Dudes and Dudettes!
I am back at work, and for the moment all is well. Except for the body building mammoth that has replaced me as bus boy (he, at least, is of the appropriate gender to satisfy the job description. But that’s truly the only good thing I can say about him.) He’s a brain damaged brute, a study in stupidity of literally gargantuan proportion! I assure you, he can have absolutely no more brain cells than are necessary for survival on the most base levels of this earth. He’s like a throwback to Neanderthalish times, and an inbred specimen at that. But, as if his sheer idiocy isn’t offensive enough, he’s also a molester. Indeed, he’s taken to covertly fondling the small of my back with his steroid-swollen digits. Ah, good times… But then, get this! If I accidentally brush against his derriere (which is about every five seconds, given his hulking frame), he let’s out these gurgling reclamations, as if I’ve violated his delicate constitution. Honestly!
On the plus side, my little German is not so little anymore. Yes yes, I am happy to report that during my sojourn in New York, he turned 18! I shall not be jailed after all! No, I kid, I kid! In fact, I feel that I can no longer deny the truth. I’ve tired of artificially constructing crushes just for the sake of diversion. There is an incestuously small pool of candidates in Marfa, an oddly mixed bag that I have plundered already, if you’ll excuse the indiscreet innuendo. I’ve dallied with all those worth dallying avec, so il me reste plus rien. And honestly, I needn’t go incurring the wrath of beastly large German mothers for no reason. It’s a pointlessly hazardous task.
But then there is my kitchen cohort, my foodie friend. My love for him is pure and true. And paralyzed. You see, he transcribes recipes from the restaurant’s cookbooks onto crinkled little scraps of paper to take home with him. I do that! When a certain satanical French broad from le resto jaunted off to Paris and asked if he wanted anything of Froggish origin, he replied: “some fine dark chocolate!” I swoon, I swoon, truly I do. And when I returned to work, he wasted no time asking me about New York. No, we got right to the important things and swapped soufflé stories! I didn’t make that up just because it’s a nifty alliteration; it’s actually true! “You and I, we’re the same!” I long to tell him, but I cannot. Perchance it is because he is exactly the same shade of brown as a former fling of mine that crashed and burned rather dramatically? Or maybe it was ill-fated from the start, from the moment I walked in on him aux toilettes during my first day? I mean, how many successful relationships have their origins in bathroom invasions of the number two kind? Indeed, encounters the render the great philosophical question: “did you make?” superfluous are not really the stuff of romance!
Also, I mandolined my finger while shaving up a salad of Raw Brussels Sprouts in Apple Cider Vinegar and Walnut Oil with Plumped Raisins and Pecans. I am tender and wounded, and if I had a driver’s license I’d vroom vroom off the the ER, but since I do not, I am praying fervently that the powers of flexi band-aids will somehow do the job. For that salad, it was worth it though!
Double also, my rodent infestation has become unbearable. Though I killed Hitler, little Adolf seems to have had a family. Mere Mussolini? Sister Stalin? Papa Pinochet? Who knows? They’ve gotten into my sacred stash of baking goods, which is an unpardonable offense, so I leave you with information that I am booby-trapping ma maison with Catchmaster mousetraps (no, really, that’s what they’re called!) It seems I am not above mass murder myself. What irony!
A bientot!
nickle said...
1Raw brusselly-kins? Surely you jest. Are they tasty in that mode?
12/4/08 9:26 PM | Comment Link
Ph. DD said...
2I enjoy your prose - they eloquent verbosity of which has made my brief sojourn to your site (you only have 5 post mind you) a lovely diversion from my own writing - and I am happy to admit I am a bit humbled.
That being said I hope that I, personally, can increase your incestuously small pool of canidates. As a wise philosopher once said - “Quality not quantity”. Another though did say the opposite..
If you would like to have a drink with me (if you are not of age I can pick up some sparkling cider or something equivalent) I will be in town for another week or so, so drop me some knowledge at my email which I will give here publicly - phdonohue@yahoo.com.
I have never done such maneuvering in a comment section before, publicly seeking someones company - quite a gesture, but as my phone gets no service, one does what he has to.
Hear from you soon.
Ph.DD
12/10/08 1:35 AM | Comment Link