The Week That Wasn't

First of all, thanks to those of you who took time to email or post your concern over my lack of posts this last week. Even those of you who disguised your concern as attacks on my personal integrity. Showing compassion can be difficult when mummy and daddy never told you they loved you, so I understand where you where coming from.

I needed to spend my 1 to 2 hours a day of time not spent working or sleeping doing things other than blogging and/or concerning myself with the ways of the world. Don't ask me what I did instead 'cause I can't remember. I did go to bed very early a couple of nights, and no, Mrs. Waring did not get lucky. At least not with me.

A lot can happen in a week. I'm tempted to make one huge post and shoot my proverbial wad in one go, but I will save some stuff for later. It's been a good week but one that ended on something of a sour note when I was hit on by one of the ladyboys in the club last night. Luckily, I am not the type of lad that responds to such advances by punching the offender full in the face. I rather took it as a compliment but politely declined the offer by telling him/her that I already had a boyfriend. That seemed to confuse Arthur (that's what I call her) for a moment as (s)he seemed to be considering coming clean and 'fessing up but obviously thought better of blowing their cover and just smiled and gave me a hug (!) instead. Why the fuck are there no dry cleaners open on a Sunday?

Anyway, yesterday I ventured out to buy myself a new black shirt. I'm a big lad, 6 foot 3 to be exact and so prefer to buy shirts at stores for big lads. I wear a 2XL tall, most regular stores do not sell 2XL tall or if they do, all such stock is bought within seconds of being put on display by 5 foot 3 hispanic or african american types. That just fuckin' kills me y'know. I see these little twats parading down the street wearing shit that is 10 sizes too fuckin big for them and I think "Where the fuck did you get that?" Whenever I go shopping for clothes all they have is small boys medium that I could barely get one arm inside. Little bastards.

So, as I said, I'm out shopping for a nice black shirt and I go to 'Casual Male XL' where I am amused to find a fellow shopper loudly procuring for himself some new threads. By the looks of this guy, he doesn't get out often without the aid of the fire department and a winch. He's a bit on the large side and has a voice to match. After 5 minutes of debate with the assistant over whether the 4X or the 5X would be better, he settles on the latter and proceeds to the cash register where he already has several items ready for purchase and where another customer was waiting in line. The conversation was priceless......

Fat Guy - "So, what do you do?"
Innocent Bystander - "I'm a draftsman"
FG - "What's that?"
IB - "I draw blue prints"
FG - "I did that in college!"
IB - "Oh....really?"
FG - "Yes."
IB - "Oh....okay....well....."
Awkward silence.....
FG - "I'm going out on a date tonight!"
IB - "Yeah...."
FG - " Well, it's not really a date....it's bingo.....OA bingo. You know what OA is?"
IB - "Ummm.....no"
FG - "Overeaters Anonymous, that where I met her." (I had to hide behind the suit rack at this point.)
IB - "Really?"
FG - "Yeah....I have an eating problem...."
IB - "Huh?"
At this point, fat guy has an afterthought and yells back across the store to the assistant "Do you guys sell swimming trunks?"

Thanks for the image you fat fuck....

Sadly, I had left my cell phone in the car. A picture would have told told a thousand words.

Tales of Urban Bohemia

I am, as I type, attempting to drink away the pain and misery of an uncomfortable afternoon spent in the dentists chair. 2 hours of root canal fun. Maybe the chinese food from Panda Express beforehand was a poor choice. Not only did I have to deal with trying to focus on my happy place while the sadistic bastard drilled gleefully away at my poor tooth, but I also had to concentrate on not farting or at least not following through on one. A simple guff could always be blamed on the obese latina dental hygenist whose breath, even with the face mask on, smelled like she had eaten an overripe chimichanga for lunch. Once you draw mud though, the game is pretty much up. So that, in a nutshell, was my day. No prostate exam today as my regular dentist was on a golfing holiday in Thailand, besides the last one was clear. This is not what this post was meant to be about though, so I will get down to the meat of it.

Speaking of meat, I just walked into the marital bedroom where Mrs. Waring has just consumed two Slim Jims (meat content = zero) and a bottle or two of cider whilst watching The Simpsons. Already the air is thick with a spicy musk. A night on the sofa beckons for one of us. That is not what this post was meant to be about either, so I will cut to the chase.

Transexuals. Chicks with dicks. Ladyboys. Or, to borrow the words of Alan Partridge, "Fascinating creatures..... Looks like a lady, but really it’s a man. I don’t find them attractive, it’s just confusing."

A few too many drinks and it could happen to the best of us....

For those of you who don't know, I work in Hollywood. Not the movie industry "Hollywood", the real fuckin' Hollywood. The dirty, nitty gritty, 'Blackpool with palm trees' that is a huge disappointment to millions of Japanese tourists every year. I have a weekend job as a bouncer in a club. You get all sorts in there, and that's okay. It's fuckin' Hollywood, it is Disneyland for freaks, misfits, weird (and wired) fuckers from all over the world. We get a few ladyboys in, they are regulars. Asians. From a distance even when sober, if you didn't know then.... you just wouldn't know. Up close, you twig pretty fuckin' quickly that something isn't right but when drunk, stoned or pilled up, the same rules do not apply. I have seen with my own eyes, many a poor unsuspecting fucker dancing with them, necking with them, copping a crafty feel of their tats..... Call me a cruel bastard, but like a foxhunter I will call it sport.

I don't discriminate, I always greet them with a broad smile and a pleasant "Evenin' lads!" They wink and smile back. They know I know the score, they enjoy the sport of it as much as I do.

Anyway, a couple of weekends back, we had a lot of disgruntled Israeli punters in the house. An Israeli DJ, booked to play, had cancelled at the last minute. One particular gentleman, who thought he could buy his own private bouncer (he was right), was throwing his money around and tipped me handsomely to remove any would be tresspassers from the tables that he had payed handsomely for. He was a cunt. A right twat. Snapping his fingers at me and giving me orders, never a please or a thank you, but he kept giving me money, so he had credit with me. I will put up with a lot of shit to put groceries on the table or pay the kids tuition. So I smiled and put up with is particular brand all night.

At one point, he motioned me over. 2 girls and one guy had sat, uninvited at one of his tables. Thinking I was doing as he bade, I told them, politely, to fuck off. Sensing trouble they quickly obliged, not wishing the contents of their pockets to be discovered. Israeli guy then admonishes me for getting rid of the girls as it turns out he only wants guys kicked out of "his" area. I let him know that it will not be a problem and he kisses me on the cheek (bastard) and gives me some more money so I let him off.

A short while later, I return from dispatching a drunkard into the street to find our three lovely "lasses" sitting at the tables and being courted by Yossi or whatever his fuckin' name was. Part of me, the human part, wanted do him a favour and whisper in his ear that he was messing with blokes. Another part of me, the mean part, wanted to do the exact same thing, not to do him a favour, but to watch his disgust and self loathing unfold before I would have to throw him out for punching them. But another part of me, the part that knew that he was probably flashing his money around and would no doubt pay for all three of them to take a limo back to some fancy hotel room and get in the jacuzzi with him, won. Tonight he was going to buy more than he bargained for so I wandered over to watch the go-go dancers for a while. When I got back, the four of them were gone.....

Tales From Urban Bohemia may become a regular feature here, depending on material. It is a true story. It really is. Next up......The Puking Midget.