Operation: Falcon Crest

Three yellow butterflies fluttered before me, playfully twisting in the warm morning gust accentuating this morning’s walk. Sweat curtained my face way before hitting the mile marker; what is this?? This time last year, a decent chill to temper the swamp, but in 2015, I still have boob sweat!

Walk is over and it’s time to get into General Schwarzkopf mode: we have a two-month campaign to complete. The objective – merge two houses into one!
This is monumental on both fronts. For BF, he’s taken on a commitment which will dynamically shift his lifestyle, all aspects for the better. This will be his first domestic relationship.

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Credit: comicvine

For me, it’s a tier short of a miracle. It’s been five years since my divorce. In that grief state, I started to believe I’d end up like my mother – alone, resentful, unfulfilled – so I slowly slipped into that persona. What I couldn’t emote I expressed in written word, and there was much power in releasing that…wrong persona…through art, allowing room for love. Which is why I am so thankful, ever grateful, that BF agreed to living together! And it wasn’t a negotiation, really, it was just a known. Kinda like the night I returned from Oklahoma last summer, sitting on his lap while we smoked on the balcony, he casually mentioning, “I told my friends you’re my girlfriend,” and me responding, “Yeah, I told my friends you’re my boyfriend.” This is simply the most logical, cogent trajectory. And frankly, my heart needs this.

So between my place and his, I’ll be a busy ass bee until the end of January. No time for composing or sharing art, there’s opportunity for that later. For now, I am working on a very delicate, very personal masterpiece: a home.

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Hot Biker Chicks of Pinellas County

She approached with heavy Megan Fox-style panting, not a single wiggle to her lean profile, pushing a three-wheeled exercise stroller with two well-behaved younguns strapped in for the ride. Her smile fanned the driveway, holding my gaze, interrupting the fill of my bike tires prior to an inaugural ride. Her skin, a scintillating coat of sweat which made me consider, if I was to bite her right now, she’d taste like crispy salted caramel. She’s still smiling and I’m still checking her out. The left brain asks, “What does she want??” The right brain predicts, “My money says she’s a nanny!”

Caramel approached with the pram. She sexily exhaled as she pointed out the deflated front tire, and could I help her air it up? I scowl inside: she’s pulling the Hot Damsel In Distress on meeeeee? That’s my move! At least she’s close enough for me to admire her toned thighs and sculpted calves. Shoving kids on a run does wonders for the human form! Alas, no ass. That’s Jenga. Right brain concedes to left.

The way the tire pump latches is too bulky for the small tire space, plus the receiver is funnily angled. Not gonna ruin my equipment for a hot chick, so had to send Salted Caramel on her way. Graciously she thanked me, waving as she bounced off.

I can get used to the suburbs.


Credit: supertran.net
Credit: supertran.net

We’re two weeks out, and muscle memory has kicked the door down. I’m able to walk a mile with the Bobster and push two miles on the bike before my legs tire. At peak performance I was burning up cardio machines and playing in bike lanes for ten miles on average. We’re getting there people! Santiago’s Manolin springing forward.

That takes care of the physical development, but how about this big brain? The apathy I shared in my fisherman’s post has tempered a bit. Every day I sit at my laptop and excrete the garbage getting in the way of genuine reflection. In reflection lies the idea, strong enough to stir tangible thoughts and visceral reactions into typed or written form. Just like thigh muscles, brain muscle memory is quite possible; the gift isn’t lost it’s just not exercised enough. Finally, a pay off. I really like the idea presented in my documentary post! Needs rewriting, yes, needs more carrots or potatoes, maybe even some Texas Pete’s. I’ll keep adapting it; you’re welcome to offer suggestions as I clean up. So there’s good news; the creative cauldron is ready to cook in!

Spiritually I’m indulging on companionship and doing it healthily. It’s…nice…different in a good way…this pseudo-domestication that is cohabitation. Something about sharing a nap or a homecooked meal keeps the crazy kitties at bay, or at least, bothering someone else for now. Major Lazer was onto something when he produced “Lean On” wasn’t he?

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