Wednesday, September 2, 2009

It rubs lotion on its skin

It rubs the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again… that’s what I would say if I lived up to my words in a recent email to my friend Mags (you have to read her shite at – she’s feckin’ hilarious).

Her arch-nemesis at work – we shall call her Buella – just realized that we (Buella and I) grew up mere steps apart with nary a run-in in the past 20-odd years. Now she works at the same company as Mags, one of my best friends since we decided we didn’t hate each other that much in high school (she and I played the flute and we thought our shite didn’t stink – hers did, mine not so much). “One time, at band camp…”

As for Buella, I clearly remember sitting in the basement of her childhood home painting our fingers and toes. She was older than me and, at the age of five, I thought it was cool to hang with the older kids. They could teach me so much – like what pink to choose for my pinkie finger and the latest disco moves back when I was an aspiring disco dancer.

She moved away well before I did and she soon became a memory, a childhood memory of playing until the streetlights came on, hopscotch on the sidewalk and lemon twists* down the driveway. And, painting toenails in a wood-paneled rec room (we all had them back in the day).

Now she’s full of questions, and if you haven’t read Mags’ shite yet, you should know that Buella and Mags agree on nothing, save their mutual disdain of each other (I’d say hate, but I reserve that word for murderers, rapists and puppy killers). In an effort to keep Mags’ private life, well, private, I provided these tongue-in-cheek answers to Buella’s 20 questions about me, my life and whereabouts. I thought they were somewhat accurate…

Five down, 15 to go...

Mags, is Scribe married?
Well, Buella, she was married, but Scribe had a secret… she lived secretly as a black widow spider, and as those whores would do, she ate her then-husband, who was a prick anyway, so the world is a better place. Good men are hard to come by, so she’s onto Number 17. I think it just might be her lucky number. And if it doesn’t work out, she’s got this rosemary and garlic oil marinade. A dash of Mrs. Dash and she’s all set.

What’s her last name now?
Lucifer. She was going to change it back to her mating name (thanks go out to Ricky from Trailer Park Boys who provided that little gem), but she decided that Lucifer suited her better, especially when she gets all horny. Oh, I meant ornery. Forgive me.

What about kids? Did she pop any out?
Urrgh! No! Oh, sorry, I thought you were asking me. It was an unfortunate situation. Her two kids – a boy and a girl – got stuck in her web and, smelling fresh meat and having eaten her husband days earlier, she got a little hungry and ate them too. Barbecued kids? Choose a nice Chianti.

Where is she living now? Jail?
Buella, she’s currently between places, but she’s set up a nice gypsy camp along the River Styx that she shares with her one-eyed trouser sock. He spews occasionally but doesn’t say a word. It’s lovely. Really.

What does she do?
Do? Didn’t you pay attention to her answers? Man, I should get you to write this shite down and review it. There’s a pop quiz tomorrow. As I said, she’s onto Husband #17. It’s common-law, so she might have more trouble luring him into her web. She’s got the marinade ready just in case. It’s been a while since I’ve heard her utter those words: “It rubs lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again.”

TMI? Perhaps, or in Mag’s case, hopefully. To say that Mags really doesn’t like Buella would be an understatement. And for some reason, the feeling is mutual. All I can say is that she was rather friendly when we were neighbours, but that was over 20 years ago and things obviously change. I can’t imagine who wouldn’t like Mags. She’s magnetic and I don’t choose just anyone to enter my circle of awesomeness. Otherwise, they get the lotion and a nice Chianti.

* Scribe has a lemon twist story. Ask her about it.


  1. Hilarious! Love the "Silence of the Lambs" bit. Remember the part where he tucked himself in while dancing? What a badass he was.

    So, what of this lemon twist story you've got??

  2. Baaaa haaaaa haaaaa! No more lemon twisters for you, clumsy Scribe!

  3. I like one-eyed trouser said socks? WTF? Trouser snakes are much easier to tame btw---sure, it's sometimes easy to get a rise out of them and if you tease them enough, they do tend to loose control and explode.......often ending up in a sticky situation.....

    I think you should be more honest about what really happened to the kids.....loosing them in a game of craps isn't something to be shameful of......

    Whaddya mean rub lotion onto the skin? Remember the time in the DR when my virgin- never- been -exposed -to- sun ass got BURNED? I chased you around the resort BEGGING you to rub lotion on it......what kind of friend doesn't do that for another friend?

  4. I may or may not be able to relate to aspiring for a career in disco dancing.

  5. Akilah - I had nightmares after that scene! Oh, the lemon twist story... let's just say, at 38, one should not be putting a lemon twist on her ankle and strolling (or hopping) down memory lane on uneven pavers.

    Anasatan - piss off! It was an uneven paver and the bone chip healed. You couldn't pay me enough now to try it again. My ankles won't take it. Damn old age!

    Mags - Shhh! Craps tables and me just don't get along, especially when you're betting with your own children. No children were harmed in the making of this blog entry. No comment on the suntan lotion incident. I'm still recovering from burn I got from seeing your white ass.

    Summer - you had to be there. I was good. Disco Duck rocked!

  6. Now Scribe don't make me open your files from the DR and bring out the Sun, the Moon and the Stars party! You were so proud of your shiny bits you had to show them off :)

    Love ya babe!