18:37:02 - 2000-05-10
shrimper
It's karaoke night at the Foxfire Room...and I'm pretty much into my cups. One of the resident old-lady-drunks is singing like, "Brightly Feathered Bird of the Lord" or some shit, when Mike the Bartender looks over towards the the back door and says "Here's a weird one..."
So it's this beautiful Persian girl, y'know w/that dark crazy eye situation and a belly-dancer's body that would look great in like, Barbara Eden duds...only instead she's wearing sweatpants, a wife-beater sans brassiere, oversized corduroy house-shoes, and super-bright red lipstick (insert cartoon cuckoo-clock sound effect here). And of course she sits down next to me.
10 minutes of small talk later (I shit you not, she didn't even finish her drink) we're out in her car headed towards another bar. So whatever, we get to this other joint and they sweat her about having no ID so she says how about we just get a bottle and go back to her place...since her dad's out of town. Whoa...um, OK. On the way back to her (parent's) pad "Dark Side of the Moon" comes on the radio and she turns to me and says "A lot of people think you gotta do acid to talk to your voices...but that's fucked up. I mean, they're talking all the time you know? I can hear 'em. All the time".
What do say to that, besides "Do you mind if I drive now?", or "Will it kill me if I jump out of your car at this speed?". But hey, just like a moving car, certain evenings acquire a critical momentum and you just can't jump off. So we get there and the decor is over-the-top Persian suburban (think porn movie set) which is cool w/me, but when we get to her room the walls are covered with open-faced Ikea shelving full of of white men's briefs and athletic socks; and every other sq. inch of available surface is covered with little prescription pill bottles. So I gotta ask, "What's with the underwear and the pills?"
I don't recall her explanation of the underwear thing as being very satisfactory, but I do remember that the pills represented pretty much every antidepressant known to man and that after a fat handful of happy trail-mix I really wasn't sweating the underwear thing. So events degenerated into the X-rated. There was a shower scene, there was my introduction to how a handful of anti-depressants affects your um, "performance"; but mainly there was the toe thing. At one point she was checking out my mad back freckles or something and said "Cool, they're unique...like my toes", and lifted her foot up so I could observe.
Her second and third toes were fused together; with one little pedicured toenail between them. This condition occurred on both feet. I don't know if it was the pills- I suspect it's just part of my deviant makeup; but I had to put them in my mouth. A stripper friend of mine who does layouts in fetish magazines later told that this is called "shrimping". I don't know, it's the only occasion on which I've felt the urge. And it was good. The two bones rubbing together beneath the skin of her toe as I sucked on it was very um,...very chicken wing.
Whereas my toes are all about the blue cheese. Ha! sorry.
