At parties of yore, I'd often have a few drinks and be persuaded (read egged on) to do a special dance that I invented called the vulture. I adopted it from Snoopy's pose as a vulture, and I would perch on my tiptoes and bring my hands in the air and look deranged as if I were going after my dead prey. This wasn't too hard for me. I'd been a gymnast for several years and had practice at perching on my toes. One can't imagine how exciting it was to be the center of such aclaim and intrigue. Do the vulture, my friends would yell, and I would demure at first. You don't want to see that, I'd say. Come on, Michelle. The vulture, the vulture. All right, I'd tell them, and go into a fugue state as if preparing to recite a long poem, like Frost's "After Apple-Picking." And then, there I'd be, on my toes, as a vulture.
I haven't done the vulture in years, and there's only a few friends who remember it, not near as many who remember me trying to do a striptease after several tequila shots one hot summer night in Texas. I did not black out and so in fact am not spared the actual memory of this either, and this will teach me either to drink more or less tequila in future similiar circumstances. Memory is a strange and lonely thing, I think, and constantly changing to be what we need it to be. You never know when the party is over and if you had a good time until you're viewing it from the future, like a vulture, hoping to get what you need to keep going.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"I have a death wish, but I direct it at others." The Opposite of Sex
Cocktail Hour
Drinking movie suggestion: The Opposite of Sex
Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Monday!
6 comments:
The party is definitely NOT over! Sorry I missed yesterday's post, Michelle, but I'll say it right here: your pussy picture is a veritable human hot tub heating element. Oh the liquifaction of your fire. BABY! World Wide Web kudos to you, hot one! One more for the road, baby. I'm begging you!
I used to do the Funky Chicken.
There are many more people now who will want to see and remember that pose now than there were yesterday, of that you can be sure.
Memory, is it what we honestly believe it to be or is it what truely happened? The question is do we conform our memory to what we want it to be or does it come back to us as the situation actually happened?
Memories of being drunk and doing something are never as clear as those of when I was sober.
Like being taken into the police station totally naked because the situation i was in called for me to be nude and walking. I remember clearly the entire shift of police laughing about me but I also remember the one sympathetic male dispatcher whom I could only see in the round view all mirror and his look of total sympathy making me feel like he wished he could at least give me a blanket to cover up with, something the arresting officers thoght i did not need. For this memory I was totally sober.
Yet i remember being drunk and picking up for the first and only time a young fairly cute woman in a bar, taking her home and having sex with her. I think she said it was because I took her lighter off the bar lit her cigarette first then mine and set it back down on the bar and that made her interested in me enough to say something that allowed us conversation for an hour or two, knowing myself during those days I doubt that it was I who made the suggeston to go to my house but it could have been. I was drunk and I could fill in facts to fit the situation but why bother; I just remember it happened. And it turned into a weeks worth of casual sex both drunk and sober then we moved on.
The point being is the party is never over until you "go into that fugue state" where you see nothing, are nothing, becoming nothing but "the vulture" Then returning from that state of what you had just been the party begins again.
Hank the duece (Henry Ford II) said after he was arrested in California for drunk driving with a beautiful blond in the car with him, who was not his beautiful blond wife made only this coment to the press.
"Never complain,never explain"
amen brother amen
Dear Michelle,
I've got a butane lighter that I'd really like to show you. It's in the shape of the Maltese Falcon! How cool is that, baby? You press down on his left wing(you can't even tell that the wing is the secret starter!)and the flame shoots out of the Falcon's head. This is no regular Zippo flame. This one blows away the lighters of the Nam vets at the Old Miami. Yes, sir, they can't hold a candle to the Maltese Falcon, no pun intended. And what a flame it is! It shoots out in a single laser-like shaft. Two inches long if you want it. It's quite a conversation piece and I've used it to great effect in many bars. This lighter I will show you, Michelle, no problem. I've seen your hot tub picture. So, it's OK if I call you for a date, right. I'll call. This'll be terrific.
Yours,
George
Dear Michelle, I would love to see you do the Vulture Dance and the Snoopy Dance. Lovely view by the MiniBar and charming post, as always. Some of the wretched comments must be grating even to a strong Catholic girl like you. If you would like any assistance just let me know by e-mailing my account. To your fortitude in the face of all, Bravo!
At least there's a name for your dance, unlike my awkward moves. On a different note, my refrigerator shot has me grabbing a carton of eggs instead of alcohol, kind of like Rocky XXX, the geriatric version, my exercise routine at its pinnacle.
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