The Hot Cop

Well, I think the writer’s block has finally been knocked out of me. I have been struggling for the last couple of weeks, staring at my new shiny computer with nothing new to write. That is until yesterday, when my inspiration literally came knocking at the door.

I was in the attendance of my close girlfriends bachelorette party and though I was in on the “big” surprise, I was still a bit on edge when “Logan,” the friendly neighborhood hired stripper, showed up. He was impeccably dressed in tight slacks, a barely there button down, and boots that seemed to buckle up to his neck. Logan came armed with a boom box and promptly got to work. While I was expecting some slick oily man gyrating his pelvis perversely in all directions, he was actually quite tasteful and rather decent, shoving his junk in my face only once. Though he wouldn’t leave me for the next girl until I slapped his ass, I was thankful he asked for only a slap and not a tug as I had feared.

The bride- to -be sat on a chair and Logan went about his business, gyrating this, swiveling that, eventually lifting her out of her seat. He danced around nimbly for quite some time, commenting about “how hot” he was, when suddenly, in one swift graceful motion, his pant were off. Of course, by that point, he really was sweating and panting, and just a bit more that I thought he would be doing just for the show, so I offered to get him a glass of water, which he readily accepted.

Since I did Logan a favor, he went a bit easy on me, only straddling me once as I crossed my legs together so tightly they began to quiver. He then moved on to the next girl as I breathed a sigh of relief. It was over and I survived. My stripper cherry had been popped and it couldn’t have been done by a nicer gentleman. He slipped us all his card (better his card then something else) and I took a furtive glance at it before casting it aside. Apparently, Touch Too Much Entertainment recommends Logan and its other entertainers for a wide variety of events, including promotions, office parties, and retirement celebrations. Hmmm…yes what better a better way to honor Grandpa Earl’s 30 years of service to his company than hiring a stripper for his retirement luncheon.

Though the experience could have easily been more traumatic than it was, I remain haunted the by the sight of red spandex and the opening measures of Eye of the Tiger.

The Move

So moving sucks…especially when it’s to your folks’ house. It’s almost depressing enough to make me want to quit my job, move into the basement and make a living selling fake ideas to the high school kids. Almost.

I find myself in this particular living situation because my roommate decided to do something utterly grown up… to get married. As happy as I am for her, that meant I needed to find a new place and though I have a full time job, I cannot afford to live alone in the city that I work. Ok, well at least in a neighborhood I am less likely to be shot. Given the circumstances, I made the decision to move home for the summer, home being the suburbs where I grew up. It’s only temporary and I thought I had come to terms with it, but bringing that first load of boxes up to my old room (still plastered with Beatle posters and an occasional Tiger Beat cover) made me feel uneasy, a bit like a failure.

I am hopeful to find a place by September and that this period at home will just be a temporary blip on my “grown up” life radar. However, as I lie in the tiny twin bed I have slept in since I was 4 (luckily I was a large child so it’s actually quite comfortable), draw the teddy bear curtains closed over my windows and shout a “ g’night” to my Ma, I am filled with warm gooey feelings of nostalgia. Then I suddenly remember I am in my mid twenties, single, have a crappy job, and live at home… and the feeling quickly fades. And on top of everything, on Sunday evenings, I am still not allowed to talk during 60 Minutes.