: EVERY MOMENT IS LOVELY, YES :

my eyes on her eyes

My bipolar ex-girlfriend said, "Life is what you fake it," and I hated her for that, for being right, for being smarter than me, so I scraped my fork across the yellow bubble of a yolk, watched it ooze, and said, "Tomorrow is as meaningless as yesterday."

"Shut the fuck up with the Buddhist, in-the-moment crap," she said. "And eggs are disgusting, you fucking embryo eater. How can you eat that shit?" She stabbed a piece of melon with her knife, flashed her teeth like a growling animal and sunk them into it slowly to make some point that was over my head. Or maybe it was under my head — I could never tell which way was what with her. I ran a thumb over the bite mark on my neck.

A man with a long green beard, floppy hat, and rainbow socks pulled to his knees walked past the cafe window pushing a dog in a baby carriage. The dog was wearing a hat, too.

"Why don't you ask your dad to join us," I said. They stopped speaking a long time ago.

"1998 called, it wants it's joke back," she said, looking over her shoulder at him. She waved and said, "Hi, Dad!" He waved back. She wasn't wearing a bra and I could not keep my eyes on her eyes.

"'1998 called' jokes are so 1988," I said.

She flicked a piece of melon at me. It bounced off my face and landed on my plate next to some strange foreign sausage.

"This is the best tasting thing I've ever eaten that looks like a turd," I said.

"Look, you can go now," she said. "I want to be alone. And the sex wasn't that great, but I'll get the check anyway. You need to work on your game some before you drunk-dial me again."

"My omelet game is on fire right now," I said. "You should have let me cook instead of coming to this joint. We'd still be naked right now." I learned a few tricks with cream, the way you whip the eggs, and the heat. The heat is key. It has to be almost all the way up and the egg has to float on a searing puddle of clarified butter. I cracked through dozens of shells for practice.

"Yeah, and about being naked. When was the last time you went to the gym?" she said. "Don't ever bring an egg into my house, you dirty pervert."

I flicked yolk at her with my knife. She slid a finger over a golden drip on her cheek, held it up and licked it off slowly. Shadows from the painted letters on the window cut across her face, one eye hidden in shadow, one radiating madly in the light. Finally, I was able to stop looking at her tits.

"Why do we keep doing this?" I said.

She groaned and looked at her plate, rearranged the fruit with her knife, and shooed me away with it, eyes still down, blade pointing at the door.

On the train, the conductor said, in a slow, sexy voice, "Thank you for joining us on this downtown A experience. Have a unique and wonderful day, and a comfortable, cozy weekend." A woman covered her ears at every stop when he spoke, like the sound would make them bleed. Another woman hid her face with a book called "You Can Overcome Insecurity." Reading it in public must have been part of the process. I scanned a row of sexy boots across from me, in line like soldiers, more Harlem than Columbia. Studs and straps and knee-high and buckles. I thought about screaming or typing words and sentences, or maybe just random numbers, but did not.


~O~

32 x like a billion = how much I love you:

xTx said...

oh otto, how i've missed you...

~otto~ said...

Absence makes the something grow something or whatever. Thanks :-*

Mariana Soffer said...

Great post, your texts along with your fantastic style has also been missed by me.

~otto~ said...

Thanks, Mariana.

:::Internet hug:::

:)

TC said...

Oh jeez, Otto. Is it possible she might be reading this?

If not, let me just suggest it might be safer to be in a food fight with one of these.

And who knows, the sex might even be better too.

At least easier on the neck.

But then even a date with Dracula would probably qualify for that.

(And speaking of the D-man, my nights were just not the same without you... well, I don't mean worse, or even better... just not the same.)

Muchas gracias, como siempre.

~otto~ said...

Tom, her dad was a possum. She definitely got his teeth. ;)

rollerfink said...

she sounds nice

~otto~ said...

Her dad was a possum but her mom was Ms. Manners. I made all this up because I am a liar.

gamefaced said...

your blog does not want my comments. this morning, i read this and posted a comment something along the lines of holy shit you're awesome this is perfect yeah it had something to do with perfection and wow and if this comment doesn't post i will surely cry.

my verify is hedomend post me blogger i'm legit.

~otto~ said...

I will spank my blog thoroughly. I want your comments, I do. They are the egg yolk of the Internet, and I must have it. And thank you very much.

brittany wallace said...

2012 jokes are so 2009.

1988 jokes are so 2010.

~otto~ said...

Brittany, you are on that next shit now. Boom boom pow. (I hate myself for referencing Black-Eyed Peas. FML.)

K said...

I really like your writing.
This made my day a little better.

~otto~ said...

K, thanks. Your comment made my day little better. We're good for each other, it seems.

Ashwin Sodhi said...

Naked breakfast is 2010's naked lunch. Also, brunch is the new church, and oozing embryos prove God is Dead and we have killed him...

~otto~ said...

Ash, mission accomplished. And beer.

Chick said...

I want to overcome insecurity with clarified butter (but never eggs...no, not ever eggs).

~otto~ said...

Chick, I will make you a hot bowl of clarified butter for breakfast. Stay over ;-)

wordsforguns said...

I need things like this in my life.

"1988 called' jokes are so 1998." - greatest line ever. Could be a line to say before a revenge kill.

~otto~ said...

Matt, I need revenge kills in my life, and now I know what to say before hand. Thank you, kind sir.

John said...

I miss the guy with the dog in the baby carriage.

This post is very nice. I also hate eggs bless.

Here it is bam and you say goddamn this is a dope jam.

Public Enemy lyrics are so 1989.

I lvoe you hold me ok.

~otto~ said...

John, ride with the Niner. They'll throw it down your throat like Barkley.

Kevin said...

Otto, I know the feeling.
Another banger, kind sir.

~otto~ said...

Kevin, date a lot of bipolars? I think that's all that exists now, kinda like ADD or ADHD or whatever the dug companies over-prescribe for these days.

Kevin said...

Bi-polar is kinda the only way to go... Who else feels so much, so intensely? Probably should not being saying this publicly, but... fuck it.

~otto~ said...

I think what you are really trying to say is that they are better in bed. Yes or no?

Kevin said...

well first off, verification word 'balls', no joke..

secondly well, yeah, um, yeah.
and what I originally said too.

wait, now I'm thinking, is there any difference?

~otto~ said...

There might not be a difference unless the is in which case maybe, but maybe always means no, yes? Maybe.

Kevin said...

good answer





'frubbely'

Lupo said...

otto, i adored this, and your next post. please tell me when your fricking novel is coming out. I'm trying to read Nausea at the moment, but I'd much sooner read about this magical fucking cafe where the dogs come by in hats and the characters speak like people

Lupo said...

otto, i adored this, and your next post. please tell me when your fricking novel is coming out. I'm trying to read Nausea at the moment, but I'd much sooner read about this magical fucking cafe where the dogs come by in hats and the characters speak like people

~otto~ said...

Thanks, Lupo. A novel is a ways off, I'm afraid. Trying to get it in gear but spring makes me not write. I love/hate spring. Must write.

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