an interesting event this afternoon. i pulled into my driveway after work and as i got out of my car i heard someone call "hello!". i looked around, but didn't see anyone. so, i locked the car and walked the rest of the way up the driveway (it's quite long). as i got to my front door i heard "hello!" again. i looked around once more and still didn't see anyone. i unlocked my front door, opened it and was about to enter the house when, once more, i heard "hello!". it sounded as if it was coming from the front half of my duplex. i thought to myself, someone is at that front door wondering if anyone was around since the unit is empty and the person wanted to get a look inside. so, i walked over in order to tell this person that the unit was already rented and they should go ahead and fuck off (in a very polite manner since i am nothing if not goddamn polite).
as i sauntered past the side of the unit i heard it again. "hello!". i looked to my right and there was a face peering out from one of the rifle slit windows. an older lady was staring intently at me. i stopped and said (very wittily) "hey". she said " can you help me? i locked myself in the bathroom and i can't get out". after briefly toying with the idea of asking her why she doesn't have one of those emergency police cowbells for idiots with the red button on it, i responded with "um, what seems to be the problem?". her answer was "can you come in and open the door for me?". again, i paused for a mental shakedown: is this one of those penthouse stories i've heard of (but, of course, never read since i buy the magazine for the pictures and wonderbra ads)? will i go in to find that she is naked and holding a sawed-off shotgun right next to the whip and handcuffs? am i on candid camera?
but being the uber-gentleman that i am when damsels are in distress (no matter the age or wrinkliness) i said i would. i proceeded to the front door, which was "conveniently" unlocked and entered the domicile. i scanned the place for surveillence cameras and tripwires and nets hanging from the ceiling and large bags of drugs just begging to be kiped and open mouthed blowup dolls of george bush and hillary clinton. i saw nothing. so i went to the bathroom door. there was no knob on it. and there was a very sweaty and wrinkly woman inside. i looked to the kitchen for a moment and there i saw a lot of cleaning equipment. that's when i knew she had commited a murder and was trying to cleanse the place of the evidence. at that moment i knew i would be okay. no murderer wants to compound one killing with another unless it's a CSI episode. i bent and put my eye back to the knob hole.
"so, what seems to be the problem", i asked.
"i closed the door and it locked on me."
"you don't happen to have the door knob in there with you, do you?"
"no. and i've been in here for two hours."
"well, let's see what i can do for you...is your purse in there with you or is it out here?"
"um, what?"
"just kidding...are you married? anyone going to miss you in 48 hours?"
"um...what?"
"kidding! you look awfully hot in there. maybe you should take off your clothes while i work on this lock."
"what?!?"
"ma'am, i'm kidding. you've been in there a long time and must obviously have been under a lot of stress wondering when someone would happen by to help you. i'm just trying to lighten the load. by the way, my name is lecram and i'm a good friend of the landlord. so, you're a sweater, huh? i'm into that."
after 30 seconds of playing with the recessed lock i freed her. she was drenched in sweat and i believed that she
had been in there for some time (and maybe the wrinkliness had more to do with the humidity than with her age). man, that had to suck. and she still had a lot of cleaning to do. she began to fan herself and puff out her tanktop, which gave me the unpleasant opportunity to look down her shirt (which i wouldn't have if i wasn't already trying to not look at her and she walked into my line of view just as she partially and momentarily disrobed and i had just blinked so i was caught unprepared) and i discovered that the wrinkles were not temporary tattoos.
she said thanks, i said welcome. she said thanks again, i said no problem. she said lecram, i said yeah, l-e-c-r-a-m, middle name steph. she said is there anything i can do for you, i said yeah, grab that toilet plunger and call me kowboi.
and then i got the hell out of there. because no good deed goes unpunished in my book.
and that outfit has an international reputation for excellence. the tats i had done there got the same response from other artists present on those dates. but monet's...well...perhaps she saw a challenge or an opportunity to stretch her wings. whatever, she is amazing and anyone who reads this and is thinking of getting ink, more ink, or rework on ink already done should make an appointment with her.
just a bit of detail on this tat. unfortunately, picasa won't do a complete cleanup, but monet's impressive talents can still be seen. by the way, don't mind me, please, while i spend some time obsessing on this new piece of artwork i acquired.
have a hell of a great Half Nekkid Thursday. for a link to what this is about go to my sidebar and click on the osbasso link. and just remember that this nekkidness will be not so nekkid next time. hey, you can see a smallpox scar in the upper right corner. cool.
