Shonnie The Biker’s Wife Part XIII: “La Jolla: Lifestyles of the Rich and Infamous” or “My Beautiful Fair Mystery Lady Wrapped in an Enigma”

Preamble:

‘Moon River’

A beautifully touching metaphoric side of Shonnie no one ever got to see.

Except for me.

Yet it was fleeting.

Like a Shooting Star or Moonlight in a Martini.

Saw it only once or twice.

But that ‘once or twice’ was enough to ensure my memories of time spent with her would live on forever.

“Shonnie Darling, my hopeful dream and only channeled aspiration is to write you honestly, passionately, and well. I am doing my best. Please be pleased.”

–The Cowboy / Sailor who keeps you and loves you still

***

MY FRIEND

 “There was once a very lovely, very frightened girl. She lived alone except for a nameless cat.”

Moon River

It’s a pretty good drive from Seaport Village to La Jolla. We stopped along the way for cigarettes, sandwich stuff and beer and arrived at “Auntie’s House” about seven-thirty. This isn’t it, but a reasonable facsimile:

I’ve often wondered what it would be like to have a shit-load of money

“Your aunt rich?” I asked stupidly.

“Yes. What was your first clue?”

“Lucky guess, I suppose.”

“Come on. It’s even better inside.”

She led me into the condo.

“First class joint,” I said. “Really classy.”

“Allow me, Good Sir, to give you the nickel tour.”

(“Good Sir?” “Allow me???”)

She led me through the living room, past the dining room and into the kitchen. It was all stainless steel, dark wood, and stone.

Wow! It made my eyes hurt.

We put the sandwich stuff and the beer in the fridge. Shonnie produced two tumblers and threw some ice into each. I took the bottle of Jim Beam, splashed a little into each glass, and handed one to her.

“A Toast!” I said. “To us!”

We clinked tumblers, took a swig and fell into each other’s arms. Lips to lips. “You make me happy my dear,” I whispered into her ear as we broke our lip lock.

“I had a wonderful time in Vegas. I won’t be forgetting that anytime soon.”

“Yeah, but next time please, please listen to me a little more often.”

“Hahaha! Sure Cowboy. I promise to be good… ‘Next time’. Come on. I want to show you the rest of this ‘joint’.”

We took the stairs and she led me into what I surmised to be the master bedroom suite. It was large as condo bedrooms go I suppose, but then I was no expert on anything ‘condo’. In truth, this was my very first ‘Close-Condo-Encounter-Of-Any-Kind’ experience. There were double French doors opening up to a small patio overlooking the Pacific.

The bed was gigantic. I pushed down on it with my hand and watched as it rippled. Waterbed. Last time I had seen a waterbed was back in The Seventies. I wondered silently if this one leaked…

There were Asian paintings on the walls and very deep beige shag-carpet on the floor. Some legit hand-carved Maasai Warrior statuettes stood lookout on the dresser. I recognized them from my eight days spent in Kenya back in ’86.

The bathroom had an old-timey tub, green towels, and a shower stall… and a bidet! Wow! Mishmash of so many cultures. (And decades) Well, California. What could one say?

“Why don’t you rinse off in the shower while I gather some more ice and build our bar?”

(“Gather??”)

“Uh… Okay,” I said. “I’ll do that.”

After my ‘rinse off’, I wrapped a green beach towel about me, lay on the bed with my drink and my Marlboro. (Figured it permissible to smoke, as there were about five ashtrays strategically placed about the room.)

Shonnie reappeared with the whiskey, two sandwiches and a pack of Doritos precariously balanced on a serving tray in her right hand. Two longneck beers peeked out from a bucket of ice tucked under her left arm. An unopened pack of Marlboros was clinched between her teeth. Quite the juggler, she was.

She walked over to the rather huge oaken set of dresser drawers; released the pack of cigarettes from her mouth. I observed it bounce once on the dresser’s edge then disappear into the beige shag-carpet forest.

“It’s okay. Don’t get up. I’ve got this,” she said with some small sarcasm, as she set down the rest of her items.

“You must be hungry” I said.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Lose that towel.”

I did and she ‘lost’ her jeans et al.

We made slow love for some thirty minutes. Deep kisses, lots of teasing, and finally, we came together…

As we lay back in the bed, silently smoking, she turned and said seriously, almost ominously, “You’re quite the catch, aren’t you Cowboy?”

“Not sure your meaning, Little Lady.”

“Just saying. You’re quite the catch.”

“Not really. Just another lonely sailor far from his home port.”

“Yes with fireplace eyes, the gift of bullshit, some smarts, and an ‘any-port-in-a storm’ laissez-faire philosophy.”

“Somewhat true enough, I suppose,” Then added quickly and clumsily, “Used to be ‘true enough.’ Those days are long since gone for me now.”

She gave me a ‘look’ which told me she wasn’t buying it. 

(‘Fireplace eyes?’ I’d only been described, accused of this once before. From…, by… my wife. Somewhat unnerving to hear it again verbatim after so many years. And ‘laissez-faire??’ From the lips of My Shonnie? What-the-hell is happening? Is this a ‘haunted’ condominium? Do I need to call an exorcist?)

***

From the very moment we set foot inside the condo, a change, although quite a subtle one, had come over Shonnie. Difficult to describe, but I’ll try. I sensed more than ’witnessed’ it. But I witnessed enough. More than enough.

The first change was the tone of her voice. It immediately lost a bit of its gravelly coarseness; not actually becoming ‘soft,’ but most definitely ‘toned down’ a few degrees.

Next thing was her gait or ‘walk.’ Very difficult to describe as well, but she had suddenly acquired an almost elegant manner of moving from place to place. I would not go so far as to describe it as ‘gracefully gliding’, but it was a noticeable departure from her frenetic ‘bull-in-the-china-closet’ mode of self-transport I had learned to live with and to love.

And here is the weirdest thing of all:

Her vocabulary had grown exponentially, and her employment of the vernacular was… different—sophisticated–weird.

To the untrained eye and ear, these subtle changes would have gone happily, blissfully ignorantly unnoticed. But this cowboy/sailor had not survived three years in the Sinai, Egypt, Israel war zones and four years in the Janet-the-first-wife war zone along with the Nacogdoches, Texas, ‘Boy Y’all ain’t from ‘round he’ah ar’ Y’all?’ war zone by not paying, as they say in the Navy, close ‘attention to detail.’

And always, always maintaining ‘situational awareness.’

(The very first thing the Navy did to me was drill a hole in my head and pour those in. “Always Pay Attention To Detail. Always Maintain Situational Awareness.” I already had these traits. The Navy merely refined them, upgraded them, topped them off, and permanently cemented them into my mind.)

Thusly cursed with my talent for applying  ‘attention to detail’, ‘maintaining situational awareness’, and also properly cursed with a thoughtful and enquiring mind, I wondered if the Shonnie I had so hopelessly fallen in love with were the ‘Real Shonnie’ or just a ‘Make-Believe Shonnie’ who the ‘True Shonnie’ had used so effortlessly to capture my heart. Was she just playing around with me? Was she a Black Widow type? (‘Just fuck ’em and eat ’em’) Was she too clever for me? Was I in way over my head? Was my heart in peril?

I emphatically answered ‘No’ to all of these questions.

Best and most logical explanation is that my Shonnie, the one I fell in love with, was ALL TOO MUCH REAL.

I’ll admit, I did not understand the true magnitude of her deeply profound and complicated psyche at first, but I did sense it. Hence the initial attraction—an attraction whose growth I did nothing to curtail–allowing it to grow stronger and stronger day by day until I found myself in my current situation. A ‘situation’ I had allowed to flourish.

And to cherish.

And would never give up.

This may be going a ‘bridge too far’ but it was as if she had morphed from ‘Eliza Doolittle’ into ‘Holly Golightly’.

In an instant!

From This…

To This!

As if by Magic!

***

I found the change somewhat disconcerting, yet fascinating and tantalizing. I truly and fervently wish there were ways to fully and articulately describe this ‘sophisticated’ transformation of hers, but alas…

That would require a much more skilled raconteur than the one who is now so ‘unsophisticatedly’ spilling virtual ink on this virtual page.

Here is one thing I can unabashedly report and with great sincerity and veracity: this proves beyond any doubt, any doubt at all…

That Shonnie was the most fascinating woman I have ever known, or will ever know. I will climb even further out on this limb with my saw strapped over my shoulder:

There is no woman, real or imagined, whom I will ever love more than this biker chick. (By proxy and by definition to her core, she was a true biker chick, albeit a multidimensional, brilliantly unusually unique one)

***   

“Eat your sandwich,” she said. “Then we can watch a movie. The night is still young.”

She got up and I watched her walk toward the bathroom. She navigated her perfectly petite body while (purposely? hell yeah! she knew I’d be watching) intentionally twitching her little ass, tantalizing me still–and although I was quite sated at that moment–I could never become totally immune to her wily charms.

I reached for the sandwich even though I was not hungry. Suddenly becoming self-conscious about my nakedness and feeling vulnerable, I got up and put my pants on. I lay back on the bed, picked up the sandwich, took one bite and put it down.

There was a large television conveniently facing the bed. I picked up the remote from the night stand and switched it on. CNN appeared. Some info-babe talking head was blathering on and on about something horrible that had just happened in Iraq:

‘Breaking News!’

I muted the volume.

“You’re watching the News?” She said incredulously, suddenly appearing in front of me wearing a white terry-cloth robe and a frown.

“Hey, did you lift that robe from the Plaza?”

“Don’t be stupid. This belongs to my aunt. And don’t change the subject. You’re watching The News. I hate the news. It’s always bad.”

“I think it’s watching me.”

“How depressing. You must be a very lonely man when you’re not with me.”

“Current events are important,” I said.

“Not to me.”

“Well, here’s a news’ flash for ya: You are drop-dead sexy and beautiful and gorgeous.”

“Careful there, Cowboy…”

She walked over to the ‘Entertainment Center’ which was part of the whole TV thing and began perusing some VHS tapes. “What kind of movies do you like?” she asked.

Hysterical hilarious history drama,” I said.

“Well, that does narrow it down a bit.” She selected and loaded a tape. With a remote in each hand, she began pushing buttons. “Top Gun” appeared on the screen as if by technological magic. (Or Witchcraft)

“I was thinking of maybe something a little less contemporary,” I said as Kenny Loggins began his bit.

Video Credit: KennyLogginsVEVO

“Nonsense!” she said. “This is perfectly apropos for you. You’re a sailor.”

(There she goes again! ‘apropos’?? I am losing my damn mind!)

“Yeah I am, but not a fighter jock. And I despise Tom Cruise.”

“Relax. Have you seen this movie?”

“’Fraid I have, but okay. Kelly McGillis is never a waste of my time.”

“Asshole!”

“C’est moi.”

“Well, I have not seen it. I’d like to see it. With you. Do you mind? Besides, I’ll allow you to provide the ‘Color Commentary’ which I am certain you won’t be able to resist doing anyhow.”

With that she jumped on the bed causing me to spill some amber onto the sheets and almost drop my cigarette. She grabbed my head with both hands and planted a deep kiss, sticking her tongue deep down my throat.

“Madame! I am aghast!” I said as I was freed from her embrace.

“Shut up and watch the movie.”

Kenny was just finishing up ‘Danger Zone’, and proving once again that I needed to pay closer attention to my life’s soundtrack, especially when it is foreshadowing and trying to connect.

We got through the horrible movie thanks to several glasses of Beam and a few beers and not a small number of cigarettes. It was, I have to admit looking back, the best screening of one of the worst movies of all time. I kept Shonnie in laughter as I picked apart the utter bullshit and un-factual parts of the movie. Yes, sometimes I can do sarcasm with the best.

As the final credits were rolling, Shonnie snuggled up to me and asked, “Lance, do you love me? Truly love me?”

“Probably,” I said.

“I’m a little hard to love.”

“Not for a schmuck like me.”

“I’m serious here. I have issues.”

“Yeah, don’t we all?”

“Goddamn it! I am serious.”

“’Serious’ is not something I’m good at.”

“You are EXASPERATING!”

“That’s a pretty good four-bit word,” I said with a mocking grin.

“Actually, it’s five bits, you bastard.”

I counted off the syllables in my head. ‘Ex-as-per-at-ing.’ Yep. Five.

“You’re right,” I said.

“You know my estranged husband is one mean son-of-a-bitch, right?”

“Never met the stud.  Do tell.”

“Trust me. And he called me up at Mama’s the other day and asked me who was my new boyfriend.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think he’s been following me.”

“I’m not much into ‘threesomes’.”

“Listen Asshole. I’m getting scared.”

“Wanna end it?” (What an incredibly stupid, stupid, stupid bluff on my part! If she calls it, I am properly and deservedly destroyed. There are some things even I should never gamble.)

She paused and I saw some sorrow creep into her eyes. “Might be a good idea,” she said. Then quickly added, “But just for a little while. I don’t want to lose us.”

“Let’s sleep on it. I have to leave here at zero-five-thirty so I can make morning muster on my ship.”

She buried her head under my arm and we fell asleep under the blue TV screen light.

***

Previously:

Coming Soon:

“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife: This is the (NOT) The End”

Update: Part XIV is up

***

If you are new here, or a long-lost returning Pilgrim, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey Below

And then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” i.e., The Lancelot Links:

***

Comments below from the original version of this post.

Please read from the bottom up for continuity.

19 THOUGHTS ON “SHONNIE THE BIKER’S WIFE. CHAPTER XIII: LA JOLLA”

johncoyote October 3, 2020 at 05:06 Edit

My friend. Create a wonderful story. I liked the house and the conversation. You are making the characters worthwhile and interesting. I like how you made the small details important. The ashtrays, for a example. A vey good chapter.

Teela Hart July 18, 2014 at 18:27 Edit

🙂

LAMarcom July 18, 2014 at 18:21 Edit

Wow!

Thank you Teela for the compliment.

Made my eve.

Cheers!

P.S. Donna was great!

Teela Hart July 18, 2014 at 10:48 Edit

I was about 9 years old the first time I heard Donna Summer, after that, I fell asleep listening to her.

Have I told you lately that you are an amazing talent?

You are, I meant that.

T

LAMarcom July 18, 2014 at 02:10 Edit

This made it’s way into my spam. Sorry ’bout that.

Merci.

LAMarcom July 14, 2014 at 15:59 Edit

She truly was a rare talent.

Mélanie July 14, 2014 at 15:57 Edit

I loved la Jolla… 🙂

P.S. I was in Naples, Florida when Donna Summer passed away, 2 years ago, RIP. A wonderful artist and a lovely lady!

LAMarcom July 14, 2014 at 10:46 Edit

big ol’ Texas smile *

lauramacky July 14, 2014 at 10:44 Edit

lolol you’re welcome Lance. I always feel like I’m in a time capsule when I read your posts. Love ’em!

LAMarcom July 14, 2014 at 10:37 Edit

Especially the dysfunction junction!

Hahhah

Thanks Laura for the read and great comment.

lauramacky July 14, 2014 at 10:29 Edit

Brings back such memories for me….the music, the wild times and the dysfunction LMAO.

artourway July 14, 2014 at 09:15 Edit

Je peux pas parler longtemps … if you would like to now Lance

artourway July 14, 2014 at 07:21 Edit

mmmm

LAMarcom July 14, 2014 at 00:58 Edit

Thank you my friend.

inspiredbythedivine1 July 14, 2014 at 00:43 Edit

I’m really enjoying these tales.

LAMarcom July 13, 2014 at 21:39 Edit

Great clip/song Sadie. Thanks for taking me back. I remember when I was at SFM back in the late Seventies and Rod Stewart came out with his ‘disco’ album: ‘Blondes Have More Fun’. Most of us at SFM were hard-core rockers and despised ‘disco’ (although I had a secret major crush on Donna Summer… please never tell…)

We even had our own pure rock band there: The ‘Sisco Ducks’ — get it? Hahahah

Anyhow, when Stewart let loose that ‘Disco’ Album, all said,

“Whelp, I bet that’s the end of Rod Stewart as a serious musician-man.”

Glad I did not take that bet. (and you know I am a gambler)

Rod Stewart is absolutely one of the all-time greats. And he do have some longevity too!

Sadie,

Your comments always brighten my day/night/mornings.

Cheers & Thank You,

Lance

~ Sadie ~ July 13, 2014 at 21:21 Edit

Damn it Lance LOL!! You are killing me here . . . . 😉

Like I said before – great storytelling & great suspense!!!

Breathlessly . . . you just keep me hanging on . . .

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N83uZp6uU4c&w=420&h=315%5D

(one of my fav albums!!) 😉

SueZ, Open Sez-a-me! Canal!

I have been to the Suez Canal at least 300 times.

I’ve been witness to some incredibly funny shit in my day, but never nothin’ even remotely approaching this

Monumental Shipping Screw-UP!

LMFAO!

*******

Because I am a Smart-assed Moron:

Clik the GD Link Below!

No Bare Feet Beyond This Point

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

******

Jet, the oldest at the table–about thirty—wore a goatee, long brown hair on top of a head that looked a little too big for the rest of his frame.


He had a laconic manner, but was not what one could ever call ‘brusque’.


He just didn’t say much. He seemed to save his words like cash money is what I’m saying.


Presently, he asked, “Mog, when’s your next run to TA?” (‘TA’ = Tel Aviv).

Mog (who spent words with reckless abandon) replied, “I got the fuckin’ R&R run tomorrow.
Shit! Hey Lance, what run you got? Wanna trade?”

Mog hated the R&R runs mainly because R&R runs meant taking passengers. He loved driving the trucks into ‘Town’. Two reasons: He loved trucks and he loved to drive trucks very, very fast. Mog was a great driver, but riding with him scared the shit out of me.

“Sure Mog; I’ll trade with ya.”

“Which run you got?” he asked, now slightly wary at my all too quick agreement.

“Canal run.”

“Aw Shit No! Forget it.”

SFM Basecamp was about thirty klicks from the Suez Canal.

Every day an R&R vehicle left SFM to rendezvous with one coming from Cairo. Passengers would take a small boat across the canal and continue on to Cairo or back to SFM.

Incoming and out-going mail was also exchanged. Having  ‘The Canal Run’ meant getting off-base only for an hour or two.

Going to Tel Aviv meant driving only four hours, checking into the Sheraton and having the rest of the day and night to paint the town red with Per Diem and whatever else one wanted to contribute or muster out of his own purse.  

Mog had an Israeli girlfriend in Tel Aviv, actually she was his fiancée, and he took all the Tel Aviv runs he could get, so he could go see ‘The Little Mama’.

In fact all the drivers had Israeli girlfriends except Big Mo. His ‘Honey-Co’ was a Big-Boned, Tall Drink O’ Water, Texan Gal, working for SFM, just like us.

Her name was ‘Big Mammu’ and if those two didn’t eventually get united in hellish matrimony, then I say ‘Fuck it.’

There is no hope for the rest of the world. Perfect for each other they were, is all I’m saying.

********** !!!!

STILL LAUGHING!!!!

FUCK ME TO TEARS!!

Street Cred Vid: UnionSquareMusic

Yeah. I’m a fukking Moron!

Hahahaha!

(For any who do not get my sense o’ humor… You boarded the wrong boat)

NO Refunds.

Sink or swim!

*****

‘Awesomely Sexy’

Sassy and Sexy

does not even begin to come close to properly describing these ladies.

Especially Susanna Hoffs!

(See below ‘Waltz Like an Egyptian’ vid)

Just Sayin’

People just don’t seem to have fun anymore—too uptight

Right?

Or perhaps old age has made me jaded.

***

Addendum:


When the ‘Gyptian’ vid came out I was floating around on the USS Callaghan, somewhere in the North IO…Indian Ocean…
HQ in San Dog had sent us a copy of the vid.
Guess what we did.

Yep.

We had the ship’s photographer film the crew…
Walking like Egyptians.

I wish I had a copy, but you can use your imagination.

********

Footnote to this story:

In ’79 Egypt hired a Jap construction company to dredge the canal and to increase it’s girth by about  thirty-three percent.

This made life difficult for me.

From then on I had to take my passengers to Ismailia close to the Med coast to be able to cross over into Egypt proper.

‘Beautiful’ Ismailia

Added about an hour to my travel time.

Each way.

Fuck!

ABBA, Joni, Madelyn, Cass, and Lance

Yeah! I am trying to occupy (and distract) my mind with Beauty and Music.

(See previous posts if you do not know why this is requisite for me.)

Speaking of posts, and posting, This one is an unorganized, not edited, convoluted…. piece of shit.

(Screw it! I will NOT edit this. It was a ‘stream of consciousness! ‘If I ‘edit’ it, then it is shite, as a stream of consciousness.

And then would ring false. So I won’t fukkin’ edit it.

What you see is what you get. (I may go back and give ‘credit’ for all the vids/images I stole, but that ain’t ‘editing’– that is just not being an asshole.)

Read/Watch/Listen at Your Own Annoyance.

It is impossible to not notice…

To not notice…

How HAPPY Agnetha & Anni-Frid ARE IN this!

They LOVED IT!

And for that,

That STAGE PRESENCE!

I LOVED THEM!

(I suppose ‘The Boys’ were happy too.

But Lance don’t pay attention to the moods of boys—LOL!)

**************

This will be brief (I promise)

I have been (In Light, or in Dark, of my too recent loss)

HATE ASHBURY

I have been pondering…

“The unexamined life is not worth living.”

(I believe some smart guy once said that)

Well, I been ‘prospectin’  down into MY Life.

Didn’t find no gold.

Didn’t find no silver.

Didn’t find no diamonds.

(Hangman! Hangman! Meet me at The Gallows’ Pole!”)

(“Bring me your dead sister then.)

Yeah! I am sick… and bitter!

Didn’t find…

No Solace.

Found a box of rocks tho…

Note attached:

It read, and I quote:

“Lance, this is all your life represents. Have a nice day”

—God

“Oh, and never forget: Jesus Saves.”

–G

Saves what?

Green stamps?

“Hey God!

Go to Fuck Yourself!”

(I know the grammar is fucked, but THAT is how Gladys always verbalized it)

“Go to fuck yourself!”

(See Third paragraph for Gladys)

I loved her for her broken English.

Might be continued, but I doubt it…

*******

If you’re California Dreamin’…

Don’t.

As we used to say….In the Navvvyyyy! Cali…fornia or bust! Don’t hear that so much anymore.

While aboard a Haze-Gray-And-Underway Piece of Shit. We see the coast of CA and just keep steaming right on by.

Bye – Bye!! California!

(And NEVER EVER Call Her ‘Mama Cass’–Her name is ‘Cass Elliot’)

If you’re California Dreamin’…

Don’t.

As we used to say….In the Navvvyyyy! Cali…fornia or bust! Don’t hear that so much anymore. While aboard a Haze-Gray-And-Underway Piece of Shit.

We see the coast of CA and just keep steaming right on by. Bye – Bye!! California!

(And NEVER Call Her ‘Mama Cass’–Her name is ‘Cass Elliot’)

******

Street Cred: Memology 101:

If you are a ‘good and astute observer’ you will see Kamala trying (and failing) to dance.

Free Bonus Track

(But Donations Greedily Accepted)

“I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor.

Rich is better.”

–L. Marcom, Circa 2006

Institutionalized ‘R’ Us: Or, That Place I Need/Want To Be

How I sometimes See/Experience My Mental Life:

I have come to the stark realization that I am at my best when institutionalized.

Long and varied History of this

Follow The Orange Brick Roads if You Be Fearless, or Feckless–Either Works For Me:

My point, if I have one, is that I need ‘Structure/Routine/Schedule’ in my life.

Without routine/structure in my life…

This is one reason I was a good SFM/Egypt/Israel Man.

And such a great Sailor/Military Man.

And such a good Iraq Man

And such a good… Fuck it!

Y’all have picked up on my point.

Without routine/structure in my life…

I become self-destructive.

No! I do NOT slice my wrists.

I do NOT (overmuch) eat garbage food.

I do not (overmuch) drink too much OK, THAT is a Bald-Faced Lie.

I do NOT Listen (overmuch) to Disco.

I do NOT (overmuch) watch CNN.

I do not (overmuch) shit-post on Facebook.

But What I actually do and do too overmuch and over the top, is think too much.

Way too much

Reflect too much.

****

Returning to the original point of this post:

I need to be institutionalized.

Or as my Father once confided in me:

“I live in my own little world, but it’s okay: They know me there.”

****

Flash Forward to ‘Present Day’:

Here we discover Lance, Living Large in The Lion’s Den.

No schedule.

No responsibilities

Nowhere to need to be

Sustainable cash inflow (Thanks Social Security)

Minimal Friends, FaceBook or otherwise to fret over.

Don’t feel compelled to answer my telephone if I don’t want to.

Valhalla, Right?

Heaven, Right?

Waco Texas, Right?

Wrong!

I am in Peril: With a capital ‘P’.

Left alone to my own devices and vices…

Well, it ain’t pretty.

And it ain’t nothin’ nice.

*****

I may or may not expand upon this derailed train of thought.

We’ll see.

(If I get any feedback, I’ll make an effort)

But, Y’all do realize, I am so busy right now going insane—almost a full-time job—requires almost all of my creative capital and ‘mental’ energy.

But, Please Stay Tuned.

Because if I know nothing else, I know I love my Readers.

Cheers Y’all,

–Lancers

P.S., Fairly Certain I would do quite well in Prison

(I have already been over the years)

But Pretty sure if I wanted to go to a ‘Real’ Prison, I could figure out how to get my cab fare–gratis

–L

More Random Memories from the Middle East: Still Sinai

Previously: One  Two

***

The IDF soldier navigated down the hill as Janet got ‘properly’ dressed inside our tent to greet our visitor. I didn’t bother. I figured cut-offs and no shirt just fine. As for him, well he had slightly longish unkempt hair, as was the norm for IDF soldiers back then. Most of them were reservists anyhow. IDF was a mega-weekend-warrior class anyhow. His beret was tucked into his shirt at the shoulder. His olive-drab uniform was dusty. In general, the IDF Army was unkempt, un-kept, un-disciplined and Fucking Ferocious.

Perfect soldiers.

This truth never did escape me. Some respect from me was obviously the ‘order of my day’ here…

I watched him cautiously descend onto the  my beach. The night before I had un-cautiously descended and ascended (ten times), full of false courage brought about by some imbibing and dope. But what the hell! So… I studied his unsteady progress toward me.

As he approached he switched to English, “This is restricted zone,” he said as he pointed with his rifle over his shoulder to what looked to be a military base of some minor proportions.

“Well, It was dark when we got here and I didn’t notice,” I lied.

“You must leave. Now.”

“Something wrong?” Janet said, sticking her head out of our tent.

“Janet, I got this. Go back inside,” I almost barked.

“Fine!” she said. “Gin or Whiskey for breakfast?”

“Back inside!”

“Fine!” she huffed and disappeared inside the tent.

Turning my attention back to the IDF soldier, I asked/said, “So ‘we’ (Meaning US, the U.S. of us), can pay for this ‘wonderful’ base here in Sinai, and you come climbing down from ‘Mount Fucking Sinai’ to inform me that I am not welcome here? Is this correct?”

He laughed at that and proceeded to take a seat on a beer cooler next to our now burnt out campfire. At least this one had a sense of humor.

“I am Jacob,” he said. “And who are you my American Friend?”

“Lance,” I said, cautiously  extending my hand, which he took and shook earnestly. “Would you like some breakfast? We have tuna fish, whiskey, or gin. Your choice.”

Again he laughed. “Coffee?”

“Fraid not. Sorry.”

“I noticed you have some ice in your big cooler. Where did you get it?” (How did he know this?)

“Eilat,” I said.

“Do not drink the water from the melted parts then.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is made with ammonia at the factory in Eilat. Toxic. Do not drink the water.”

“Hell! My man! I drink the water in Cairo.”

“Your funeral then.”

We laughed some more. I was warming up to this guy.

“Seriously though my friend, you cannot remain here.”

“Yeah? Well, we were planning to push south today anyhow. South to Ras Mohammed.”

“Beautiful diving and snorkeling there. Mind the sharks though.”

“The ‘Sharks’ are why we are going.”

“All you Americans… are Cowboys?” he snorted.

“Yep.”

“Okay then. Bonne chance! I take my leave now. Be sure you take yours too. Soon. Shalom.”

“Cheers, and nice to meet you Jacob.”

“Bye,” he said and walked away.

***

“Well, you fucked that up,” Janet said, finally emerging from the tent.

“How so?”

“Now we have to leave this place.”

“Janet, I never intended to stay here more than the one night. I wanna get to Ras.”

“I like it here.”

“Pack your shit. We’re leaving now.”

She ‘packed her shit’ and I schlepped it and the rest up the cliff and loaded our little chariot. Within two hours we were back on the road again, heading south. As we were driving through the Sinai with the mountains on our right, she pulled out her Bible and instructed  invited  demanded of me to ‘turn off that damn noise.’ That ‘noise’ was Bob Marley and I hesitated… for a moment, then saw some seriousness in her brown eyes and acquiesced. She opened her ‘book’ and began to read from Genesis.  I must admit it was fitting, given the time and the place.

We spent some miles in this activity. I smoked some cigarettes and studied the landscape. The Sinai Desert along the coast of the Gulf of Aqaba is wondrous beautiful. As I said, the contrast moved me. Janet’s reading (which she did quite well, I may add) added to the ambiance. This girl had some talents. “In the beginning…”

But, the magic moments could not last (Janet and I had a propensity for combat). We eventually got into an argument about thirty clicks outside of Sharm el Sheik. I was slightly gin-buzzed by this point and in no mood for…

“Stop the fuckin’ car!” She shouted.

“Whaaa?”

“Stop the FUCKING CAR!”

“Shit! What for?!”

“I’m getting out! That is what FOR!”

“Janet, we’re in the middle of a fucking desert in a Muslim / Bedouin country. Are you sure?”

“Yes! Goddamn it! I am sure. Stop the fucking car. I hate you!” (Not entirely sure where this sentiment came from, but it was, I could see, sincere.)

“Fine!” I stopped the car. “Don’t forget your fuckin’ Virginia Slims,” I said as she opened the door, got out and proceeded to ‘march’ down the empty road.

I would have (should have) left her there, but y’all know I could not.

 More to come… Here

Video Credit:

TheCowboy4411

Hamas, Gaza, IDF, Israel, Intifada, and U.S. (us) And why we should care (?)

Some of you may know of my history in the Mideast.  Most of you may not.  Some of you may know I get emotional about issues.

Some of you may not.

Some of you may give a shit.

Some of you may not.

I flip  a coin

It comes down on both sides.

It lands on edge and remains thus…

For ever.

No matter: I don’t have a dog in this fight: The current Fight between Hamas and the IDF (Israel)… Actually, I did, once upon a time, have a dog.  He died. But that was many moons ago.

And we did/didn’t call in the dogs back then: the ‘Fight Between the PLO and Israel’… “Let ’em duke it out!”

–Ronald Reagan, “et them all, et tu, Brutus?”

And about who could wrap some arms about Yasser Arafat?  No one. Not even Ronnie. Then he (Arafat) became ‘Rocky Balboa’ to some of rest of the world. Yes! Fast forward… but who among the thinking of us and the remembering of us, can ever forget

Munich in ’72?

Munich

And I was on the ‘good’ side.

I was for the ‘Home’ Team: Israel! Nineteen Sixty Seven! The shining moment of the IDF! Just like the Lord: ‘Fought for Six Days and Rested on the Seventh.”

“Didn’t them Jews kick the ever-lovin’ shit outta them A-Rabs?! Fought for Six Days…”

Biblical! (Yay God! and Madison Ave…)

Then I learned to read (and listen)

Point is:

I, as most of us (I hope) want the killing to STOP. It hit ‘Home’ today when I went to buy a beer. There were Palestinians in the road… In Memphis America! They were not happy. Unhappy Palestinians. Goddamn Right! They were unhappy! In Memphis!

I do not blame them. I am not happy either, but that said, Israel has some right to defend… don’t they? If you would like to argue, I welcome that, as I, more than some of you out there, have lived on both sides of that pond. And on both sides of that issue.

I have driven through Gaza. Too many times. I have seen the refugee camps. The poverty.

And I had intimate sex (is there any other kind?) with an Israeli Sabra, of Yemenite ‘distraction’ (i.e., she was Arab: Arab Jew) More than twice… Yet that sex did not prejudice me… (Well, maybe it did… just a little)

Putting sex aside, I know some politic, especially when it comes to Israel and Islam.

I have been on both sides.

Call me out, yet consider that I am foremost and always just a simple Texan.

So, be nice (or not)

Peace