thought...

now the 'familiar' of her made perfect sense!

THE DOGGIE DOO IT GUY

Now, this character started out on a downslide and it just went

below ground after that.

He stood about 5' 9" but boasted one of those big wide flat butts and square bodies women just can't hardly tolerate in their men.

Gimme a big pot belly anyday...but not a butt on a man that

makes you want to tell them to lay down so you

have can a checkerboard to play on.

To compliment this awesome attraction, the guy wears kakai colored shorts

that are too revealing of the flat ass, but look like flags waving in the wind

to just below his knees where his calveless legs are hanging down

tomeet two big flat feet.

The T Shirt covering his fat belly, that came in assorted rolls

(oh thank you God for my husbands big pregger belly)

that extended all the way around his back looked like something

only a dumpster diver could retrieve. It was unworthy of

even the Good Will to accept as saleable merchandise.

To top off his evening out attire, he wore a bandana

around his head, but never got it quite folded properly

so a pointed edge flipped and flopped around

as he lunged across the dancefloor, practically knocking people over,

...while his close together beady eyes honed in on the crotch of any woman stupid enough, or drunk enough... to be polite to this numbskull.

Song after song, His gaze never left the crotch, but his dance style did.

As he danced, mesmerized by the ladies undulating crotches,

he would move very close to them, sometimes touching them

with his crotch...and begin a ritual of humping them

very rapidly and giving it all he's got.

Anyone who has witnessed dogs screwing,

complete with their thrusting speed and their intensity of facial features...

as if in some sort of trance...

(usually only otherwise seen when dogs take a dump)

this fella was just a little too 'creepy' in every way thinkable.

Yet, through detemination, or by going commando as well...

woman after woman would dance with him at least once.

and what an interesting harem that turned out to be...

one decently attractive woman

(OK..as decently "attractive" as one can be sloshed to the gills)

appeared to have been a bolero dancer in another life.

One hand placed flat mid between her waist and crotch

(as if pointing to it for dog man's target area with all five fingers)

and the other arm flung into the air in such a manner

I had to look to see if there were any castanets clacking...

Her gaze was downward left, to the floor, and

I checked to see if she was about to break into a

Flamingo routine...but it just stayed the same...

...another woman had a butt just a tad more protrusive than mine,

but it was bigger and it started a lot higher on her body, but she was white...

and boasted a pair of legs like tree stumps, and hairy armpits she frequently revealed as she flailed away at some imaginary flies or something in the air...

but by her facial expressions, she was none of what I described.

She was the Belle of that Ball, and the Femme Fatale of the Year.

When she shook her bowl full of jelly, she was damned proud of it...

and when she returned the 'hump number' to Doggie Doo...

well, that was just a site to behold.

Then, there was the cockateil lady,

very thin, sorta like a 4 x 4 in stature with a long

thin face and sunken eyes with dark circles under them, blinking constantly...

and thankfully

she didn't smile much because she had missing teeth..but she had a

severe overbite so those 'blank spaces' peeked through now and then

when she had to breathe, and a hooked nose nearly

touching her top lip.

She looked so bored dancing with Doggie Doo,

in spite of his best efforts to arouse her under his spell,

she remained ever staring off into space,

thin arms flapping now and then almost as an after thought.

I wondered if Doggie Doo had blackmailed her

into dancing with his sorry ass...or what..

...perhaps she was his wife?

GRAND FINALE

By the time the last strings on the guitars were plucked, and the last drum stick sounded the end, it was way past

Allen's bedtime and he was more than ready to go following his harrowing experience at MOBY DICK'S THAT NIGHT.

The good-byes were rapid, as we bid adieu to our pals.

I was still in the 'recovery' process from this most entertaining adventure when I turned over the engine and a new 'symbol' appeared on my dashboard just as Allen was burrowing his own butt

into the warming backrest and seat for the ride home.

A quick reference in the owners manual suggested a potential problem with the electical or fuel delivery system...which was odd since I had just filled up my gas tank the day before and had not gone anywhere but to Toledo and home...

but suddenly noticed that I was on 'half empty'.

The manual said that if the gas cap was not properly secured, it could cause that odd caution symbol to light up...so Allen climbed from his warming seat and back co pilot position, and explored the exterior of the car, only to find the gas cap loosely laying on the receptical.

On Highway 101, before 1:30 am, at a place the police had visited three times that night due to complaints of loud music, about 15 gallons of gas was siphoned from our huge and obvious hummer...on the traffic side of the vehicle by some dimwit

with the genius of a savant pianest.

Now that was some Grand Finale!

CONCLUSION...

Now don't get me wrong about this, because it is all in good humor, but I got to thinking about how I always believe Allen and I, and Genn and Hilary, and some others are pretty wild and crazy people...maybe even suffering

borderline personality disorder...who knows???

...but I have to tell you that our Group, as nutty as we are...could not hold a candle to the performers I witnessed at Moby Dick's Dive

in any way. shape or form.

We were ALL like 'normal' and 'drop dead gorgeous' compared with some of the creatures lurking around Mody Dicks that night.

How could we be so mentally astute and aware of ourselves...

when so many others were not, I wondered?

...and then I remembered, none of us are from "Coastal Oregon"

...and inbreeding was not real big with our ancestors.

My cousin Vickie told me that this area was a big inbreeding nest historically, and now...I really understand what she meant.

I'll NEVER be ashamed to say "I'm from California" again!

I don't wanna go back to California,

but I am damned gratefulto be from there, now.