11.23.2002

 

Hay momentos en que cinco orgasmos no vienen a ser aun una sola lata de frijoles refritos.

En cambio, a veces te encuentras sumergido en sentido de placer total tal que harías cualquier cosa, responderías a cualquier petición, sin pensar en lo mismo.

Fuera de la ventana del dormitorio mío, oigo un coche viniendo y regresando. Exhibe una voz baja tanto que casi hace cosquillas a mis sentidos. Lo oigo pasar por la quinta vez, y solamente con una fuerza llego a vencer el deseo increíble de querer determinar adónde va y de dónde viene. Vuelvo a la idea anterior.

Aunque sólo te quede una sola lata de frijoles en la alacena, la vida te complace y te sientes suavizado por ello. Por eso, tumbas en la cama, solo, y dejas que tu ser se escape del cuerpo, lo que se permanece yacido allá, completamente agotado, y haces círculos con el ventilador que está puesto en el techo. Desde allí, aún flotando, puedes contemplar de nuevo la posibilidad de que, por fin, se ha convertido el sueño elusivo en realidad. Te espantas con esta serie de pensamientos, y poco a poco regresas a tu cuerpo, abres los ojos por uno o dos segundos, como máximo, y antes de cerrarlos de nuevo, derramas una sola lágrima, no sabiendo si es una lágrima de alegría o de temor completo y total.

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11.22.2002

 

Jay alerts me that any groupies I might get as a consequence of coming up with the name "Hose Monster" might be my mother's age.

I do like older women (one of the greatest coups of my life to date was dating a 29-year old hottie just weeks after my 21st birthday), and while my mother is one hell of a lady, I don't know if that was the idea for which I was hoping. Oh well. Everyone has something special to offer. And groupies are a strange breed. I'm sure at Hose Monster's big rock concert five years from now, enough non-stanky cuties will come to hear tunes about strippers to keep me at least interested.

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Hi girl on the cell phone in front of me in line at Walgreen's buying cookies, a box of Altoids and some Nivea facial cleanser.

Ohmygosh, you'll never guess what happened last night!!

Really? What?

Tim kissed Lucy at the party!!

Who's Tim? Who's Lucy?

I know! It's about damn time. She's been totally wanting him for like, months.

Like months is a long time.

Well, I guess they were dancing for a little while, and she was totally flirting with- yeah, she was looking hot last night. I think that was D's top that she borrowed, though Luce's boobs are way bigger. She was totally looking like a Cosmo girl last night.

Cosmo is right on the rack next to you.

Anyway, I guess he just sort of smacked one on her, and then they went back to his apartment after that.

Good lord, girl...

Nah, we went out to Hamilton's after the party, but it totally sucked, so then we went back to the house and just crashed.

Have you noticed yet that everyone is staring at you?

I don't know. I didn't see Lucy this morning though. But I don't think she'd be into those one night things. But she was a little drunk last night, and she does totally dig him.

Don't you think it's rude to have personal conversations in everyone's midst?

I haven't seen her yet today, so I don't know. Maybe when I get back to the house.

The clerk is trying to tell you that you owe him $7.56 and you're not even paying attention to him. Could you maybe spell yourself from the cell phone for three minutes to take care of your business and not hold everyone else up from doing theirs?

I don't know. Maybe go to the library. I've got that Diversity of Life midterm on Tuesday, and I think I might have a quiz in Sociology tomorrow. And I totally haven't done any work like all weekend.

Give me your purse. I'll count out $7.56 for you so you can get the hell out of my way.

Anway, yeah, I should go too. But we totally should go to dinner tonight for salads.

Thank god.

Call me later tonight.

$7.56 dear. $7.56 for the love of god.

Sorry?

Nothing. Just put your damn cell phone away.

I think I have 56 cents. Wait, hold on.

Fuck.

Ohmygawd Jen, you'll NEVER guess what happened last night!!

Kill me now.

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Today is a special day at the Hose Monster Blog. It's "let's feel sorry for someone else's little Hose Monster" day. This poor man wins that distinction today.

For a scientist, he must have some issues. After a while, when you start to notice your laptop getting warm, you put it on something other than your little Hose Monster.

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Yesterday Mr. Jay Ricketts decided that "Hose Monster" would be a great band name, and I have to agree with him.

In fact, I feel somewhat flattered that he would even consider using Hose Monster for his band name. I say go for it, bit if he indeed ends up decided to stick his band with my blog name, I would have a few requests.

• Keep it as "Hose Monster," and not "Hosemonster." Most people, whenever they write out the name of my blog, choose to keep it as one word, and frankly, it's no big deal. But I prefer the non-compound version. I don't know why, I'm just weird. And if the name has a chance to make it onto CD covers or otherwise, I want to see it done my way. Not that I'm picky or anything.
  
  
• If you ever record a CD, I get a shout out in the liner notes along the lines of "And much love to the original Hose Monster, Chris Ward." I need attention.
  
  
• I get free tickets to any concerts and backstage passes if you ever get really big. Oh, and on that outside chance, band members will do their best to steer the best looking but not stanky groupies my way.
  

I'm pretty easy to please. In fact, I'm already ecstatic that I might have come up with another cool band name. I think "Hose Monster" might be my second favorite band name ever. I wasted my favorite one ever - Pocket Lint - on my high school punk "band" (which really meant that about three guys sat around in the afternoon playing Madden and two of the three of us had instruments and the other guy had a couple of plastic buckets he'd bang on now and again). I wrote my greatest song ever, "Fat Guy on a Bike," for Pocket Lint, but I never got to play it live for anyone. Sad.

Anyway Jay, knock yourself out with "Hose Monster." Just for the record, Pocket Lint is off limits. If I ever start playing with another group, I'm going to rehash that name.

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11.21.2002

 

Today was a rough day. But honestly, it could have passed into a much darker realm but for a couple of wonderful things a few of you did for me today. I owe you all a little gratitude.

Regarding an email I received this morning...

This morning when I turned on my computer, I had an email from Eric McErlain in my inbox. I read his site every day and I've left him a couple of comments, but he and I have never really interacted at all. But this morning he sent me a quick note to express his condolences at the passing of my grandmother. Even if Mr. McErlain and I had developed some rapport over the last few months, I would have felt a happiness at his expression of sympathy. That he took the time from his day to send a message of condolence to someone of whom he has no knowledge strikes me as a gesture of extreme kindness. That kindness meant a lot to me today.

I immediately replied to his email expressing my thanks, but I realized this afternoon that the best way I could express my gratitude would be to try and increase his readership. Thus, if you're at all into sports, I strongly urge you to add Off-Wing Opinion to your daily reads. Off-Wing Opinion is one of the few blogs I make a point of reading every single day. His subject matter is compelling and he treats it with a great mix of personal injection and solid writing.

Mr. McErlain, if you see this: thank you again. What a kind thing for you to do.

Regarding a band name...

Jay Ricketts sent me an email today informing me that he's considering swiping my blog name for his band name. He gives me the leeway to weigh in on the matter, which I'll probably do the next time I post (sorry for the delay, Jay), but for the moment, I just have to say that I'm flattered. I named this blog "Hose Monster" in the most random and impulsive of ways, but it has since come to define in a way a lot of what I do here. I'm stoked that someone else likes it enough tell me it IS a great band name, especially compared to some of the others he's put up.

Supporting me in this endeavor I call the HM Blog...

Last night I posted a little something I conjured up in my head while walking home from the library. In the leaf-covered darkened streets, my mind can wonder and last night's walk resulted in a very brief story. Today a few of you left me some very kind comments that made me feel for a few minutes like I can actually make the words I know halfway express the things I feel sometimes, and that helps me foster a very strong sense of self. Thanks you guys for supporting me and letting me know that some times I do okay at this whole writing business.

And one quick kiss...

After class today, right when I seemed in the poorest of moods, my girlfriend came up to me next to my locker and placed a quick kiss on my lips. Sometimes the simplest things can make the biggest differences. Thanks Cannonball. And everyone else, just in case you couldn't tell already, yeah, I'm crazy about this girl.

* * * *

Thanks again everyone. This week has worked hard to test me on a number of levels, and your help is giving me a chance to stare it in the face and dare it to bring the best it has.

Photo above taken by Tyler. He has more great shots at his site. Take a look.

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First snow of the winter today.

Ski and snowboard season is rapidly approaching. And here I am stuck in the flattest stretch of land I have ever seen.

Wishing I were with Meesh right now.

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11.20.2002

 

My eyelids flutter open and my sight slowly comes to focus on the diverging directions the short locks of her hair take before lightly tickling my nose and cheeks.

A slight ache in my left shoulder reminds me that sharing my bed with another not unfrequently has prevented me from sleeping comfortably. Recently I've managed to slip my arm through the concavity of her neck between her shoulders and head and extend it out in a position of relative comfort. The occasional consequence of an ache in my shoulder and arm upon waking can be a little bothersome from time to time, but when contrasted with the potential loss of heat the sleeping body next to me generates, I gladly try to surreptitiously attempt to slip my arm under her and pull her into me at night as we slumber.

But for now I return to the thought that some elusive idea or noise has disturbed my sleep and slowly raise and turn my head.

Winter has descended with a vengeful quickness this year, causing the trees on the street outside my window to drop their coverings with extreme rapidity and waver against the frosty breaths of December. Their shadows break through the window and draw dark lines against the whiteness of the walls around, as though long forgotten spirits had reached through into modernity and had found no better thing to do than draw irregular dark lines before me. I count nine fingers tonight, taking my right hand from her hip to slowly point and each one and softly whisper their number and name. I assign Number Three the name of Poe, and suddenly I am amused at the appropriateness of the allusion, as this dark bedroom, with a little more menacing character to it, could certainly play a part in the great writer's thoughts.

My exposed arm begins to remember the winter outside the covers, and my neck begins to feel a slight pain from holding my head aloft while the rest of my body stays prone behind her. Before returning my head to the pillow, I lightly run the short length of finger between the two knuckles on the index of my right hand across the tattoo resting on her lower back, place the softest of kisses on her right shoulder, which causes her to mutedly emit an unconcious and pleasant sound of "mmm." Closing my eyes, I wonder if all this time I was even awake at all.

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11.19.2002

 

Hi stack of magazines sitting on top of the toilet tank in the bathroom of my friend's apartment I'm visiting for the afternoon.

Hey Hose Monster.

Hi Maxim.

Yo man.

Hi FHM.

Good day, Hose Sir.

What's happening, Stuff?

Hey dog.

And you, Maxim México, how are things?

Bueno amigo, ¿cómo van las cosas contigo?

So I have to tell you, I enjoy reading you guys now and again, and I'd be a giant jackass if I didn't admit to finding many of the pictures in your pages to be compelling.

Thanks.

A pleasure.

Muchas gracias.

I sense a "but" coming...

But why do you guys always hang out in the bathrooms of guys either in their 20's or their college years?

Good question.

It's something I've been thinking about for a little while now.

If I had to guess, I'd start with the theory that a man's hopper is also his throne.

And any good ruler needs some quality entertainment while he's doing his ruling.

You're sitting there, doing your thing, and you don't necessarily need to overly focus on the task at hand. You can let your mind roam freely to explore its interest. Like us. And a scantilly clad Lucy Liu.

I suppose that makes some sense.

Encima, ya sabemos que mientras se sentamos en el trono, ya estamos en un estado medio desnudo, pues es natural querrer pasar ese rato con una mujercita igualmente desnuda.

Another good point. Sort of.

And dudes are not exactly given to lounging around the house and reading. This way we can contribute to the development of their minds.

Nonetheless, it still seems a little strange to me. Dudes reading guy magazines is one thing, partly because the thought of looking at hot women while sitting on the hopper just seems an extremely strange thing, and I know I could devote the proper attention to a magazine of such content in those times, but I'm more focused on the general strangeness of reading on the can.

Why does it seem so strange to you?

Maybe it's just me, but I cannot read something for just thirty seconds or a minute or whatever.

Makes sense ... but that makes it seem weird because...?

Well it's not like I'm spending copious amounts of time in the head.

You're not?

Qué extraño. ¿Qué haces mientras estás en el baño?

Same as anyone else, I suppose. Walk in, do my business, get out. Never takes more than two minutes.

¡Por dios! ¡Dos minutos! ¿Cómo puede ser posible?

Two minutes?

Yeah, two minutes?

Most of the time. Get in, do the deed, get out. That's it. It's not like it takes a long time.

Really?

Not based on my experience.

Wow, every time a dude comes in here to take care of business, it takes him at least a good five minutes, and that's on the low end of the spectrum.

A dude cannot be crapping for five minutes, right?

Logically, I can understand that.

Eso me parece racional también.

So what the hell is he doing in there for so long?

Reading us?

But why in the can?

Can you think if a better place?

Yeah, but that's for another time.

Why for another time?

Because my time is up. It's been two minutes and I'm finished here. No reason to stick around.

Lástima.

Anyway fellas, thanks for keeping me entertained. And FHM...

Yeah?

Nice spread on Ali Landry this month.

Thanks.

Catch you all next time.

Cheers.

Later.

Hasta luego.

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11.18.2002

 

I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone who has called, emailed, left comments or otherwise sent me their sympathies over the last two days. My family and I are doing okay. Anyway, just wanted to say that your thoughts and prayers have greatly helped me out. So thanks. It means a lot to me.

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11.17.2002

 

Shortly after I was born, my grandmother gave me a stuffed bunny.

From what I understand, she put it in my crib one day and thereafter, if anyone tried to take it away from me or move me any significant distance from it, I would cry until someone restored it to my side. As soon as I grew old enough to talk and started exhibiting some personal consciousness, I gave it a name - Bunny - and he became my best friend. I slept with Bunny every night up until I was about 14. He traveled with me. Sometimes he even came with me on sleepovers, though more often that not he stayed in my bag and my friends had to find other reasons to make fun of me.

Over the years, Bunny got pretty beat up. When I had pneumonia as a young child, I threw up on it twice. One of his eyes fell off when I was about ten, and one time I was twirling him around by his ear and I ripped the thing off. Thankfully, my mother, handy with a needle and thread, patched him up and away we went. He has half a foot and most of the gloss on his nose has mostly worn off. He looks every bit like a beat-up stuffed animal made in the 70's that has given a lot of love and received the same from a little boy growing up with very few friends.

Come to think of it, I find it extremely appropriate that he was a gift from my grandmother. He symbolically represents her very well in some respects.

The last ten years have not been the kindest to my grandmother. She was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease about ten years ago. She was already very skinny, and pretty tall for an older woman (in that respect, she did look a lot like Bunny), but from the point of the diagnosis, she started to decline pretty rapidly. A very vain woman all her life, small cracks began to appear in her exterior. Sometimes the lipstick would be a little off, or she would drop some food in her lap; a torn ear here, a loss of a little bit of gloss on the nose perhaps. She would fall on occasion and wind up in the hospital but always came back to life as usual. Too much love from a little boy and the rest of his family to go, even though she was well into her 80s at this point.

Nearly two years ago, my grandfather died and left her alone, and she started to decline in earnest. The shaking became more prevalent, the falls more common, the memories a little less vivid. In the last three months, there have been coversations where she would ask the same question repeatedly every five minutes, never remembring that she had just asked the same question moments prior. The fuzzy exterior that was always so comforting to us grew very thin, the softness diminished noticeably, but the core stuffing always remained.

As hard as it has been over the years to see her decline, she has always remained a comfort, a source of pleasant stories of the past and memories recounted late at night that helped ensure a pleasant night's sleep. When I left for college, in some respects she fell out of my life, she always was there with a smile and a glad to see you look whenever I visited. Just like Bunny, who still sits in my parent's house somewhere, waiting for me to return so he can tell me stories about a little boy growing up. Admittedly, it's a strange symbolism I see between my grandmother and my old stuffed animal, but it's definitely something I feel.

Early this morning, my grandmother passed away in her sleep. And all day I've been thinking about going home and finding my Bunny.

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