Saturday, February 18, 2006


These words carelessly rolled off my tongue in a conversation with Kobrinsky who reckoned I should take them further…

Kenny, Jim and Kevin you were my first. Did I learn anything from you; sorry darlin’s probably not much. I was young and you were young, groping in the back seats of cars and trucks at drive-in movies and down country lanes only taught me that there is something to be said about proper surroundings for certain activities. I do, however, still count you as lovers.

All my one night stands, too many to remember your names, even if I knew them in the first place, which in many cases I didn’t. Thanks for a touch of flesh on flesh and a brief encounter, all of which helped make me the woman I am today. No thanks to the bastard who picked me up hitchhiking in San Francisco and took me back to his in Berkeley and attempted to strangle me whilst we were having sex. You suck buddy! Special thanks to the lovely older man who used to buy me food at the Mediterranean Coffee house on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley and took me back to his to roll me round the black satin sheets on his bed. Oh, by the way, the pet boa constrictors were a bit much; I could have done without them.

Nameless guy affair no. 1, married to a stripper and still looking’ for strange. Lessons learned, where to keep your stash… in a safe deposit box at the bank, who would think to look there. Hangin’, smoking’, makin’ out and talkin’ in the cemetery. You may have ignited my on going love affair with death. Cheers darlin’.

Bob H, you were both lover, live-in and affair, although I did have an affair whilst we were living together. Thanks for sneaking me into the medical experiment in which you were participating, for an hour or so of taboo hot sex and little conversation. I believe you may be the only triple crown winner in my life.

Nameless guy lover, shit I can’t believe I can’t remember your name, ‘cause I remember your Harley and frequently riding sidesaddle on its back across the Bay Bridge from Berkeley to San Francisco, dressed in a long silk gown and a top hot. Lots of rides, lots of sex and lots of music at the Avalon Ballroom where you did the puppet shows between sets.

Bobby how fuckin’ hot was I for you? I was a persistent hippie chick until you broke under my insistence and swept me off my feet to travel across the country from California to New England, and back again. Best night? Dropping mescaline and tripping at your place. Somehow we ended up in Ohio and as a consequence I eventually got pregnant with Thea but not by you.

Jim, I fell in love with you listening to your music and gazing at your picture on the cover of your album. How feckin’ excited was I when I met your mother, Frieda, an amazing woman, who introduced us. Cheers darlin’ for giving me Thea, sorry I didn’t sort out you two until she was almost 30, okay so I was a bit confused about who’s the daddy, but I am glad you all finally met up.

George, affair number three in my on going quest to be the other woman, yep you almost were the daddy. Loved the trip to Lexington when I discovered the gun in your suitcase. Most enduring memory? You piercing my nose whilst I was sitting in your dental chair at the Free Clinic.

Fred, you hard assed bar fighter. Thanks for the chipped tooth (never drink out of a bottle when riding in a car driven by a drunk) ‘cause whenever I look in the mirror I always think of you. The night on Quaaludes was interesting indeed, no inhibitions, no worries.

Nameless guy and my longest affair, I still can‘t remember your name. Your lover was in England and we were in Cleveland doin’ the naughty. Too fuckin’ bad you had to come over all honest and tell her ‘cause I wasn’t half please that she showed up at my house and tried to beat me up. She was a little thing so it was only a matter of straight arming her to a safe distance so I could get her out the door. My advice for future reference… discretion is the better part of honour.

Jeffery - you fuckin’ sick bastard.

John, what a great dancer! You were so good, I asked you when we met if you were gay. Turned out you weren’t. Thanks for the trip to Toronto, the silk g-strings and the many, many dances.

Tom, my first orgasm, achieved at the x rated drive-in theatre. Yes, I was serious about the proper surroundings. A digression… I always insisted that my men were willing to take a fucking break (get it?) so I could light up and enjoy a smoke. You were always willing to take a break to tell me a joke, thanks for the many laughs. Best memory… driving down the boulevard when you screeched to a stop in front of a church and grabbed me to passionately kiss me only then pointing out the sign in front of the church, Thou shalt not park here.

Tom O’, the love of my life.

Thus endth this installment, I suspect there may be more. Come on, folks I’m an old lady and memories come and go.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006


Almost six months in Austin and I’m learning more and more about the US everyday. Austin is unique in some respects being rather liberal, casual and very much into accepting people and ideas, no matter how strange, hence the official city motto Keep Austin Weird. I am beginning to think, though, that Austin may well be as good a microcosm of what is happening in America, as anywhere else. Because my evening job requires me to telephone one person after another and I have, no doubt, spoken with thousands of people in the last months, I have discovered that unemployment and underemployment are rife. I suspect that may be why so many people, like myself, shop at the proliferation of thrift and charity shops around town. Are we being thrifty, or are we unable to afford anything new? In these shops one can buy anything from clothing to furniture, well actually one can fit out an entire life with the gear you can find at relatively amazingly low prices. One step above these shops are the stores selling new merchandise at usually decent prices, like Target and Wal-Mart (I love this, the spell check just automatically corrected the way I spelled Wal-Mart, just another indication of how big business has invaded our lives), although in many cases their prices are too high for the likes of me who is only working two jobs. Homelessness is pandemic, no one seems to have medical insurance and yet there are people driving around in their huge SUVs spending $130 each time they fill their tank with petrol. When I left America to move to Ireland, in the eighties, I felt then that the divide between the haves and have nots was increasing daily. The current administration, I will not write that evil name, has taken this divide to new and extreme heights by sucking up to big business in a way never before embraced in this country. One only has to look at the way the government handled and continues to handle the Katrina debacle (billion dollar no bid contracts handed out to political cronies whilst people made homeless by the hurricane are being told the government will no longer pay to house them or help them repair their homes) to understand that commercialism, not democracy, is the basis for its policies. A recent article in the newspaper cited the number of low income people being investigated by the IRS for underpayment and/or fraud (N.B. turned out almost none of them were fraudulent and many had over paid) whilst big business gets more and more tax relief and a pass on any scrutiny by the IRS.

Damn, I really did not want to make this a political diatribe but I used to believe in this country and the freedoms on which it was founded. I learned, as one can possibly only do best from a distance, that many of my beliefs were erroneous but still felt that there was a sound foundation on which the US, if it woke up, could provide a quality of life that was reasonable and affordable. Now…. well I spend my free time scouring the thrift shops for a spoon for 25 cents so I can eat my soup, which is about all I can afford.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006


Well darlin', I moved into my own place, Thea is thrilled and I am intrigued by the possibilities of living totally on my own, which I have not done for 34+ years. Its a small studio but way big enough for me, lots of things need fixing, so many that I believe I have finally achieved my ambition of transforming myself into trailer trash. Okay its not a trailer but it ain't no posh place either. My window looks out onto the back of the buiding (its brick, its yellow - that's all folks) in front of mine and the lovely asphalt car park. None of these things are bad enough for me to have used the title I chose for this posting. Are you ready... lord knows I'm not (and sorry Mary Anne, I couldn't bring myself to tell you this on the phone)... my lease had a special clause. Oh shit this is harder than I thought it would be, I just can't but I know I must. Special clause - the tenant will absolutely not allow any smoking inside the property, violation will be cause for instant termination of lease and loss of deposit. Yes, when I read this the words gun and head came instantly to my mind but unfortunately I had neither a gun, nor to be honest a head that could think clearly. Long story short, I had promised Thea I would move out by 1st February, it was too late to turn back. There is a balcony outside my flat (I'm on the 2nd floor US - 1st floor UK) so I spend my leisure time leaning on the rail inhaling tar and nicotine and wondering what the fuck happened to freewill and personal freedoms.