Tricycle

A tricycle by definition, has three wheels. Three wheels on a tricycle are necessary. When it comes to relationships, however, being the third wheel typically has a negative connotation. Personally, unless the original couple is uncomfortable, I don't mind being a third wheel. I will have fun where ever and whenever I can. My neighbor Shelly and I have been friends for some months now. She's recently hooked up with this great guy, Tim. Although her attraction to him was pretty strong, she resisted going out with him for various "practical" reasons. It's funny how people get things in their heads and won't let go of them. I guess that's how we protect ourselves from getting hurt. But she relented and went out with him. They are fabulous together! They make one another so happy. Tonight they're celebrating their two month anniversary. When they're not celebrating something, like the anniversary of when they met or when they first had sex, I'm their third wheel. Tim and I are kindred spirits of sorts. We're both a couple of sick puppies. The three of us are good together too. We laugh, drink and break bread together. (I drank all of his McClelland's yesterday. I'm so ashamed.) This summer when it's not raining, which is pretty often since hurricane season began, we go to the pool together. I so enjoy my time spent with them and I know that they enjoy my company too. If I make a joke about being the third wheel, Tim just says no, we're just a tricycle. Who knows, maybe someday I'll meet someone fun and we can become a four wheeler!

Santa & The Penthouse Pet

Most days just chug along and some... well some can just have these wonderful little vignettes. It started out as just an average Friday night. My friend Robb and I met up with Julie at Bogey's, the neighborhood watering hole. We had a few beers, chatted with old friends and new, and decided that we needed a change of venue for the rest of the evening. The dogs needed walking and we wanted to freshen up, so we agreed to meet at Wild Wings Cafe in an hour. I was running late and Robb called to tell me that there was a line to get in and that they'd be on the patio waiting. When I arrived, there was indeed a line but it was moving fairly quickly. I parked and started across the parking lot. A red Explorer pulled up beside me and the driver's window slid open to reveal an older gentleman wearing wire rimmed glasses, with long wavey white hair and a neat white beard. Hmmm, I thought, Christmas in July? He said, "Excuse me. Is that the line to get into Wild Wings?" I told him yes but I thought it was moving pretty quickly. He seemed discouraged by having to wait. He asked me if I went there often and I told him no, perhaps once a month. He made a little more small talk and asked me who I thought he resembled. For some reason, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of saying, "Why Santa of course!" So I said something to the effect of "You know who I think you look like!" He proceeded to show me the red T-shirt he was wearing that said "Yes, I'm him." and told me that he is a professional Santa. His holiday gig this year is at the Mall of Georgia. I asked coyly, "If I stand in line this year, can I sit in your lap?" He said that he'd be happy to have me sit in his lap. I asked if I had to be a good girl to do that. As he looked over his glasses, he told me that he'd really rather that I was just a little bit naughty. Mercifully, my phone rang and he let me go. There's something just a little bit kinky about flirting with a Santa...

Once I got inside, I connected with Robb and Julie and we ran into a guy Robb and I know from work. He was with a group of people celebrating a friend's birthday. As the story goes, our coworker is very good friends with a guy in the porn industry. If I'm not mistaken the birthday girl is or was a Penthouse Pet. (I don't know if she was of the pre or post golden shower era.) Another woman was purportedly an eight time Penthouse cover model. We didn't really hang with them but as we migrated around, we would run into them and party. Around midnight their group decided to take the party to the house and so we were all saying good night, pleased to meet you and all that stuff. When the eight time cover girl turned to me for the parting pleasantries, she promptly grabbed my boobs. She was suddenly taken aback and asked "What is that!?!" You have to understand that I really hate taking a purse to clubs but there are certain essentials that a girl MUST carry. ID, credit card, cash and of course the cell phone. When the poor thing latched on to my breasts she grabbed my cell phone and couldn't imagine what the hell it was! I removed the phone and she promptly gave them another big squeeze. I was cracking up at this point and she took another opportunity to cop another feel. I feel so cheap! (Not really. More like honored!) I don't even remember her name.

And so ends my stories of Santa and the Penthouse Pet. I hope that you enjoyed them and can appreciate my sense of the weird. I live for these kinds of little things!