Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Ten Years Without Sprinkles


I was sharing a house with a few girlfriends in Costa Mesa at the time, taking the bus down Harbour Boulevard to work in the mornings. Just behind the bus-stop stood a row of businesses; a laundromat, a dry cleaner, an auto-parts store, a nail salon and a doughnut shop.

I went in there every couple of days, the temptation of fried, sugar dough too much for me to resist. I always ordered a diet coke, an old fashioned and a pink doughnut with rainbow sprinkles...my favorite. I would have preferred ice cold milk to wash down my goodies. Unfortunately a friend of mine had ordered a carton of milk with his Jack-in-the-Box breakfast and took a huge slug of curdled milk. The idea stayed with me and since, I'd always hesitated to buy milk from any fast food establishment. 

I held on to my little white bag and just made it to the bus stop. Seated, I looked out the window at the familiar sites of Harbour Boulevard and opened the little bag. The old-fashioned was always first because it was my least favorite of the two. It's something I've done since I was a kid. I would eat the things I didn't like first and save the best 'til last, in this case, pink frosting and sprinkles.

Old fashioned well and truly gone, I opened my soda to wash it down. The bus was quite full, something caught my attention away from the window so I watched the people come and go, then the bus moved on to the next stop. By now, I was nearing work, Norms Restaurant on my left, soon I would see Clothestime on my right and that would be my stop. 

I reached into the bag and took a giant bite of the best doughnut on the planet and began to chew. Then I stopped. Then I tried to start again. then I stopped. Then I looked in the bag...only a quarter or pristine fried doughy goodness remained but whatever was in my mouth, was not pristine.

I had to spit what was in my mouth back into this bag. My jaw was set in a "don't move or you might puke" saliva filled battle when I dared to look at the former contents of my mouth. It appeared that someone has cleaned their hairbrush and baked it right into my doughnut. 

I was at the back door, barely keeping myself together and I jumped out those doors as they barely opened and puked all over the nicely manicured shrubs behind the bus-stop. 

Lesson learned.

Look before you eat.



Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Excerpt from Nico Unedited and subject to change


"Isn't it weird? I mean, I always think of my boobs being specific to sex, not feeding a person. I think it's creepy. I'm totally doing formula." Anika sat riveted to her best friend, new mother, Amelia.

I had listened to hundreds, maybe thousands of different topics of conversation while giving ink. But listening to Amelia and Anika discuss lactation was a first.
"Dude, guys get to whip it out conveniently and pee anywhere they want. Girls, this is the first time we get to whip out a tit and have it be for practical purposes. But I'm not a ambi-feeder so I have a B.L.T."
I had a feeling I was about to learn a lot more about breastfeeding than I had ever wanted to know.
Anika gave her an "I'm waiting" look. "Well, I'm right handed, so I lay bubbs across my stomach, kinda propped on my left elbow, right?"
"Right." I watched Anika arrange her arms as if following an instructional video.
"Then I flop out my left tit and squeeze a little boob juice out so he can smell the goodness, like boob-coffee." Anika was now cupping her breast, which I couldn't help but notice had increased at least a full cup size since I'd seen her at the wedding. I had to stop. In fact, every single person in the shop was listening to Aimes now. I turned off the buzzing machine to wait out the story.
"And it's totally sweet, Gus has tried it, he loves it and thank God because, oh yeah, that's what I was trying to tell you: about not being an ambi-feeder. So, it's totally easy to feed him on the left side but when I try on the right, it doesn't work as well...hence, not an ambi-feeder. So, I end up always having a really full left boob, big left tit, B.L.T. and the right one, starts to hurt a little when it gets full because baby never feeds as much on that side. So at night in bed, Gus takes a little drink for me so my boobs won't hurt. He calls it dessert."

Just then, Gus appeared. All six feet of former marine. "Sugar, maybe you could take it down a notch on the sharin' of the intimate details of our life?"

Monday, September 30, 2013