Fanning the Flames of Love
Posted by thedarwinexception on April 18, 2008
So I haven’t seen the barn squatters since posting here about them – although, as I *TOLD* Paul it would be – the drunk guy called. Seems he needs a place to stay – his drunk girlfriend has a restraining order on him and he can no longer stay with her. So sad too bad, that’s what I say.
Paul told him on the phone “Dude, my old lady’s taken over every fucking guest room we ever had with her balls of yarn. There is no place for you to sleep. You can’t stay here.”
I was proud of him – generally he likes strays and allows them to follow him home.
Drunk guy did say to Paul – “Yeah, but welfare said they would give me $350 a month for rent.” Which, when you come right down to it, wouldn’t even cover drunk guy’s bar tab. And can you imagine me being home with a drunk guy all day while Paul was at work? Yeah, *that* would end well. Especially when drunk guy’s drunk girlfriend started coming around.
But – maybe having Rainman here taught Paul something. I don’t think he’s up to having semi-able bodied people here anymore. I think having to bathe Rainman did it for him.
And poor Malone Leslie. You just don’t know what she has to put up with from me.
Paul has this single friend – and believe me he’s single for *many* reasons – not the least of which is that he looks like a short fat Hitler. I swear to God – he does. Same bowl haircut, same moustache. And he lives with his mother – and he’s like at least 40 years old. Sounds like a prize, right? Now don’t get me wrong, he’s a really nice guy. Heart as big as his belly. But just not “dating material.”
So I mention one day to little Hitler that I was planning on going somewhere with my friend Leslie – and, of course, the first thing he wants to know is “Is she single?” I say “Yeah, she is”. Just because I thought it would be fun in some kind of perverse way. So now he’s all excited – wants me to call her and set them up on a date. But you know, Leslie is *so* good to me – and so nice, I just couldn’t do it. So I kept putting him off “Oh, she’s busy.” “Oh, she is still separated from her husband and she’s trying to work it out”. “Oh, she has three kids and they keep her occupied.”
Finally he must have gotten the hint, because he stopped asking.
Then Leslie’s car breaks down, and she needs someone to go to the gas station and get some gas for her and try to start her car. I think of little Hitler. Of course he’d do it, right? Because this is the friend I told him was tall and blonde and really pretty and nice and smart – he’ll do anything for her.
So I call him and of course, he’s right on top of going to get some gas for Leslie and bringing it to her house and trying to start her car.
Now they’ve never met each other before – and he’s trying very hard to impress her. So he acts like the hero and pours the gas into the carburetor and acts like the macho man and like he’ll “take care of that for you, little lady” –
And the carburetor catches on fire.
Leslie is standing at the hood of the car, and she sees the fire first. Little Hitler is in the car trying to start it and Leslie yells over to him “Ummmm…..this is on fire.”
So little Hitler comes rushing out of the car – and what does he do?? He rips his t-shirt off and starts beating on the flames with his shirt.
And all I can picture is this hugely enormous guy with his belly all hanging over his pants beating on the fire with his shirt.
Needless to say, Leslie wasn’t impressed.
And he didn’t get her car started.
*He* says he asked her out after that. She says No, he didn’t, but that she would have declined if he had.
Poor Leslie. I don’t know why she doesn’t hate me.
So – no word from zombie lady yet. I hope she still plans on coming back. I’m not sure if she reconciled with her son and he talked her into staying, or if the psychiatrist’s just won’t release her yet. Or maybe that movie “Hostel” was more true to life than we thought. But I haven’t seen her. Not a word from her. I do hope that she comes back soon, though. I miss her crazy ass – and we are getting into planting season and she needs to tend the mug garden. Not that the plastic flowers didn’t survive the winter – because they did. And besides, she brings me the most wonderful fabric from the Fashion District in the city. That alone is worth me warming her up some tea and beer.
I was thinking of going over to her house, though, and opening up some windows, just to kind of help the place air out and dry up a bit. It has to be wetter than a sonofabitch over there, the way the icicle stalagmites were hanging from the ceiling. And that can only lead to mold and mildew, right? I just don’t want her to be pissed off that I was over there poking around and opening the place up. But I’m sure if I explained it to her she’d be OK with it.
But, I expect her any day to just come knocking on my door – that’s the way she is. She arrives with no fanfare – just a knock on the door.
Don’t worry – I have the DVD camera all loaded up waiting for that knock.