a talk abou the faith

It's Friday. Kevin and I met at Sully's. The well-endowed bartender moved away from us. She smiled, but Mike came over and poured the Jameson. Sully came out to say hi and we began to talk more about our days at St, Michael the Marvelous. We really got a kick out of all the shit they tried to lay on us when we were young and impressionable.

I told them that once I got away from there I never looked back. Tammy, my current wife, thinks she is a Wicken. She loves the earth, she feels the spirits, and she thinks that sex brings us closer to the universal spirit, so I'm down with that. ( she says that blow-jobs are not cohesive however).

This is what I figured, religion is kind of like an initiation. If yo pass the test you get to be a part of the "in-group." Then they treat you as if you know something, when in fact what yhey got you to believe is not only shit, it's absurd.

That's the test. They tell you this crap about virgin birth and resurrection and heaven and hell and sin. They tell you that everything that any normal boy thinks about is a sin. Don't touch yourself, don't touch girls, don't get an erection, don't beat-off in the confessional. They tell you Jesus is watching you all the time, and that all these miracles happened and that everyting bad, like dead babies, and hurricanes comes from the devil, or from when God is angry at queers.

By the time you are in sixth grade they give you tests to see if you really believe that kind of shit. If you do then they know they can sell you anything and they have you for life. Then they send you off to war to fight the Muslims whose Mullahs have taught their soldiers their own brand of weird shit.

It makes more sense when Tammy takes Chelsea and me out into the woods to hug the trees. And that really mkes no sense at all.

mother

I went to vist my mother/ I think she really likes to see me but it tough to tell because she always looks like a combination of buzzed and scared. She looks this way because she is.

Ma is a pill freak. Pain pills, any kind, Oxys are the best. I try to talk to her but her face looks glazed and her eyes are just points, tiny and unfocused. She slurs a bit sometimes.

I used to yell at her and tell her she is a junkie but it never did any good. Sammy, the guy she has lived with for the last ten years tells me that it really upsets her. He says she used to cry when I left. So now I just go and say hi. I ask a couple of questions and don't get answers. I tell her what I'm doing. I tell her I will bring one of the girls around, but I don't mean it. I don't want any kid to see her this way. It makes me sad.

Ma got started on pills right after Dad left. She got wind that he was driving across town with some babe in his car, so she got obsessed and went to catch him in the act. She tracked him and this woman Carol down and chased them to a stop sign. Dad stopped, Mom didn't. She rammed right into him. The bad part was that she was in a Saturn and he was in his Ford pick-up. She wreckedher car, her back and the marrige.

Dad never really wanted to leave. he was just a charmer and enjoyed some extrra-curricular stuff. He has often told me not to do any of that. I nod and smile.

Mom alwyas asks about him. I try not to answer.

I like Sammy. We watch the Sox together. He's quiet and he drinks, but he's good to Ma.

Weekend

I often reach a point when I just don't care. I look at the Sunday paper for about six minutes and really find that I don't give a shit about any of it.

Paris is in jail?

Everyone in Iraq is still killing each other?

The President is an idiot?

So are the twenty-three people who want to take his place.

Enough of all of that crap.

I spent a nice affectionate morning with my wife. I played with my daughter for a couple of hours until she wanted her Mommy, which was fine with me.

Now I will sit and watch the game and open up a beer.

Everything else can go to hell, except it seems like it's already there.

Part of the job

One of the greatest benefits of the job I have is that every once in a while, like every month or so, I get laid.

See, when you sell condos, or when you manage them, you have to deal with a lot of single and divorced women. Many of them are in their thirties, forties and fifties. Some of them a pretty good looking. You don't get any Lindsey Lohans, or Jenifer Anistons like that, but these women can be pretty nice. Yes, often their tits tend to slide off to the side, and their legs are a little fat and their stomach may hang down. But they'be been though a divorce and are raising kids by themselves, so let be real.

And they feel so good. (I love to fuck!)

At first I thought it was me, and that I was charming and irresistable. But eventually a realzied that many of these ladies have been alone and horny for months or years.

Just this week I went to bring over the documents to a woman who had moved into her new place. She needed some help lifting boxes and moving dishes and stuff. So then we found a bottle of wine because we were thirsty.

Then I kind of stood next to her, which is kind of a test. She can turn this way or that way. So, she turned this way, and bam! we were stuck together. In five seconds her shirt is off, then we are on the bed and then we are going at it.

Welcome to your new home, Sandy. I'll be back in a week or so to see if you have any questions or problems. I always try to be helpful.

Growth through misery

Whoever it was who said that misery can lead to personal growth was certainly correct. What makes me happy is that the it was someone else's misery that led to my financial growth.

We all knew that Chester was taking a real risk when he bought two blocks of not so desirable houses, tore them down and built forty-two condos. We knew the market was getting over-built and it was time to make money in foreclosures. But Chester didn't care, he had some loans, formed a new company and took the plunge. He has had companies go belly-up before. There wasn't much of his money involved.

So the project crapped out last week. Two days later we jumped in a bought the whole thing from the bank at two dimes to the dollar. Today we finished selling it all to Mr. Wong for almost twice the price. Wong can fill it quickly with illegals -- I still don't know why everyone is so aginst them. They pay high prices to be left alone.

So, we make money.
Wong makes money
The illegals get a place to pile twelve people into three rooms
The bank loses a few bucks
Chester will have to find a different bank for his next venture. That should take him a month. He;s going to Florida anyway.
End of misery.

Thursday night

It was Thursday night. The week was almost over. As we often do, Kevin and I go down to our place to rejoice because we have survived another week of the gruelling test of existence. We celebrated by alternating shots and pints in the tradition of our fathers and forefathers who came across from the Ol' Sod.

As the evening progressed we fell into loudly debating the authenticity of the noticeably well endowed bartender, a woman who is new to the place, and hence unfamiliar with our form of debate. But this woman was not the sort who was inclined to settle our argument with a simple demonstration, or any sort of "hands-on" research. Instead she went back and complained to her boss. Something about "unruly," or "immature."

So, her boss comes out, to tell us to shut-up. This is a big threat because the boss is Sully, who inherited the place from his grandfather. The same Sully who used to steal cases of Bud to celebrate out hockey victories. He is a fine gentleman, who runs an excellent establishment, and is a bigger drunk than we are.

So, the new bartender keeps her distance while we got into a discussion of how we wer all in Catholic school together in the fifth grade. We discussed the bets we used to place even then on what the nuns would look like naked. Which ones of them had a nice set, a who it was who would be playing with them.

At the time, we thought it was so funny. The very idea of the nuns doing anything sexual was so abusrd.

Of course, we now know, especially from out other friend, Michael, whose sister was a nun for twelve years, why so many of the teachers who were here one year were gone the next, while the priest got to stay on.

What do you really expect? Boys will be boy; men will be men,

Except for the perverts.

Close Call

Yesterday I almost killed some kid.
I was driving home, taking my time. It was finally a nice day again. The sun was warm, the leaves are green and the flowers are in bloom. On the sidewalk on my side of the street a woman was walking her dog. She was wearing shorts and a tee-shirt. I was driving along watching her ass bounce as the dog pulled her along.

Slowly, I drive passed her and slid down the window, but I decided not to say anything. I'm trying to learn some restraint. I would have waved if she looked over at me, but she didn't. So, I roll passed her and moved my glance to the passenger side mirror. I've got to tell you, I love women in tee-shrits and this one did not disappoint. Whoa I said out loud. Look at those!
Her nice melons wer bouncing for all it see, and I was one of the all.

Just then this kid pulls out his driveway on his bike, and I almost killed him or myself. I slammed on the brakes. The car swerved and just missed the kid on one side and a tree on the other. I saw his face and it looked like he thought he was dead.

I looked around for the woman who caused it all and she was nowhere to be seen. Gone.

I don't know if women who go out dressed like that are trying to kill people, or just get attention. I wonder if they are just stupid or unaware. If that kid ended up dead or in the hospital it would have been her fault and she wouldn't have even known about it.