So. It’s a beautiful Friday here to the Land of Enchantment and all I can think to do for entertainment is walk and play daddy to the dogs. All of my friends are busy, I haven’t met anybody new to drive crazy, and the dogs are already on my nerves. The dog problem started at precisely 2:26 am, when the goat dog had a bad dream and started barking and growling as he tried to trench his way through my pillow, the bed and anything else between here and fucking Beijing.
“Phooph, pharph, phooph… Phooph, pharpf, phooph… Errrrrrrh!” would be my best efforts to spell the cut-vocal cord mania erupting from Yoda’s yapper as he shredded my pillowcase with maniacal, frantic front paw digging.
I made a reach for him but was cut short by the Squirt. “Don’t wake him up asshole. Don’t you know it’s dangerous to awaken a sleep walker?”
“He’s not sleep walking, little lady, he’s shredding the last remnant of my marriage to Dr. Sam I. Am. That pillowcase is all I have left of our stuff. Aunt Hilda gave us a set of embroidered bed linen for our wedding, and I stole Sammie’s pillowcase as she was moving out. I love that ratty old thing, sweetie, so get him off it.”
I do love that tattered old 600-count Egyptian cotton rag. Sometimes I still think I can conjure my first wife back into my bed by breathing through the tattered fabric.
“Wake his ass up and ask him what’s got him trying to dig to China.”
I didn’t hear the answer because my house phone rang and I got up to answer it. It was then 2:29 am, a factoid known to be fact as I looked at the big wall clock in my office as I said, “Hello, Mother, are you OK?”
“Where are you, Mooner?”
“Not in my bed dreaming of sexing it up with Allie McGraw, Mother. I’m sitting at my desk wondering why you called at 2:30 am.”
“Don’t you dare smart mouth me, Butcher Einstein Johnson. I can still bend you over the table and whip your ass with a belt.”
That was my family’s measure for corporate punishment for my sister and me. Fuck up, and you’d be bent over the end of the kitchen table where all the family members could take a crack at you. There was this one time when Streaker Jones—or was it Tony Butts—dared me to give Mrs. Browningwell a Wet Willie. It was right after lunch and I’d bought a Valomilk Cup that I ate walking back to class. It seems that my right index finger had some thick Vallomilk marshmallow residue left from my dessert and the Wet Willie delivered to Mrs. Browningwell’s right ear should have been renamed a “Wet and Sticky Willy”.
Maybe that sort of ear jelly should be called a “Sticky Wicket”.
I had trouble sitting for several days after. Never will forget my Daddy—laughing in my ear before taking his shots. “That might be the funniest thing you’ll ever do son. You remember this day.”
And then he slapped the thin, black leather belt across the tops of my thighs.
“Mother,” I told her, “you just come on up to Santa Fe anytime you want and take a crack at my ass. I dare you.” I figured telling her to come to Santa Fe to spank me would clue her to the simple fact that I’m in Santa Fe.
“Stop back-talking me, Mooner, and tell me where you are.”
OK, maybe not. “I’m in Santa Fe, Mother. I haven’t left Santa Fe since I got back after Christmas and I certainly haven’t left since four hours ago when we last spoke and you asked me ten times where I am.”
“Why are you in Santa Fe? Don’t you know that Santa Fe is run by the homo-sex-u-als? You’re not smart enough to evade one of those crafty homo-sex-u-als, Mooner. You never were all that bright, if you ask me.”
Bitch. Right-wing Christian asshole Republican demented old bitch.
“I think you might be right, Mother. I was just having this dream where I was trying to find Liberace so I could suck his dick. I was getting dream frustrated from not finding him, so I was about ready to suck any old dick that happened by. I guess I need to thank you for waking me up and saving my dream self from burning in Hell.”
Mother believes that all gay folks will burn in Hell. Me, I think gays are all due for a Heaven’s stay, as we straights manage to make their lives here a living Hell.
“Liberace wasn’t a homo-sex-u-al, Mooner. That’s just one more cog in the homo-sex-u-al propaganda machine. Liberace was a man’s man, and a great entertainer.”
I’ve always wondered about when Liberace helped turn Elvis from a singer into an entertainer back in the day. I’ve always wondered if old “I’ll Be Seeing You In All The Old Familiar Places” didn’t likewise turn Mr. swivel hips in other ways as well.
“Mooner, you stop talking like that and tell me where you are RIGHT NOW!!!” My mother seemed annoyed that I would impugn the sexual integrities of her beloved Liberace.
“Jesus, Mother, I’m still in fucking Santa Fe.”
“Well, you watch out for all of those homosexuals…” and the next think I heard was her fumble the buttons of her phone and then the disconnect.
The Squirt jumped into my lap and put her front feet on my chest and her face right up into mine. “OK, first of all, you need to stop antagonizing your mother. She’s old and fragile and she can’t remember shit. Let her go off on you and then just say good bye. Second, you need to spend some quality time with Yoda and me. Silly goat dog is having trust issues again and he’s been dreaming he gets locked up back at the puppy mill. All that digging is him trying escape.”
Then she slurped my face with a rough tongue covered with day-old fish slime. “I love you too, Squirty-Poo,” I told her. “Grab your leashes and let’s take a walk under the stars.”
It’s now noon and we’re on our way down to Albuquerque to take a ride on the Sandia Peak tram and then dinner at the top. Another day in paradise with me at the helm. Manana, y’all.